...banging one's head rapidly into a car fender and expecting that both the fender and the head will come out unblemished.
Well, some days, anyway.
Writing is also like...
Waking up after a long night of debauchery and finding that the only food left in the house is ice cream and pickles. You're left wondering if their presence is an omen of things to come, or a reminder of the dangers of fast living. Plus, pickles and ice cream? Ew... but also intriguing.
1 comment:
All is well, grasshopper.
Your plot will find it's way or it will not. :)
Freaking helpful ain't I?
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