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You know how I write. I laughed so much that my ribs hurt.
The second book is about an 11-year-old boy growing up in Florida in the ’50s. The boy survives a hurricane, a couple of murders and a deceitful, cheatin’, holy-roller preacher father whose lascivious ways result in some colorful prose.
Now, what does my failure so far to publish a best-selling novel have to do with you selling more printing, more profitably? I’m teaching you to never, never, never give up. Even if you have to tear it up and start all over again.
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