Lost for Words

A deep, dark fear has started to push up out of the moist, autumn-purple soil. The settled, shady, once peaceful, textured compost is disturbed, crumbly.

A shaft of rusty iron, a spear of pure fear, has pierced the earth's surface and emerged into the ripping-rain and wringing wind...it's fast approaching...

NOVEMBER 2010:
my first
NaNoWriMo

Check it out:

http://www.nanowrimo.org/