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No more summer

Through and even before the pandemic I'd relied on changing seasons to create a pattern I could fall into. The changing angles of light; the first day of wearing my winter coat; the smell of spring when it was just starting. Even the things that made me mounful, like short days and the end of a year, still helped mark the time. There was the looking forward and the looking back and the attempts to be present before inevitable changes came again.


When a friend asks you to write a short story about an otter, you don’t walk, you run! (No, wait, you sit down and write it.) Inspired by this tweet/picture: Story under the cut!

An Abundance of Romances

Lately I’ve heard more & more people say that the sheer amount of romance in various media (mainly YA, but other things too) is unnecessary. I agree. I shivered with pleasure at the lack of romance in Pacific Rim (let viewers decide how to…