The Uncluttered Life

Janet Robinson

Great article…

Savvy Writers & e-Books online


GoodreadsGoodreads  is a kind of Facebook for people who love to read books. A free website for book lovers. Imagine it as a large library that you can wander through and see everyone’s bookshelves, their reviews, and their ratings. You can certainly post your own reviews and catalog what you have read, currently reading, and plan to read in the future. There is more offered on their website: join a discussion group, start a book club, contact an author, and even post your own writing. More tips about the benefits of joining Goodreads and how you can use Goodreads to promote your blog.
How can friends recommend your book?
Or how can you recommend books from your writer friends?
To send out a book recommendation, go to the book’s page and click on the “recommend it” link at the top right side of the page. A new site…

View original post 554 more words

The Birth of a Novel

And so it begins again.

When a story speaks, a writer must write. Every writer knows that. From where are stories born? Deep within the imagination, of course. And they float around, milling about, waiting for their chance to come to life. Some stay dormant, some whisper and remind the writer that they are there waiting, and others jump to the forefront, saying it’s their time to be heard. And so it has happened.

A story that has lived in my imagination for seventeen years now beckons to be told. It’s the story of Thomas Parker, a wounded veteran of the Korean War. He joined the conflict in haste, his heart broken. Within a years time his body is broken, a victim of the battlefield. He returns home seeking solitude. His life before has changed and he retreats to his father’s lake cabin, which was always his sanctuary. After a violent storm sweeps through, he is visited by a distant neighbor who once knew his deceased father. Oscar Tate is perhaps the only one who can reach Thomas at this point because Thomas is angry at the world. It’s through Oscar that Thomas discovers the family he’s always longed for. It’s a story of redemption and love and finding one’s purpose, and I’m glad it’s finally time to write it.

I’ve just completed my second novel in just over the time span of a year, and now it’s time to start again. My mind won’t sit still it seems. So just when I thought it was time for a rest, I realize it’s time to start another journey. This one shall be called The Fallen Sparrow.

Story Four: Charley Finds Hannah

Winter was coming soon. It was in the air. Fall was giving way to the blustery feel of colder winds. Charley Webber was downtown taking pictures in the park. She was developing a keen eye for photographing inanimate objects from several different angles. She loved capturing park benches, trees, and iron fences overgrown with greenery.

Within the middle of a park, near a tree, sat a little girl. It was an odd sight, causing Charley to wonder. The little girl was alone but couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. Her clothes were not enough to keep her warm. She was dirty and her hair was stringy and unkempt.

She was preoccupied with four rocks she was playing with and didn’t notice Charley approach. When Charley was closer, she could hear the little girl talking, making voices for the rocks.

“What are you playing?” she asked the little girl as she stood a close distance away.

The little girl looked up, startled but not frightened. A bit of concern crossed her face, knowing she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. Charley knew she probably looked intimidating with her jet black hair, pierced nose, and over-sized Army jacket.

“I’m playing house,” the little girl said with some hesitation.

“And those are the people?” Charley asked.

“Uh-huh,” she said, looking back down at her collection.

“Can I come see?” Charley asked.

The little girl thought for a moment and then nodded that she could.

Charley walked over and sat on the cold grass next to her. “My name is Charley. What’s yours?”

The little girl looked up at her, somehow trusting her. “Hannah,” she replied.

“What are the names of your friends here?” Charley asked, smiling and looking down at the rocks.

“Ummm,” Hannah said, wondering who she should introduce first. She pointed to the biggest rock. “This is George. He’s the daddy and he’s kinda nice but he can be mean too. And then this one is the mommy. Her name is Angie. She’s sweet and cooks a lot. She likes to make desserts. And then this one is the brother. His name is Billy. He’s a good older brother sometimes. And the little one is the little sister. Her name is Cindy.”

Charley smiled. “Those are all very good names. They look like a nice little family.”

Hannah nodded yes.

“Do they stay with you or did you just find them today?” Charley asked.

“They stay with me,” she said. “They live in my pocket,” she said, patting her coat that was too small for her.

“Do you have dolls at home?”

“I don’t have one,” was all she said.

“You don’t have a doll?” Charley asked.

“I don’t have a home,” Hannah replied.

Charley blinked, but not in surprise. She had already figured Hannah was homeless. What she wasn’t sure of was why Hannah was alone in the park by herself. Instead of asking more questions, Charley pulled a permanent marker out of her camera bag.

