Your next weekend could be a wonderful, novelicious monogomy-fest or it could be a promiscuous fiesta of short fiction.
I confess to you here, my darlings are not dead.
In the roller-coaster of writing, months like this don’t happen very often…
Scotty here, or some other equally oily minion from the sweaty boiler room.
Hold on, I’ll wipe some of this anonygrease from my hands… onto some appropriate recepticle… like my forehead.
There, now I’m slightly less unfit to touch The Mac.
So. It’s been a busy day hereabouts, I can tell you. Lulled into a false sense …