Little pieces of Morgen's fiction

Category Archives: third person pov

Curved into a smile

Tommy-Lee Forté shook his head as the screen announced the next caller: Nigel Allibone. Dull. 40-watt bulbs were brighter.

A consumer slot was not what Tommy had envisaged for his career in radio but it paid the bills, handsomely in fact. Consumer issues encouraged dull, and Tommy knew all about that, having been born Albert Egglington, Albert after his paternal grandfather. Tommy’s younger brother, Simon, a Mötley Crüe fan, had got off lightly.

Tommy looked up at the Perspex separating him and his producer, Sandy, but she looked down at her desk, jotting something in a message book.

Tommy flicked a switch and announced, “You’re back with T-Lee’s Consumer Hour, and next we have one of our regular callers, Nigel from Kindlingbury-on-Sea. Good afternoon, Nigel, and how are you today?” Tommy winced as Nigel sneezed into his earpiece. “Bless you.”

A cold-ridden Nigel mumbled a “thank you”.

“What would you like to talk about today?”

“Erm… well, I don’t really know how to begin.”

“Come now, Nigel. You know me. Nothing is taboo, or too much trouble, on my show.” Tommy flicked back a dark strand of gelled hair. “We’re all family, here at Furze FM.”

“I know but…”

“Go on, anything you like. You have a problem, we’ll sort it out. Not failed you yet, have we, Nigel?”

“No… you haven’t. Alright then,” Nigel blurted, before blowing his nose. “Ann Summers! I bought… er, bought something from them and it broke, and they won’t give me a refund or exchange like they should. They said I broke it, that I was too… er, forceful with it.”

Tommy looked up at Sandy. Unlike him, she couldn’t see the funny side. She made no attempt though to stop Nigel talking, to cut him off, but sat impassively on the other side of the screen, waiting to see what Tommy and his caller were going to say next.

“Hello?” Nigel asked the silent studio.

“Sorry, Nigel,” Tommy said. “I’m just lining up the next song. I daren’t ask what you bought but it doesn’t really matter because if an item’s not fit for purpose then the shop should-”

“I bought a butt-”

“OK. Well, as I… er, as I said, the item is irrelevant but I’m sure we can contact the store for you and get this sorted. Thank you, Nigel, as always, for calling in. We have your number and will get back to you. And now we have Beyoncé and… er, ‘Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)’.”

Tommy flicked two switches on the panel in front of him, cutting off Nigel and starting the music. Then he looked up at impassive-Sandy. “What an asshole, no pun intended. Actually, pun very much intended.” He waited for her to say something but she didn’t move, so he continued. “Anyone sad enough to get one of those things, or even go to Ann Summers in the first place, must be pretty desperate, or lonely, or both…”

He waited for a nod, shake of the head, a shrug, but again nothing. Her reactions were rarely positive where he was concerned, so he should have known better.

“I mean…” He was going to continue but knew it was pointless so sat in silence waiting for Sandy to connect the next call.

As Beyoncé belted out her final chorus, Sandy pointed to her mid-air microphone then towards him.

Tommy looked at his microphone but saw nothing untoward, then looked at the button connecting it, and the callers, to the rest of the world.

239 red lips 38139“Oh God,” he whispered and went pale. The button he tapped to disconnect Nigel hadn’t been to the mic but an obsolete button which had done nothing since they’d stopped using vinyl.

Sandy smiled as a little voice squeaked, “I’m still here, you know.” Sandy held her manicured right index finger up to the left side of her neck.

Tommy gulped as she drew an invisible line, and her red-lipsticked mouth curved into a smile.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

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You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel The Serial Dater’s Shopping List) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.

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Hot Air

234 balloon 686770A box thumps down on a chair, narrowly missing a woman. “Ow!”

Harry grins. “Look.”

Sarah pulls all four flaps, looks in, laughs and sits back as a hot air balloon, with ‘Happy Birthday’ on its front, lifts.

Harry holds a gun in his hand, and shoots.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

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or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


A Bad Feeling

232 bridge 14992He had a bad feeling about this one. ‘Body under bridge’ never brought about a good one but tonight…

Tonight followed afternoon, the afternoon’s argument with his daughter, Charlotte, and a back-and-forth over the length of her skirt. Every parent / daughter does it and neither side wins; resentment, looks of hurt, mistrust, regardless of which side gets their way.

