The Rejected Writers' Book Club

I soon forgot about my bedraggled appearance. Until, that is, an old man shuffled in and propped himself, hunched and wheezing, over the check-in desk. Karen asked him if he needed assistance. “No,” he grunted sucking on his teeth, “your wet-T-shirt librarian with the punk rock hair is helping me out just fine.

No point worrying about a storm until we smell rain

He squinted and said, “Hmmm,” which translated from “male” means, “I don’t actually agree with that idea, but I don’t have a comeback line to common sense.

It made me wonder if there is much difference in our hearts between love and grief. they both have a yearning that seems unable to be satisfied.

Jorge Luis Borges: “I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library.” “The

It was so quiet in that room I could practically hear the plants growing.

The ‘coons had enjoyed a real party, and my trashcan had been the piñata! They’d obviously indulged in an evening of feasting on our wares and then staggered off the property loaded up with our birdseed as a little take-home gift!

I suspect men were given that intense, unwavering conviction to lull you into believing they always know exactly what they are talking about. It takes about six months into a marriage to figure out that you’ve been fooled.

He had long since stopped trying to figure out our daughter, who as an adult had quietly removed his superhero cape and in return offered him a cape of indifference.

The face that greeted me, however, was far from welcoming, it was a miniature stick insect of a woman with wiry white hair and enormous glasses that emphasized her heavily wrinkled face. She blinked twice and looked me up and down. By the look on her face, she wasn’t that impressed with what she saw. “Who is it, Ethel?” She responded, “It’s some homeless woman. She looks like she needs money and a good wash.” And I thought I’d already reached the lowest point of my day.

She was a fascinating character, to say the least. A pioneer and instigator of many weird and wooly projects and who liked to “instigate” you right along with her. Every village has one, and Doris was ours. A lively individual who was always throwing herself into some harebrained scheme or other, taking no prisoners as she pulled you into her wild world of wackiness. Doris’s “urgent” could mean anything from the need to raise money for lame goats to singing at the top of a living Christmas tree.