2 Writer, thou hast talked the talk, and now thee must walk the walk.
3 Thou hast spake unto other artists, Quit thy day job, and yea, verily those artists did, and it was good.
4 Thou hast spake unto the world, No thing shall make thee creative like a deadline. No thing shall make thee productive like desperation. No thing shall make thy talent bloom as shall being forced to eat on the money from thy art.
5 And the LORD spoke of contingency plans, saying Yea, they are the refuge of pussies.
6 And the LORD spoke of irony, and referring to the post of three days ago, he said, all safety is an illusion. He said, it is not principle but ego that maketh thee turn away from this gift; and now, writer, thou must be humble.
7 And the LORD taketh away with one hand the job with the 30% pay cut that nevertheless included a plane ticket and an apartment even as he giveth with the other hand a kind and loving human being in whom the writer must now trust.
8 Pack thy bags, sayeth the LORD. Fly to the Middle East without a job, without your own living space, without a car. And though thy ego will say, writer, thou art unworthy, and writer, this must have a hidden price, there must be strings, thou must still trust. Thou must giveth what thy can, and yet take with both hands.
9 And the LORD laughed at the detailed plans of the writer even as he yanked them away, and said, There is only one plan, and that is the plan given unto thee by the LORD, which shall be clear to anyone who isn't a moron.
10 And the LORD added, now write, motherfucker, write.