It would be hard for me to be here for the 2nd quarter any later than I am here today.
Luckily I don't have the story imperative of Mortuvhen to deal with as I've been lax with the appearances of the exceptional Byron Prestwick, who isn't even writing poetry daily like he did for more than straight years since he wrote his first verse and instaported inside the walls of Mavranyr.
But I suppose that's what happen when the connection isn't there with a story, it'[s too easy to let it cool on writer's stove.
And I was making good strides with histories, though more with the stories that he was rhyming down than rhyming up.
Down?
The stories that he was writng of course.
Up is the stories of his life. I need to return to rescue Byron from the fate of the lost.