wanted them more than anything but i could n't give them to him or he could n't give them to me no point placing blame pointing fingers now / anyway / he hated to see anything bad about his writing / he was so shy at first so ashamed of it that he could n't disagree with any criticism not even the stuff that was obviously bullshit he just could n't separate himself from it it hurt him he sought out the hurt he thrived on it it made him angry and he always wrote best when he was angry such a male thing to do get angry and retreat to that place that place of control false control / he was never above willful self-deceit .