He’d phoned her mobile later, left a message, said he was sorry, that he had to go into work, for her to be careful. He knew she’d shake her head, feel stifled, like a child.

Elizabeth often told him he was too soft, that Charlotte took advantage, that she was a Daddy’s girl, and she was usually right. He’d known Elizabeth half his life and it had taken half of that to have their daughter, their only child, so it was his job, like it was his job to go and see dead bodies under bridges. No other detail than that; no age, no gender, but he didn’t want to know. Know too much and you start thinking, give them a family, a life.

If he was lucky tonight it would still be clothed, intact, simple. A mugging gone wrong, gunshot wound, knife through the heart. He was nearing retirement and that didn’t suit complicated.

Slipping down the wet steps he growled and went to put his hands out but steadied. He hated that; lack of balance, of control.

Those already there, his colleagues, looked particularly grim. “Crap. It’s a bad one,” he said to himself.

No-one spoke as he walked to the bridge, to the body.

He felt the tears come and he didn’t care who saw them, then felt his phone vibrate, looked at the name on the screen. He pressed the green button hesitantly. “Charlotte. Your mother.”

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to this blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


Half-human

231 Paris 191367Winning a luxury weekend for two to Paris, all expenses paid, should have been the thrill of a lifetime for Nicky until she realised she’d have to choose someone to go with her. Boyfriend, girlfriend, or mother.

Mother could be discounted quite easily, she would have assumed she’d be last choice, and wouldn’t even have to know.

Nicky’s girlfriends would be too engrossed in their own love lives to notice that Nicky was away.

So that left boyfriend, but which boyfriend should she take? Graham who she’d known since school and was now more boring than watching a slug climb uphill; Terry, her boss, who would say “yes” but cancel at the last minute because his wife picked that weekend to drag him round Ikea; or Pierre, the sickly-smooth eye candy who came from the city of love and would jump at the chance to show her round his old stomping ground, probably bumping into a few of his amours in the process.

Nicky’s heart told her Pierre – he’d have to ask for time off from the restaurant but she’d met his boss and thought that was feasible, he’d seemed fairly human.

But her head told her Graham – put some romance back into their relationship, see if there were still embers glowing or whether they were as soggy as his fishing gear.

“Graham,” she said when she arrived home from work.

“Yep,” he’d replied, half-listening, hover

ing over a tub of maggots.

“Busy next weekend?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. “Going away on business, so you’ll look after the house, yes?”

“Er, OK,” he’d said just as the front door slammed.

On the way to Chez Bernard’s, Nicky figured that even if Pierre’s boss was only half-human she could do a lot worse.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


Ocean Drive

226 swift 126469As Rosie drove over the hill and caught her first sight of the sea, The Lighthouse Family’s ‘Ocean Drive’ was playing on the radio. ‘It’s a sign,” she said to Bertie, her tabby, now meowing from his carrier on the passenger seat of her bright yellow Suzuki Swift.

Escaping Trevor had taken seven years and nothing was going to spoil this moment. Looking in her rear view mirror at a clear road, she pulled into a layby and onto uneven gravel.

She sat for a few minutes, just thinking, staring at the cloudless sky and blue sea, a postcard in the making. Fishing around in her handbag, she found her camera. She’d come up here, she decided, whenever she could, at… she looked at the dashboard clock… midday, and take a photograph regardless of the weather. They’d remind her that however gloomy the photographs or things got, this had been the perfect start to the rest of her life.

Looking through the lens she was about to take the shot when there was a tap at the window. She flinched and dropped the camera into the footwell. She knew she had to turn round, had to look through the window, had to see the face.

“Be strong,” she whispered then flinched again as a second tap came.

Checking the central locking, which she knew to be secure, she slowly turned to her right and looked at the face. Heart thumping, Rosie recognised the uniform. “Oh no!” she said. Bertie whined in unison.

The man pointed down at the ground and said something inaudible.

Rosie pressed the button for the window, moved it down a couple of inches, but said nothing.

“Madam,” the man said, “you have a flat tyre. Want me to change it for you?”

