Recently I sat down to author my great Opera Magnus. A great work of prose and genius. Remembered and lauded for thousands of years. Forever securing my place amongst the great of writers. Having little that passes for patience, I quickly set out. With keyboard in hand and screen in sight away I went. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, my fingers flew across the keyboard. Before me my work grew, I was genius. I gloried in my might. At a point I stopped typing and started reading what I had wrought. It took but a sentence or to before my dreams of greatness began to tumble. By the end of the first paragraph I realized I might not be a great writer. I might not even be a good writer. The second paragraph sealed my fate. I wasn’t merely not good I was downright awful. And so it is that I present myself here, to you. Not as a great master but as a struggling beginner. D.