After not getting much more than four hours of dream in night preceding, I’m not in much mood for editing an ignition chapter. THE ignition chapter. To my first novel. Another jab that further exhausted the writer, all the uncovered blunders. Some weren’t uncovered at all. They were as obvious as the concrete crack on your daily walk. I need a night to me. To this log. And if I do decide to edit, it’ll be when I open that ’99 Merlot. That’s right, I’m dipping in the bottle catacomb. Bought it months ago. Hope it still projects posture, a particular palate presence, gravity. Even if it fails, eventuates a flat fall, it’ll be an entry. Relieved to be back in bunker. SipNscribble ...
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