On September the eigth, 1952,
Hemingway published his last,
a book about a man who fished alone
from a skiff for eighty-four days
and caught nothing.
Then he catches the biggest fish of his life,
only to have it eaten by sharks
before he returns to shore.
I sometimes think I am that old man
fishing from a skiff
in a sea of publishing houses
and mediocre novels
and one day I'll land a publishing contract
only to lose it to the sea of apathy
before I reach the shore.
Ah! I have written ten --
seventy four to go.
Hemingway published his last,
a book about a man who fished alone
from a skiff for eighty-four days
and caught nothing.
Then he catches the biggest fish of his life,
only to have it eaten by sharks
before he returns to shore.
I sometimes think I am that old man
fishing from a skiff
in a sea of publishing houses
and mediocre novels
and one day I'll land a publishing contract
only to lose it to the sea of apathy
before I reach the shore.
Ah! I have written ten --
seventy four to go.
6 comments:
Best of luck!
smiles.
Well, I write two novels a year, so if I live until I'm 83...
*applauds* Fabulous.
verification word (best yet): pressese
Thank you :)
What a fabulous word!
Marvellous. They don't know what they're missing.
Thanks Gina :)
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