Allow me this. Indulge me this.
I've had praise and I've had criticism. These days, at last, they seem to be arriving in fairly equal measure. The brickbats are no longer winning.
But the best praise I've ever had came today from my father, a writer of considerable ability himself, who told me in an email that he respected me for not giving up, despite all the failures and the setbacks associated with this poet's game.
He's right, I did get stubborn perseverance from him. And whatever small gift I might have, though he hasn't laid claim to that one.
Cheers, Pop. I know the sentimentality of this post will probably make you gag, but there you go.
You're a geezer. And I'll email back next time I'm at the pc.
2 comments:
Better gagging on sentimentality than choking on indifference.
Acknowleging the old man while he's still alive - what a concept!
- R.
God yeah! I never thought I'd make it! But I've been an ungrateful, self-indulgent little twat for most of my life. I still am, in many ways, but chinks of adult light break through every now and then.
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