Not for the first nor the last time, he had to fight the feeling that he was prancing on rooftops in the nude and climbing like a chimpanzee in the Borneo jungle.
Well, it’s that time of the month again, folks! Where I, a writer writing about writing stuff, attempt to do stuff that is actually writing! And what image shall be the inspiration for this month’s tale?
So clearly, this is going to be a very tasteful and refined short story. One which asks the most fundamental question at the very core of our psyche:
Who would win in a fight: A werewolf or a velociraptor?
Probably for the best, I don’t want to see Gor’Mok The Savage spend three chapters having a debate with Durgamar The Feldrake about the ethics of using sentient beings as mounts.
Hark! Today, I shall be talking about 20th Century Literature and giving my thoughts on it. Not quite ALL literature written then, nor ONLY literature written then, but a particular genre which fixates on miserably moping about the 20th century.
There were plenty of other things written back then, but somehow, by the time I went on to study 20th Century Lit in university (among other more enjoyable subjects), the texts I studied almost entirely covered the miserable injustices of life. Racism, sexism, elitism, classism, this here appeared to be the primordial, eldritch ooze from which Social Justice Warriors evolved: all noise, no substance.
Obviously, I’m very much AGAINST it and I’ll explain why after I explain what it is. So watch out, netizens! Here there be opinions!