It’s a funny feeling, like growing up and realizing that other people have read The Catcher in the Rye, not just you.
I didn’t like having to explain to them, so I just shut up, smoked a cigarette, and looked at the sea.
Come, said my Soul
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after death invisibly return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)
Ever with pleas’d smiles I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning – as, first, I here and now,
Singing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,
I have a problem with taking my book with me everywhere even if there is no way I’ll get reading done. 3 am trip to the grocery store? Bring the book along! 2 minute trip to pick up pizza? Bring the book along! I think I just feel better having it with me.
A wild bookshelf appears.
If you ever get frustrated with your writing, just remember that Tolkien once described Feanor as
“wounded with many wounds”