“Would you like me to draw faces on your friends?” she asked Hannah.

Hannah smiled and nodded happily.

Charley picked up the rocks one by one and drew detailed faces on each. She used the fine tip end of the marker to add eyelashes and dimples. She was quite the artist, and Hannah watched in wonder.

“Oh!” she said happily. “The daddy has a mustache! I forgot to tell you! It tickles when he kisses Cindy on the face.” She giggled. Charley dutifully complied, adding the little detail.

“Does your daddy have a mustache?” she asked Hannah, as she was drawing.

Hannah grew quiet. “I don’t have a daddy. My mommy told me I didn’t.”

“Where’s your mommy?” Charley asked.

“I don’t know. I think she got lost.”

“Lost? You don’t know where she is? Who takes care of you?”

“I don’t know where she went and Martha takes care of me,” Hannah said as she looked down and played with her rocks.

“Who is Martha? Does she work at a shelter?”

“No, she lives at the shelter too. She doesn’t like me very much. She leaves me every day and then comes back and finds me. I think she’s hoping I’ll get lost like my mommy did.”

Charley looked away with tears in her eyes. She looked around at all the people walking by who seemed oblivious to the lonely little girl. She detested their ignorance and their lack of concern, but she also feared predators who could so easily snatch the abandoned child.

“Are you hungry?” Charley asked her, smiling.

Hannah nodded. She was starving. She pointed to a hotdog vendor nearby. “Sometimes he gives me food. His name is Mike.”

Charley looked over at him and smiled sadly. ‘Does he ever ask what you’re doing out here alone?’ she wondered to herself. She looked down at Hannah. “My Mom is making spaghetti. Do you like spaghetti?”

Hannah’s eyes brightened and she smiled a big happy smile. “I do! I do!” she squealed.

“Then come home and eat with me, how about it?” Charley asked.

The little girl nodded excitedly as she began picking up her rocks and putting them in her pocket. Charley realized how vulnerable Hannah was, how easily she could be swayed to go with a stranger. It angered her and saddened her at the same time. How dare people neglect this poor defenseless child! How dare they!

When Hannah was ready, Charley picked her up and wrapped her within her huge jacket, wanting to keep her warm. The little girl giggled the whole way home.

by Janet Robinson © 2012

The Brave Face

Behind the eyes

there lies


Hidden within,

not giving in,

you will never see


Clothed in strength,

she perseveres unhindered.

Riddled with doubt,

she believes.

Obsequious she is not,

she will not bend.

She teaches her children

her quiet strength.

Spoken without a word,

only shown in silent actions.

She is crowned with beauty,

she is surrounded by grace.

She falls neither here nor there,

for the angels watch her, protect her,

as no human can.

She has neither weapons nor war paint,

only a gentle smile,

and perceptive eyes that shine.

She sees the true and virtuous,

she sees the falling away.

She smiles to herself knowing

who is trustworthy.

Behind the brave face their lies

wisdom deep, boldness pure,

and a sense of self who knows

she will endure.


by Janet Robinson © 2012


The Other Side of Laughter: Chapter One (Sally Sewell)

I knew it as soon as I saw her that I had done the right thing. I knew it like nobody’s business. And I knew for a fact that Camilla Baldwin was going to be mad as fire, but I had to help that poor girl.

Norma Watson is in my church group at the Baptist church. She makes the best apple strudel straight from scratch and I make the best coffee, so everyone at church says that we make the best team when it comes to mornin’ prayer circle. Well, Norma told me that she heard from Melinda Sawyer ‘bout this young woman whose husband decided to up and divorce her and left her no place to go. Said her name was Emily somethin’ or other. Said they lived somewheres up near At-lanta. Well, I just couldn’t imagine how that was so. How would she have no place to go? Wouldn’t she get half? Isn’t that what’s useful ‘bout useless lawyers? Aren’t they supposed to get you half? Well, I declare, I don’t know how such a thing could happen, but it did.

So I told Norma to tell Melinda to tell whoever needed to be told that the poor girl could come live with us. No, I did not even take a breath to get Camilla Baldwin’s permission. There just wasn’t time.

