There’s been a noticeable lack of posting on the readings, but that mystery is easily cleared up: I’ve been taken hostage by a story I’m working on. I should know better, but it just seems so much clearer now, it seems real to me and it seems to be done. Foolish thought, yes; it is never done. But there’s a certain drive within that comes with a deadline–real or made-up–that brings out the editor in me to take over where the writer is blind.
There’s also a garbage heap named Few waiting to explore other avenues I’ve only considered and must set him free to find his own way. And I must be there to watch and report.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology