Perhaps it was the sandwich I prepared using the three-week old bread, or perhaps it was too many smokes in the snow, but somehow I became very ill these last few days. I had a Buddhist monk prepare me for my ascension and a Catholic minister read me my last rights in preparation for the great descent. My room stinks of incense and refuse, and here I am, propped up by a pillow in bed typing away on an e-journal because I ran out of cigarettes.
Being sick isn't so bad I suppose. My coworkers were very kind, and I was given the rest of the week off to recuperate. I'm sure the principal is sure I'm trying to get over some massive hangover, of course. I also took this extra time to get reassociated with an old writer's site that I believe I must honor the most for its contributions to my love. It seems I'll return to the weekly schedule of competitive writing!
In other news, illness brings reflection, and reflection goes well for the projects that you're stuck on. Since my artist left, I had to redesign the old work into a light novel, for which I'm sure I'll find it easier to get a short-time artist to work on while I begin work on actually writing. Since there is a scene later on of a tremendously sick girl who is bed-ridden and weak, I think I may be able to empathize. People often forget that the thing that makes many texts so fun to read is the fact that one can attach themselves to the page. Fantasy stories tease the reader and make them wish to reform their reality; romances make you pine for a love yet unseen; and dramas and dark stories give you a chill that makes you wonder how you might deal with the unfolding terror. Literature is a game of persuasion - if I can make you, my reader, love the characters and desire more for them as extensions of yourself, then have I not succeeded in my goal?
I must get back to rest, but just you wait Gaia - I'm still searching for some inspiration from you!
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