“Oh really, you don’t know whether to use the macguffin to save the world or destroy it, because you’re hung up on the question of pUrPosE iN a WoRlD oF SuFferInG? What are you, a fucking 19th century aristocrat who thinks tuberculosis is cool and sexy because you’ve literally never had to struggle for anything ever and your brain has liquefied and run out of your ears as a result? Get the fuck over yourself and stop giving yourself brainworms with philosophy cooked up by bored, rich old drunks.”
Working on a book right now where the protagonist literally gets fused with the living incarnation of information and the first thing he does is puts himself on the executive board of the company he works at so he never has to actually work again
By the end of the book, he’s caused an uprising which takes over most of the Eastern coast of the US and now has a couple of ICBM’s at his disposal
I don’t believe in hemming and hawing
If a writers story doesn’t start with a humble farm-barrista saving a sexy wounded dragon attorney from a parking ticket in her one-centaur podunk town and end with KILLING GOD AND USURPING THE POWER OF CREATION I don’t want it.