The reason though is that I think I'm ingratiating myself all over the place, that people get sick of seeing me, thinking God not him again.
Then there are those I can tell are trying to brand, coming across as a bit contrived really and nonetheless great at it. But that’s what we have to do these days as writers. Apparently. Yes, gone, it seems to me anyway, is the luxury of the sensitive artist type to be able to slink off to their dens to view the world by their quiet contemplative introspective from where their greatest works arise. An unspoken understanding by others that they're meant to be misunderstood. I don't think that's the case anymore.
Anyway, gotta go, have a lunch reservation for seven; wonder what the maître d'will think when only one person turns up – well okay then, the girl behind the counter at Subway.