(Also, draft!)

[desperance]

Phew. M'wife and I have been writing this Thing. Like the rosemary bush, it did just keep on getting bigger; but it has come to an end, finally and at last. It was meant to be a short story; at the moment it's practically a novella. We will cut and purge and prune with no ruth, for it really need not be this long. I can haz prolixity.

But it is steampunk, and it is called "The Airship Towers of Trebizond", and the first line is:

“Fuel my steam-camel, dear,” said my Aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this machine on her return from High Mass.

We won't be cutting that.