Writing and Me
Hot 21378 views. 2014-11-16 20:56
I have been crawling all the way through loneliness, while by thoughts of giving up I was punctuated every now and then. One after another I thought of some other pursuits to follow, looking on each to lead to an ideal reverie, while each, in the end, was abandoned for appealing far less than writing. I would have in mind for what an end I am supposed to write. I would comprehend the language of English sentimentally, look upon it as an art of freedom, and let it load fully the appreciation in my life. I think it rather agreeable to live like the present: sleeping, reading up some paragraphs, and setting to write. It is those times when I inevitably get too depressed to write that make the biggest trouble. I feel like being a self-sufficient writer, like those who write diaries only. I need not from others obtain more or less positive appraisement, for the sake that after so many years of hard toil, I have finally known that the meaning of writing has never been racking my brains to please the many strangers, but sharing what's inside me with the best sincerity and generosity. Those who accept me receive my wisdom, while those with indifference won't despoil of me anything.