He could still play them, but four days later they took a direct hit on the chanter and the drone when he had laid them down in the grass, and that was that.
It's difficult for even the most naturally productive writer to work in an environment where alarms and excursions are the rule rather than the exception.
No, don't misunderstand me. But I'm saying that it's more than just being an acceptable writer who gives some kind of literary pleasure to discerning, sophisticated people.