Boy, all the books I would write if I could afford to write full-time!
I’ve told my wife a hundred times, “If I could only spend one month in a little house on the beach, I could complete all these writing projects I’ve started.” She’s never offered to send me or help me find the ideal spot.
It’s like nobody can see the literary masterpieces trapped in my soul begging for release. Even more discouraging, the world doesn’t seem to care if they ever get set free.