Serious writing requires a singular kind of reckless courage.
Those born with the talent to write but without the necessary courage unavoidably go to a kind of purgatory. Those born with both, of course, go straight to hell.
Hard to know which is better.
Hard to know which is worse!
I'm not proud, in particular, to be a liar of multiple decades, but of course I value my life, my self, and my associates—the greatest of the talent-killing sins, and an express ticket to Dante's penthouse.
Oh, to have been an Antonin Artaud, to have twisted in the black matter, to have urchined in the urn, to have beaten back, flagellating, in time with rhetoritards, mongoliacs, bipolaroids!
Oh, the tragedick, the humanitack of et al!
Pity, pity, pity party!