Writing

Today I stood on the library steps under a cloudless blue sky. I looked down towards the lake, just visible, like a bright beacon of …

After only two nights in Limestone City I can see what Frederick Madrigal neglected to tell us. Whole streets, whole blocks, whole neighbourhoods are filled …

I can’t let her go. Today, with all the pieces in the right order, I put the librarian back in. Even if the only reason …

Like the worms, I’ve snuck up out of the ground during warm weather and crawled across the pavement—but I’ve been distracted by watching anxiously for …

Purple and yellow crocus and tiny white snowdrops litter parks and front yards as if spring has truly arrived. On overcast days, like this one, …

It’s just cold, windy, white, and barren. There’s less to say about the writing when every word has to be forced out, a slow drip…drip….drip …

The librarian is gone. This is a sadder cut for me than the others—something about losing that scene where Frederick bumps into her on the …

The Tome has come back to me on the one month anniversary of my confinement. It looks fresh, inviting, alluring, seductive. It looks remarkably like …

Some amount of serious distraction has occurred over the past few days, for life-altering reasons (watch for an announcement in the coming weeks) but I’m …

I have reason to believe I’m getting close. Call it intuition. Call it corroboration (my reader sends back a favourable review.) Call it being crowded. …