Small Stones seven through thirteen

Jan 7: I’m going through each page of my manuscript combing every line for my editor’s neatly printed turquoise blue pen marks.

Jan 8: We sit crushed together on hard folding-chair seats, gobbling down every word our writing gurus say.

Jan 9: The little babies converse across the booth seat as we eat at the Corner Bakery this morning.

Jan 10: I watch the tiny leaves sway in the yard next door under a gray, gloom.

Jan 11: One loud jolt, then a short rumbling shake. Yes, a small earthquake but I don't worry. (And I lived to write about it.)

Jan 12: The waves roll in lazily; their whitecaps barely able to touch the shore.

Jan 13: A starling family hops around a small garden near the beach, their dark metallic feathers etched with gold specks.