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Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn’t stop for anybody.

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look william shakespeare was a glovemaker’s son without any kind of education beyond the basic level who basically ran away from his wife and daughters bc he was sort of a jerk

and he acted a bit and wrote a bit and probably didn’t take his playwriting nearly as seriously as his sonnets bc plays weren’t nearly as big a deal as poetry in 1597 or w/e, but playwriting paid the bills, so

he stole almost every single one of his plots; he set an extraordinary amount of plays in places he had never been and unapologetically got the details completely wrong; he wrote a fuckload of dick jokes

and he got drunk a lot and probably slept with a good number of prostitutes and he couldn’t even spell his own name

and, look— basically what i’m saying here is fuck stephen king, fuck jonathan franzen, fuck kurt vonnegut, fuck chuck fucking palahniuk

you don’t have to be special or magical or take yourself incredibly seriously or be incredibly original or throw yourself headfirst passionately into your work to be a writer

all you have to do is write shit and keep writing shit and sometimes it’s pericles but y’know what sometimes it’s hamlet

and sometimes it’s sonnet 135 which should really be enough for anybody

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