• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
n’est pas?—which difficulty (along with the one of folks actually remembering it) I avoid frequently by signing myself “e,” but which does sometimes come up in unusual circmstances and so, to alleviate any reluctance fellow scriners may have should the occasion arise to actually greet me, please allow me to introduce myself: My name is EE-lee-thee-ah (but you can call me e.)
its usefulness, its awkwardness: years ago i adopted my initial as an expedient nickname equally because that’s what friends called me and because others seldom called me at all, not being able to remember my friggin’ name, and it was good; lately i have been considering that “e” when writ small is even more enigmatic than would be my name writ large and so i seem to have come full circle back into—o, no!—that pretentious, pedantic obfuscation we all abhor, and it is not (sigh.)
e, venturing down under, decided that she must try all forms of local cuisine even, she decided, if it meant eating a pie floater.
I used the word beebling a sentence or two ago and just now wondered where it came from, I turned to Google and eezblog is prominent among the results and then I turned to Wikipedia and Scwiki and neither had of them had heard of it…
Becky ran in wild circles, skipping, twirling and leaping giddily as she went, and as she passed by the world turned into joyous frothy bubbles of colour and rippling textures (with the occasional miniature elephant).
for e It’s always about the stories.
They never, ever cease to amaze me.
Cast your mind back in time and imagine, if you will, an explosion of creativity and colour and celebrate this moment in any way you can.
And the sparkling, whirring, bullets that were the sugar-spun bees of Becky danced through the star-streaked night, across half a planet and, when they landed, planted a thousand kisses of daisies and delights on the coloured cheeks of the sleeping e.
Copyright @ 2005 - 2017
147 queries in 1.4782 seconds