New blurb is a story I wrote for this:
Very nice little exercise that I am very happy with. Scripts coming together, but have to take the weekend off. Chapbook coming off well also, submitting for competition, and starting on the next section of the epic. Novel is floating around my head, touching it here and there in places to see if it jerks or squirms, should get round to that sometime next week.
Downsized. (it was more of a sublimation from on high really, soundless the scatters and fragments were sent to their unmaking by the high corporate wall and whisked heartily never to return). I don't know why, but its got me thinking about Puff the Magic Dragon (not the green leafy variety people, its early still, we need to focus here). Always struck me as the saddest of stories. I always felt bad for Puff and Jackie, they just couldn't make it work out. Pooh has some of that, but there is something at the end I don't quite remember where they speak of the timelessnes of the hundred acre wood, and how somewhere there is always the fun and excitement if you listen closely enough to find it. Maybe I am just imagining that, should read it again. But Puff didn't have that; it just ended and Puff was alone. Very sad.
Ah, but its getting on to the shower time and the office hours, the computer long-view of a horizon, distant, leading unknowingly to salvation or to suffocation.
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“Threading North and South” by Matthew Murrey
3 hours ago