The telephone wires in this part of town slump like eyelids curled downwards. The man at the door greets us with unexpected warmth, tells us we look like derby girls. I only look . . . it goes on – however, this piece is for writers.
There's a lot of stuff growing in The Land, but you've got to be a writer to see it all. We push a selection out to a superfeed for public viewership. The rest — along with replies and revisions — is workshop material.
