On Line Writing Group

On line writing group, Clallam County, WA, including Port Angeles, Forks and Sequim

Angie Huckstep

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pvzz http://www.baubiologische-konzepte.de/hec/RNDCHR,3,15%/bwfztrplirm/uytrxhmhnpyhamz/erttftp.htm



Written by onlinewritinggroup

June 17, 2013 at 6:50 am

Posted in Uncategorized

Closed until further notice

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This site is closed until mid summer, 2011.
Refer all posts to me, personally at my pvt. email or LEAVE A COMMENT and I will get back to your ASAP.

Thank you.


Written by onlinewritinggroup

May 15, 2011 at 11:40 am

Posted in Uncategorized

Miss Posey. Revised, with alternative endings.

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  • Films do it, why not do it with a story?
  • Miss Posey

    Tiffany Posey was angry. She didn’t like all the negras she had to be around when she shopped at the Winn-Dixie in Limestone. She kept thinking how they were all over her little town nowadays. She and her church friends always talked about them, accusing them of breaking the window on her car, and stealing tomatoes out of her garden. She hated them, and made a contorted face if one of them was walking or shopping near her and her friends.

    Tiffany had heard the tornado warnings earlier that night, so she rushed out to get a few supplies and some cat food.

    The sound of a speeding freight train coming down the main street rattled all the windows in the store. The handful of customers dashed for cover. Tiffany was standing by the meat counter, and just as the front of the store was blown in taking the counters and heavy cash registers and magazine stands with it, the lights went out, and a big hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backward into the cooler. She said “Oh, my God”, but there was no other sound, other than the crashing and ripping of the wind outside the heavy door of the cooler.

    She could hear someone or something moving near her, but no words were spoken. She asked, who are you?” “You pulled me into the cooler, and the ceiling came down, just as the door closed. You saved my life. Praise God. Thank you. Thank you.”

    1st alternative ending
    Thomas Williams, the newest black man to join the Winn-Dixie staff, was working as an apprentice meat cutter and wrapper. He had just been carrying a tray of wrapped steaks to the cooler, when the tornado came crashing down the street. He grabbed the shoulder of the woman in front of him, and pulled her into the cooler.

    2nd alternative ending
    Thomas Williams, the newest black man to join the Winn-Dixie staff, was working as an apprentice meat cutter and wrapper. He had just been carrying a tray of wrapped steaks to the cooler, when the tornado came crashing down the street. He grabbed the shoulder of the woman in front of him, and pulled her into the cooler, taking the opportunity to wrap his strong hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her, then escaping through the pandemonium outside.

    3rd alternative ending
    Thomas Williams, the newest black man to join the Winn-Dixie staff, was working as an apprentice meat cutter and wrapper. He had just been carrying a tray of wrapped steaks to the cooler, when the tornado came crashing down the street. He grabbed the shoulder of the woman in front of him, and pulled her into the cooler, Miss Posey shouted, “Who are you?” Thomas Williams replied, “I’m the meat wrapper, mam. My name is Thomas. Miss Posey screamed, “You mean, I’m all alone in here with a negra? Oh, Lord. Thomas pushed past her, and used all his strength to squeeze through the door, tearing a gash in his arm with the sharp sheet metal from the roof. He managed to get out, just before another heavy piece of concrete crashed down in front of the door. Weeks passed, and they eventually found Miss Posey, a vegetarian, starved to death in a locker full of two tons of fresh, red meat.


    Rev. 5-2011
    310 words

    Written by onlinewritinggroup

    May 9, 2011 at 1:33 pm

    Posted in Uncategorized

    My Religion (a performance poem)

    with 2 comments

    My Religion

    I have been dunked and drizzled,
    sprinkled with holy water,
    blessed and set apart.
    I have entered into God’s family
    time and time again.

    I have sat in cathedral halls,
    sunlight streaming through stained glass,
    casting a holy glow around me.
    I have stood in empty gymnasiums,
    eyes raised towards scoreboards and basketball nets,
    as the pastor’s voice echoes off the walls.

    I have heard barrel-chested men
    bring down fire upon my head,
    spittle flying from impassioned lips.
    I have sat and stood,
    called and responded,
    echoed empty words in monotone prayers.

    I have raised my hands,
    stomped my feet,
    to electric guitars, congo drums, and trumpets.
    I have raised my voice, one among many,
    signing old songs from musty hymnals.
    Amazing grace…how sweet the sound…

    I have rotated religions,
    changed churches,
    in search of truth.

    But this is my sanctuary…
    a dark quiet room,
    watching my little girl sleep,
    feathery curls twisted on her pillow,
    her breath as soft as angels’ whispers.

    This is my truth…
    smiles at strangers in the street,
    drunken phone calls from broken friends,
    who know you will always answer.

    This is my worship…
    screaming out, bringing forth new life,
    waking at 1am, 3:15, 5:20
    to sing babies back to sleep.
    Amazing grace…how sweet the sound…

    This is my religion…
    feet planted in grainy sand,
    wind whipping my hair,
    wading in the water,
    my sins washed away
    over and over and over
    with each lapping wave.
    Face turned to the sky,
    arms spread wide,
    bear-hugging God.

