You Are Burning Me, Part 3

I really did not intend this entry. And it has nothing to do with Eivør, Faroese ballads, or inspiration. Consider it more of a PSA for writers and other layabouts. See, I was sitting and relaxing "while enjoying the new look and revitalization of Downtown Phoenixville" at a pleasant local café-slash-gallery, about to take my first sip of a steaming hot clay mug of coffee, when the handle decided to snap. Gravity did the rest, and I was soon enveloped in a cloak of liquid pain. About as much fun as a meatloaf piñata.

Life happens, of course, just usually not in such a swift and scalding manner. Also, I do my best not to scream like a little girl if I can help it.

To his credit, the barista was equally swift in his aid, and soon handy antiseptic burn pads were placed on the affected areas. I believe I shall soon recover without any lasting effects, and with any luck the next batch of Holy Embers will be both more intentional and true to form.