Write, you fools.

Finally, I have a solid plan for finishing this project.

So many other ideas have been pounding at the doors in my mind while I’ve floundered about trying to come up with a believable piece of storytelling.

I could hear them, singing outside my window each night, begging for their turns, for their stories to be told. Their cries became shrill and I had forced the chorus of their shrieking demands to become a sort of background chatter – that while growing dim at times – never fully quieted.

They can spared a bit of my attention now.

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