The major struggle of writers is
finding a reservoir of inspiration when their pieces are needed the most. For
the purpose of a literary artist is to bless the society with his pen and
paper. Now I ask, who is the company designated to lighten up the craftsman at
his darkest, at his weakest, and at his poorest? The life of a writer is
dedicated to the masses and his compositions are embossed eternally on the
universe’s canvas. The scripts of artists live forever because the heart of its
maker says so. Without his heart’s affirmation, the pieces are nothing but
comedic. The world may fear of wars and calamities, but what should be greatly
feared are the writers who slowly lose passion in what they do, due to their
drought of both material and immaterial richness. They what I call, “Dead
Essayists”. May the Lord continue to gift all craftsmen with an overflowing
fountain of love and inspiration for them to mightily share. Heaven bless us,
the writers, so that we could allow our brethren to encounter paradise on these
mortal soils.

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