I just finished a story that grew here
and before that, one that grew here
At the end of last year, I wrote stories that grew here
and here
(The Night Owl, by Magritte)
And I've got stories I want to write growing here
And I've got stories I want to write growing here
and here
and here
and here
So I think I'm going to disappear for a while. Because in the tangle of days and nights where I look after my children, work, edit, read, and try to ignore my tip of a house, it's becoming impossible to write. And that's the thing I really want to do.
I'll be back sometime, but perhaps not very soon.
* I shamelessly stole the idea that there are places where stories grow from Nicholas Royle.