Wednesday, February 01, 2012


The susurrus behind me is the only protest of discarded drafts.  I wait for it to fade like I always do.  And then it always does.

1 comment:

  1. Haunting. A wise man once told me to never discard any of my work, but he was also somewhat of a cynic who didn't know whether he wanted the draft or the published version more.

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