At one point in time, I wanted to be a short story writer. For a living. Obviously, the odds of this happening were always pretty slim, but I plugged away at it for a good five or six years. Every now and then a kind friend would humor me and ask me about my most recent story. There were a lot of variations in the way this conversation would play out, but I just realized I can summarize all of them as follows:
Friend: Hey, Spencer. How's the writing going?
Friend: Are you working on anything right now?
Friend: What's it about?
Me:What's it about? Oh, uh, ah, er, it's about a guy...it's about a guy who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.
Friend: Cool. Sounds great.
Me: Really? Yeah, I'm really enjoying writing it. You're welcome to read it when I'm done!
Friend: Oh, that sounds great! Let me know when you're finished!
Many saints have passed through my life.