Writing is the saddest enterprise. I use that word a lot, enterprise. But who besides me would know? Who would know that I don't write about car diagnostics? Or that I don't shape my text like swans or amphorae? Who would know that my writing is heavy with a subtext I make undetectable? It is the curtain, buoyant in the window, lifted by the invisible hand of the wind. Poor writing! I weep for you.