I haven't seen much point in writing about the inability to write, as that seems, to me, even duller than writing about writing. That's how it's been the last few days. The will is strong, but the words aren't flowing. Today may be different. We shall see. These things happen. Deadlines are irrelevant. The dry spells happen anyway; fortunately,
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So, as long as it takes because things like this deserve the time they require.
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I’m curious, did “Nest” get you started writing more poetry? Is there any chance we’ll see a collection sometime soon?
Also, let Spooky know Raven Red’s adapting well to his new home. (Although, some stuff has taken up missing around the house - a couple buttons, a turkey neck, a box of condoms, our cat’s left eye - and I do occasionally catch him staring out the window, up at the Pacific Northwest sky.)
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So badly.
I trust Christopher Nolan, but... Heath Ledger?
No. Adrien Brody. Now.
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