I write because I have to; because I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands if I didn’t.
—Angeline Trevena
If I have to face the end of human existence, I want to look totally smoking when it happens. Now shut the hell up.
Your first draft is a petulant teenager, sure it knows best, adamant that its Mother is wrong. Your third draft has emerged from puberty, realising that its Mother was right about everything.
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