Come forth, forgotten words of old! I summon thee!
Call upon the great odes and bring them back to me!
What is a blank page to a writer, but a vent for all her thoughts?
So, I tell thee, pen in my hand, bow to my overflowing plots!
What ails thou, gray matter in my skull, that makes thee hesitate?
Thou ail me, brains! Rally at once! ‘Tis no time to meditate!
Get on with the story! Thou know how it ends! And stories don’t write themselves!
Foul thou are, Blocks of Writers! Thou can go F*** yourselves!