“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public.” --Churchill
Churchill pretty much summed it up--too bad I'm stuck in the part where the monster tortues the protagonist, mocking him/her with his/her plans of mass destruction and ruling over the universe (in the process spoiling all of those plans).
I don't know, really. Everyone's busy, and though I have a lot of others stuff that I can do (which will supposedly raise my academic standings and stuff in the long run) I'm not just currently up to it. Lack of inspiration, maybe. Or there's too much of it that they cancel each other out.
Well, whatever, my mom says I need to sleep, as dictated by this society that had killed off first her best poets, left them starving on the streets; only to glorify them a few decades after their passing.
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