What Happens To The Novels That Never Get Written?
Sadly, my chance at young fame has passed me by — through no fault but my own. I made excuses, frittered away time and put things off until later than I should have.
Sadly, my chance at young fame has passed me by — through no fault but my own. I made excuses, frittered away time and put things off until later than I should have.
It doesn’t have to be Lord Byron. It doesn’t even have to be Dr. Seuss. I’ll take anything you send and I’ll receive it with love.
You don’t know how grateful I am, here in the eighth hour of my shift standing on my feet in cheap flats. Thank you for looking me in the eye and seeing a human who makes human errors and still tries to do a good job.
When I received that phone call, I was struck by how unfair it was. Not that you had died, because you were peaceful in your passing and it was time. I was struck instead by how unprepared I was
Sure, it’s easier to feel like a writer on the days it all comes together, but the days when I struggle, the days when I fight for it, those are the days that have conditioned me.
Your life does not deserve to be frozen and displayed like a stuffed animal that was once breathing and is now caught still by taxidermy. It deserves your attention. It deserves your presence.
It’s a hard thing to accept, that something you were once so connected to, something that moved you so completely, has changed for you. And you know it hasn’t changed, not really. It’s the same old book.
Thank you for striking the match. Thank you for encouraging me with nothing but the words on your tongue.
Don’t ignore her phone calls. Don’t let the call ring through to voicemail because you’re getting ready for a night out with new friends. Answer it quickly and tell her you’re going out. And when you’re back, call her.
No matter how you see it, it’s telling you there’s something more. It might have changed or even become completely different, but the dream has been there all along.