My Cardboard Balcony

It's late, and I've just gotten back from the opening night performance of my sister's latest play. Lot of good things to report on. I've been offered a new job opportunity, I finished my seventh playwriting feat in one night, and overall, I'm feeling confident and happy about the road ahead. Of course, now I'm sleepy and lazy and I don't feel like writing much. Night, everyone!

I Play The Keytar! by Belinda Roddie "Idiosyncratic Shenanigans" is the best name for a rock band.

"I think you're being a bad influence on the kids," Skyler said as Harry handed him a mug of tea. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Skyler smirked. "Both my daughters are now becoming creative individuals who can think for themselves and work on tremendously innovative projects and ideas. What is wrong with you? Don't you understand the American dream?" I laughed, and we clinked mugs.

Sal's Red Pajamas by Belinda Roddie Sal's red pajamas were tucked in a drawer, and when she put them on, it was like she was wearing a second layer of skin. She went downstairs to get some cocoa and spotted her husband on the couch, watching something on the TV. But he was not alone - in fact, someone was there with him, her face buried into the curve of his shoulder. Sal couldn't breathe. Suddenly, her pajamas felt like foreign clothes to her. She thumped back upstairs, loud enough for them to hear, and fell face first upon the bed. She did not want them to hear her loud cries, but soon her pajamas' hue matched her eyes.

My grandfather had fought in two wars: World War II and the Korean War. After that, he was never exactly the same. Not in a bad way, though; somehow, being a soldier had opened him up in a lot of ways, so instead of trying to appear aloof and macho, he was emotional, sympathetic, and quite the storyteller. Of course, there were nights when my grandmother would catch him awake very late, staring out the window, singing a song to himself from way back.

Reunion at the Pub by Belinda Roddie She hadn't been outside her home for seven years, and he hadn't drunk beer for two of those. When the bartender poured them sizable pints, they weren't sure how it was going to taste. In the end, the flavor reminded them of horse rides, folk music, and railroads left to rust in the rain.

"Do you just call everything adorable?" grumbled Martin. " 'Ooh, that puppy is adorable! Ooh, that dress is just adorable! Ooh, the way that couple's holding hands is just sooooo adorable!' I mean, couldn't you extend your vocabulary a bit." After a brief silence, Emily giggled. "Oh, Martin," she mused. "You're so worked up over this. It's just adorable."