My youthful energy was already exhausted. I had imagined that I had something to say, and behold, without the drive of a play to report on, a book to review, or a controversy to join in, I was empty: I dredged into my own mind and found nothing there. It was a folly which had made me turn my back on the chance of a solid profession, got me as far as a sub-editor’s desk on a London weekly, and led me to walk out from that into the blue. What I had mistaken for talent had been no more than the afflatus which makes every second swelled-headed adolescent suppose he has a vocation to write. It would not be finished because I had nothing to say. Brother and sister Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald flee their busy London lives for the beautiful but stormy Devon coastline. Read millions of eBooks and audiobooks on the web, iPad, iPhone and Android. And even that I hadn’t the capacity to finish. Read The Uninvited by Dorothy Macardle,Luke Gibbons with a free trial. What the hell had Max meant by that? What was wrong with my work as it was? Fiddling journalism nothing sustained about it conventional, facile, all on the sound old traditional lines? No doubt that was how he saw it: did he suppose I had not seen that too? Why else had I undertaken the book? And what was the book, anyway, but a compilation, a re-hash of old newspaper articles better forgotten – no more ‘creative’ than Pamela’s scrap-books. I was not to be surprised if my work underwent a change.
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