A new one?

What if you looked into your shoebox and found out it was full with scraps of paper and cocktail napkins with shit written on them? Would you think those scraps contained enough stuff to make a novel out of them?

You might. But would you actually do it–write the novel, that is?

What if you swore, without equivocation, you’d never write another novel again, would you write another one just because you had a shoebox full of sheer unadulterated shit?

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Published in: on December 3, 2010 at 11:28 pm  Leave a Comment  

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