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WORACLE CARDS
Created by writers for writers, the WORACLE Cards are an essential tool to help writers generate ideas.
Nevah Ann

Nevah Ann

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http://www.calnvak.com
MI
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Block Writer Block Writer



About Me

I'm BACK!! .... I know... I've been gone for AWHILE.... Writer's Block hit HARD... but I think I've pulled over that one. :)

I've been writting as long as I can remember. I have changed what I write so many times I don't remember anymore where some of my stuff come from. I love to write and I spend most of my time working on something. Right now I'm working on the book I am going to push to be published. *fingers crossed*


Comments

JRB

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Posted 12 Years Ago


The truth within your consciousness is like the horizon that recedes before you. As you journey towards your inner quest in the direction of the leading edge of your belief acceptance. And your knowledge and understanding of the prevailing path grows, the next ascending possibility will always beckon you. For wisdom brings together within the truth of your existence, your soul�s essence, in which is attained by your own experience. Pursue your goal of achieving the truth within your reality of consciousness, in the most direct manner. The paradox is of course, is that you are both the voyager and the pathway; the treasure that you seek is undeveloped within you and has always been and always will be. It has not been hidden from you, you have hide from it, so wake it up, face it, accept it, than use it, by becoming it.

Jan/uisiom


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Posted 12 Years Ago


The Land of Story-books
by Robert Louis Stevenson



At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.

There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.

I see the others far away
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.

So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.

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Posted 13 Years Ago


Wow! Thank-you so much for awarding me first place in your contest, I am amazed and flattered. Thanx hun XX

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Posted 13 Years Ago


sweet

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Posted 13 Years Ago


I think I'll try your contest, does lewis carroll-esq stuff count. that weird sort of out there non sense, that makes no sense and every matter of sense?