Writer

Usually I say I write when people ask me what I do at work.
Actually, I write, I surf the web, I think about wasted time, I try to stop myself feeling bored, I laugh with the guys I work with, I resist the chiming calls from the back of my brain to just quit, just quit, just quit, just quit, just quit, justquitjustquitjustquit…

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Bowie

I know with absolute certainty these sentences will be the only to survive the destruction of our civilisation and will be endlessly puzzled over and analysed for deeper meaning forever and ever.

With that in mind, David Bowie is freaking awesome.

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Hope, Sarcasm and Wisdom from the Mother of a Writer

“It’s tearing me up Ma all these rejection letters are getting piled up on my counter from everywhere I sent my work to and they all come back to me with illegible red ink glaringly scrawled across them which no one in their right mind can read so how am I supposed to know how to make them better?”
I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice over the crackling phone line “I’m sure you will be crying me a river about these rejections when you have your first book published until then buck up and grow a backbone.”

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Writer’s Block

My heart pounds in my chest as thoughts of bankrupting my family and being homeless fill my head with terror and my chest with pressure, all because I quit my job to follow my dream of writing full time.

I never realized a blank white page could shout fear enough to make my hands shake and hope enough to make me dream.

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