In the early nineteenth century, a young man in London aspired to be a writer. But everything seemed to be againts him. He had never been able to attend school more than four years. His father was in debtor’s prison, and the young man often knew hunger pangs. Finally, he got a job pasting labels on bottles of blacking in a rat-infested warehouse, and he slept in a dismal attic room with two other boys – guttersnipes from the slums. He had so little confidence in his ability to write that he sneaked out and mailed his first manuscript in the dead of night so nobody would laugh at him. Story after story was refused. Finally, the great day came when one was accepted. True, he wasn’t paid for it, but one editor had praised him. the editor had given him recognition. He was thrilled that he wandered aimlessly around the streets with tears rolling down his cheeks.
The praise, the recognition, that he received through getting one story in print, changed his whole life. You may have heard of that boy; Charles Dickens.
Give honest and sincere appreciation.
– Dale Carnegie
