There are no words.

Yesterday, I woke to find a decapitated head in my refrigerator. The chest freezer held a still-articulated human skeleton that appeared to have been burned beyond all recognition and was missing one arm from the elbow down.. 

It was a nightmare.

It was a crime scene.

It was an anti-feminist comic book trope come to life. 

It was April Fool's Day at my house. 

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A Sandbox of My Very Own

One of the reasons I choose to write fantasy is because I want to play in this grown-up fairy tale sandbox with Mr. Tolkien. But I don't want to play in Mr. Tolkien's sandbox, I want a sandbox of my very own. My writing will include elves, and dwarves, and dragons, but they might not act much like Tolkien's elves, and dwarves, and dragons. This is because I am not playing with Mr. Tolkien's toys. I'm just peering at history and myth through a keyhole that looks out on the same sweeping vista he found so inspiring, and which I, too, am enchanted by.

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