Theresa Turner Wrote That ...
with honesty, empathy, relentless self-doubt, and a really short pencil.
I'm sitting on a street bench with my baby. It's a cold, windy day. A lady approaches us ... The first thing I notice is her teeth. You can’t miss them - set at an impossible angle, they reach out towards you and are many colours, none of them white. Her posture [...]
Day 8 My brain was playing tricks. That was all a dream. He sleeps beside me still. What is an American Sentence?, and this. What is the Positive Prose Project?
The Airshow started out pretty killy, so... time to start a new collaborative story. For this story, text and illustrations should be aimed at young audiences, ages 10-13. No killings in this one please. Other rules here for writers and here for illustrators. If you would like to provide an image to [...]
Day 7 I wait in the car while my kids soundly sleep, listening to the rain. What is an American Sentence?, and this. What is the Positive Prose Project?
Day 6 "I like you." What is the Positive Prose Project?
Day 5 Arissa was gripping his hand so tightly that Fara couldn’t be sure if it was her nervous state or his that was causing them both to tremor. She tilted her head as she read and he knew that she was trying to read through the tears. He also knew that [...]
Day 4 Deep within her, through the maze beyond the wall inside the cavern, a stone rolled. Hidden beneath, in a small pocket of impossible light, that five year old part of herself crouched. A bright yellow breath of a flower waiting to be discovered and allowed to grow. She knew she [...]
Day ... um ... 3 His little blue puppy was soon joined by a small pink cat and a lime-green goat. Within days the stark wall his parents had installed to block out the world was covered in artwork and he felt like he had found his people. What is the Positive Prose [...]
Day 2 He adored the slant of her lazy eye and the way it always seemed to track the position of his left foot. What is the Positive Prose Project?
We were the picture of contented love: my hair smelled like a wet dog left standing in a mouldy basement for two days but he cradled me in his arms anyway; the strings from his nose-tampons caressing my ear and his shallow mouth-breathing warm on my neck. With all the ugly going [...]
