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Allegra was not the sort of woman who needed shots of the notion of art as others need shots of insulin, so she was not about to discuss the difficulty of this creative birth with anyone. After all, she was a writer intent on awakening humanistic imagery in her readers while jettisoning all metaphysical excrescences and she wasn’t about debating supposed properties such as ‘truth’ or ‘morality’ so as she could then undermine them in acts of aggrandisement; and she wasn’t into educating others, for her, such largesse, smacked of the bridle. She felt that fiction is already here, all around us; reality isn’t there yet, it has to be brought forth or produced and this is the duty and stake of writing. So she hunched her shoulders for the task ahead.