It Was Hopeless, Life, Really.

I Really Don't Want To Be Boring, And So Many Books Are So Boring!

And It Isn't That I'm So Unhappy I Don't Want To Live Anymore. That's Not What It Feels Like. It Feels More Like I'm Tired And Bored And The Party's Gone On Too Long And I Want To Go Home. I Feel Flat And There Doesn't Seem To Be Anything To Look Forward To, So I'd Rather Call It A Day.

Being A Reader Is Sort Of Like Being President, Except Reading Involves Fewer State Dinners, Usually. You Have This Agenda You Want To Get Through, But You Get Distracted By Life Events, E.g., Books Arriving In The Mail/world War Iii, And You Are Temporarily Deflected From Your Chosen Path.

What Harm Has He Ever Done To You?' 'you Know What Harm He's Done Me. He Offended Me With His Terrible Taste.

But I Suspect That All Writers Come Up With Premises Of Some Kind, Fragments Of Narrative Or Scenarios, In The Course Of A Working Week.