The writer is wondering, is it enough to write a small thing now and again, to make an observation and put it to words and maybe draw a little picture to go with it?
James Thurber, considered by millions of people, the greatest American humorist since Mark Twain, thought himself a failure since he never was what he set out to be, a serious novelist like Henry James.
The writer is wondering, does it really matter what we make as long as we sustain a practice? Does it matter if a writer has an audience? What is this desire to be "known"?
Thurber Dreaming of Being James