I knew of a writer

I knew of a writer

who had to take the job as a kitchen cleaner

as no one wanted to publish his work

mind, he always had clean fingernails, when he sat

late at night composing words no one in the world

would ever bother to read.

When it became clear to him, he was an exercise

in futility, he quit his job grew a beard and his

fingernails grow long and dirty.

Crossing a bridge, he was about to jump but was

stopped by his inner police officer who said it was

against the law.

He had to write is own way and not imitate

the famous writers of the past and since he didn`t

have any style, took a long hot bath

and got a job as a security guard guarding tractors.

He doesn`t write anymore but waits for

his style of writing to show him how, because

he saw no point of writing for the pleasure of it.

◄ a new society

forget me not ►

Comments

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Vautaw

Mon 11th Feb 2019 03:23

It is quite a paradox to be drawn to an art that brings financial reward for so few, but alas we must write to satisfy the fee of the inner police that protects us from ourselves. ⛑

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Wolfgar Miere

Sun 10th Feb 2019 09:22

There's pleasure in writing?

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kJ Walker

Sun 10th Feb 2019 09:18

What a shame he didn't carry on "for the pleasure of it". maybe he would have been discovered, maybe not, but at least he'd have had the work to look back on.
I sometimes like to read my older stuff (which isn't that old as I've only been writing for a couple of years), it can bring pleasure re-looking at it with fresh eyes.

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