The contents of comment SPAM I received this week. So far as advice goes, I like it, though I don’t see any reason you couldn’t have your coffee and recess, too.
“Tell me a story,” she says, her eyes bright in the light of the campfire.
“About a pirate ship with crimson sails, billowing in a gale…”
I’ve had a bit of a mental paper jam, in that it appears I’m not to write anything of particular substance without first I should relieve myself of a play that’s been taking space in my head for the better part of two years, now. And so — tadaa! — I’m writing a play.
Perhaps it’s my Internet Attention Disorder showing, but lately I despair of links that lead to The Atlantic. It would seem their essayists have little more to say than writers anywhere else, and yet they possess so many more words with which to say it.
“I’ve always liked the idea of a special Hugo to be awarded (by force, perhaps) to literary authors who write books dripping with themes filleted from mainstream SF and then deny that it’s science fiction ‘because it’s not about robots and spaceships’.”
— Terry Pratchett