It is hard to explain my disappointment in myself...I simply cannot write the way I want to. I don't know why style isn't a choice, but everything I write comes out in a way that is, at heart, disappointing to me. You can tell good crystal from ordinary glass by the sound made if you tap it. My words lacked the crystalline ring, and I could not seem to find a way to create the sound that I wanted. I lack that talent. I don't think it is dishonorable to admit a weakness...that is one of mine (though I have many). I had friends read my novels and, while they liked them in the way a friend likes another friend's efforts, there was nothing in their response that told me that I had done anything at all that I had hoped to accomplish. This is ego, of course, but I'd rather not write than be mediocre about it. There are enough so-so writers cluttering bookshelves these days. I've no interest in being one of that number. And that leaves me thinking about dreams as I sit here at 52 and wonder what is left to me. It's interesting to see how other people come to the question and I am very grateful for the thoughts you've shared.