Sunday: Writer Rejected

We regret to inform you that no writing is undeniable. And if you want to get down with Aesop, the moral is and always will be: don’t let others suck your joy out. Keep on keepin’ on. And listen, if it helps, even Mark Twain had trouble spelling. It’s like, he’s human, you know?


DEAR HOWELLS,—I have to write a line, lazy as I am, to say how your Poe article delighted me; and to say that I am in agreement with substantially all you say about his literature. To me his prose is unreadable—like Jane Austin’s. No, there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane’s. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death.

Another thing: you grant that God and circumstances sinned against Poe, but you also grant that he sinned against himself—a thing which he couldn’t do and didn’t do.

It is lively up here now. I wish you could come.

                                   Yrs ever,


Sunday: Writer Rejected


Banged my fist against the wall. Slumped down. Sighed. Bought a coffee I couldn’t afford and called my mother. 

Hammered out a few sentences after 9 PM and drank whiskey from the bottle that was gifted to me by friends that know more of me than their comfortable with, although it seems to be working out as OK fodder for me. They don’t know that part yet. But they will. In time.  

"If that should not be, cousin, I say: patience and shuffle the cards."
- Don Quixote 
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