I’ve lost the will to fight for creativity any longer. My head is an inescapable place. I think two novels and a short-story collection are all I will be able to contribute artistically. It is a small offering in the scheme of things—not many people have read what I’ve written. But I think this is where the road ends for me as a writer. Every time I sit to write I am gripped by self-doubt, self-censorship and the fear of ridicule. Writing was never my livelihood, it was my hobby and my hobby no longer has the utility of bringing me happiness. Social media (or in my case the fear of social media) has stripped the joy from writing for me and left only the lifeless mechanics. I am in a difficult place: I have neither the willingness to conform to the demands of the current cultural paradigm nor the courage to stand and fight against its inflexible edicts. Writing was very important to me for about 12 years of my life. I believe that season is over now, but I’m proud of what I’ve created, particularly SCAB AMONG THE STARS and some of the stories from MACHINES AND FEVER DREAMS. My sincere thanks to everyone who took the time to read my work. I hope it transported you to a vivid world and let you escape for a while. It was once my escape, too.