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Young Writers Society


Elelel

About Elelel

Someone is reading my biography?

Do I strike you as interesting?

No?

You're just bored?

Well, find something more worthwhile to do.

No, really.

Don't keep reading this.

I'm telling you it's not worth it. I'm going to stop typing in a minute.

I really am.

I swear.

Any minute now the writing will end. Then you'll have to find something better to do.

Look, you could do so much more with your life than read this.

Do you know how to play chess? You could become the world's best chess player.

No?

What about golf? I don't like golf, so you can have my share of talent.

You're a writer, right? So why do you go and write something brilliant.

You could dedicate it to me.

Or make a character like me.

Nah, on seconds thoughts I want 99% of the profits.

Well, come on then! Go and write a bestseller! I want my money!


Occupation

Proud in the ranks of the unemployed. Parentally funded!


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien