We can’t all be bestselling authors. We don’t all enjoy staring at symbols on thin sheets of trees or pixelated screens for long periods.
It’s uncomfortable. Plus, in the long run, likely to damage sight.
So, why would anyone spend inordinate amounts of the best years — or all — their life, in an uncomfortable position, carrying out an activity which reduces life expectancy?
The characters take me hostage every single time I try asking myself this.
I’ve often wondered why, after years of slow progress, agonizing evenings staring at words…why some sentences sound ethereal, while others…well… read like bee poop.
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