Writing is dramatic, devastating, soul sucking labor. Once you've done a few hundred pages you find yourself asking "why, Maker, why?" And then you remind yourself why you put the pen to the parchment in the first place. You shed tears of blood, because by this time it is all the fluid your body has to spare, then you realize that the only way out is to move forward. Surely Varric mentioned that?
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Are you afraid the paper is going to gnaw your hand off if you don't write fast enough?
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Or I just wasn't listening.
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[She says in a cheerful tone that somehow sounds like she's threatening to bash in someone's kneecaps.]
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