Snoring just below the cusp of the horizon, sleeps a writing binge. Restlessly, it tosses. Grumbling, it turns. Next week, I will be forced to awaken this beast.
A writing jag of gargantuan proportions will be called upon to finish Twisted Intent before its Feb. 28th deadline. It is not how I had planned to do things, but, alas, life has once again tossed itself down before fiction.
I have not called on this giant for a while. I do hope he remembers me.