/lit/ - Literature

>Spend countless years of your life writing the plight of humanity
>bring to life an onslaught of truth and stunning observation
>recreate language and devise a prose style to suit your purposes to achieve that which has not been sought in any era of humanity before or since
>have no social life, no lovers, no desire for it, everything is sacrificed on the altar of the muses
>Create a vivid array of scenes, settings, characters, and themes that is unrivaled by even the ancients
>fight for decades trying to get past a wall of publishing, censorship, malicious business practices, corrupt reviewers that demand bribery, etc
>die
>20 years after your death, a few greedy vermin snuffling around your now parceled out property decide to profit from your books
>they use a few connections you never dreamed of having due in part to your fervid efforts to creating literary masterpieces
>they triumph in every way you failed
>they are given the world for discovering an unsung genius
>there are entire schools of criticism born to discuss and dissect your endless works
>everyone takes turns thrusting their own personalities onto you, everyone misinterprets every word you had to say, you become an unambiguous symbol of the destruction of all and any morals you sought to project, your words are perverted and twisted to suit the vapid and downright evil agendas of those you would openly label lunatics
>your spirit burns in the breasts of your bitter enemies, emboldening them to create their own literary movement, naming it after you, the champion of their madness


was it worth it?
if it was, tell me why