Sep 28, 2009
Letter
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just to my left was a large block of retirement flats, and I could see in through the closest window; an old man sat at his desk, writing.
I watched as he stopped to lick the nib of his fountain pen, then continued with his careful, deliberate task. A letter, perhaps to his child, or an old friend; words to comfort, or stir memory.
About
Hi, my name's Mark. I'm trying to come up with some ideas for a book. Think of this as my online writing notebook: ideas, stories, beginnings, endings. Things that just pop into my mind. I'm also on Twitter as @markeebee.
You can find out more about me here and look at the old stuff here. Click here to subscribe via RSS.
