A young man sighs, shaking off the frustration of his most recent failure. As his webpage loads, he pauses, thinking back. Ideas for stories have come to him several times before. He spends time crafting the world, the system, the rules. But when he starts the novel proper, it always falls flat. No interest, no wonder, no life. He's considered having somebody else write his stories before, but he always stops. It would be embarasing, after all, to so walk up to someone and say, "excuse me, but could you write this story for me?" No, that would be rediculous. He shakes himself again, and reminds himself of what he's doing. While he may be unable to go to someone and ask them to write for him, he is able to leave it online. Sending his ideas out into the world, so that hopefully somebody will stumble upon them. That somebody will find interest in them, and hopefully, somebody will breath life into his creations. A life that the young man could never give.

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