Sometimes I feel closely akin to the Romantic poets and writers of old. The melancholy, the heartbreak, the overwhelming feelings. I could pontificate on the state of the human heart for hours in these moods but, for your sake, I will not. The attention span of audiences is not what it used to be. Including my own.
What has brought on such a state of unmitigated woe? A book. A mere physical piece of paper and ink. I am reaching the end of a trilogy, one that has engaged me heart and soul. I don’t see a happy ending in sight without one or the other character sacrificing all they have worked for. Can I respect a character who has given up their purpose in pursuit of a happy ending? Could you?
There in lies, stems, inhabits the dilemma.