We cannot wait around to be discovered. If you can’t write masterpieces why write? the doctors said to Zelda. Perhaps the goal is not to be the next Great American (Male) Novelist. This is perhaps closed to us anyway. The point, perhaps, is to write—by god to write—to write and refuse erasure while we’re living at least—and to use up all the channels possible through which to scream, to sing, to singe. All of these things.
