I remember the only time I met Harlan Ellison.
Well, “met” is perhaps too strong a word. Talked with. Listened to. Got a signature and shook his hand. I was nervous as all hell. Continue Reading
Because romping about is not socially acceptable.
Independent blog about literature, philosophy and society in words and images
Free serial fiction, ruminations on craft, and a radically open writing process
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Where Myths Are Maybe Real
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Aspiring to be the best at writing. Poetry lover, haiku and free verse to be precise, I hope to one day master
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