"The light saber arced through the air, incinerating molecules and atoms as it went. I somersaulted backwards, away from the harsh red glow of the deadly weapon.
No, no, no that's a stupid story, no one would every buy it. Maybe I should just stick to being a museum curator and give up on my dreams of writing a space movie. It's not a hard job, I see a museum, I curate. I've curated 100s in my time, sometimes 20 before lunch.
Now if only I could do something about my neurosis that forces me to narrate my life out aloud for everyone to hear."
I said to no one in particular.
"I think it'd be a wonderful story." said the stuffed polar bear in the corner.
"You're insane." I replied.
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