It's a gloomy, rainy day here in the back woods of Alabama, in a little town called Heflin. Today a tatooed man told me that's he trying to make a good so he doesn't go back to his outlaw ways. And as the rain comes a pourin' in, I wonder why things couldn't be plainer in my life. If you didn't know, plain is synonomous with saying clear.
The doom and gloom of publishing is mirrored in the rain drops fallin' here in Heflin. Each drop a luminiscent crystal, a reflection of the missing buttons on Amazon for all the McMillan books out there. Every rumble of thunder, an echo of the rejected writer's cry. And every puddle, an abyss of liquid hopelessness for all the writers suffering from creativity block.
Have a fabulous day!