Whenever I read truly talented authors, I regret setting pen to paper at all. I have spent twenty-five years honing my art, but still I remain a complete amateur. This realisation hits hard whenever I read their fluent prose, its rhythm dancing inside my soul. Reading their magnificent writing, I truly cringe at my own. What I’d give for the brilliance of the writer.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Close Search Window
Please request permission to borrow content.