A writer’s brain is always active, always looking for something to feed on…
It is inorganics rubbish time in my suburb and alongside the usual broken laundry racks and broom handles, I found this:
Who lives there?
How did this tiny house come to be situated in the middle of a park in central Auckland?
These are the things stories are made of, because of course a writer’s imagination never switches off.
Maybe you have an idea for a story about this house. Post it here for others to see! I will post a short one too.
