Recently I’ve been suffering from what I call ‘Talent gangrene.’, and now I’ve effectively got no limbs left that aren’t rotting slowly in their own juices. I’ve been told my writing is suffering from what critics call ‘Word syphilis’. The reviews say it’s boring but in a suffocating, disturbing sort of way, like marriage. The cynics seem to think so, with their zero stars out of ten and their snide comments. A lot of people just don’t realise how awful a bad review is. It’s like being stabbed, but with a knife made of letters.