He’s a queer freelancer. Nobody asks him to meet unsung people who excel in some form of creative arts. He goes on his own. Often cash-strapped, yes.
He likes to catch the artists in their retreats, not always by appointment. Yet, when they open the door, they ask him to come right in! He listens more than he interrupts. Often his subjects pour their hearts out as though he’s one of their own.
Conversation over, the thought of his write-up going under slush-pile gnaws at his entrails. He loses sleep over it. Even then he does it again and again.