I'm bleeding time and raking in the cash, more money than I ever thought to make. Before I die, I'll have a healthy stash, but more than gold-and-silver is at stake. I want to write, to see my work in print, to find an audience to read my books— I thought it was the reason I was sent. Writer: Sometimes at wealth and fame he looks, but he is always greedy for more time to find that missing word to fit the prose or yet to grasp some meaning through his rhyme. But when I have the time, I find I doze. Have I betrayed the telos of my soul? I pray to God that I will reach my goal.
A prayer by all writers. 😁
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There’s a terrible amount of chance involved, it seems. All I can control is that I keep working toward my dream.
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