I’m getting closer. It’s 29 degrees outside. I should walk in the hills where my muse often finds me. Didn’t think I’d see her on the pages of Medium. I’ve been toying with a story about a mylar balloon escaping its person, flying over the city — free — until it hits a power line.


Any ideas you can toss my way?

Her writing muse lurks in the volcanic hills amidst mustangs, marmots and jackalopes. While hiking with her dogs, Ann stumbles upon stories of dark humor.

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