For starters, it is obvious that none of my writings will have nary a sheen of worthiness compared to the greatest writers of all times, like the fellows, and females, I mentioned below. I will not set myself up for such a great disappointment. I can aptly well observe and comment and perhaps give new light to their wisdom and insights, but none are original to myself. This is another reason why I believe I am doomed to be an editor, but never an author. I can recognize glory, taste it, smell it, pursue it, but never produce it from my own fingertips. Ironically, I shall forever be a slave to literature, never its conqueror, but isn't that what true love is?