So what, a lot of people sleep with writers

This is the anxiety like a binder clamp on the end of my esophagus as the mountains of digital accolades pile down on notme, all compiled of notme. These are the split ends and the bitten nails quietly cataloging the creeping triumph of notme. These are the ghosts of mistaken praises whose insubstantial feet I have seen dissolve.

Do not say failure, do not think failure, there will be enough of that from other sides. Do not look at other sides. There is a gold star on my calender for each day I write.

Do not put down that pen.
For God's sake,
Do not