And now for some self-analysis in the style of Alexander Pope. Except I can’t actually be bothered to write in true iambic pentameter, so here’s some heroic couplets that rhyme but have no consistent meter. Enjoy?
Let’s be frank: the great work is unfinished,
But this does not the attempt diminish.
(So I’ve heard. I wish I could believe that,
But my faith doesn’t work that way. I’ve sat
And watched the book’s scope and my frustration
Grow in equal measure.) Termination
Of the thing was not an option: Sunk cost
Saw to that. So many nights lost, things tossed
Aside in pursuit of self-perception
(Write, Writer. If that’s not self-deception,
Write. End where before you’d only begin.)
I promise you, Studlu will rise again.