It pays to write

Aside

After the aside, our writer came to his senses. He went for a walk again, and back to the writers' club. In it were all sorts of promotional materials. Promotions were important for business, and they made a lot of mistakes happen. Money was exchanged, value was created nonetheless.

He found a lone seat in the waiting room, a sort of antechamber to a discussion hall that our writer had never before visited. He took a chair since the room was empty, where many reading materials were strewn on a collection of small tables.

One of the materials concerned how time seemed to pass so slowly and under what circumstances this tends to occur. The writer picked this up and leafed through it. The passage of time could be frustrating, it's true, could one find any silver lining in it?

Part of the business of writing was to persuade people to read. The exchange of money had little to do with it—more people simply must read. It didn't even require so much of a compensation, but writing was a lucrative occupation anyway.

The writer reflected on his outlook. Intellectual life was dry, like an alcoholic beverage and not like the desert. Writing was a way to pick it up, not for any other reason than to give himself some sense of direction in life. He had moments of mental clarity, and all that taught him was that life had restricted him and presumably everyone else for the sake of proper development and holistic growth, and that he shouldn't worry so much about the mechanisms of restriction.

There were afforded enough leisures and pastimes to busy oneself profitably and pleasurably. This wasn't the case for all individuals, evidently. Evidently, pain was necessary and needed for growth, and life was more than capable of imposing the experience upon anyone it chose. It was hard to come to terms with, yet it represented a sort of pinnacle or milestone to achieve.

Fortunately, our writer had encountered some milestones and proven himself capable. Failure and lasting pain would be difficult to accept, yet he had to face the prospect from time to time. Perhaps it was related to his writing, though he bothered not to go searching for the answer.

Why writing was so profitable, he wasn't quite sure. It was the need to communicate, these days, that motivated it perhaps. It certainly felt comforting that, as a writer, one could contribute to this greater endeavor.

The restrictions remained a challenge for our writer, and he contemplated them where he sat, at the writers' club.