As I sit in my ebb bound shuttle in the mornings.. I think of something to do apart from drool sleep or read. (I have read so many books to an ire filling point - what can these writers do that I can't) well apart from my cyclic mind demagogue.. I think I'm capable of writing a Pulitzer winning set in the medieval times sort of novel.. No? Except that I would not 'suffer' from writers block.. My thougts would be penned down so rapidly that I would get lost in my own spin..
So I write.. I'm thinking that my rookie..ness won't be my Achilles heel, that my ideas will undulate, Fill the pages,
And I write. Some more
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