It is so sad...when I go back far into tags, or into my subscriptions, or just see a foreword shine up in my memory while searching for something else - there are these lovely plots, a totally interest arousing foreword, a first chapter which shows the author has a way with words - and to find nothing else to go on.

Those lonely stories seem to beat at the doors of the lids of consciousness, calling out to be brought in from the cold...to dance, to sing their tale to the assembled audience sitting around the campfire...

I wish, all of us had the courage, the push - to just write...doesn't matter if we think we are good or not, but to just force us to put pen to paper, to click the keys on and on on the laptop...

After all, Kafka wanted his writings burned!

Pessoa's writings never came to light in his youth!

Walter Benjamin's great corpus came to prominence after his suicide...

So, for those who have received the visit by the Muses, don't stop...just write