I am like the sad old guy whose wife has left him for a younger, more sparkling, man, but refuses to believe it, to face facts, who continues about his day as if his wife is just out getting her hair done or stopping by the market, and she will be back pretty soon. But she won’t. She’s making her bed elsewhere and she’s never coming back.
The publishing business has left me behind, taken abed younger authors, and I can engage in all the nostalgic ranting I want, and she just isn’t coming home to me.
Of course, nothing’s stopping me from trying to seduce me a younger publishing business, now is there?