If the news is called because a crazed father of twins is running through the streets with two empty coffee pots in his hands, screaming about the end of the quarter, someone call my wife.
I have a reason for writing, but I'll do my best to illustrate it with a similar example involving a small, but fierce, red panda named Retsuko.
It’s a bit broken, this ol’ journey of mine. Fragmented into pieces of real work separated by long stretches of figuring out to work.
My first instinct is to scream at the creative inside my mind to not worry about it!
How do you take yourself out of your own writing?
What's the difference between saying something and doing something? Two teething babies.
You'd think we'd all be a lot more forgiving of ourselves, what with living through an idiotic presidency and a WORLDWIDE PANDEMIC HOW DO PEOPLE STILL NOT GET THIS?
And I'll answer, "I was only on antibiotics for 10 days."
Good lord I’m 33.