This is what goes on in the privacy of a rough draft:

The below is wholly unedited. Good luck reading! Thanks!

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“There was something else that happened that you might be interested in.”

Mary leans in, whispers, tand they are close now, their noses within millimeters of touching each other’s hairs, “What was that?” she cocks her head a little bit, pretending to be uninterested, setting the lure…

“There were some shadows, people say…”

“Shadows? Like…on the wall?”

“no, shadows that were<‘ and the children look from the holotube to the bartender with jutted mouths, drooping faces, and empty drinks. They are a hairy bunch, their faces covered with tumor and beards growing from their eyes, and mustaches instead of eyebrows. Just think of the smallest, fattest, sweetest baby you have ever seen, like quintuple size it proportionally, and add a bunch of fucking hair all over it, and a couple of tusks jutting from the mouth, and then you have these children.

“Shadows?”

“Yes, and we must beware of the children.” The bartender looks over at the children, and so does Mary, and then the bartender gets them more drinks. “That’s better, now, let me lean in close to you, dear,” and the bartender does, right into mary’s ear, almost, whispering into the canal of wax and dry skin…

the bartender says, “the Shadows, they were moving around, like they were solid, and they were going after people. He killed two more others, that the action squad didn’t see and didn’t care to find.”

“There was…” mary drinks her beer, orders another, drinks it halfway down. “There was another dead? More dead? More than one?”

“Oh, yes, more than one, aren’t there always? We all know about the Shadows, around here…” The children look up at the bartender, and she gives them more shots of whiskey all around, and more beer for Mary, who had finished hers already. “They pervade our lives, they do, and they come after us. Now, if you don’t midn,” she whipsers into mary’s ear, almost tasting the low haning lobe.

“Right,” Mary finsihes the third beer and drinks a shot, orders another beer. “The children, we have to think about them.” on the holotube, there is a man shooting another man in the face on this week’s duel matches at the dueling stadium. The head and brains go everywhere, and Mary can almost feel a speck of flesh land on her cheek.

What is Writing?

It’s what you, or one other person, wants. Write for one person.

I want to go to the river with my wife. I’m there right now, and the trees are brushing each other from the wind. The leaves are grown now, having take their time through this indecisive spring. We watch as the faeries dip into and out of the water, swimming in the current and laughing.

And it makes me think of John. His wife died, and he’s at the river too, now. He’s sitting at the boat launch near Old Angler’s inn, where the corpse of a tired swimmer will wash up every few years or so. He’s praying to the dead and wishing that they will rise, so that he will not have to fall.

Just write for one person. Think of what they want. Write it out.