Oh boy. It almost looks like a case of writer’s flu is going around and I won’t even mention the writers who I’ve evidently infected with my shouts and bouts of sneezing doubts because it seems that my fever of last week was contagious. I’m trying to visit them all back and deliver some chicken soup comments because I feel rather guilty for starting it.
Or maybe, it’s just that the close of one year and the beginning of the next reaches into the soul of writers a bit more deeply to twist their thoughts into reflection.
Please do visit them all, and bring some tea and whiskey to both soothe and inspire.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology