Most are quite small and move with the gait of a soused tortoise.
Avoiding these troublesome literary mites should be easy.
It’s the bigger clumps of dried up authorial imagination I’d worry
about this morning. Large, menacing, and occasionally hairy these wads of
uncreative fluff and thorn sure smart when they hit an unsuspecting shin. Best
to keep your eyes peeled.
Of course, far wiser a course would be to absent yourself from today’s post
altogether.
*sighs heavily*
I haven’t a fleck of insight to share with you this mid-July morn. Not
so much as a kernel of a writerly tip to impart. I’m bone dry, man.
Hence the tumbleweeds.
Tomorrow will be better and wetter, I promise.
Now, pardon me while I go check on how the muse’s rain dance is going.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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