amwriting
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Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to ask me to dance?
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I stood on the tarmac watching the Stella Rose flip and begin its graceful arc on her way to the surface. It never ceases to amaze me, the beauty of a well engineered rocket designed to traverse the space between Earth and Mars, stop, unload, load, refuel, repeat. SpaceX had grown into the most powerful
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Yesterday I lay upon a gurney in a makeshift operating room in the back of an abandoned building not too far from my home, but today I take my place with my fellow classmates as we prepare to meet the 51st President of the United States, Allen P. Alcorn. It’s an honor, our teacher says,
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“Class,” the teacher spoke with authority, “I’d like you to welcome our guest, renowned author, Mr. Huff. He is not only the author of some of your favorite books, but he was also a history teacher before becoming a writer. Please, give him a warm Tiger welcome!” The class offered up a spattering of half-hearted
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I’m standing backstage, just behind the curtain. Onstage the opening act is hitting their final number. The crowd is whipped up into a frenzy. The band eats it up. They’re young. They haven’t been sucked dry. There’s still some soul left in them. Pieces of themselves. Not me. I’m buzzing. I hit it hard right
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Grandparents are those warm, caring old folks that spoil their grandchildren with candy and overnight stays where you can do whatever you want. That is, most grandparents, but not mine. My grandparents were a darker sort. Granny, as we called her, was one tough, hard-working woman who chain-smoked and cussed like a sailor. She was