It’s a Funny World

A world where cats chase dogs and cake is eaten with the icing on the bottom. Want to come and join? Stumbling through a new, funny world that’s backwards in every way. Step inside, you’d surprised at what you’ll find.



Having problems with writers block? Me to. Here are some tips.

* Stop writing in the middle of a sentence, helps start the writing process in your brain

* Do something else, if your stuck on the problem you’ll never find the answer

* Just write for fifteen minutes and see where you are, if you don’t like it it’s fine; try again

Hope these have helped you. Take the hints and keep going, continue that amazing piece of writing.

About Miss Anonynomous

 A person with good character. Enjoys the art of writing and how it unfolds into a beautiful story. Passionate about animals, and adores her small dog.  A independent, headstrong person that prefers to do things herself. Started writing for fun and hopes that her fellow readers enjoy.

How do you start a story

How do you start a story? Do you love writing, but just can’t get a grip on a good idea? Or are you the person that gets too frustrated and tears the paper into bits.? You could be just itching for a extraordinary story that will make you anticipate every word you read. So, tell me. Comment and tell me how you get started.

Odd End Detectives

Wind blew bringing the salty breeze of the sea. Grass blotted the hill that had so many people on top of it. A modest head stone was placed there. It was the grave of Rose Pearson, the kindest person in Miami. Families dressed in black huddled together listening to the pastor, Tommy. People who I didn’t know showed up to mourn and listen to the sermon. The only person I knew besides the pastor, was the librarian. I, was being me, away from the crowd. They didn’t want me there; I was getting those stares that you get when someone has something to say. Usually I’d say that glances aren’t so great for a quiet person Luke me.

Looking towards the blue ocean I tried to ignore them. It’s waves, foam-topped, crystal clear, ans languidly flowing to shore. The sea’ s peacefulness calmed me a bit, but I still had my worries. The pastor started speaking. The people grew still and the hushed voices stopped. Words of thoughtful consideration flowed from Tommy’ s lips.

A few people cried, but mostly woman who were close to Rose. U stood where I was with my own tears burning my eyes. Not a sound  came from my mouth, the tears just slid down my face. Wives leaned lovingly against their husbands, and in return the husbands wrapped a caring arm around their lover

The service was now over, no one was there except Tommy and me. I walked over to the grave.

Rose Pearson, a loving mother. 1955-2013

The engraving bore solemn, truthful words. Rose Pearson was a loving, caring mother. She didn’t want anything to endanger me. Tommy stood beside me.

” What are you going to do now? Your mom is gone. I doubt you want to stay here.” The pastor said, my mom, Rose, had always worried about me, and often went to talk with Tommy for advice. I didn’t know what I would do. I’d never thought about it. I’d never liked Miami,  too noisy and crowded. I, in the past, had thoughts of moving, but what was that to me now? My answer was vague like most of them, but I hated talking, well it scared me, I guess.

” I’ll find something.” Then I walked off. I climbed up flimsy stairs to a small parking lot where my car was parked. I got in it and drove home.

The house was dark when I arrived. Curtains shrouded any shadows that might have been hidden in the house. The front door was cracked open. I pulled out the pistol from the belt on my waist and aimed for the door. Creeping up the walkway I prepared myself for anything. My job had taught me how to do so through experience. I was a detective in Miami, I always carried my gun.

I climbed the porch steps . Swiftly I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, and turning my head towards it I shouted.

” Police! Come out!”

No one answered, obvious. I then slipped quietly through the doorway.  Darkness rushed up to meet me, but I didn’t dare turn on a light. Whoever was in my house would be arrested or shot their choice. I rounded the corner by the stairs and entered the living room. Some one was sitting in the chair beside the lamp. My gun barrel stared the man in the face. The silhouette shifted and it’s hand stretched towards the lamp.

Light flashed and illuminated the nicely furnished room. The place was clean, nothing looked ransacked, but there was a man sitting in my chair. He had a formal suit on, dark blue with a white shirt underneath. His slacks ended at the ankles were he wore shiny black shoes. The man’s hair was long, slicked back, and dark; his slender face shaved.

” Who are you?” I demanded an answer. The stranger smiled smugly, green eyes shinning brightly in the lamp light.

” Are you Claire Pearson?”