Monthly Archives: October 2018

In Which Wignilian is Heroic

I must be completely honest with you, dearest of readers, and admit that the old mill down by the pond is not really a part of Bushkyn Hollow. It is, in fact, in a different part of the forest altogether, and one must walk quite ten minutes from one to the other. But the mill […]

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For The Writer Who Is In Pain

Writing is not a particularly hazardous occupation. I mean, sure, we fight battles on a daily basis, have a suspicious knowledge of poisons and methods for burying bodies, have an exact plan for splinting a shattered shin bone, and occasionally ride dragons, but these tend to be adventures of an . . . imaginative sort. […]

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Words that Soothe

Last week, I went to a job interview. A very stressful job interview. A couple of things made it stressful. First of all, the interview was for a position that I’m very excited about. If it works out, it would mean a lot to me as a writer. Second, it was a Skype interview. Third, […]

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Night Festival

I do not review books by request on this blog. Ever. It’s just not something that I do. The books I post about are the ones that belong on my shelves, the ones that broke my heart and soothed my soul. These posts are about chronicling my own journey as a reader, highlighting the books […]

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Filling the Gap in My Shelves

A while back, I wrote a post about the gap in my shelves, the book I’d lost but never quite forgotten. The book was a favorite of mine when I was in my young teens. I read it over and over again, very nearly memorized my favorite parts, and loved it with all the devotion […]

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For The Writer Who Is Waiting

Writers are something of a unique breed. I’ll be the first to admit to this. We talk to people who don’t exist, obsess ourselves with fictional events, curse plot lines in regular conversation, and create entire worlds with nothing but a pen, a notebook, and the occasional keyboard and cup of strong coffee. We scribble […]

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Snake Charmer

The ghosts come out when the sand grows cold. They gather to the fires at the city gates and warm their pale hands at the flames dancing to the music of the west wind. They come for the warmth, for the gossip of the soldiers, and the dreams of those stupid enough to leave their […]

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