I was looking through some of my past writings and came upon this small tidbit called “The Plagiarist”. It was fun because as I recall, I tried to fit as many names of books, movies and songs into it as I could think of whilst writing it. Hopefully you’ll have a little fun also whilst counting them..... It was a dark and stormy night, he wrote. Then, as he re-read his first line he realized his great expectations of becoming a great architect of the written word were nothing more than a towering inferno hidden in the abyss of confusion within his brain Thus far it had been a hard day’s night, he thought, I should be sleeping like a log. To sleep, perchance to dream, for even the raven doth sleep and cry, nevermore until the morrow. For now, as the clock struck twelve he felt the pang of his tell tale heart murmuring lamentations over the now blank page before him. Questioning himself, should he declare a mutiny on the bounty of words that were escaping his very grasp or struggle with the covenant he promised himself to keep? “To be or not to be the writer of words”, he said aloud or should I dare the great escape never to know if his work might possibly be a requiem for the masses? It is indeed a thing of human bondage to choose between war and peace with one’s pride and prejudice. Perhaps to stroll to the pub at this late hour, he mused. But alas, indeed, the heart is a lonely hunter for even the little women found at the bar, including Alice and her adventures in wonderland cannot cure such a likeness of Don Quixote as I. A look, just one look in the mirror for a clue as to my demise. Will the image be that of an invisible man with a heart of darkness or that of he who loves the separate peace? Perchance now to rest, for morning marks a new day in 1984 and as my very name is Dorian Grey, the sun will still rise with me or without me. For now, it is as nothing, or gone with the wind.