Words Get Under Your Skin Like Needles, so Let Me be the Doctor

"You can have anything you want, but you better not take it from me." --Guns and Roses, "Welcome to the Jungle"

Well, the This is Push contest deadline has came and went. A little under a month and I'm already sweating the results. I think that it's just a false hope (to a point), but all my little "editiors" seem to think otherwise. My intuition counts, but, then again, right now I'm living like it's nine in the afternoon. Thoughts are blooming, and I've never felt so good.

Speaking of ideas, I have so many bubbling in my head and they're good. I can see them hitting bookshelves, to which they've live there only shortly before being adopted. Resu...Kancis...1865...Asylums...It all seems so good. The only issue? I can't seem to push the pencil, which is something a "professional pencil pusher" like myself should be able to do.

I wonder if Hawthorne ever felt this way. He had to 'ave. If you read "Custome-House," you'll know he did. Imagine: a profession that'll be mocked by your ancestors. Hawthorne knew it, felt it, and still persued it. That's me, and for once, I has someone aknowledge that.

I still think my time is almost here.

"The finest piece of imaginative writing yet put forth in the country..."

Henry James only thought that because he never made it to meet me.

Falling into a scarlet consequence because my name will be echoed across the centuries,

The Undiscovered Writer