Starting From FarmingtonStarting from Farmington where I grew up, seventeen years old, in the dawn of life, I set out to shape the world in my image,Starting From Farmington
hoping not to cease until death.
And with my pen I build myself a castle, a thing with thoughts for stones and art for mortar, and it goes on clouds with capricious will, taking me where the wind or fancy takes. And with this muse-weft fortress I have no fear, for to fear is meaningless, there should be no restraint, merely reckless abandon as I fling my hair to the four corners, laughing in a voice that could shake the stars and bind them
MetamoraAs long as we are on this dirt road in Metamora, Michigan would you allow me to sayMetamora
that our story made the reputation of one hundred nineteenth-century French novelists.
your hand is clutching the parking brake. the sun is setting to my left. maybe I should take your subconscious suggestion and stop-
suspended on the slope of a very bad idea.
you said you were quitting shoujo manga.
“my dark romantic,” you mused, “is far too encouraged by it and he pressures me to do things (like flirting) that inevit
Eilidh