I picked her up at the bus station bright and early on a Saturday mornin’ two weeks later. She was a tiny little petite thing sittin’ among her luggage and whatever possessions that son of a bitch ex-husband allowed her to take. She wasn’t bigger than a minute, and so pretty. I pulled up in Camilla’s Cadillac. I brought it thinkin’ we would need the trunk space. She stood as soon as I pulled up in front of her and waved at her.

“Hi-dee,” I said as I jumped outta the car, wavin’ like a monkey. She smiled sweetly but her brow furrowed, so I guessed she probably thought I’s crazy. I walked over and gave her a warm hug and introduced myself.

“I’m Gladys Sewell, but people call me Sally.”

“Really,” she asked, taken off guard. “Why do they do that?”

I laughed.

“I mean,” she stammered, tryin’ to correct herself. “I mean why do they call you Sally if your name is Gladys?”

I smiled at her. “Oh, don’t you worry none. I understand your confusion. Well, let me just say it’s my husband’s fault, may God rest his soul. He started callin’ me Sally way back when we were young and fallin’ in love. So,” I winked at her. “I started callin’ him Pete. Just pet names for each other, but it stuck and other people started callin’ us by those names too.”

She nodded slowly. “Oh okay, well it’s nice to meet you, Sally. I’m Emily Cooper.”

I smiled at her. “Oh honey, it’s so nice to meet you too. Now, let’s get all your stuff loaded up and get you home. How ‘bout that?”

I saw that sad smile cross her face, and my heart just broke to pieces for her. She was polite but quiet as we piled all her belongin’s in the car. Turned out I didn’t need the Caddy after all. The poor girl hardly had nothin’ at all. Doesn’t seem right to’ve lived thirty somethin’ years and not have enough stuff to fill up a trunk.

She was quiet the whole way home too, but I just prattled on and on like I normally do. Silence makes me nervous. Not sure why, but it does. Guess I think if nobody’s talkin’ then everybody’s bored. So I just talked and talked while she looked out the window. I don’t have the faintest idea if she was listenin’, but I had a good ten miles to drive from the bus station to the house; a good ten miles to think how in the world I was gonna break the news to Camilla ‘bout our new boarder, and well I just didn’t want to think ‘bout it. So I talked instead. See, I knew better than to tell that stingy woman beforehand ‘bout all-a this because she would automatically say no. So I just thought it might be better to surprise her. Now I was beginnin’ to regret such a decision.

It wasn’t unusual for me to bring in boarders. I had done it several times before, and each time Camilla was less and less happy ‘bout it. Well, actually, I don’t think you can really call ’em boarders because they don’t really pay nothin’. They just need help, that’s all. And I like to help people, but Camilla doesn’t. Not really.

Well, when we pulled into the long driveway I could already feel Camilla’s piercin’ eyes upon me. Those eyes could burn right straight through a person. I just kept on talkin’ so Emily wouldn’t sense my impendin’ doom. Good Lord, I dreaded seein’ that woman’s face.

As expected, my cousin was standin’ dead center of the front porch with her arms crossed, glarin’ at me. I bet Lindley told her. I bet you she did. She had to’ve, otherwise Camilla wouldn’t-a known squat so soon. That Lindley, always tryin’ to warn everybody of everythin’. Bless her heart. I’m gonna have to talk to her ‘bout that.

Camilla didn’t say a thing. She just stared. I said, “Mornin’ Cam!” but she didn’t respond. She just stood there. She didn’t help or anythin’. Before long, Lindley came out and started helpin’. She looked at me sheepishly and mouthed “I’m sorry” when Camilla couldn’t see her. As irritated as I was I couldn’t be mad. Camilla would have found out anyways. Cain’t really go hidin’ someone in a house hopin’ nobody’ll find out. Don’t matter how big the house is. I guess I was just hopin’ I could get Emily all settled in before Camilla knew anythin’. Well, that plan was blown all to Hades thanks to Lindley. Don’t matter none though. Wouldn’t-a worked anyhow.

Well, with the three of us unloadin’, me, Lindley, and Emily, it didn’t take us no time to get her things upstairs. No thanks to Camilla, but at least she did step aside when we passed her on the front porch. That was a good sign anyhow. But she kept on starin’. She even stared at Emily, but bless her heart, she was so lost in her own grief that she didn’t see Camilla’s eyes borin’ into her.

