My ideal image of a writer/reader always includes a cup of something warm and soothing,
ink stained fingertips, a
pyramid of
crumpled paper balls in the trash can, and a fat, fluffy Persian cat curled up on the window sill. At the moment, however, the cup of hot chocolate is spilled, the fingers are covered in little scratches, the paper is lying in shreds across the room and there is a hot chocolate soaked kitten climbing up my leg. I guess you can't have it all. But honestly, without chaos, what would we have to write about? What are you writing about?
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