Why does it always happen that way?
Each morning I face a new day full of hopes I’ll write the greatest novel ever written. My day passes with simple words scribbled and doodles drawn.
At last the procrastination ends and I make a start…
“It was a dark and stormy night…”
What? Oh, come on! Not that cliché again. That scribbling is thrown away and I start again.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”
Not that one you literate illiterate. It’s been done before.
Life is tough when you’re just the pen in the hand of the world’s worst novelist.