I wish I were better at this writing thing. Or maybe just less ambitious. Except for the part that the books that I write that I feel in control of throughout the process, by which I mean they're well within my span of ability--Worldwired, One-Eyed Jack--I never love with the overwhelming love of the books that kick me down and run roughshod over me.
I have such a pathological relationship with my texts.
(Of course that could be why I'm so eager to excuse and even laud ambitious failures. The possibility exists that that's all I'm capable of writing.)
The intoxicating perfume of exotic incenses wafting on warm desert breezes. Arabian spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia.
Wet: sandalwood and carnation. Warm and woody.
Drydown: Sandalwood, mostly. Inoffensive, but not as nice as my plain sandalwood.
Dry: Sandalwood and a litle carnation.