A Humble Apology

They say that when you first start writing that you’re not writing for yourself. You’re writing for the reader, and you have to keep catering to the reader until you have enough notoriety to write for yourself. That hardly seems fair, writing for years and years in a certain specific style, confined to rules and restrictions, perfecting a craft that isn’t yours. It’s like teaching artists to trace, singers to lip sync. Apparently, though, this is how it’s done, as I'm often reminded. A formality, like tipping after a meal, or showering regularly.

Readers must be an awfully meek beast. They prefer things to be familiar and any kind of unexpected change loses their interest. Anything that makes them think makes them uncomfortable. I apologize if I’ve made any of you.

Think.