At Libba Bray, which with that name is already wittier than I will ever be, this amusing, and too true for comfort comparison to writing and falling in love.
Thanks for meeting me here. Look, I’m just gonna come out with it. This–you, me–it’s not working. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s…actually it’s you. You’re stupid. And I sort of hate you. But, you know, thanks for the great line on p. 400.
This? This is me. Right now.
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