It Was a Dark and Story Night

No Posts for 2006

2007-01-02T17:49:00.000-08:00

We did it!!!

We collectively practiced abstinence from this frightful site for an entire year.

It must have been a dark and story year. Yikes!

It's been almost a year

2005-07-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

The last post on this site was almost one year ago. The suspension must be killing all would be participants. Thus the title?

New Title

2004-07-30T19:20:00.000-07:00

It has become apparent that the title needs to change. This story will now be known as "The Paint Dried Scarlet."

The Painter v.1.1

2004-07-29T20:38:00.000-07:00

It was a bright crisp morning with birds chirping in time to Joey’s long stride. The spring in his step seemed to encourage the cardinals and blue jays to call out even louder. The sunlight had long since warmed up the sidewalk that Joey has been walking each morning for the last six months. This place was starting to feel like home. What once had appeared so foreboding was becoming a part of him. Each morning he had to stretch his neck uncomfortably backwards so that he could see the very top of the gables that he painted earlier this spring. He could usually hear his neck creak but he did it nevertheless, taking pride in how the colors complemented the rest of the house.

Joey never planned on spending his entire summer at this one location, but he was grateful how things work out. Before this year Joey had never even heard of Summit Place, but now he could drive here in his sleep. And sometimes he does. He’s usually still working on his first Starbucks by the time he pulls up to this 1926 stately Victorian.

The occupants of the house are early-risers, so he is free to start at or before 7 a.m. each morning. He’s finally gotten into the rhythm of being through that ornate iron gate by at least 6:57 unless the skies have opened up in the morning. The Locklears have come to count on his prompt arrival each morning so much that they actually fill up a tall mug of Columbian Dark Roast for him at five minutes to seven and set it on his table near the front door.

For some reason, this morning the coffee is not to Joey's liking. "Cream!" he screams as he startles the homeowners who sit and watch him take a tentative sip of the coffee they have made for him as they scurry about on their way out the door, watching out of the sides of their eyes as Katie Couric moans about her mother not liking her longer hairstyle."You know I drink my coffee black!"The Locklears turn their attention away from Katie and the Today Show and gaze confusedly at Joey.

Joey is usually so goodnatured, they are aghast at this new behavior. Joey sets his cup down. "Sorry," he says to the Locklears, who have even reached for the remote and turned Katie down. "I am used to drinking my coffee black, and hearing Katie talk about her hair like that...well, I guess it just drove me a bit crazy. Actually, I'm a Good Morning America fan myself. Ever since Katie criticized Rush and Dobson, then grew her hair out, I just haven't had the stomach for her or NBC before 10 am. And, then, the cream in the coffee..." Joey drops his head, overcome with emotion at the thought of it all, Katie, cream, and of course his embarassment over the outburst.

[The Swansmith's helpful paragraphs are in green. Dr. Locklear is a professor at the local college, while his wife is an attorney downtown. She hopes to be a partner soon. Could you help me flesh them out.]

The Painter

2004-07-27T20:20:00.000-07:00