A young writer, who gained fame after his first book garnered critical acclaim, is in despair while working on his second book as he feels the fountain of his creativity dried up. Through his odd encounter with a young man with carnation and after chattering with seamen on an impulsive excursion to the wharf, he has an epiphanic moment of realizing writing as a calling and accepting uncertainty as part of it.
"But you are to write the books," said the Lord. "For it is I who want them written. Not the public, not by any means the critics, but ME!"
"Can I be certain of that?" ...
"Not always," said the Lord. "You will not be certain of it at all times. but I tell you now that it is so. You will have to hold on to that."
(Isak Dinesen's Winter's Tales)
