I see writing as a friendship. I’m not in competition with other writers to be one of three authors an agent signs this year. I’m not firing away short stories to make a coveted magazine spot. I’m in the trenches, bonding with the other sick, obsessed people around me as we peer over the edge of our earthen wall to catch a glimpse of the wily publishing groups, who, if they could see us for what we are in our hearts, would surely lob greatness in our direction.