hack writer

The problem was, life turned out to lack any coherent narrative structure. In reflecting, he would attempt to impose one upon it, as one does with dreams when trying to describe them; and all context and tone would be lost in the attempt to organize events for clarity. Life did not have rising action, a climax or denouement – or, when those elements did occur, they’d happen at all the wrong places. The whole thing was terribly plotted, and damn near unpublishable in its current form.


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