Why do I bother?

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Sometimes I wonder why I bother. I had an idea for a Christmas story but it had to be written and posted yesterday to be effective. It needed a sixteen year old boy soprano, they're unusual. So it needs a contrivance, there's always the cop out of magic, genital damage pre puberty, AIS or intersex - quite rare, or T-blockers. I opted for the latter, administered by a mother who thought she was doing best for her son. I then have calls of child abuse and for another author to redress the balance.

Normally, I welcome comments as a way for readers to participate, I'm beginning to wonder if I might just switch them off next time, or if there will be a next time. I'm aware that in posting, I'm fair game for criticism, which could be worse elsewhere, so should I complain at all in this real world where people do nasty things as normal.

Maybe because I'm still suffering with a viral infection and I feel under par, or it's my first Christmas with only one child or whatever, but this really got to me. The season of peace and love, except by Christians. I'm taking my bat and ball home, I might not be back. Merry Christmas.

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