This past month, I have realized that peddling manuscripts to open competitions is self-depecrating. It is no wonder that Bob Kaufman wanted to be anonymous, that Salinger's aversion for the process of publication robbed the world of his genius, or that Lorca's warning of "stupid fame" has, to a large degree, manifested.

And so, I have finished my second manuscript and a chapbook. I have a few more ideas. One more chapbook. One short story collection (no story will be longer than a page). And one more book of poetry that meddles in the world of hyper-surrealism. After that, I will probably stop writing. I suppose that is all I have to offer.