My words are a species on the verge of extinction. At this point I should probably just give up on sustaining a viable breeding population; there are no wild ones left and those in captivity are so interbred they’re hardly recognizable. There’s no use beating around the bush, I know how this is going to end and so there’s nothing else to do. It’s not like people are clamoring to save them, anyway, or will even notice when the last one exhales its final breath. Guess it’s just time to move on, time to relegate the poor things to the annals of forgotten history along with all the other literary failures that exist now only in attic trunks and basement boxes. It’s fine; I’ll always have my memories, won’t I? I’m sure those keep the dodo warm at night and bring much comfort to the thylacine.
You’re stopping blogging? Or is this about something else?
No, no – just drowning in the usual writers block angst. As long as I can produce semi-literate garbage I’ll be updating this blog. Probably from the grave, even, if the internet is still around in our apocalyptic future.
That’s great to hear! Also *hushed voice * come join my reading group! I’d love to know what you think of my writing!
Yeah, totally! :)
It’s on facebook, if anyone still uses that lol
You and I are in the same boat tonight (depressed, anyway). Maybe we should start a club?
Misery does love company!