And yet a hint of glory in the ratio. Or was it simple the self-glorification created by false hopes and daydreams?
Phillip Larsen took stock each Friday morning. He was a writer. He knew that was his calling, his destiny. This week, as he looked at the balance sheet – three columns: new writings, new acceptances, new rejections – he smiled. Columns A and B were the longest and included a new publisher.
Not bad, he thought as he picked up a pencil to write.
The question was what to write? A poem? A short story? A 100-word sketch?
The problem was that he had no idea. Not only no idea of what kind of piece to write, but no idea for anything.
Not good, he now thought. He knew that when he had no idea he should simply not bother because, if he tried to force it, he either failed or wrote garbage. He knew it was better to wait until he had an opening sentence or a title. Then the writing itself would take over.
But it had been two days since he’d written anything and panic was already beginning to set in. Phillip always worried when he hadn’t written anything for a couple of days that he wouldn’t be able to write.
He looked at the list again.
He’d written before and he’d write again, he thought. Maybe today simply was one of those days…
On the other hand, maybe he should simply write about his weekly taking stock.
He picked up the pencil and started to write.