A writer, named Walter, wrote wonderful words in the withering winters under the willows. His words were of wisdom, whiz, and warmth and worth a reward. Sometimes, they were wicked, sometimes wacky and sometimes of woos too. He wished, whoever reads his work, will say WOW.
But, nobody read his stories. Every publisher turned him down. He ran from pillar to post, but no one entertained him. But, that didn’t stop him from writing. He wrote day and night. But, nobody agreed to publish his works. His house was full of papers with words on it, but only a pair of eyes read them. He wanted to take his work to the world, but no one bothered.
Then, one day, his words were lost. He wrote no more. He lay still in his grave with a writer’s dream. His words lay with him, until someone dug them out, someone found his lost work…
All his life he waited to publish his work but now someone wrote about his life and published. What an irony!
A writer, named Will, wrote wonderful words about a writer, named Walter and his works. Will wrote about what, which, why, when, where- everything about Walter. His work went far and near. His work won wondrous accolades from the whole world. Will was welcomed by all. Walter, the writer’s, wildest wish came true, but without his writings, but with Will’s work.
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