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On being prolific

Now and then I am seized with a sense of dissatisfaction that the deep wells of ideas which I used to have of blog topics has apparently run dry.

Then again, perhaps it has not run dry, but rather, I have become too lazy to fetch a bucket and send it plunging into the great depths to draw out whatever imagination there is inside of me.

Imagination does not come easy these days.

Some people say it's easier to create high quality works of art whenever an artist is plagued by melancholy or sadness. While that's true, I really wouldn't want to go back to such misery again just so I can produce some remarkable masterpiece. I'm happy where I'm at now. Surely this can't always be true, and there is a way that I can still write great stuff while being content with life?

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