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	<title>Moving Write Along &#187; Moving Write Along | providing writing and editing services</title>
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		<title>Axe Murderer</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:06:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
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		<description><![CDATA[(Here is an unpublished poem from collection of monologues in progress.) They cut off my long hair, but I don’t care. I don’t need it any more. See, being in this cell has made me smarter. I’m better off here; it’s a damn, crazy world out there. Anyhow, I’ve learned how to play their games&#8212;just [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Market Street Blues</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:03:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[writing samples]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.movingwritealong.com/?p=156</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[On a bench in front of the theater, he plays harmonica, tin cup wedged between his knees, feet tapping the rapid beat. When he smiles with his eyes, I follow deep lines in his dark face, a maze that leads to some ancient secret. Beside him a blonde man in jeans joins in, trumpet crooning. [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Crow Matinee</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:01:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[writing samples]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.movingwritealong.com/?p=154</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[A lone crow squawked and cawed so much he caught my after lunch inattention while he arrowed to the ground, swiped an empty ice cream cone carrying it high into a bare tree. As though he held a microphone, his ruckus grew until another crow appeared The caucus balanced their empty cup on a limb, [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Friday Crash for Grace Simpson</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 18:57:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[writing samples]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[I yank off my face, hang it on the doorknob, turn the lock and stop the clock. End of a wicked week that feels like a hangover I don’t deserve, caught like a summer cold. I find myself leaning, almost falling off the chair. I try to sit up straight, but my head is heavy, [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Mr. Mudzingwa’s Death</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 18:55:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Featured Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[writing samples]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.movingwritealong.com/?p=148</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Even before the drumming woke me at midnight, I knew that my father-in-law would be dying. I saw it in a dream two days ago but kept it to myself. I went to the fields to gather musosawafa leaves for everyone to wash their hands and faces after the funeral. You see, I have strange [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Manena</title>
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		<pubDate>Sun, 13 Sep 2009 18:02:02 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Katherine De Lorraine</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Featured Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[writing samples]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.movingwritealong.com/?p=135</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Manena My name means mountain, and everyone says that I am made of rock inside because I never show how I feel. No one has ever seen me cry. Long ago I swore to be like a man. I have a plan to change how women are treated like dogs. No, worse; dogs are free. [...]]]></description>
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