A hole in the ground. Not a dry, sandy hole, nor yet a comfortably furnished hobbit-hole; a raw gap torn through damp earth, twisting and turning and breathing. And all the way down, at the whispering end of it...not empty.
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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