Weekend Writing Warriors #amwriting #wewriwa
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No one likes it when their family life changes. This is particularly hard for the Radtke's. A troublesome girl named Tracey enters their lives and the children are an endless journey to make sure this girl doesn't get into any further trouble or cause their parents to lose their fostering license. These are snippets from my second novella in the series, "Oh Tracey."
Last week
Readers, please comment below.
She often had us take lawn ornaments that she that leaned on the side of her house and load them up into her truck. The ornaments were so huge that they often scared squirrels away. Big eyed elves and round frogs that had no reason to be in any front yard in the first place, alive or dead. I didn’t talk to Connie much but Bob, her husband, was absolutely hilarious. He used to be a comedic actor and always had good stories to tell. Mom had set the two of them up two years ago and it was a match made in heaven. The two smoked like a chimney: Bob was 6’8, Connie was 5’10. Mom said Bob weighed about three hundred pounds but said most of his weight was in his gut. He had a huge antique toy collection.
This week
Every time I visited their house, it was dark with the soft hue of a single light in one corner of the room. One could easily assume they had no children; or if they did, they’d have to live in dark shadows of the place.
Arriving at the craft fair, I was surprised to find Tracey there. She looked calm despite what had happened earlier. Forty or so crafters had set up their own tables in a strip almost the length of the strip mall's hallway. Connie gave me a clipboard and a job.“I want you to man the station."
“Okay, Connie,” I said. She showed me a tin box where the money went and then took her Diet Coke with her to the bathroom.
Tracey was sitting at the end of a card table filing her nails.
“You going to help?” I asked.
“Do what?”
This week
Every time I visited their house, it was dark with the soft hue of a single light in one corner of the room. One could easily assume they had no children; or if they did, they’d have to live in dark shadows of the place.
Arriving at the craft fair, I was surprised to find Tracey there. She looked calm despite what had happened earlier. Forty or so crafters had set up their own tables in a strip almost the length of the strip mall's hallway. Connie gave me a clipboard and a job.“I want you to man the station."
“Okay, Connie,” I said. She showed me a tin box where the money went and then took her Diet Coke with her to the bathroom.
Tracey was sitting at the end of a card table filing her nails.
“You going to help?” I asked.
“Do what?”
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