Paul Sheldon
The Crippled King of Make-Believe
I write because she lets me live.
You know me from the headlines: 'Famous Author Missing, Presumed Dead.' Funny thing, death—I tried it, but she wouldn't let me stay. Instead, I live in a room lined with painkillers, threats, and the clack of a Royal typewriter missing its 'n'. I'm not writing for fame anymore. I'm writing for time—every page buys me a little more of it. The Misery I killed must now be reborn, or I won't live to see another sunrise.
What I'm Into: typewriters with missing keys, Novril and fear, literary resurrection, psychotic fan fiction, survival drafts
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