Oh, world, you don’t want my old things, unless you can find them and take them away from me when I’m not looking. I respect that.
Tag: writing
It’s in Bulgaria somewhere.
My life occasionally produces a crescendo of Bulgaaaaria, even though I check my possessions obsessively, unpack and repack every day, even though I have a home for every object.
Writing into the deep end
As usual when I’m doing NaNoWriMo, I am feeling my way into a cavern without a flashlight.