Writing my first novel, I felt: the past was drawing nearer, often so close, that it hurt. Continue reading
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Writing my first novel, I felt: the past was drawing nearer, often so close, that it hurt. Continue reading
by Maddie King
Both authors simultaneously relished and abhorred putridness, designating death as a delicious way to punctuate life and the morass of complacency that accompanied it. Continue reading