The Demons Who Dance

Last night was . . . well, it was different.  It suppose “different” is one way of putting how I was feeling about eleven PM when I was in the middle of a crying jag and I pretty much wandered about the apartment wondering what everything just wasn’t right.

No, not good at all.

I hit a realization yesterday, one that I think everyone who writes hits:  I’m not always writing when I’m at my best, and it has hurt my work.  And . . . Continue reading