    Written by onlinewritinggroup

    May 8, 2011 at 4:17 pm

    Posted in Uncategorized

    Short Story, Feeling the Burn

    with one comment

    A while after I relocated here from Canada, I found the gymnasium in downtown Portland. It was a short bus ride from the apartment I shared with my brother’s family and my sister’s fiance, Dido, and their ferrets. The whole place spelled of pee and litter boxes, mixed with the aroma of the grains and dog kibble they fed the ferrets. Everyone smoked, and most of them smoked and coughed at the kitchen table where they would gather in the morning, one at a time, as they got up. Dido slept in the kitchen, and my brother, his wife and the kids shared the bedroom with the ferrets. I slept on a piece of rubber foam laid across the washer and dryer on the porch. I was saving my tips to move to my own place, but things were so expensive in Portland. I had other priorities. I had read that that I could shrink my butt in twenty days. I also wanted to work my abs, front and back, my distrals, bicuspids and latisimos. I was ready. I was pumped. I had to pull myself into shape. It was the only way I was going to find a fine woman. At the time, I weighed 200 kilograms, and was two meters tall.

    The sales manager at the gym promised me I’d drop three pant sizes in the first week. I hoped my best Sunday trousers would fit. I’d never have that “tight, killer body” that I heard so much about, but if I was going to go to the dance clubs I had to lose the a lot of weight.

    The gym was overheated. I tried spinning, but the seat was too small, so I asked if they had a stationary bicycle with a bigger seat. The trainer said no, but she said that some of the “larger” clients bring in their own seats. I tried to pump some iron, but they didn’t have any dumbbells lighter than ten pounds, so the trainer said that some of the “less able” clients bring in their own weights. I moved to the corner of the gym, and soon I was feeling the burn, but I discovered I was standing too close to the wall heater.

    Paying a hundred dollars US a week for the gym, plus the vitamins, protein drinks, and special attention from one of the certified trainers was all my tip money from my job at my brother’s cafe. I recognized one of the other trainers. He said used to drive for Yellow Cab, and had spent a little time behind bars for selling drugs. He was certified, I know, as he spent a lot of time with the more attractive ladies teaching them how to do the bench exercises and how to firm their buttocks and inner thighs. He had some of his own ideas about calisthenics, I could see.

    Gloria was the head trainer. She had a couple of piercings and a tattoo that I could see every time she bent over to help someone or when she was spotting for the heavy lifters. Her tattoo said something like “I love Harley Riders and…”, but that was all I could read, as the words continued further down into what may have been her thong or support garment.

    Gloria insisted that I needed a coffee enema to cleanse my system and rid myself of toxics. I said I would have a cup of coffee at the health bar instead. The health bar had some kind of energy drink that everyone seemed to like. The bartender made some kind of slurpy with mangoes, ginseng, bananas, instant coffee, red pepper, Vitamin B-12, and some white powder he kept in a little bag under the counter. Folks would have one or two of these, and instead of leaving, they would head back into the main floor for another hour or two on the equipment. A couple of fistfights usually erupted at this time over who had the first turn on the speed bag. Folks loved those drinks, but I brought my own in a little thermos because the drinks were very pricey. Five or six bucks for a six ounce paper cup, and most of it was foam.

    Rod was a gym fixture. He was the first one there every morning. He was huge. No neck, of course, and lots of blue veins sticking out from his arms and his forehead, looking like they may pop at any moment and spurt blood all over the place. All his t-shirts had the arms ripped off them at the shoulder. He even tore the arms off some of his best dress shirts. He wore very tight lycra, short-shorts. I couldn’t look at him, and I tried to keep my eyes above his waist, but the display was so extraordinary and overwhelming, that I had to pretend I was making a cell call every time he was in view. He had a very high voice, and had no body hair, whatsoever. He either lost all his hair to some chemical imbalance, or removed it with a razor or electric shaver. Rod could lift all the weights at one time, so he took to bringing in some extra fifty weights from home. He worked out by himself, in the corner where the floor to ceiling mirrors were hung. He’d take off his shirt, and stand close to the mirror when he worked his arms and chestals. He would talk to himself as he lifted. “Comeon, baby. Comeon. Work it. Do it. You are a god. Comeon. Jesus.” He’d go into some kind of trance, as he lifted and lifted, but I’d never see any sweat. No sweat at all. The blue veins would rise in his neck and arms, and I thought I could see the blood moving through them. They would rise and fall with each beat of his pulse. Scary stuff. Scary.

    Written by onlinewritinggroup

    May 5, 2011 at 9:03 am

    Posted in Uncategorized


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    but vengeful.
    A vision of long hair and butterfly wings,
    trimmed with fire,
    punished me,
    crippled me,
    catching my leg in the spindles of the staircase
    I tumbled down
    almost all the way
    to the threshold
    in a chaotic whirligig
    of limb
    having scorned
    the love of a good woman.

    Written by onlinewritinggroup

    May 4, 2011 at 7:24 pm

    Posted in Uncategorized

    test with formatting sent via email

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    Micromini Fiction:

    The Cad

    Wham, bam,
    thank you, mam.

    (5 words.)


    Written by onlinewritinggroup

    May 4, 2011 at 5:20 pm

    Posted in Uncategorized