​I have a habit that might be strange. I enjoy writing, and drawing. I go through a lot of pencils. Years ago, I went through a period where the images in my head were “stuck”. It didn’t matter what I did, my sketches were wrong, and my words were jumbled. I had a pencil sharpener full of shavings so I offered them to the muses. They must have liked the idea because it worked! Now I keep a jar of all my shavings and at every new moon I offer them. They are the tangible fruit of my mental labor. Maybe more so than the finished product. It’s only fair that they be returned.


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