It's a beautiful place in my own back yard. A huge oak tree, the branches hanging almost to the ground. A few years ago, my brother and I made a little swing for it. That swing became my sanctuary. The tree I used to play under became my safe haven, my place of escape. In the spring, with the leaves completely grown, the ground beneath was almost completely in shadow. Often, I would sit with a blank notebook page and try to think of something to write in my little desk, but I could never think of anything. Until I started sitting on that swing to write, I never had any good ideas. Out of that little swing came tales of mystery and woe, suspense and sadness. Out of that swing, came the idea for The Mystery of Greenbrook.  Though the story will never be posted here, as the second notebook may be lost for all time, it ended up being about 200 pages, taking up two full notebooks. It was started by me, but my friend and I ended up writing it. The story was never finished, and that I regret deeply. I wish I could finish it. But this story, this wonderful, complex story that narrated some fearful orphans through a mystery, all started because of a beautiful oak tree in my backyard. 706Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡws5YCgEpJM
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