“The owl he was a wise old bird:
the less he spoke, the more he heard.
The more he heard, the less he spoke.
There never was such a wise old bloke.”
I feel a little bit like an owl. I am hearing so much, from all sides, and really have very little to say. If I publish poetry here, I cannot publish it elsewhere. Same goes with short stories. If I publish inconsequential nonsense, why would anyone read it. If I publish nothing, I am silenced. Am I therefore deemed wise?
What is the definition of a conundrum?