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A Friday Quote: Part 2

   Hello, delightful friends!  I am continuing my new event.  It is called A Friday Quote, and I shall play this game every Friday from August through November.  Here's how it works:

      Post a quote of something YOU wrote THIS week.
Something you edited this week (of something you previous wrote).

    Don't make the quote too long because I don't want you to spoil your story.  Probably 5 sentences or so would be a good amount.  But that is a guideline and not a rule.

     You don't have to participate every week.  But you can participate any week that you write.

      And it will be so much fun to see everybody's quotes.

     And, for me, it will be a reward for writing this week.  :D



  1. From my Snow White retelling:

    He bowed slightly. "You are even more beautiful than I imagined. The rumors fall short, your highness. Our people are indeed blessed to have such a lovely queen."

    "The rumors, if they are accurate, will tell you that I am the most beautiful woman in Aerandil. It is my curse to bear." Moriah pursed her lips ruefully.

    1. As you probably already know, I really like this bit!

    2. Here is mine.

      The circus is an assault on all of your senses.

      The cheers and jeers are deafening, the colors blinding, and the smell and tastes are unmistakable. From the perspective of the audience or a child, it’s a thing of wonder and astonishment; a marvel, of seemingly impossible feats and outrageous acts. To us, the workers it’s a tired routine of drudgery and putting aside whatever dignity you held to.

    3. Wisdom Creates: I like the story twist presented in your quote. Intriguing!

      Skye: Interesting perspective...not something you think about so much...the boring routine of what we'd think of as an exotic lifestyle. I like it!

    4. Thank you, Janie!
      And I agree with what you said about Skye's, too!

  2. Oooh, I like this idea! Here's quote from a short story I'm currently working on:

    He fell from the sky, one rain-lashed night, slipping through the clouds on tattered wings. He called himself Ashari. He was long and lean and tawny-colored. He couldn't have been much older than I was, but he knew about things. In that soft, strong voice of his, he spoke of a world I'd never seen. Of mountains and waterfalls, and plains that stretched, like the sea, for as far as the eye could reach and rippled in shades of brown and green.

    1. This is so beautiful, Janie. I loved stepping into your works there. And your word weaving carries me effortlessly and poetically.

    2. Love this! Your description is great!


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