You ask me how I write. This is how I write. I get rid of the lizard. I eschew the philosopher’s stone. I bury my girl friend. I remove my personality from the line so that I am permitted to use the first person as often as I wish without offending my appetite for modesty. Then I resign. I do errands for my mother, or someone like her. I eat too much. I blame those closest to me for ruining my talent. Then you come to me. The joyous news is mine.