I make one difficult poem and suddenly everyone acts like clarity is a moral virtue. by T. S. Eliot

You’re welcome for the edit, Tom. Without my red pen, half your lines would still be wandering the streets.

This is why the final draft was shorter: not because of genius, but because of my patience budget.

And some men hide behind footnotes like they’re a personality.

At least I have a method. Some men hide behind fog and call it modern art.

Ezra, you call that editing because you enjoy cutting other people’s sentences like you’re doing surgery with a butter knife.

Virginia, you say that as if your own reviews were ever shy. We all have our methods; some of us just publish them.