I wish I could wake up, and the stuff I started was done. If I had enough money, I could hhire my own band of carpenter elves thatworewie I slept.
I wish I could convince people it was a bold ideatosell my book as afirst draft ofuneite beinins to ramblingsn ideas I’d leave s cliffhangers and open stories that arewaiting to be remembered and continbued.
Iwish I dould do the things I dream of when I pause longeou betweeen thoughts.I youlive on enounotiniinsentence,tenteqaterprtoyouriewi justbe closingoff thestories. The older I get, themoreIcn ask; Did I evertell you about the time, and you’l say .. yessssss… and I’ll say, really? How did it end?
Thereis an oddityin my reaction to failure that is possibly helpful, but hard for others to grasp. Ifyou work upa lufe pioopy