As the year is coming to a close, I find myself checking my writing records ever more often. How many pieces? How many addenda? How many words? How does my output compare to that of the previous years? Pitiful. Nay, contemptible. And yet relentless. It is quality rather than quantity, I keep reminding myself in vain. What is worse, the spectacle keeps repeating itself year after year in spite of my growing complaints. As each and every year comes to a close, I find myself checking my writing records ever more often. And ever more intently. Perhaps the only change I can notice is that my preoccupation with mere numbers is gathering pace. More, it is growing at a clip. Deep down, it is quantity rather than quality that is uppermost in my mind. Slowly but surely, quality is becoming a mere memory of times past. A bare recollection of youthful if misguided ambitions, that is. Besides, it cannot be measured, anyhow.

Addendum (October 2, 2016)

In cauda venenum, as is only appropriate. Simply put, I cannot possibly measure the quality of my writings, and so I focus on their quantity. That is, the number of pieces and addenda extending them written over any period of time, typically a year. Easy-peasy. Besides, quantity is a sui generis quality, too. And my writings excel in this particular quality: profusion, abundance, plethora, cornucopia, bounty… Ah, there are fitting words galore! And I love each and every one of them!