writers are writers

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No beast on this earth can wrestle down the fire that burns within their gut, that blaze of glorious light that drives one to create.
Whether in the weary morning hours before the sun has yet to rise, or the darkest trenches of blackest night,
That feral spirit that claws at the innermost mind, would drive any man to insanity if only he would pick up his pen and with its black blood, bleed his soul onto the pages of history and carve for himself a legacy more wondrous to behold.

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