I had that mommy guilt about what I was doing.
The texture was “spongy,” but it really did go with the feel of the book.
Fog obscured the houses. The scrawny, shaven-head rickshaw man sighed and hummed with the pedaling noise.
Precision or immediacy? How do writers describe the 'real' world?
My dying mother did not leave this earth until she said with her last breath, 'And please dye your hair.'
