By Joshua Dyson

The things I write are buried, hidden because I’m certain it’s not good. Worse than that, I don’t want someone to tell me it’s good, because then it’s not mine anymore, it’s whatever someone else thinks it is. Maybe not – that’s too noble a fear to have of my writing and blatantly untrue.

My stories are my children, except I’ve kept them hidden in my basement, and they’re starting to get… incestuous. Indulgent bastard pieces that revere me as much as I love them. Until I put a match to them.

I don’t think I could stomach revealing my hidden joy just to get a pat on the back. What is secret is mythological, and writing is my legendary skill that only I know about. I don’t want you to see it, I don’t want you to like it, and I really don’t want you to not care about it even a percentage less than I do. I am the kid on the street with a brand-new ball, but absolutely no desire to get it dirty.