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Keeping my head down, determining life and the designs of the universe, I ironically found I was able to see my direction more clearly. The life of the writer I no longer romanticize like I did in my moments of hero-worship. Where my cousins would revere sports players and musicians, I hoped to become a literary man.
Stories of writer’s lives littered my imagination and at times, my daily life. Idealizing writers like Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson, I found myself wondering if I could ever compare in my life. Would I ever be good enough? So I wondered for years, keeping my words to myself in that time. But then, it just didn’t matter, as I discovered that you would have to make a showing if you want to be noticed.
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