http://tyhatch.com/notebook/archives/story-starts Random thoughts as they leak out. Tue, 01 Mar 2011 06:18:00 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 http://tyhatch.com/notebook/archives/story-starts#comment-3 tyHATCH/ Notebook » Blog Archive » Story start #4 Fri, 30 Nov 2007 03:25:20 +0000 http://www.tyhatch.com/notebook/archive/story-starts/#comment-3 [...] story start #4. Continue the story in the comments.”Why?” Asked the small mouse to himself. Still [...] [...] story start #4. Continue the story in the comments.”Why?” Asked the small mouse to himself. Still [...]

]]> http://tyhatch.com/notebook/archives/story-starts#comment-4 tyHATCH/ Notebook » Blog Archive » Story start #3 Mon, 12 Nov 2007 19:25:54 +0000 http://www.tyhatch.com/notebook/archive/story-starts/#comment-4 [...] Here’s story start #3. Continue the story in the comments.Doing creative things like drawing, writing and painting had never come easily to Stanley, yet he had not let it stop, nor sway him in his effort to create a masterful work of art for his grandfather as thanks for raising him from a pup. [...] [...] Here’s story start #3. Continue the story in the comments.Doing creative things like drawing, writing and painting had never come easily to Stanley, yet he had not let it stop, nor sway him in his effort to create a masterful work of art for his grandfather as thanks for raising him from a pup. [...]

]]> http://tyhatch.com/notebook/archives/story-starts#comment-2 tyHATCH/ Notebook » Blog Archive » Story start #2 Sun, 21 Oct 2007 16:41:08 +0000 http://www.tyhatch.com/notebook/archive/story-starts/#comment-2 [...] Here’s story start #2. Continue the story in the comments. The room was full of clutter. Old paintings were heaped haphazardly around old trunks overflowing with moth-eaten clothing. Off in a corner, awash in a ray of warm sunlight lay a small wooden box with a key in its lock. It just felt important. [...] [...] Here’s story start #2. Continue the story in the comments. The room was full of clutter. Old paintings were heaped haphazardly around old trunks overflowing with moth-eaten clothing. Off in a corner, awash in a ray of warm sunlight lay a small wooden box with a key in its lock. It just felt important. [...]

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