On this night in 2004, I started a short story and wrote the most that I had in far too long.
From the ecstasy of creating, to the agony of editing…
The story is good. It really is. But the words keep getting in the way, and I don’t know how to fix them.
My novel and I have endured a forced separation for a while now, so there’s nothing else to report.
Fictional Boundaries 