Is that the disease that forces people to write long, pointless prose they have no intention of ever finishing so that people will keep buying their 700-page novels with ridiculous amounts of detail about Egwene’s party dress and no substantive plot development?
Sorry. Had to get that off my chest. I’m sorry he’s unhealthy.
Ah, no. I’m afraid this is the disease that forces someone to hallucinate that all women are pretty much interchangeable save for one defining quirk such as wanting to learn how to swear or tugging on a braid when angry.
The 700 page novel thing is just greed and laziness.