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    The Downside Of Working As A Writer

    Words used to flow off my tongue like so many rivers, drifting down the rapidsย of my wild imagination. Now, I chip them off the end of my tongue and stick them to my fingers, pretending they are my own. Have I lost something? That part of myself that felt the words in my blood, an energy that drew me in and sometimes spit me out exhausted. But the feeling, a rush akin to barrelling down the curve of a brainwave,…

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