Til the Last Hemlock Dies
Musings on genre writing, waterfall wandering, and peak bagging in the South's wilderness areas.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Augh. By James Robert Smith.
Work.
Horrid.
Come home exhausted.
Eat.
Sleep.
More work.
Too tired to write
novel.
Sleep.
Thanks the gods
for
poetry.
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