
This is my father in 1968. Lest we forget. Someday I will write a story about this picture, about how this year rippled outwards, about trauma. Until then, remembering.
by L.S. Johnson
This is my father in 1968. Lest we forget. Someday I will write a story about this picture, about how this year rippled outwards, about trauma. Until then, remembering.
by L.S. Johnson
by L.S. Johnson
Quiet night with Joe Abercrombie’s A Little Hatred. Trying to figure out what font is being used for chapter heads etc. No writing this week so far, but the gears are starting to grind.