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.
Upon a gleaming oak floor within gleaming black oxfords stood the gleaming-black-oxford-wearing George Lazenby. His footfalls fell in sharp metallic clackitys upon the hard glossy floorish substrate, his hair, hued salty and . . . it goes on – however, this piece is for writers.