David Perlmutter is a freelance writer based in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
Little Girls, Who Made Thee?
To say we were shocked about it all was a bit of an understatement. I mean, nobody wants to go around, living their lives and what not, and discovering that they actually didn’t do the things they thought they did, and said the things they did, and whatever else happened in their lives because, supposedly, someone else came up with all of that. And that we three were just supposed to shut up and go off gentle into that good night when they supposedly figured out how to do our job better than the way we did it. Even though we had done our job well, and effectively, for what we thought was quite a long time.
Images Flashing by at a speed unimaginable, one after another Little drawings, one only slightly different from the one before
Lost In A Forest
Living with Asperger's Syndrome (Autism Spectrum Disorder) has particular rewards and difficulties. The rewards are noticeable. We tend to be good students, reliable employees and model citizens once we understand what the rules of institutions are, and receive support in learning how to live by them. If we are given chances to participate in these institutions fairly and without prejudice, we can help to contribute to them, and possibly change them in positive ways. We thrive in situations where we know exactly what is expected of us and how to meet these expectations in the workplace.
I. You have to literally be prepared for anything that comes your way as a superhero. Rescues from peril, dispersing angry mobs, protecting the needy and the oppressed, helping out friends in a jam. Those sorts of things. And you have to do those things with a sense of humour, and/or a cheerfulness that suggests that you live for any challenge coming down your way.
A Hole Lotta Trouble
MUSCLE GIRL: It was a hole. There was no question about it. The question was: where did it lead to? That was the question the five of us- The Brat, Power Bunny, Candy Girl, Cerberus and myself- were pondering as we looked at the thing. As the highest ranking- and, so far, sole- members of the International League of Girls with Guns (referring to our superpowered muscles, as we are all superheroes- not that we were packing heat, so we’re clear on that), it was our job to deal with it- and, particularly, whatever might emerge from it.
The Worst Part Of My Job
Waiting is the worst part of being a working writer. By far. It is especially frustrating if you are, like me, the kind of person who is exacting in terms of developing ideas and compositions to the point of obsession, making sure the words fit the way you want them to fit, and then sending your piece off to whomever you wanted to write it for. Thinking that you did them a good turn by giving them the fruits of your labour, you then proceed to wait for them to get back to you.
No Son Of Mine
McGuire was a little late responding to the doorbell, owing to her habitual tardiness. But what awaited her when she finally opened the door shocked her to no end.
Doing Time In The USA
I. When the lightning and thunder hit, Jane woke with a start.