I don’t think a writer’s commitment is to produce great work. I think aspiring for greatness is a horrendous misstep in any creative endeavor. Because it considers, at the very moment of inception, the audience, the critics, and the world at large. You don’t get to decide that it’s time to record your WHAT’S GOIN’ ON. You just record, and maybe you make WHAT’S GOIN’ ON. You don’t get to decide that now it’s time to write the Great American Novel. A writer/artist/creator is the most unqualified and undeserving to qualify something as “great.” I actually loathe work that aspires for greatness. Like a needy, neurotic, and insecure freak at a dinner party, that work never fails to come off as cloying and desperate, a little Jon-Benet tapdancing in the corner for applause and attention and love.