Downside #42

You're never really writing what you want to

Unless of course your lifelong ambition has always been to pen mediocre non-committal paeans to every fleapit dipshit youth motel you ever stayed in every two years for the rest of your miserable coach-tour couch-class life. No, a pound of Momma's best Thai stick says when you first imagined being a writer you still hazily envisaged some romantic ideal of days spent in solitude in some intensely intellectual garrett crafting prose to cast a mirror on the world and ultimately change the way we read, rather than weeks spent hacking at your dyspeptic laptop producing tepid puff-piece copy that even you view with the kind of contempt that would have flared from Mussolini's bulldog nostrils if he had ever come across the Super Mario Brothers.

Fear not though, that novel will come - unfortunately it'll be about you, not by you, and you'll either be unremittingly dead or prevented by law from profiting from your crimes. Better just stick to those bus timetables then, eh?