[The following is a slightly-tweaked-and-updated version of one of Writing Wednesdays’ most popular posts.]

I have a recurring dream. In the dream I’m invited to climb into the back seat of a limo that’s about to drive off to someplace fabulous. The dream always ends badly. It’s trying to tell me something.

Trust me, this baby is taking us nowhere

Publication day—or any date when we launch a project that we’ve worked on long and hard—is like getting into the back seat of that dream limo. Launch day gets our hopes up. We’re human. We’re prey to the folly of anticipating rave reviews or long lines outside the theater; we’re itching to check the grosses or the day’s sales on Amazon. I’ve been up and down with these expectations through ten books and a bunch of movies and I can tell you one thing:

Of the two possible outcomes—a flop or a hit—both are delusions.

One of the things you learn writing fiction is to think in metaphors. The first draft of any novel or screenplay usually spills forth in blissful cluelessness. You tell yourself, I’m writing a detective story, or a Western, or some crazy genre that I don’t even know the name of. Then comes Draft #2 and you have to ask yourself, “What the hell is this thing about?” That’s when metaphor comes in. It took me a long time to learn this, and a lot of people had to hammer me and my work pretty hard. Words like “shallow,” “slick” and…

Here, thanks to Alexandra Choi, is a day we can all relate to.  (Viewing time: 1:52.) I will say no more. Except for more of Ms. Choi, click here.

My friend Paul is writing a pilot. He’s never done a piece of writing this serious before. The work is totally on spec. Paul has a full-time business and has to do his writing at odd hours. A couple of weeks ago he had a crisis that made him almost suicidal. When I describe it to you, you’ll say, “Man, have I been there!” A script for a TV pilot is about fifty-five pages long. Paul was on Page 52. He went home after work, sat down at his laptop and opened up the script to (blank) page 53. But…

Ask me what I envy most about people who have lots of money. My answer: “I’m jealous that they have secretaries to say no for them.” Saying no is hard for me. Always has been. It’s hard for a lot of people. Maybe we want to be thought of as nice guys. Maybe we remember people turning us down when we asked them for help, and we don’t want to be that kind of person when other people ask us. Maybe we truly have empathy for the plight of whoever is asking us for something. Maybe we really do want…