It was a place of familiar geometry, of beams and varnished cupboards, of starched curtains and ivory table linen. Stalwart lines built upon froth. It was a place of curled shadows and dust that glistered over window panes, and of unremarkable cruelties.
He kept a small wooden box of wedding rings at the bottom of his bedroom cabinet, under the winter blankets. The rings were his gift, and he was a generous man.
Ordinary Handsome 
Every word does it’s precise job. It amazes me.
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Thank you. It took me a ridiculous amount of time to write it. 🙂
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But, it made it’s way out beautifully.
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Thank you. Sometimes I’m not sure.
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Why does it give me a bit of hope when even a writer of your caliber feels unsure? 😊
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I almost always have doubts. If I fall into complacency, I know it doesn’t work. It’s a constant struggle. I think that’s true of any writer who needs takes the work seriously.
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I often think I’m a fraud, but everyone is too nice to tell me. Keep being nice. You, though, have shown no reason for doubts.
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You shouldn’t either. I think that’s a part of writing, never quite content, always pushing on, even when you have doubts. It makes for better writing, but there’s always that bit of doubt.
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Is there more? We are hungry for details.
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It’s something I’m working on. 🙂
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Oh yeah. I’ve got a feeling. Here comes another good one 🙂
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Well thank you. And that’s all I have at the moment. 🙂
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