Nova Scotia was really socked in this morning. I could barely see the little island from the fog. I don’t mind though, because foggy days can make for great writing, and today was no exception. Part of my short story for the Fall Writing Contest takes place in the creepy attic of my protagonist’s recently deceased ninety-one-year-old father. Angie’s in the process of packing and sorting through a lifetime of collected possessions when she comes across an odd, ancient figurine. Where did it come from? She has a faint recollection of seeing it before but why was it hidden up here all these years?
Sound interesting? You’ll have to wait until the contest ends to find out. In the meantime, it’s back to the keyboard.
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