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Migration

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The Relative Cartographer

When I wake, I am lying in a field stretched taut over a hill. The knife in my hand gleams in the still-blinking dawn, and I see the patch I’ve cut down in the switchgrass. Its shape reminds me of you. The fire is slow to start, but it is rare that something stands between me and my work. I gather blackberries and wild mint for my breakfast, scattering stags from the creek bed. I stare at the flames as I sip and chew. I write in my journal of the Cheshire moon the night before, how its malice kept me up too late. Then I swear to the page that I will find a hill every twilight on my journey, and I will shave the switchgrass into that same shape. After a week there will be seven oracles. After a month there will be an army. I say a silent prayer to the birds then. That…

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It Ain’t Just Talk: 3 Crucial Elements of Great Dialog

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Kristen Lamb's Blog

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She’s baaaaack. Well, sort of. Today I have an extra special treat. This is going to sound super conceited but whatever, it is MY blog 😛 . But first lemme caveat with this.

I feel I DO have a knack for predicting the next big thing. Case in point, in 1993 I was at an air show and there was an unknown all-female band I chatted with because no one was really over there. I loved their unique sound and gushed over how one member employed the banjo (an instrument forgotten at that time).

I told them I was sure they were going to be the next biggest thing in country music, and even bought some of the cheap merchandise they sold to support their music and prove I meant what I said.

That little band was The Dixie Chicks.

I’ve done this time and time again with authors and…

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