My handwriting lives by the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest is thoughts are travel a treacherous railway through the a mountain pass of my thoughts.

Every Each scratch mark Every revision is an abandoned line a derailed train of thought, not an absolute wreck, but a place where the co rails have buckled. Sometimes leaving a twisted, rusting hulk of an abandoned sentence. Other times allowing the train to go in a new, more interesting direction.

Oh dear. It seems I stutter on paper too!