quicker than I pile my words. With the fiction I’m so slow it hurts to check the daily count, but you have to give the hours to daydreaming to conjure up a life imagined. And there’s a wee drop of the sublime when the sentences fall right. I assemble my chunk, a meteor of killer lines, soon to watch it fizzle, flare and cook as it hits the in-tray atmosphere. I craft my strategy, still trying to shunt forward from observe to orient in my OODA loop.
