There s/he sits, monkish in application, emotionally fat with self-concern
'no, no, I am not going to oblige those bastards by biting the dust,
going under, no siree.'
Even for a novelist s/he is insecure to a degree that is extreme. In the writing task s/he persistently see themselves as operating on a wholly different level from everybody else. At this juncture family, brotherly love etc comes second or is viewed as an opening for exploitation.
As he writes he is like one of those people who glories in his/her freedom to shout abuse at passers-by from the window of a moving car. They may be average people put as they 'create' they have a genius for viewing themselves as Ubermensch rather than your average Joe.
Even for a novelist s/he is insecure to a degree that is extreme. In the writing task s/he persistently see themselves as operating on a wholly different level from everybody else. At this juncture family, brotherly love etc comes second or is viewed as an opening for exploitation.
As he writes he is like one of those people who glories in his/her freedom to shout abuse at passers-by from the window of a moving car. They may be average people put as they 'create' they have a genius for viewing themselves as Ubermensch rather than your average Joe.
In the writing process there is the freedom to view everybody was wrong, everybody as plotting; nobody getting you right, not getting the notice and acclaim that is truly yours. In the writing process there may be a manic obliteration of other people’s needs. and this is your path to getting even.
everybody gets angry and everybody wants to get even fuelled by your passion for self-justification, responsible in your writing task to the point of grimness. But it is OK for the writer caught in th is always someone else.
For the writer his/her need is unflagging, which makes his sense of guilt more acrobatic.
For some writer there is a mad fear of being slighted and scorned, because they
are novelists, and novelists think that all emotions are good, yes, they are creature whose home is words, yet their dream of clarity is an ideological dream. Living with them is more than flesh and blood can endure.
everybody gets angry and everybody wants to get even fuelled by your passion for self-justification, responsible in your writing task to the point of grimness. But it is OK for the writer caught in th is always someone else.
For the writer his/her need is unflagging, which makes his sense of guilt more acrobatic.
For some writer there is a mad fear of being slighted and scorned, because they
are novelists, and novelists think that all emotions are good, yes, they are creature whose home is words, yet their dream of clarity is an ideological dream. Living with them is more than flesh and blood can endure.
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