There's a temptation, when publishing a short story, to explain it.
I have stuff I want to have written, and that means I have work to do.
Is my mind more organized? No, it is not!
Rage doesn't help. Sorrow doesn't, either. Both reactions are appropriate.
Genre is a marketing construct.
I guess the story arc I'm writing is just...life.
The answer to "Can I do this?" is always "Yes."
I thought about making my own header image, but I happened upon this one, and I have a cube thing, so here we are.
Somewhere ahead of me is "new normal," but I can't see it yet, so I don't know what it looks like.
I miss you, strangers at Wendy's.