Kavan sat at his desk, staring at a rejection letter on his computer screen for the fifth time that month. The words felt like someone hit him hard every time he read them: “Unfortunately, your manuscript doesn’t meet our current needs. We wish you the best of luck.”
It had been five years since he had decided to leave his high-paying corporate job to follow his dream of becoming a writer. At the time, his family had been furious. “You’ve got a stable job, Kavan! Why throw it all away?” his father had shouted. “You’re making a huge mistake. You’ll regret this!”
But Kavan had been sure. Writing had always been his passion.
But now, five years later, the dream seemed farther away than ever. Kavan had written several stories, poured his heart into each one, only for them to be rejected again and again. His savings were running low and after years of unsuccessful attempts, he had taken a part-time job at the local library to make ends meet. It gave him access to books and the chance to be around people who still cared about stories.
One Saturday afternoon, while Kavan was shelving books, he noticed an elderly man sitting at one of the tables, hunched over a notebook. His hair was silver, his glasses on the edge of his nose, one that was scrunching in an attempt to write something in his notebook.
“Can I help you with something?” Kavan asked.
The man looked up and smiled warmly. “Oh, just scribbling down a few thoughts.”
Kavan nodded. “I’ve seen you around. What are you working on?”
The man chuckled. “Well, I’ve been working on this for many years now. It’s a memoir of sorts. My life, you know? Started writing it many years ago, but kept putting it off.”
Kavan sat down next to the man, curious.
“You see, I wasn’t always a writer. For years, I was in construction. Not much time for stories, but I always had the urge to write.”
Kavan raised an eyebrow. “You were in construction?”
The elderly man nodded. “Yes, but one day, I decided. I quit my job a few years before my retirement age and gave it all up to pursue writing. My family wasn’t happy. They thought I was going crazy. But I couldn’t ignore the voice inside me anymore. Anyway, it took me years before I felt confident enough to even submit my first few works. And they were all rejected. Again and again.”
Kavan blinked, “Really? I thought it just happens for people, you know? They write, they get published in a few years, success happens.”
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