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The Review Review

Abstract

I recently looked at some of my old manuscript printouts. I still keep them tucked away in an old cardboard R-Kive banker’s box, hoping I have some worthy stories I can dust off and polish into gems. Well, there may be a few good ideas kicking around that banker’s box, but I can’t get past the horrid writing. I forgot what a bad writer I was. It’s all there in this tomb of fictive sorrows, embalmed in yellowed paper.The contents of that box represents the years of frustrating, difficult, and at times hopeless work it took to be the writer I am today. I don’t mean to imply that I’m a great writer now. But I am a better writer now than when I wrote those drafts. And I plan on being a better writer in the future.

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