Question: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: Today, many academics feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. They're under huge pressure to write and publish but an ever-growing mountain of teaching and admin is stopping them doing just that. Our research finds that whilst nobody is immune to these pressures, some academics cope better than others and that's because over the years, they've developed personal "systems" to help them write. We recently carried out in-depth interviews with 23 scholars across the UK, Europe and the US. We deliberately chose a diverse group so as to not make any assumptions based on age, seniority, or research background. Academic experience ranged from six months to 27 years and subject fields ranged from social sciences, economics, business, and arts. We did this as part of our user research to inform the development of Prolifiko a digital coaching tool for writers. Whilst every academic had developed a writing productivity system personal to them, we found there were six common "habits" that the most prolific (and generally least stressed) academics tended to use. 1. They "time-block" their writing in advance Scheduling booking in time to write in advance was the single most common habit of our writers. It didn't appear to matter what type of time-blocking method a scholar chose to use or how lengthy a writing session was. Some blocked out long periods of time on sabbatical, whilst others preferred to block out short, regular times throughout the day or across a week. What seemed to matter far more was the act of planning, as this mentally prepared the individual for writing and so made the process easier and less stressful. "When I need to write I block out time. I'm lucky in that I can work from home I block out a couple of straight days to do the writing and I plan it in beforehand. I couldn't really write in any other way than blocking out that time." Question: How long did it probably take the author to collect all of his research prior to creating Prolifiko? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- years
- days
- weeks
Answer: years

input with options: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: I think that one of the people who caused me the most misery for the longest was someone that I'll call "Luna". So, most people have probably met that person that acts all suicidal and then uses that against you. For example, you're talking to someone like that and you're having some sort of argument and the moment they realize they aren't winning they send you pictures of their bloodied wrists and say "This is your fault". Well, that person was my friend for a long time. Every time I would try to leave her to go to sleep she would threaten to do "something bad" and I knew what she meant, and me, first meeting her when I was around 9 or 10, and I was still extremely naive. So most of the time, I ended up staying awake til 3 AM on school nights and I would get only a few hours of sleep, and she'd be happy because her life wasn't worsened at all. But I think the thing that made me the most miserable, was the fact that it never got better. No matter how much I talked to her, or how sympathetic I tried to be, or how much I tried to convince her to be happier, it never got better. She still acted super depressed, but like it was a joke. All of these things combined to make me completely miserable because it seemed like it was all for nothing. But I just let it happen, because she was the only person I had and she was really my only "friend" at that point, and all the way up to seventh grade. So for that entire period of time, she certainly wasn't the only source of misery for me, but she made me feel way worse than I would have if I hadn't been friends with her. Question: Who was happy because her life wasn't worsened at all? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Luna's friend
- Luna
- The author
output: Luna

Q: Read the following context and answer the question. Context: November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." Question: Where does this story take place? Answer:

OPTIONS:
- china
- not enough information
- new york
- the south

A:
not enough information