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 . . .
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