Book Store Full Of Emptiness ممتلئ بالفراغ

This book, which borrowed time from me, was written over the course of four years or more, of which the last was the most focused and exhausting. I hated it a lot, hated the decision to write it, and often felt bogged down, as if I was trapped in a quagmire that I had no strength or direction to get out of! In the end, I loved it as I had never loved anything I had ever written, for it is my habit that I do not read anything I have written, nor revise it, nor revise it, I just push it to a friend and implement his suggestions with full openness of mind so as not to go through the experience of reading it again, except in my experience with this book, I may have I read it, revised it, and revised it completely four or five times, and each time it came out as a completely different book than it was before reading! My friend told me that with the process of writing this particular book and apart from its content, I was obsessive, obsessive, hateful, excessively scrutinizing, afflicted with a perfectionist pursuit, so that he hurled at me a phrase that was perhaps one of the most that helped me finish it after a delay of many months when he said: “I am afraid that it will be spoiled and distorted by Where I wanted to fix it" The ghosts of fear and hesitation continued to haunt me, and the idols of ideals gnawing at me for a long time. Posted from it and deferred mummified on the shelves of palms and brakes and envelopes. I well remember a sigh I gave at last; sigh