I want to flood every page with ink, 10k a day! I want to verb your nouns and snip that sneaky adverbial “ly” from 95% of all your sentences. But as I stare at your expectant docx, Fair Blanche, I confess my paper white heart crumples into a million unsaid syllables. If I could swallow a constellation, I would wish all my words to you pearl-given wonderments. But Orion still shines safely in the sky while I gaze at you, earth-bound, my feeble mind rolling pebbles and hoping to polish them into something worthy of quilling.
In other words, WIP: 43k, 22k to go . . .