Review of week 4
It has been a difficult week. I had to travel by train and bus, for the first time in years. Just to get to work. My car had to break down and was taken care of by the car doctors. And my lovely wife was in need…

As promised a review of the week past and already history. The things I have done. And the things I should have done. And all that in less than 500 words. And I am already about fifty words in. So, I should hustle.

This week was a week filled with…

Fog is a collection of liquid
water droplets, ice crystals
suspended in the air
near the Earth’s surface.
Effluvium and murkiness,
Pea soup and visibility zero.

The term “fog” is typically distinguished
from the more generic term “cloud” in that
fog is low-lying, and the moisture in the fog
is often made locally, from a body of water,
like a lake, the ocean, marshes.
Befuddle, disorient and mystify

Fog can be considered a type
of low-lying cloud, is heavily
influenced by nearby bodies
of water, topography, wind
conditions, human activities.
Nebulosity and ol’ buttermilk sky

In turn, fog has affected many
human activities, like shipping,
transport, warfare, culture.
An Elegy? Haven’t the foggiest.

Source: Mostly Wikipedia

A short story writing competition for adults and a letter writing competition for children.

Why? Well, because it is nearly 200 years since the great Jane Austen passed away. Just the name of her is reason enough to let the writing molecules of the mind rip everything apart into a great story of words. To let us travel beyond our imagination.

Where can you find this competition and more information around and about Jane Austen? Hit this link and start writing:

“Selfishness must always be forgiven you know because there is no hope of a cure”

He heard the dogs barking at some distance. But he knew they would close that distance in no time at all. He had witnessed the ugly beasts at work. Big, hairy dogs, with big yellowed teeth that could bite a man’s hand of without effort. With strong legs, they could…

It was a cold December evening. It could as well be the night before Christmas, who could tell? No sounds were heard in the forest except for the crackling of a small fire. Snowflakes were fluttering down ever so softly and painting the landscape immaculately white. Four elves huddled together…

Oh, to fall in love… What a marvellous thing it must be to fall in love. How many of the greatest writers the world knows, hasn’t put pen to paper to write about falling in love? Rubino Madestodore was daydreaming again. And thinking about the thing we men are thinking…

Marco Batenburg

Bald, furry upper lip, portrait maker, official hang-about, a bit of a scoundrel, deeply in love with my gorgeous wife-above all a full time Christian.

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