A good point at which a writer can truly consider himself a professional in the literary arts is when he begins to take pleasure in the study of language, that is, when he begins to enjoy delving into daunting grammar books, highly complex linguistic studies, and the like. It is when, in this realm that is inscrutable to most, he finally feels at home. And it is when he realizes he is capable of truly polishing a text, paying close attention to details, aware of the immense power of words, of the fact that, sometimes, a single word is enough to change everything in a speech or a narrative. Every difficult skill, mastered with great effort, usually bestows this reward: the difficulty begins to delight. But there are skills whose difficulty has a clear limit; in the letters, there seems to be none.