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Silly grandpa. Words are nothing. They are just sounds people make when they want to tell somebody something.” On reflecting about my writing activity during my professional career, I reach immediately for the obvious. Because I am a full-time academic, the publish or perish mantra was instilled in me early and forcibly by my mentors, most of whom were themselves prolific writers with whom I identified. Publication was about advancement and establishing my bona fides with my fellow faculty members and students. It was also about making a mark in professional circles. I published two papers in JAPA as a psychoanalytic candidate, at least in part to legitimize my attendance at APsaA meetings. I remember fondly connecting with my regular gang of young author friends at the Waldorf in New York. We rarely mingled with the elderly, but our scholarly writing helped create a feeling of togetherness and belonging. The idea of writing as a way of connecting has remained a pivotal motive throughout my career.
I view myself primarily as an educator, and most if not all of my writing has been driven at least to some degree by my teaching activities. Writing about subjects that I teach has helped me feel articulate in the classroom, in discussions with colleagues, and as a supervisor and mentor.
In looking back over my written output as a psychoanalyst and academic, what immediately stands out to me is that almost every manuscript, whether paper or book, focuses on a single word or concept that I explore and attempt to clarify. The impetus for many of my publications has been an instance of hearing someone use those words or concepts in a way that I thought was imprecise, misleading, contradictory, overreaching, wrong. “Emptiness,” “empathy,” “neutrality,” “safety,” “regression,” “surface,” “negativism,” “suggestion.” In concert with my development