To paraphrase Solaris, "That kind of courage would be a sign of cowardice."

It isn't the writing that's difficult; it's the thinking. Going about the day with a running monologue, that "top-level" voice that is kind of my own and kind of not, I guess I should say that voice is what I think I sound like, but suspect I don't. Hearing your own voice on a tape recorder kind of thing.

A writer is the proper cluster of habits, not all of them good for anything else.

Sitting. Schedule. Freedom from distraction. Immersion therapy.

Annual Reviews at work. Why do I dread them so? I hate feeling like I have to justify myself. Can't anyone see the hundreds of hours of effort? Then emerge, shake off, step back. Perhaps nobody knows what they're even looking for and they're hoping these self-evaluations will reveal it. Suppose this is just a measure of how much effort one can put into an otherwise pointless task? Time for a review, dig a hole then fill it back up GO!

Luckily for me, I'm an exceptional employee, above-average, elite, just like everyone else.

Brian Y. sent me an article from Slashdot, I think, about why incompetent people still think they're exceptional. I haven't read it yet. Maybe I'm afraid I'll learn that I'm incompetent. More incompetent, I guess.

I'm pretty good at some stuff. Not very good at all the rest. Not yet anyway.