This is it, I'm really quitting this time. I'm quitting everything. Nothing will come of this blasted writing. I'm going to pack up, sell my pc, and move to Aparri where there is no DSL or Wi-Fi.
Why all this, you ask? Well, too many things, I think. Let me count the ways:
One. Some of my friends have expressed their intentions to quit and to deal with this sadness of never reading their fiction ever again, I'll quit too. What will I ever get out of this anyway? I'm no Murakami; and you might as well call me Not-Kafka.
Two. When I write, I smoke too many cigarettes and in an effort to lengthen my life span, I shall quit writing (not smoking).
Three. I'm sure you only read my articles and stories because you're my friends. You only say that I should go on with this because you don't want to hurt my feelings. I'm sure you click the links just to see if Rio's still going on with "that writing of hers."
Four. About a gazillion articles and stories are published on the internet every second, I'm sure you'd find somebody else to troll.
Five. And let's face it. I suck at this.