Edited iteration, part of our ongoing experiment here at Twilight Letters. CH 1 Renee turned right onto Trysting Street. She could see water ebbing behind the houses. Silver hues shimmered off small whitecaps as a spring breeze blew over the lake, through the trees, and around the spaced-out homes that tried to hide from the road. She slowed down her old jeep so she could read the address on the next mailbox: The Andersons, 109 Trysting Street. She guessed the next house on t

CHAPTER 1 Renee turned right onto Trysting Street. She could see water ebbing behind the houses. Silver hues shimmered off small whitecaps as a spring breeze blew over the lake, through maple trees, around the spaced-out homes that tried to hide from the street. She slowed down her old jeep so she could read the address on the next mailbox: The Andersons, 109 Trysting Street. It must be the next house on the left, she thought.

Follow along as chapters drops: the original first, straight from the author’s keyboard, followed by the edited versions shaped through collaborative revisions with Cleo Bell and Grok.

It was a cold but sunny Saturday. Ingrid was surprised that the Shaman was a woman, and she was younger than she thought she’d be. She had long black hair and wore a red cap. Using her fingertips, she sprinkled water on herself. She sat on a bench by what looked to be some sort of shrine and chanted some words which Ingrid did not understand. She motioned Ingrid over, inviting her to sit on the bench.

“Should I tell Mom and Dad?” asked Hank. “That’s up to you, dude. But, some people will think you’re nuts if it gets out. Just saying. I got a feeling about this. With the lightening, and having the same dream so many times, and the fact that your brain scan came back healthy. This dream is something. I’d wait and see how things go.” “Thanks, Evan.” “No prob, little bro.” So, Hank waited.

Gracie was a bit of a competitive girl. She was on the track team and often won the races. She helped out in the school office because...

Something special happened. While Fredd played for Truman, other bingo players gather around to listen. The lady who won the big pot placed a wicker basket beside Truman’s bingo cards on the table. She put half her winnings into the basket! Fredd looked up from his flute, amazed. There was fifteen hundred dollars there. “Keep playing, sonny,” the lady said to Fredd. Truman’s eyes grew wide in wonder. As Fredd played a delightful song with an Irish melody others started wa

“So,” Carmella began to explain, “now that you know I’m here, I want you to know that I may appear again in cases when you worry.

“Do you know what a prophet is, Cassie?” “Hmm. Like a psychic who predicts the future?” “Not quite. Psychics are people with an excess of

Baxter believed in the unbelievable. He loved superhero movies. Church was a place of great joy for him. Art was a passion, especially...

There once was a boy named Aaron who liked to look up to the sky. He loved the clouds, the birds, the trees, and the airplanes. He...

Denise was a sweet girl who could always find good in everyone. If people could see the unseen, they would see she had wings; because she most definitely was an angel of God. Even though she was just a ten-year-old kid, she had more faith than some church pastors, more joy for life than some of the richest people, and more love for others than most people could feel in their entire lifespan. Denise believed that love healed people, and even the most wicked of kids could be h

Ozzie lives is Weymouth, Massachusetts. He loves to walk the beaches because the colors of the sunrise and sunsets are works of art. He enjoys swimming, but isn’t allowed in the water without an adult. His parents both work. His older sister, Rosie, is a college student. She even takes summer classes so she will graduate early. Not far from their house is a pebbled beach. Here, Ozzie loves to look for treasures like seashells, colorful stones and sea glass. He makes lovely w

She came to get me from the trailer so I could help her. When we arrived in the woods, I looked down the hill and saw the head flopping. His neck was stretching up, but he couldn’t get up. His body was paralyzed. “Oh, my God,” I thought to myself, “he’s not dead.” The poor thing was shot in the shoulder. One bullet wouldn’t do it for this one. I waited on the hilltop for her to finish him off. A cool wind blew dead leaves across the ground between the trees. I stopped my tear

I waited patiently as the professor went around the table telling each student what he thought of their short story. He was kind to all of them. Then he got to me. “This, class,” he said with a touch of anger, “is the perfect example of a writer misleading the reader into believing something that is not true. It isn’t until a page later that she reveals the 'he' is actually an 'it'.” Looking back I wish I would have said, “I am the writer here. It’s my character’s perspecti

We spent the day forest bathing, shadows of sunlight dancing on our path. The smell of pine permeated as we breathed in the fresh air, washing it down with the water in bottles tied to our hips. We hiked the hills, leaves crunching beneath our feet, as we followed the sounds of water splashing down, searching for the promised cascades. Although we had visited before, Mom and I were fairly new to the area. We previously lived about an hour drive east of it. Together we bought

“Four hundred years. Do you realize I have walked this earth sampling the blood of, what is that, seven, eight generations?” “Yes, my lord,” said Ambrus. “We have had some good times.” Terah poured himself some Bordeaux. Holding the goblet in his hands, his long fingernails clicking on the brass, he continued, “But I am bored, my friend. Are not you?” Ambrus walked to the other side of the table and removed his violin from the red velvet-lined case. “Shall I play for you?”