All the time in the world

Reluctant Repose

There are times in life when no matter how well adjusted, successful or pulled together we may feel and even believe ourselves to be, we are faced with the realization that we are in fact still,  screaming children with no impulse control.  Today I sat at my desk.  I love my desk.  I know the weight of each pencil or pen, the way the light pours over the space, the way the chair feels beneath me.  I know the texture of that table.  It is a sanctuary.  Or is it my opulent prison?

Writers (editors too) at times fall victim to their own designs.  We love what we do.  However we must remember that it too, is work.  I often felt annoyed at writers offering advice of making specific hours within which to write each day.  It seemed so limiting, so restrictive!  To only write between the following hours?  What…

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