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.
Four generations of woman and child sat under the portico against a wall mottled by chipped layers of blue, green and ocher paint. They witnessed the serine day of unceremoniousness in quietude. . . . it goes on – however, this piece is for writers.