Finished writing a short novel yesterday. The weight of all the agency rejections letters lies heavy on my doormat, Still I Try.
Emails of job rejections clogging up my email, but Still I Try.
I refuse to leave this world without sharing the arts of my labour; all this work cannot die and dissipate with a cold corpse six feet under.
I refuse to leave this world without sharing the arts of my labour; all this work cannot die and dissipate with a cold corpse six feet under.
Thus, Still I Try.
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