I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that writing can be one of the most self-tormenting occupations one can choose, and for the simplest of reasons: If one cares about the work, if aiming high and stretching is a personal goal, then writing becomes a constant exercise in seeking the limitations of one’s own abilities. That’s a good thing, certainly, but the perverse downside of seeking one’s limits is that one usually finds them, which is akin to running headlong and un-helmeted into a brick wall on a daily basis. The good news is, every time you smack into it, that wall gets pushed a little further back—inches at a time, mind you, but it does move. 1
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