We got her settled in her room purty quickly. Me and Lindley had already put some fresh cotton sheets on the bed and put several vases of fresh flowers around. Just wanted it to feel all nice and homey for that poor sweet girl. We tucked her things away and then just stood there and smiled at her. “Can we get ya anythin’, honey?” I asked. “You want some tea or anythin’?”

“No, thank you,” she said as she went and sat in the window seat that overlooks my garden. It’s a nice little window seat and that’s why I chose this room for her. I didn’t know her beforehand, but for some reason I just thought it was perfect for her.

“Well, if ya need anythin’ we’ll be right downstairs. And by the way, Lindley here, well her room is down the hall from you, and I’m down the hall, too, across from her. So we’ll be purty close. Within shoutin’ distance if ya need us. And as you can see, you have your own bathroom, and we have our own too, so nobody’ll be botherin’ ya none.”

Emily smiled and nodded and said, “Thank you,” and then just continued to stare out the window. We left the room quietly and shut the door behind us and left her to her thoughts.

Me and Lindley both looked at each other before we approached the stairs. We knew Camilla would be standin’ right there at the bottom just waitin’ on us. And yes sir-ee, she did not disappoint. She was standin’ at the bottom, glarin’ up at us as we timidly started to descend the steps. She looked as mean as a snake, angry that I had defied her again. I got real nervous and when I get nervous I just break into a big ole’ smile and offer to do somethin’ nice. So I said, “Cam, would you like me to cook you some eggs? Make ‘em all fluffy the way you like ‘em?”

Her eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible. “Get down her now and get into that kitchen!” she hissed in anger. “And no, dammit, I do not want no eggs!”

“Listen, Cam,” Lindley started to say. “This time is different. This girl is different.”

“I don’t wanna hear it! I do not appreciate you two conspirin’ behind my back yet again! I will not tolerate it! Ya hear?!”

“To be fair, Cam,” I said. “None of this is Lindley’s fault. She didn’t know a thing ‘bout all this until day before yesterday. I swear. This is all my idea, so don’t go gettin’ all mad at her.”

Camilla just glared, not budgin’. In all my sixty-two years I had never known Camilla Baldwin to budge. Not one single solitary inch.

We followed her to the kitchen as if we were two little kids ‘bout to get spanked.

“Sit down,” she ordered us, pointin’ to the kitchen table. I sat down but I couldn’t sit still. Another thing I do when I’m nervous is cook. Once I cooked a whole Thanksgivin’ meal as I waited to hear if Martha Mosley made it through her triple bypass heart surgery. And it was August. But hells bells, I knew if I was to try to cook while Camilla had this particular stick up her butt she’d probably slap me like she did when we was fourteen and her boyfriend winked at me. So she paced the floor rantin’ and ravin’, and I sat at the table fidgetin’.

“What in the world ever possessed you, Gladys?!” Uh-oh, she was usin’ my given name. I could always gauge how mad she was by what name she used. “You tell me what in the hell possessed you to do this again? Was I NOT clear the last time? Was I not absolutely clear the last time when I actually had to use my shotgun to run off the last poor sap you felt sorry for? And what did I tell you then? Huh? You tell me, what did I tell you then?”

I searched my memory, but I didn’t have to search far. She had told me the last time that the next time she was gonna chase me off with the shotgun if I ever did it again. But she didn’t wait for me to answer. I don’t think she ever took a breath.

“You will take her back from wherever she came from, do ya hear me? You will do it!”

“Camilla,” Lindley finally interrupted. “Don’t you be so unreasonable. This girl is different. This girl needs our help, and I’m not going to allow you to send her away.”

Camilla finally took a breath. She stared down at poor Lindley like she was ‘bout to squash her dead. But Lindley stared back. I’ve never seen Camilla back down, but she did right then and there, and I was as shocked as shocked could be.

When it looked like Camilla wasn’t gonna say nothin’ else, Lindley kept on talkin’.

“Listen, Cam,” she said, shiftin’ in her seat. “There’s something going on with this girl.” She looked over at me like I’s supposed to say somethin’, but I was thinkin’ it would be better if I didn’t say nothin’. So she continued. “We don’t quite know what it is, but it’ll be interesting to find out. Plus, she just seems so vulnerable, you know? We can’t just throw her out. I don’t think she has any family or anything, does she Sal?”

