The Cyclist died on me just now. I was pulling too much of the guts out, and loosing what I needed to put back in. It’s a damn pity, because there was some nice writing in that draft. And I liked the main character. A little bit. He had goals and passions, at least. Only they were getting jumbled and fuzzy in my head. I like to think that some of ( Read more... )

from reading his stories ( Read more... )