I appreciate all the kind comments that have been directed my way during the past few weeks but I'm moved to make a confession (something I mostly leave between the lines in my writing)

Like all writers (I guess) I want readers to like what I do. I always hope for rave reviews of books, glowing praise for articles, warm comments on blog entries. But as much as I might want praise for my work, I dread it too.

Doesn't approbation imply expectation on the part of the audience? What if the next book isn't as good, the new article makes no sense. After all, I'm really not that good!

Whenever we embark on a new book I am convinced that I'm a fraud. That the last book was a fluke. That everyone who read and liked it was probably drunk at the time.

But of course the slightest criticism penetrates straight to the heart.

None of which makes any sense. And this entry is kind of short to boot.