The problem with getting into writing and wanting to make it a career is like… when’s the last you even heard about writing commissions, and the job market in general is fucked.
And god forbid you live in a small or southern place, there is NOTHING near me.
C= The stress pervades, corrodes,B================================
A one finite planet, groaning from the stress
B Eight billion is a lot of mouths to feed
A It’s hard to argue that we’re in a mess -
= Today’s a drought, she said, and I agreed -
==========================
Alright setting the toddler timer to stay off tumblr and get some writing/editing done. This fic should be posted by *looks at empty wrist,* the airing of Yaga, at the latest.