For any writer you may feel at times like you are standing alone on a rock off the coast of a jagged shore. The water is turbulent and it is constantly crashing at the limestone under your feet with the fury of raging bull. You may wonder how much longer this weak stone can continue to hold you up. And what are you doing here anyway? You are standing here making things on paper forming and shaping these creations that you feel are art. You spend hours and hours creating this thing which is to you a magical wonderful world, it is a glimpse of something more from inside you. This art, this magnificent creation, you set it upon the water and it sinks slowly before you. It disappears below the surface like it never was at all. You realize what you did wrong. You know you can do better so you start all a new. Sometimes it is reworking the same idea and sometimes it is an all new creation. Whatever this may be the result is always the same.
My home is a hobbit hole in the ground buried into the far right corner of a labyrinth. I’m serious the twists and turns of the Fox and Hound apartments are easy to get lost within. There are hidden surprises like a clear swimming hole, running wheels and stones to lift so you might increase your strength and agility. There is also a gathering place where you’ll find machines filled with various cakes and snacks easily taken with you on any adventures you my take on. And maybe there are some stinky monster dumpsters and maybe a brave dog in passing off to run some quest thanks to the aid of his loyal human so pathetically dim witted he must follow along tied to his dog champion by a string.