Autumn 1983 – An Unpredicted Alchemy

The boy laughed. “No, he’s not a pet. He’s his own thing. He plays a mean harmonica. And he’s not bad with a trumpet. We’re working on him playing a flute but him having only one hand makes that difficult.” 

I nodded. I could not think of anything intelligent to say. 

 

2 thoughts on “Autumn 1983 – An Unpredicted Alchemy

    • Marion,

      I have not written all these stories – yet. The excerpts of Daughter of Spiders that I publish here every day are examples of a work in progress. I find that I make more progress on a project if people know I’m working on it. It forces me to put fingers to keyboard or pen to paper during those times when I’d be doing nothing.

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