Blinking and judgmental, always — that steady little flash isn't a cursor, it’s my conscience with a pixelated face, keeping time with every sentence I almost commit to and then delete.
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I've been 'in-progress' since the fall of the Roman Empire. But I’ve heard rumours there’s a status beyond that. If only we had time machines to go and find out.
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I have one WIP which I’m hoping to put out sometime next year, in which the protag is a self-proclaimed misanthrope. He’s been a delight to write because he’s such a wilfully shit human.
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The Oxford Comma is a British revenge plot for losing the Revolutionary War.
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Listen. A Wikipedia Hole is like a K-Hole for people who aren’t cool enough to do drugs. Plus, you’re not human unless ChatGPT has actively made you cry at least once, ok?



