<The leather-bound tome sits on the nightstand bathed in the moonlight. With dust dancing in the glow, trace amounts of mold on the leather and rust on its iron bindings belying its age. However, despite its decrepit state, signs of recent use can be seen.>
Edwin feels it would be a good idea for me to start keeping a journal. Some nonsense about helping my memory and, in-turn, improving my inventions.
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Except for a few explosions, my inventions all work fine! It’s not my fault that stupid gnome lost his hand. I told him it was a prototype!
This is ridiculous. I’m done writing and going back to tinkering. See? I made an effort, sir!