“Quick, write something, anything!”
“But I’m tapped-out! I don’t have one original word left in me. My mind’s a total blank, and he knows it.”
“You can do it. You have to. He’s got only five pages left. When he finishes the last page, we’re dead.”
“Better dead than derivative.”
They had burned his entire library!
Perpetual optimist, he thought, “I’ll just write some books of my own!”
So he started writing. He found he loved writing so much he couldn’t stop himself to even read what he wrote. He just kept writing.
Too bad everything he wrote was crap.
I kept telling him to write more simply, that it would lead to his readers actually being able to understand his stories, and maybe even liking them, for a change, but the man just wouldn’t listen and kept on writing one long run-on sentence, somehow afraid to reach the perio–