Imagine a spark. This tiny spark, a short moment of brilliance that fades in an instant. Now picture what happens when that insignificant spark touches a piece of combustible matter: the world fucking explodes.
Thus, writing was born. Once upon a time, some dude got a spark caught in his hair, and then his head was on fire; his buddy saw him, had a dark sense of humour and thought to himself, “hey, what if my buddy was actually a monster with a flaming head?” So began the first story about a dragon being killed by a knight in shining armour (I’m betting this asshole wanted to get the hot people in his group to fuck him, so he played the handsome knight….look at him, getting laid because his friend died. Such innovation).
Things aren’t much different today. Sure, the murder bit gets cut out of the creative process most of…
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