With heavy heart this summer. Long and harried, the blaze of the sky forcing mint and rum into endless glasses. A cigar a porch, and nothing at all. The ability of laziness is almost Buddhist in its magnitude. But something peaks its inspired head out of the haze. As if writing after electro-shick therapy, the words are muttered, ill-formed and more often than not, spelled wrong.
But we have arrived at the mansion at last, in dearest Rivermoon, direct fantasy mirror to these New Orleans.
Working to write consistantly, the profession of wordsmith must be an incredible thing, to pull something from nothing and do it for a living. Then again, a deadline and someone behind me with a rolled up newspaper at my head (or another body-part more likely) is all that I may need.
Well C'ang and Dungeon post is forthcoming, planning on working on it today.
OT
