“I’m working,” the child with the diamond-blonde tufts heard from the foot of the kitchen table. “I’m working,” the child with the sunflower-blonde curls heard from the edge the bedside. “I’m working,” . . . 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.
