A Little About Me
I am an adventure seeking ponderer of the mysteries of the universe, writer of children's books (represented by Stephen Fraser of the Jennifer DeChiara Literary Agency), and lover of anything involving armor, archery, or swashbuckling.
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Holy Schlamoly – honored that my post “2 A.M.” was
© 2012-2022 Donna Gwinnell Lambo Weidner
Punishment for ignoring said © is, at best, death by hanging from the tallest yardarm. Content may be shared for non-commercial use as long as credit is given to Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner and linked to http://donnaweidner.com All photo, art, and media content that is not my own are for representational + non-commercial purposes. I do my best to give credit where it is due.
BLOG-MATIES I VISIT
Category Archives: VIGNETTE
BonTon Potato Chips. Crisp. Crunchy. Salty. Five cents a bag. No baloney sandwich should ever be without them. It’d be like Fred Flintstone going bowling without Barney Rubble. It’s all I can think of too, as we board the yellow … Continue reading
Despite all of the previous hoaxes, he was sure the latest video of a UFO hovering over the park was the real thing. Waking up to a low-pitched hum and suspended in viscous gel the shade of mouldering bread instead … Continue reading
“Won’t you step into my spaceship,” said the spider to the fly. “Tis the speediest little spacecraft in which you’ll ever fly. It will take us to great heights, ones you’ve never reached before. Just soar up here to where … Continue reading
It’s been seven years since this story was first posted (2013). Our planet’s population has increased circa 6.5 million. Have we taken measures to better care for our Mother and ultimately ourselves? Let’s see… Sweating and belching, the young mother … Continue reading
The rumbling stopped. The ground ceased to quake. The blaze slowed and flickered out with a sputter. While the cloud of fumes from the Saturn V rocket cleared, two masked figures stood beneath the behemoth bickering. “What do you mean, … Continue reading
Marie-Anne Carolus-Duran would rather have been sitting in a dark and musty closet ensconced in a nest of her riding instructor’s malodorous paddock boots and picking lint bobbles from her Sunday frock than posing for a portrait with Yéti. The … Continue reading
Alice Wetherby-Pimms had a peculiar penchant for pickles. Be they sweet, sour, or dill, the child was mad about brined cucumbers. Chips, chunks, cubes, finely chopped relishes, halves, slices, spears, sticks and whole, no matter their shape, Alice craved them … Continue reading
Once upon a dreary Sunday many Mays ago, it was unclear whether Alice Wetherby-Pimms had quaffed the dregs of a liter of PLYMOUTH and nodded off under the Steinway or if the ten-year-old had passed out cold in the wake … Continue reading