a.k.a Petitebete. Office drone by day, amateur closeted erotica writer by night (hard to write in a closet let me tell you). Dabbler, dilettante, self-deprecator. Musings, rants, social commentary and the occasional flash of fictional semi-brilliance when the Muse smacks me upside the head. Under-promising and over-delivering since 1989. Canadian, in case the backdrop wasn't clear indication enough.
Monday, March 11, 2013
“He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.” - W. H. Auden
