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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

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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