Edgar Allen Poe.
Writing, writing, endlessly writing – to overcome the pain, to overcome the sorrow.
Lenore, his tragic muse, sadly looks on as he works his poor fingers to the bone. The Raven also looks on, but not in pity. Should our hero begin to dose, the feathered fiend spurs him on with a shrill caw and a peck at his disheveled coiffure.
This sketch that was to be the basis for an ink drawing... then a scratchboard... then an oil painting. But it seems the bell has tolled for all of those projects. Will I ever finish more than this sketch?
I know what the Raven would quoth.
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