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Grignr slipped his right hand to his thigh, concealing a small opaque object beneath the folds of the g-string wrapped about his waist. Brine wells swelled in Grignr's cold, jade squinting eyes, which grown accustomed to the gloom of the stygian pools of ebony engulfing him, were bedazzled and blinded by flickerering radiance cast forth by the second soldiers's resin torch.
how do you
even write
this fucking ridiculously
Comments
To be fair, when I first started writing, it wasn't all that good. My pacing was awful, my characters two-dimensional, and my protagonists pretty much just avatars for the reader.
That was when I was seven.
And I still wrote better than this.
Hold up.
WE should write a sequel.
We could turn the Saga of Grignr into an example of IJBM Getting Shit Done.
It's what Jim would have wanted.
Amanda McKittrick Ros.
Have you ever visited that portion of Erin's plot that offers its sympathetic soil for the minute survey and scrutinous examination of those in political power, whose decision has wisely been the means before now of converting the stern and prejudiced, and reaching the hand of slight aid to share its strength in augmenting its agricultural richness?
Are we going to stay true to Jim's original vision?
Because if we aren't, I have some ideas. Chiefly, a story about Grignr finding Jesus.