Creative Gunpowder

Triggers, and I’m at the other end of the gun. Inspiration ceased by one viewing of a movie that has me second-guessing my own talent. My history, struggle until plateau, never has served me champagne. Why waste my time writing a hundred-thousand words that only matter to me, and will probably never reach any of you. Compared to stories that generated 72M in one single day, I’m just a pipe dream.

Pull it back, I’m headed into creative overdrive. Hope and passion fuel the dream, and I’ll pursue it relentlessly until the trigger drops. With enough gunpowder to dirty my fingers, I’ve murdered security. I’m merely wounded, but I’ll survive because people like me have to fight harder than the weaponless.

Unable to predict the pulling of the hammer, I run as far as I can until the click of the trigger turns me into Pavlov’s dog, except I’m no longer being fed.

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