“Oh, Brad!” You say, your upper lip quivering in a pitiful, graceless display of mental anguish. “Why aren’t you writing more? You said you’d be writing more in 2006.”

“Ah!” I reply, shrugging. “But I have been writing more. I’ve been writing lots and lots more.”

“But, but…” You stutter back.

“You just can’t see what I’ve been writing.” I grin wryly in your direction. “Thousands and thousands of words. Dozens of ideas. Multiple projects. And I’ve hidden them away until such time as the world is ready for…”

Your face turns from humilty into a sarcastic glower. “Huh!. What the hell is that supposed to mean, you egotistical sack of… ”

But I cut you off, holding a single digit arrogantly in the air. “I’ve been writing for me.” I say slowly, my voice a little lower than before. “I’ve stuck it away, and one day, when I’m happy with it all, I’ll let it out to play and be free.”

“I understand.” You say, turning your frown up-side-down. “You’re so smart.”

“Well, yeah. But don’t tell anyone, okay.”