Today is
one of those days where I've done too much reading about writing and not enough
actual writing. There are characters and
narratives living in my head and trying to get out. It creeps up on me in the bathroom as I get
ready, a memory of a place I've never been, the voice of a person I've never
met, like the ghost of a woman's perfume a long time after and a short time
before you see her. I wonder sometimes
how far back her story goes and if there is anything delightful there.
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