i am 26,400 words into a book about mental illness, marie antoinette, missing people. i sneak-write at my desk, on the train, next to matthew with a 1950s attorney portion of maker's mark threathening to spill onto everything. on columbus day weekend we went to the pumpkin patch, though we haven't gutted them yet. they sit on the porch of my red
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interesting literature is bound to make a comeback someday.
let us just hope that it pays as nicely as it used to. :P
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