Reading a few passages from Clarice Lispector's Foreign Legion; the second section, "Bottom Drawer," starts with a promising homage to publishing even those pieces that haven't turned out as planned:
Why should I rescue from my bottom drawer 'The sinner burned at the sake,' for example, which was written simply for my own amusement ...? Why publish what is worthless? Perhaps because the worthy is also worthless. Besides, what is obviously worthless has always fascinated me. I have a real affection for things which are incomplete or badly finished, for things which awkwardly try to take flight only to fall clumsily to the ground.