My friend Eric sent me one of his favorite Hemingway quotes: “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” I’ll take it further. For me, there’s one little thing that’s discouraging about being a writer. And it’s trivial, really. It’s the fact that if you’re good—I mean, if you’re really in it to win it—you’ll disembowel yourself, spooning your own savage entrails into a rich broth with spices and baking it all to a fragrant golden brown, finally serving yourself up on a decorative platter for your readers. And when the bleeding wound has crusted over and you’re fighting infection, you have to accept the fact that your words will never be as sensationally newsworthy—as impactful—as a picture of Kim Kardashian’s ass.