Rosie looked at the stranger’s dark skin, pale green eyes and broad white smile, and knew she was going to like living by the sea.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


A lot to learn

There was something about being a city vet that always appealed to Mark, something about the delight on the children’s faces when they saw a live animal, bigger than the stick insects, gerbils or cats they lived with.

Nothing, however, had prepared him for Brady ‘What’s that?’ Smith.

*

“No-one will take you seriously if you wear an Eyeore tie,” Emily, Mark’s girlfriend, had said that morning.

“I don’t want them to take me seriously, they’re children.”

“What about their teachers? Aren’t you supposed to be setting a good example?”

“AA Milne, Emily. There’s nothing more wholesome than Winnie the Pooh.”

“Eyeore.”

“Exactly.”

With that she’d kissed him goodbye and gone off to her first day with Clampett, Taylor and Browne.

Mark rinsed his cereal bowl, grabbed his black bag, dropped the flat’s Yale latch, then locked above and below it, something they’d never had to do at Broughton Heath.

As newlyweds they had little to steal but if the place didn’t look secure it was an open invitation – or so said Nick and Rachel who’d moved to London a couple of years before, and whose neighbours had both been burgled.

So after checks bordering on OCD, Mark took the no.27 bus making a mental note of the route so he could walk it home.

Entering the surgery immediately felt like home and Mark knew he’d made the right decision.

“Morning, Mark,” his new boss, Tom Sanderson, said before sipping a cup of steaming black coffee. “Want one?”

“Please.”

“If you’re quick, Josie will get it for you… kitchen on the left, from then on you make your own. We all do.”

“Sure. Thanks, Tom.”

“Good to have you on board. We’ve got Roehill Juniors today.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Tell me that again later and I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Deal,” Mark said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

*

Mug in hand, Mark was given a guided tour of the complex then shown to his office and given his itinerary for the day, with 10am ’til noon blocked out for the school visit. This left four early slots for patients; Muffin, a sock-swallowing Beagle; Roger, a sneezing rabbit (who it turns out was allergic to carrots); Daisy the Jack Russell for her first inoculations; and Henry the fat hamster who turned out to Henrietta and fat for a very specific reason.

Mark was writing up Henrietta’s notes when he heard loud voices coming from the car park. Pulling up his blind, he saw a congregation of royal blue-uniformed children running in circles, waving their hands and a couple playing patty cake. There were two teachers with them, a tall blonde lady and a shorter black woman who stopped suddenly, making a couple of the children bump into her, then blew a whistle, the children immediately standing to attention. With a click of her fingers the children formed an orderly line and followed her and her colleague round the corner, towards the building’s front door. Knowing he had a minute or two at most, he finished his notes, screen-locked the computer, and headed out into reception to meet them.

The children were standing gazing up their teachers, the blonde woman talking to one of the receptionists, Sylvie, who was pointing in Mark’s direction.

“Thanks Sylvie,” Mark said, and with a swoop of his arms, said, “Do follow me, ladies and gentlemen,” and the teachers escorted the children, one adult at either end.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAMark walked past his office and the consulting rooms, and through a back door. Some of the children gasped and looked around at the array of animals; the pigs, cows and chickens being the nearest enclosures. Mark turned to the two teachers. “Good morning, I’m Mark Sullivan. I’ll be your guide for today. Any questions at all just let me know.”

“By raising your hand,” the blonde teacher said to the group, then turned to Mark. “Erin Talbot, Mrs, and this is Mrs Jackson.”

“Pleased to meet you Mrs Talbot, Mrs Jackson.”

Mrs Jackson smiled briefly then clicked her fingers at a young boy who had started to wander off. “Keep in the group, Brady.”

The boy duly returned but looked around him rather than at her.

Unsure as to what the children wanted to know, Mark showed them the first pen, of a variety of chickens, and explained the different species, ensuring he didn’t get too technical.

The pigs followed next and while some of the children stayed with Mark, the rest went on to the cows with their two teachers.

Brady stood closest to the pigs, in front of Mark, and started emulating their noises.

“Very good… Brady, is it?”

The boy nodded.

“You like pigs?” Mark asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t know?”

Brady shook his head.

“I like pigs,” Mark said.

The boy said nothing but looked up at Mark.

“Do you eat bacon?”

The boy nodded eagerly.

