Hi, everybody--it's Liz here today. I had to give the idea of six sentences some thought. I'd never done that before, never tried to put a lot into such a little space. Didn't think I could. Which explains why I so admire songwriters, but that's for another time. I went digging, finding a story I started a long time ago but never finished--sound familiar?--but I still love. From Molly Linden, the end of the third chapter.
It made her want to sit at the upright piano and play.
It made her want to dance.
On her second pass through, she slipped off her mules and felt the warmth of polished wood beneath her feet. She stood in the middle of the room and hugged herself with the pleasure of it.
In a saloon in a small town, with its sign proclaiming it to be “a bit of the Irish in Tennessee,” Molly Linden fell in love. With the town, the saloon, and--maybe just a little--with the tall man in jeans and a polo shirt who stood at the bar and watched her.