Oh I lied, I lied. And I didn't come back did I?
But lying convincingly - isn't that what you do when you are a writer of fiction? Forcing your reader to suspend their disbelief for ten pages. Or an hour. Or a month. Making the world you hold in your head entirely real and moving and heartbreakingly, painfully crystal. I want to take you with me. And THAT is the muscle I am currently trying to work. I will be in touch to suspend your disbelief presently.
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A record of the way things sometimes are.
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