To two too tutu write?


I don’t have writers block, I don’t have writers block.
I have writers what the fuck is the point?
Apparently the tv cannot entertain me enough to keep my mind free of pondering the next pointless literary project but I tend to get all excitable then dwindle down to the barely-able-to-write-a-few-words-at-a-go stage before negativity eats into the pleasure.
What, you want another novel sat doing nothing?
More editing for the sake of it?
More sitting in front of a computer screen kidding yourself there’s any point to writing other than as a way of killing time?
I’m sure there is a subject just screaming out to be covered in my wondrous style but whatever it is I can’t come up with the first few lines. Perhaps I should go with my idea of a disgruntled author who begins randomly taking out literary agents, their staff and families just because he got rejected a few times and couldn’t accept the inherent rejection.
Actually, that’s given me an idea…..


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