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It's brazen of me to mention myself in the same paragraph with the great Walt Whitman, let alone in the same sentence, but I've discovered we have something in common—the habit of forever rewriting what we long ago thought finished. Thirty-five years after he first published it, Whitman was still rewriting and adding to Leaves of Grass, just as I, ever since their inception, have been rewriting and adding to my Rewritten Rewrites. I know—this hardly qualifies me to share a sentence with him, but, splashing about here in the shallows, I can’t help taking heart from glimpses of myself in the big boys. And Whitman isn’t my first—I’ve just as brazenly shared sentences with Ernest Hemingway, Leonard Cohen, E. B. White, and, as an artist, with Alex Colville (we shared a passion for the Audi Roadster). I'm working toward being brazenly mentioned, myself, in the same sentence with. Here’s where I’ve gotten to—