Exquisite Corpse: Baltimore Book Fest 2016

Mt Vernon SkyThank you for those of you who stopped by our table at the Baltimore Book Fest! As promised, here is the story you helped us write! Unfortunately, mischievous book nymphs loved the second page so much, they stole it so they could read it forever. If they deign to return it to us lowly book-loving humans, we will let you know!

Here is the story they left us with:

I thought the sadness would go away but it seemed not to. Then one day, guess what, it did. It stopped because I saw it, the one thing that could make everything better. Look, there it is, right there, grab it, claim it, love it, it’s yours. Your mind, body… voila!

A lush breeze rippled through the leaves turned russet brown, saffron and crimson. From deep within the forest the smell of a campfire weaved through the trees like a lost ghost. Arousing curiosity as to see who possibly could be camping so deep in the dark forest. As he walked towards the fire, he saw an old man in dirty clothing. The old man sat slumped over, staring deeply into the first without moving. He watched as an insect of some sort – he wasn’t sure what it was for her was uneducated in the wonders of nature – climbed into the fire and disappeared.

He ignored the twitching logs and took a bite of the Italian ice in his hand, ignoring the spoon and relishing the ice coldly seeping into his teeth. He loved watching the water, the trees blow in the wind…

[The stolen page was here!]

“He got the potato facts mostly right.”

But he didn’t know beans about celery. What really mattered was what was left – or left out. He was a living contradiction; he was a massive dick with a small cock. Worse, he had a tinier mouth, from which came grandiose proclamations unbefitting of their origin. The tongue spilled out lava, hot from the ropes of tied up sense, dark within his time.

He arrived. But in his heart of hearts, he was still that little boy from Arkansas. Ironically, his heart of hearts was a transplant. His precious heart was dead and he could not be his state of undeath. If we’re being honest, he was being dramatic crying on the couch like that. Since all the green Jell-o is outside, you don’t want to play. C’mon, man, I took off work just for this.

Check out our five-week workshops and free seminars. Early-bird pricing for Terri Steel’s memoir workshop ends 10/1, if you are interested in learning how to mine your experience for your writing!

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