Lindley looked at me and then I looked up at Camilla. “Yeah, that’s right!” I was glad to have somethin’ important to add. “No family at all. That’s what Melinda told Norma, and that’s what Norma told me.”

Camilla didn’t answer. She just grabbed her coffee cup and stormed outta the room. That meant we had won the argument and Emily could stay. Camilla Baldwin might leave a room when she’s wrong, but she’ll never admit it with words. Those words would be too bitter for her to taste.

by Janet Robinson © 2012

Hook, Line, and Sinker Contest

Can I just say, thank God for Twitter. Why? Because if it weren’t for Twitter I would have never known about a writing contest called Hook, Line, and Sinker, which has proven to be quick, easy, and SO much fun!

First off, there were only 50 spots available. Fortunately I made it in at #44. Whew! The requirements were to submit a “hook”…three sentences about your completed manuscript, and a “line”…your favorite line from your whole novel. Here’s what I posted:

HOOK: Emily Cooper has been kicked out of her life. Once a member of one of Georgia’s wealthiest and most highly esteemed political families, she is now left with nothing due to their manipulative tactics and Emily’s inability to fight for herself. In walks Camilla Baldwin who is hell-bent on seeking revenge.

LINE: “Oh sugar, I ain’t goin’ through the court system, so a prenup don’t matter.”  (Camilla Baldwin)

What was so unique and SO much fun about this contest was that all entries were submitted in the comment portion on the host author’s blog… …and each person who submitted was able to read through all of the other submissions and comment on them. What I learned was that each and every submission made was amazing! Fierce competition indeed! BUT what was SO wonderful was that just about everyone turned around and commented so positively on what others had submitted. Everyone who commented did so with kind, encouraging, and positive feedback. It truly left me with the sense of community; that we were all excited for ourselves and for each other as well. What an uplifting and inspiring thing to experience!
So now it’s on to Round 2!!! Yes, I did make it through! I was surprised and elated and excited and giddy…and well, just beside myself really. I honestly didn’t think I’d make it through, yet I was one of the 20 chosen out of the list of 50. I am truly humbled. So next week we’ll find out who moves on to Round 3. *fingers crossed* I am in a group of some truly talented writers who have amazing stories to share. I congratulate each and every one, and wish them good luck!

A Spooky Contest…





I’m SO excited to have been accepted to the Spooktacular Pitch Extravaganza!!! Fifty participates were randomly selected out of hundreds and hundreds who threw their hat into the contest. Now it’s on to the “agent round” where two agents will review the 3-line pitch and first 250 words of each participant, and then request the manuscripts they’re interested in. Such an exciting opportunity! Congratulations to all the participants and good luck! And thank you to Jamie Corrigan for putting this contest together and the two participating agents, Jordy Albert and Brittany Booker, both from the Corvisiero Literary Agency!

Story Three: Charley & Mr. Cho

Charley Webber was surprised that Mr. Cho owned a Mexican restaurant. In thinking that, she felt as if she were being a bit prejudice, or maybe the correct word was racist, but she feared that word. Charley wasn’t racist, not in the least. She knew to pigeonhole a person based solely on their race was wrong. To pigeonhole anyone for any reason was wrong, in fact. She had always known that and believed that. That’s why she felt so guilty making such a judgement about Mr. Cho.

When she had ventured into the tiny restaurant in Greenwich called Las Cantinos, she did so asking for the manager. Rosalita was the hostess who had greeted her and nodded, agreeing to fulfill her request.

“Jou eat, jes?” Rosalita asked, picking up a menu. “I get owner, but jou eat?”

Charley nodded and followed her to a booth in the corner. She looked over the menu and quickly decided on something called stir fry fajitas. ‘Odd,’ she thought. She gave her order to Rosalita, to which Rosalita replied, rolling her R.”Perfecto!” She walked away smiling.

Within minutes, a small Asian man was standing beside the table looking at Charley. He bowed slightly. “I Mista Cho. You ah-sk see me?” he said in broken English.

Charley looked around, confused. “Are you…are you the manager?” she asked.

“No, I ow-na,” he said. “You ah-sk see me?” he repeated.

Charley’s brow furrowed and she bit her lip in thought. “You own this restaurant?” she asked. “This Mexican restaurant?”

“Yah,” he said. “I own res-a-rah.”

“But…” she said, thinking. “You’re not Mexican.”

