Feeling that this writing-based-on-photo (must be a better term for it than that; in fact, there may be but this will have to do for now: Scribo Picturae – I’ve put “writing a picture” through a Latin Google translate) lark had been going well I set myself the task of doing it one last time before the weekend, and then I went and got all sick – lovely. Not so distastrous as it could have been, but a few things have been missed or passed over; which is, naturally, frustrating. But ahva.
Fables, Depths, and Heights remains untouched I’m afraid – purely my own fault, not turning blame on to an illness for that one. The Elephant and The Nun is slowly forming in my mind and slowly on the paper also – satisfactory overall but no more than that. The next short story will either be Lucy’s Room, There Was A Wall, or Bacon and Eggs and Sausages (working title. Also why is bacon singular and plural when sausage has sausages to grow into?).
There may be a poem before midnight, if not you’ll see it Monday! Have a blessed Sunday all.