*pauses to allow the audience to recover from appropriate shock*
All kidding aside, I am a tremendously flawed writer with new and amazing shortfalls being discovered every day. For those of you hankering for a metaphor (and you know you want one), here it is… Imagine my literary oeuvre as a bowl full of bright red cherries. Beautiful, right up to the point you take a bite and break a tooth on a pit.
My pits are many, my friends. And they are often large and hairy pits, leaving no room for the succulent fruity flesh for which all readers are hungering.
So, what is my confessed pit of the day?
Simple. I often admit to no pits.
In my epic battle with my specter of imminent failure (you remember Frank, of course), I turn a blind eye to problems I really should be addressing. If I admit honestly to one flaw, I fear the rest of my shaky self-esteem will tumble down upon my head.
So, I guess you could say today’s new pit is really an old pit of mine.
Pit, thy name is cowardice.
*sighs at not even being able to pull off a freshly insightful blog*
Here ends this pitiful confession.