Writing stories

The high-priced biscuits are arranged in a pattern on the lawn.

“What are you doing, Jamie? Food gets contaminated.”

“I’m writing a pictorial story, Mom, not eating characters.”

But Puppy did not seem to care about stories. He took a mouthful, while Jamie spoke to me.

Jamie’s scream is heart-rending, as he slaps the guilty-looking dog.

“He has eaten up Gretel…”

“Well, that’s just a twist in the story. Now take it ahead to where it goes.”

The biscuits are now on the kitchen table.

“Mom, teach me how to bake. I wanna write a new story.”


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