What is worse is that the world is full of egotistic artists who at one fleeting moment were able to put together an artifact which only they can truly love as if it were their own flesh and blood.  Whether the creation is beauty for the eye, mind, or soul, the object which is displayed and examined with the utmost consideration is hailed to a majestic triumph closely mirroring the creations of God.   A vision of unforeseen measures and extraordinary talent.  But then the object's brilliance quickly grows dim and  is refused any esteemed acknowledgement soon becoming  an appendage of the aritists own self's  low worth.  A old, recurring haunting fear surfaces soon after the artists thoughts  center on the work's resemblance to uninspiring, unmoving humorous forms.  The objects  protective gloss is easily smeared thus revealing its boring identity.

So life for me might not include an artistic professional career but will instead forever sit behind a desk with a stifling calculator to become the worlds quietist creature with no hope in sight.  I will not become a PR agent nor will I work in a museum or art gallery or design or write or anything creative that I've ever dreamt up for myself .  Dreams conjured up from an award winning gesture in an elementary writing contest which I won second place for a Christmas story telling contest.  A story about a lonely old lady who took it upon herself to buy the most dilapidated pine tree with limbs unable to hold one single ornament, nurtured the tree and " many years passed by" until the tree was strong enough to be decorated to shine in her little living room for her to admire(as the drawing depicted on the 4th page).  

This gift which I was told by a few teachers that was uniquely bestowed upon me, suddenly disappeared with no end in sight.  As quickly as I had astonished my third grade class, I misplaced my gift and retained writer's block after that accomplishment.   A face with illusionary beauty now long gone left with vague traces of a past time that leads one to believe she once might have been something sweet.    

Would these be the type of writing samples that PR agencies are looking for?