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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.


Thursday, November 13, 2008

Crack that Whip. Give the past a slip.

Applications for Viable Paradise open in two months and close in eight months. It was my plan to submit the first part of the novel as my critique piece. Gotta get writing. If it's not finished by the time of application closing, it should be finished before the actual workshop.

Words of advice from Tobias Buckell, "Don't workshop an unfinished novel."

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