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Wherein we’re pursued by dooming laughter.
Enchant our inbox: [email protected]
Attend our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we leap, “Into the Land of the Unicorns.”
Hide within our inbox: [email protected]
Commune on our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we drink.
Blow through our breezeway: [email protected]
Join the slumber party on Facebook (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we wise up and board the boat.
Don’t get spanked: [email protected]
The master’s calling you to our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we spice and slurp.
Send your food order to: [email protected]
Stir our Facebook page, twice. (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we brew up and share our own writing prompts.
Lock yourself in for a third round: [email protected]
Open the elevator doors to our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we don’t go chasing waterfalls.
Entomb a missive within our inbox: [email protected]
Uncover our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we soil our glove before the Grand Master.
Bespell our inbox: [email protected]
Challenge our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein we’re woven into deceit.
Measure up your story: [email protected]
Writers’ prompt: Amelia is walking down the hallway; her palms are sweating. She looks at her watch and fumbles with a slick package, adorned with a beautiful bow that she is, furtively, clutching. She is looking at door numbers, finds the right one, and walks into…
…our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
Wherein boundaries are crossed.
Bark into our inbox: [email protected]
Watch our Facebook page (Ghost Writers, Anonymous).
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