I finished reading Anne Lamott's bird by bird this morning, and she spends most of the book telling you to face it, buddy, you're probably never going to be published, and then she goes on to say things like writing is its own reward, and we write because we love God or want to impress girls or want to think about things or distill things or reach out and etc., and it made me wonder, not so much why I write, because yes, those are the reasons I write, mostly, but who I write for. ( And yes, of course I write for you. )As long as I'm being arrogant and self-involved, why not tell you about ( my blind spot. )Tags: a tender look which becomes a habit, apology I feel funny and my pants are: open the world is singing and it sounds like: Death Cab for Cutie, Marching Bands of Manhattan
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