I struggle along the cringey writing style, forcing one foot in front of the other, ignoring the slippery slope and the darkness below.
I can do this, I think. I can make it.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, I’m broadsided by a clumsy exposition dump, and nearly lose my footing, but I remember—I chose this. Me. No one else.
I can resist preemptively one-starring the book. I know I can. (I want to, tho)
— Dec 18, 2025 09:53AM
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