“Goosebumps still lazy from their
afternoon in bed tumbled down his spine, pooling into the crease of his ass. It
made Sam want to bend over, offer his body right back to the man who already
held his war-weary heart.” (Writhe, page 124)
Writing a Sunday evening blog in the middle of Memorial Day Weekend is
a little like preaching to an empty church. The thought’s darn good but the
resulting silence is just damned discouraging.
Yet, I will persist like the true glutton for punishment I am.
However, I will keep this brief. I wouldn’t want any hot dogs going
cold and droopy because of me. You can thank me for this grand gesture by
visiting your favorite ebook provider Tuesday and putting a little Writhe
in your basket…
*the lone church mouse in the
eaves shouts “You’ve got it, man!”*
Despite my big words this morning, I didn’t do a scrap of writing
during the Indy 500, a race in which Kurt Busch (NASCAR guy) finished 6th!!
*”Busch! Busch! Busch!” the
chants from the lone mouse echo through the cavernous church*
Before the rodent starts wearing pants and asking for a contract from
Disney, I’ll leave you to your Sunday. Have a fantastic one, guys!
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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