Writing time? You ask.
Yes. Writing time, I reply.
Amongst my strange, widely varying dreams of last night (one of which involved physics homework), I dreamed of a brightly lit room filled with colorful, floating plastic balls.
I've got eight scrawling handwritten pages on it, and it feels like a slow burn. Whether or not this thing goes anywhere is again another fairly large question mark, though I have wrangled the first coherent piece of exposition from my writing brain in a while.
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| I'm inordinately proud of writing coherent things. |
