LET THIS BE AN EDIFICE TO STRUGGLING WRITERS EVERYWHERE.

Look at it. It’s beautiful. It’s glorious. I covet it despite the fact that it’s mine.

It is so precious to me that I’m going to booby-trap my home like an ancient South American temple — lest that sneaky Indiana Jones try and abscond with it. It also explains why I’m running around my home in only a loincloth, shouting a strange language and shooting poison darts at any newcomers.

I’m glad we had this talk.



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