Today my 10-year career in published film criticism died nearly without notice.

After more than 500 movie reviews and essays, there was no ceremony, no toasts offered, and only a few kind words from a few of the various media personnel with whom I’ve worked for a decade.

Now before we throw me a pity party, would-be writers should know this is normal. I got what I expected. Writers work alone, and after 27 years of professional typing, I’ve learned that we both celebrate our victories and mourn our losses alone.

Many writers have already learned that writing can be one of the loneliest, most difficult, under-appreciated and underpaid jobs they will ever undertake. This is especially true in the world of creative writing, where rejection is the norm and a thick skin is very helpful.

But when writers love the craft for its own sake, they’ll do it for the rest of their lives whether they’re ever published or paid, or not. (If you’re in it for money, fame, or just to support a household, you could be in for some major disappointments.)

The best writers are their own harshest critics, and it must go the other way too. So when you’ve done well, be prepared (as I am tonight) to toast yourself and tell yourself good job!  Because tomorrow morning, it will be just the blank page and you, alone again, as it should be.

Though it can’t financially support me, I’ve loved supporting independent and foreign cinema and I’ve loved being a local film critic in Hampton Roads (not the fucking “Seven Cities”, but Hampton Roads). And I’ve loved writing about the movies, even the terrible ones that made me want to run out the fire exit after 20 minutes.

But as your cinematic “consumer reports” advocate, I always felt obligated to show up on time for every screening, and not leave until the credits roll. You deserve that, and so do the filmmakers, because even the worst of them never set out to make a bad movie, no matter what the final result.

Making a movie can be a years-long multi-artist endeavor that always involves compromise of some sort, and has way more opportunities for failure than success. With rare exceptions, I’ve always respected the filmmakers’ efforts and been aware that movie critics, like movie fans, rely upon these artists’ acts of creation.

On the craft of writing, please don’t mistake my tone for bitterness. Writing is like the curse of the werewolf. Once truly bitten, we’re compelled to do our thing, mostly at night, until we die. There’s no silver bullet for this. We can either cry about it, or revel in our fate. I choose to revel.

For my part, I’ll be reviewing one last film (appropriately) titled The Last Station (to be published in this space tomorrow), and then I’ll be writing nearly exclusively in the most creatively entertaining format possible for telling the truth about life, the universe and everything. It’s called fiction.

I might not make a dime (he said, smiling).