His eyes grew big in surprise. “Whaat choo say?! I nah Meh-e-can? How you know dis? You psy-co?”

His mocking amused her and she laughed. “You mean psychic?”

“NO!” he mocked seriously. “I meen psy-co! You cray-zy! You walk een my res-a-rah and say I nah Meh-e-can. Dat cray-zy! You cray-zy girh!”

She smiled with sarcasm. “No,” she said, imitating his broken speech. “You cray-zy man if you tinking you Meh-e-can.”

He smiled broadly and sat down across from her. “Why you drahg me out he-ah? Whah prob-lem?”

“Well,” Charley said, hesitating. “It’s the name of your restaurant.”

“Whah bout name?” Mr. Cho asked quickly.

“Well,” she said. “It’s wrong.”

“Wong? Wong how?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Well, gender wise, it’s wrong. In Spanish, Las is female. Cantinos is male. It should either be Las Cantinas or Los Cantinos. The genders have to match.”

“Hmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought. “You know for fach? How you know? You nah smaht. You cray-zy girh.”

Charley smiled and tilted her head. “I know it for a fact. I speak Spanish,” she said, but to impress him even more she spoke it in his native tongue.

“Ohhhh,” he said, smiling even bigger. “You smaht girh! You smaht girh indeeh!”

She nodded triumphantly. “Yes, I am smart.”

“What you name, smaht girl?” he asked.

“Charley Webber,” she answered.

“Chah-yee?!” he asked in obvious surprise. “Dat boy name! You name boy name!”

“Well, yeah,” Charley agreed, laughing.

“Why you come een my res-a-rah an say eet wong boy girh name? You girh wih boy name!”

“Because the name doesn’t match!” she said, still laughing.

“You girh! You name don mah-ch!” he said with smiling eyes.

“Yes, yes,” Charley agreed, nodding. “Ironic, huh?”

“I-wonic? Yah, I say you i-wonic! Whah-ever dat meen. Cray-zy Ah-meh-e-can! Dat whah dat shoo meen,” he teased seriously. “Now you eat,” he said as Rosalita delivered her food to the table and smiled at both of them. “And din you go. You wase nuff my time.”

He got up to leave, but Charley knew he was being funny. She had seen the twinkle in his eye.

“You never told me why the name of your restaurant is wrong or why you’re Chinese but you own a Mexican restaurant,” she teased sarcastically.

He turned and looked at her. “I Chinese an I tireh cook-ing Chinese. It boh-wing. I cook Meh-e-cah. It diff-a-went. Dat why. And name ees geeh-mick. You cray-zy Ah-meh-e-cans fall for geeh-mick all time. Look ah you. You fall for geeh-mick. Dat why you he-ah.” And with that he walked away, back to the kitchen.

When Rosalita returned to the table, Charley asked for the check.

“No, no,” Rosalita told her with a heavy Spanish accent. “Mista Cho say no charge for jou. Jou special. He must like jou.”

Charley smiled and thanked her, and when she got up to leave she left a twenty dollar bill for Rosalita’s tip. She liked Rosalita, and she liked Mr. Cho, and the food was magnificent.

Charley had no doubt she’d be back.


by Janet Robinson © 2012

The Spider’s Web

Her web is flawlessly and intricately woven. She spins it deftly, easily. Her work is as beautiful as it is deceptive. From a glance, one would not know the power of its grasp. Its fibers appear delicate and fragile. The thin strings sway in the breeze as if it could so easily break. Looks can be deceiving, however. Her web is one of the strongest creations on earth, and it has the power to capture so that she can kill.

The spider knows the beauty of her web. She sits, smug, waiting for her prey. Around her swirl the innocence of the air. She watches, knowing eventually they will land in her clutches. Is she jealous that they are beautiful and free? That they can fly around merrily while she merely creeps? Her long spindly legs do not compare to the wings they spread. Yet she smiles, knowing their wings will lead them to her web, and when they do, she will crawl over to them as they struggle and wrapped them in her silks. First they are trapped and then they are paralyzed by the cocoon she places them in.

She is the quiet predator. She doesn’t chase her prey; her prey comes to her. She seems cunning and ruthless, but who can blame her? That is her nature. She enjoys the capture and the kill, and when she is sated she is pleased. Until, that is, her hunger rises again.


by Janet Robinson © 2012

Blog at

Up ↑