The Pricking of a Needle



As a writer, I am forever pricking myself on needles in the haystack. The elusive ideas that some spend years chasing, I find regularly.

Good fortune, you say? High risk of blood poisoning, I counter.

Just as I settle down to examine one beautifully pristine needle, I am poked in the thigh by another. My attention span is bloody rotten in these cases, and one idea ends up poisoning the next.

Ridiculous, you say? Infuriating, I counter.

Until tomorrow…


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