The Writer

At an old oak desk lit by a solitary candle there is a man. Quill pen in hand, bent over a sheet of parchment marking it at a furious pace, faster and faster he writes. Perspiration gathers on his brow. Suddenly he stops, catches his breath, and glances over his work. He throws his hand in the air in a gesture of exasperation. He crumples up the sheet and tosses it to the fire. Yet another masterpiece lost in the quest for perfection.