The scents of a candle burning down stirred her sleep and Julie stretched out her arms, nudged Dickinson off the edge of her bed and surveyed the large space she called a bedroom. The old writer’s desk by the arched window shown an unrelenting pile of papers and dictionaries and Julie observed them with a sigh. It seemed the words would not come and the magic was gone. Maybe it was a sign, an end to her career writing novels. Dickinson rubbed against her, asking for a hug and Julie looked into the cat’s face. Could this friendly companion sense that Julie’s writing had become ordinary, not worth editing even? She grabbed her up and went back to bed.
***
Wordle 681
The Bag Lady 
Ohh no, Julie. Don’t give up! I’m sure that was what Dickinson was trying to say!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh my! Nooo, Julie. Once a writer, always a writer 😃✍🏾🩵
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Di
LikeLike
Nice one Cheryl
LikeLiked by 1 person
When all else fails grab the cat and get under the covers!
LikeLiked by 1 person
If I had one I would
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww the love of a pet! Beautiful story Cheryl! ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLike
If I had one I might
LikeLike