For a year or so characters clamoured out of turn, demanding inclusion. A voice would say I’m bored, let’s have a chase or What do they eat? I wanna know what they eat or It has to start with the spy and I would reply But there aren’t any spies in this story and the something would chuckle and say Oh yes there are.
Scenes were remote camps isolated from one another by hundreds of miles of impenetrable wilderness. Piece by piece a great railway was built to link them, and then there were elections, and slurpees, and all-nite pharmacies, and lo! A country was made, as a story was written by filling up the spaces in between.
-Kate, www.sweetsalty.com