My grandfather was a writer of many books. As a child and a teenager, I wrote ____1____, trying to be an author like him. When I ____2____ my first book, I was not sure if I should throw it out to the world or shelter it forever. That’s why I went to grandpa that night, my faithful reader, who once again gave me tremendous ____3____。
“Did you bring the book? I heard you talk about it and I can’t wait to see your ____4____.”
“Oh yeah, the book. I completed it yesterday,” I handed him the draft, “but I don’t think it’s that good...”
He turned to a random page and ____5____ more of the pages. “Why do you think this isn’t good? It looks fine to me. Very heart-warming.”
“Well, I’m not sure. It could be better than it is now.”
“You can’t expect for the book to be ____6____. Writing is a skill that takes time. You already finished the story, and now you have to ____7____ others what you’ve got.” he passed the book back to me. “If people don’t like it, then write again. Criticism is important, but you are going to have to keep on writing till you are ____8____ with your work.”
“Is that how you became a writer?”
“Yes, and every other writer before me. You have to start from the ____9____ and then reach the top.”
I finally broke out into a smile and he did too. I looked carefully at the book one more time. The pages bound together gave me hope for the future. That settled it. I was going to have to ____10____ myself and let others see my work. For me and for my grandpa.