Tell me a story

Tell me a story
The Lakes

Debbie sat on the grey stone wall, lit a cigarette and looked into the sheep pen.
“It’s supposed to be art, right? All those leaves and twigs woven into a wreath and balanced on here? I don’t get it.”
Richard sighed. She was becoming a real pain. She’d done nothing but moan all week. The hills were too steep, the sun was too hot, the pubs were boring. Nothing was to her taste.

I decided to start publishing my short stories hosted on a blog. Am I bored this weekend? You think?!!!! Anyway it’s about time I started to do more with these stories than just leave them on my computer. I’m very impressed with the blog service. Slick and easy to use with several customisable themes.


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