Yesterday, I wrote only 1,268 words, which filled me with hope that maybe the Forced March hasn't warped my daily word count after all. I might still be a tortoise. I'll be a glacier, and someone else can be a babbling brook. This new piece for
Sirenia Digest, this grim new piece, it still has no title, but I don't want it to be "Untitled 24." I
(
Read more... )