Very rarely a writer stumbles upon a freshwater spring. Tucked deep
into the woods of Known, the tinkling song of Unknown is heard.
Approach these extraordinary waters on tiptoe, my friends. Such story-springs
dry up at the first heavy hand.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
Post-Note: Blue Is Not the
Sky , my current novel-on-the-make, has been just such a surprise. I find
myself shying away from its newness.
No comments:
Post a Comment