If I were George RR Martin, I, too, would bask in the glory of TV fame and whoop it up rather than confine myself to a room I'm sure he sat in way too many years alone, sad and feeling rejected, concocting power fantasies of rape and revenge. That sixth book would never be written. Because, once it ends, it's over. And, it's not about that damned throne, is it? Besides, who has the time to read carefully considered, albeit, verbose descriptions when you are encouraged to binge-watch shows while concurrently surfing the web in search of outrage.