“We write to create the books that we would like to read, that haven’t yet been written—possibly.”—Joyce Carol Oates
Designed with WordPress
by Jennifer Frost
Meg looked up from her keyboard when the outer door opened and a smart young woman entered.
Read more…
I close all the windows. The wind is picking up & the dust will blow in. In the streaming sunshine, a man walks alone on the dirt road.
Before the wildfire some years back, Grandpa George’s summer place was an ageing cabin, a relic from a time when the mountain resort was a novelty to city dwellers, a picturesque place to get away an hour’s drive from downtown.
Jennifer Frost Writes 