Unexpected problems

I’ve been very busy these days, writing (dictating) my book about the origin of orcs. My chosen name for this -Thracitus – still has a nice ring to it, although orc-purists may say it sounds a bit too scholarly – and therefore unorcish – , which is absolutely right. But writing a book is in itself a traitorous act in some way. My comrades should probably never know about it. But what are the chances right now, ey? And what do I care? I do whatever I want. Dare to contradict me.

So, I’ve been busy. And I thought, well, that’s it. Book’s finished. She-human almost toppled over with laughter. She does that a lot. I should be rather angry with her for not taking me serious. But then I think she’s pretty insane, I mean how else could she actually believe to survive having me as a flatmate…
Anyway, after she finished laughing she explained that a book definitely should contain of more than just six pages! I mean, what? Six pages! That’s quite a lot, dont’t you think. One wonders what I had to say about orcs that took so many words, right? We’re not exactly famous for being profound or complicated. Most of us hardly know enough words to fill six pages. So then I took a look around, to see how many pages the other books on her shelves have. Right. I do not have enough fingers and toes to understand the numbers.
The question remains, what do I do? Accept the fact that I have not yet written a book? Continue to add stuff? Forget about the whole thing entirely? My attention span is pretty much under pressure already with the whole thing, so…
Well, I guess I wait and see how the muse kicks me. If I ever happen to find that creature. She-human says its a mythical thing. I wonder what it will feel like to be kicked by a myth. Will it hurt? Do I care? Questions, nothing but quesions…

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