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[impure_tale]

My readers, I am afflicted. Not by any present flooding, not by violent protest, not even by a nannying Warden. No, my tormentor is something a good deal more wicked.

Writers block, my lovelies. What am I to do?

Comments

[impure-tale.livejournal.com]

I quite like you, sir. We should talk more.

[spider-writes.livejournal.com]

If you're a fellow writer, then I suspect that I'll either like you as well or end up loathing every molecule in your body. Either way, sounds like it would help my own work.

So what was your name then? Mine's Spider.

[impure-tale.livejournal.com]

The Marquis de Sade, at your service.

[spider-writes.livejournal.com]

... Are you shitting me?

[impure-tale.livejournal.com]

I shit you not, mon ami.

[spider-writes.livejournal.com]

In that case, I'll actually look forward to talking to you more. And that's something I really can't say to many people. Feel free to feel honored.

[impure-tale.livejournal.com]

I certainly shall. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Spider.