Writing a Novel You Will Need a Rack of Swords
Someone, somewhere is trying to kill me. I am quite convinced of this fact, to the point of installing a rack of swords next to my bed (more on that later) and chanting prayers to minor gods as I moved between lectures. Unfortunately, I suspect all this effort may well be in vain, as the person trying to kill me will almost certainly turn out to be… Me.
Like snow in a Russian winter, the problem isn't one of impact, but accumulation. Lectures and supporting work? No problem.
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