“Ham sandwiches.”

He nodded again.

“Then you like pigs,” Mark said, trying to be helpful.

The boy frowned.

“Bacon… ham… come from pigs and…” Mark stopped talking when the boy screwed up his face and started bawling. Mark went to crouch down to him, to console him, but Brady ran towards Mrs Talbot and buried his face in her skirt.

Mrs Jackson stormed over to Mark. “What have you done?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Jackson but he didn’t seem to know what a pig was.”

“And you told him?”

“I am a vet.”

“And he’s just a boy.”

As Mark looked at Brady, he realised he had a lot to learn about children before he and Emily started a family.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.

 


They try to with the food

220 cherry pie 185705“Cherry Pie, John?”

“Yes, Miriam.”

“No stones?”

“No, Miriam.”

“Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh yes… it’s still warm. Well done you.”

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Right you are.”

Miriam knew the pie would taste even better with the tea but didn’t want it to get cold so took a bite and savoured it until she heard the kettle boil.

“Are you not having any tea, John?”

“I have to go back to work.”

“This late?”

“We’re a doctor down so I’ve been seeing more patients, more paperwork. Don’t wait up.”

*

Had Miriam looked out the window or waved her husband goodbye from the front door, she would have seen him turn left instead of right as he should have done to go to the surgery. Of course John knew she’d still be sitting on the sofa as she did every Monday and Thursday evening when he brought her cherry pie.

*

“Oh, John!”

“Oh, Sheila!”

“That was wonderful.”

“It was.”

“When are you going to leave Miriam?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Soon, my darling.

“You know I have a business trip next week.”

“I do and I shall miss you dreadfully.”

“You will?”

“Of course. You know I only want to be with you.”

“Then leave her.”
“I shall.”

“While I’m away. If you’ve not left her when I come back then we’re over.”

“Sheila!”

“I mean it.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“Yes, my darling.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

“While I’m away.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, John!”

“Oh, Sheila!”

*

“Hello, McNeill.”

“Hello, Doctor Castle.”

“Do you have…”

“I do, sir. You did want this strength, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“They’re quite lethal in the wrong hands.”

“Just as well they’re in mine.”

“Fair point. There we are then.”

“Thank you, McNeill.”

“Good day, sir.”

*

“I’m home!”

“Goodie. Do you have it?”

“I have, Miriam, still warm.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Work again, tonight?”

“Not tonight, no. I thought I might go to the club though.”

“You do work so hard.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. There’s a really good program about dung beetles just about to start.”

“That’s nice dear. I’ll make you a cup of tea first though, yes?”

“Not tonight, John, not thirsty.”

“Alright then.”

“…Not hungry either,” she said when she heard the front door slam.

*

The program it turns out was less interesting than Miriam had hoped and she’d swiftly fallen asleep only to be disturbed by a visitor who hadn’t stayed long.

*

“It’s last orders, Doctor Castle, would you like another?”

“Better not, Derek.”

“Will we be seeing you tomorrow for the bridge match?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll know better when I get home.”

“Not a problem, Doctor Castle. Have a good night, sir.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

*

John Castle quietly let himself into his house and crept into the lounge. He smiled when he saw his wife sprawled across the sofa, eyes firmly shut. He looked at the coffee table and saw no pie.

He was leaning over her when her eyes sprang open and she screamed. He backed away just as violently.

“John! What were you doing?”

“Oh God! Er… sorry Miriam. I thought I saw…”

“What?”

“I don’t know, something moving, I’m not sure.”

“Where?”

“I think it’s gone.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Was your pie, nice?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh? You’ve not eaten it yet?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Never mind. You could have it now. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“No need.”

“For lunch tomorrow then.”

“If you buy me another.”

“Sorry?”

“I wasn’t hungry so I gave it away.”

“Gave it away? There was someone here?”

“Only for a few minutes. Was in a hurry. Had to catch a plane.”

“Really?”

“A business trip, she said.”

John swallowed hard. “She?”

“Oh, yes. Sheila, one of your receptionists. Said she wanted an update on something…”

“And you gave her the pie?”

“I didn’t think you’d mind. I wasn’t hungry and you know what aeroplane food is like. If they don’t kill you with the turbulence, they try to with the food.”

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.



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