My eye falls on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano I instantly make a mental note that I must remember to mention in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand piano. Do you see anything bright and beautiful in that? Oh, it is a wild life! Even now, thrilled as I am by talking to you, I do not forget for an instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. I hurry for ever from one story to another, and can't help myself. Day and night I am held in the grip of one besetting thought, to write, write, write! Hardly have I finished one book than something urges me to write another, and then a third, and then a fourth-I write ceaselessly.
Violent obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man: he may, for instance, think day and night of nothing but the moon. Let us discuss this bright and beautiful life of mine, though. You have stepped on my pet corn, as they say, and I am getting excited, and a little cross. Excuse me, I must go at once, and begin writing again. I see nothing especially lovely about it.
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