What do you mean, you don't want to go walking in the dark forest with me?
No response? What is wrong with you people? Here I am, a certified Queen of the Dark, the Icky and the Uncomfortable, offering to personally escort you into the Forest of the Giants, where we will face down your writing demons, or at least have a good wrestle with them, there in the mud amid the mushrooms and the mosses. How can you not want to be part of this?
Yes, I know, it costs money. Yes, I know, you have to pay your own way to Tasmania. No, I couldn't afford to go either, if I weren't being the facilitator. However, putting all that aside, this is a great opportunity you are missing by not whipping out your credit card and bunging down the $600 deposit. You know, the Tarkine may not be there for all that much longer. This is 'unprotected wilderness' we're talking about. '[U]nder Resource Security Legislation most of the rainforest and eucalypt forest could be logged,' they're saying.
And also, I don't like to say this, but I'm not getting any younger. And an aneurysm could take me at any time, just like that, and wouldn't you be kicking yourself that you hadn't sat around the campfire scaring the bejeezus out of yourself with what I helped you write?
I just don't understand it.
Note: The above is writ ironic.