It's a busy time in my life – busier than ever before, in fact. I have multiple writing projects ongoing and I'm accomplishing a great deal with regard to my "day job" as a technical writer. I manage to travel and take in culture with my lovely wife, too. The more I do, the more it seems I am capable of doing – though I would be lying to you if I said I slept much these days.

The urge to create and to accomplish hit me relatively recently in life, only a few years ago, galvanizing years of half-thought-out ambitions in a brief period of furious activity. In only a few years I've managed to realize dreams that have been with me since childhood; in only a few years from now, I anticipate increasing my levels of activity exponentially.

One of the things I've experienced repeatedly since choosing to stand up and walk my own way – a decision marked by the founding of Phil Elmore Dot Com  – is what a participant at online discussion forum called 'friends who are willing to be your friends only on their terms.' More precisely, I've learned a lot about who my friends really are – and who they aren't. I tend to be fairly open and honest with everyone and as a result I make "friends" pretty quickly. Over time, however, I learn just who among those I consider friends and allies are false.

I have never made the choice in my life to discard someone I considered a friend. I tend to overlook my friends' flaws – to see whatever I might otherwise dislike in them as merely part of them, something to accept as part of the sum total of that human being. While I may offer my opinion – sometimes in an extremely sober fashion – I don't judge my friends as such. If I have a problem, I'll tell them about it. I've had people ask me, "You're not angry with me, are you?" I'll respond with simply, "I can't stand it when someone is angry with me for no good reason. If I'm mad at you, I'll tell you; you'll never have to guess."

When I started my website and started using my real name as a freelance writer, I immediately started making a few people nervous because I was willing to profess controversial opinions and then defend them with my skill as both a writer and a debater. I don't think it's arrogant to say I'm good at both; I've logged countless hours online arguing with people and I write for a living. It stands to reason I'd be good at both just from practice alone. I type insanely quickly for the same reason; I've had people tell me it sounds like I'm just swiping my palm back and forth across the keyboard. That's just practice.

When I started The Martialist I received a very abrupt, very shocking education in who my friends were and were not. Let me be clear on something: you don't have to agree with me to be my friend. You don't have to think I'm right. You can openly criticize my ideas, my conclusions, and my efforts as long as you're honest and you support what you assert. One of my best online friends disagrees with me all the time and isn't afraid to tell me so on the phone, either. At the end of the day, however, he still treats me with respect and courtesy – and I do the same in return.

My associate editors at The Martialist are among the best friends I have, too. They tell me what they think and they tell me when they think I'm wrong.  I do the same. We all understand, however, that no human being can be completely ideologically and emotionally in agreement with any other. Friendship and respect supersede disagreements of that type. Honor, morality, and reason demand that we speak out about those things with which we disagree – but there's a big difference between doing this and declaring the person with whom you are disagreeing to be some sort of heretic.

Worse, when you disagree with someone and you can't even give them credit for what they've managed to accomplish to that point – when you deliberately diminish things for which you would have given them credit prior to the disagreement – you're worse than a false friend; you're a hypocrite and a petty, venal human being.

When I started publishing The Martialist, I lost a couple of friends – one in particular who sent me amazingly vicious e-mail in which he attempted to destroy me through emotional and intellectual intimidation. As far as he was concerned, my "friend" could not give me credit for even the least of any accomplishments I had managed. He'd contributed to The Martialist in the past, but suddenly I was the lowest human being on the face of the Earth, the least talented, the least experienced, and the most unworthy – all because I disagreed with him regarding certain points of his philosophy and approach to self-defense. It didn't matter that we agreed on other points; it didn't matter that I certainly bore him no ill will; it didn't matter that we'd been friends to that point. No, what mattered was that I presumed to have my own opinion and pursue my own course, and this he could not abide.

As someone put it so eloquently, my "friend" could only be my friend on his terms. I was determined to be and act as my own person, and this he could not accept. I, by contrast, wished only to do what mattered to me. My disagreement with my "friend" had nothing to do with him and everything to do with what I thought. This, too, he could not accept. He could not accept a "friend" who was his own person and who had his own goals and accomplishments to pursue. I could not relate to this. I do not begrudge any other person his or her accomplishments. I do not see someone else's success as diminishing me in any way. I do not presume to say who is or is not "worthy" in a free market of ideas – provided the work examined stands on its own merits.

The egotist in the absolute sense is not the man who sacrifices others. He is the man who stands above the need of using others in any manner. He does not function through them. He is not concerned with them in any primary manner. Not in his aim, not in his motive, not in his thinking, not in his desires, not in the source of his energy. He does not exist for any other man – and he asks no other man to exist for him. This is the only form of brotherhood and mutual respect possible between men..."

- Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

What I've seen happen repeatedly – and sadly – is the death of my heroes. Over time I've watched again and again as those I venerated and for whom I had great respect showed themselves to be... well, no less and no more than human, with human flaws. That's all any of us can ever be. To an idealist like me, however, it's upsetting to watch my heroes die; it's saddening to see those I idolize fall and crumble at the bases of the pillars on which I placed them.

When I chose to publish Shorthand Empty Hand, some of the criticisms were expected.  There exists online no shortage of petty, childish criticism – those so wrapped up in ego, in envy, in insecurity, that they see my productivity as some sort of threat (or worse, as some sort of assertion that I am equal to or better than are they -- a fictional but nevertheless perceived claim that drives so many of my critics to howls of irrational outrage).  Some of the criticism, however, sounded an idol or two with the hammer of perspective.  Because of my devotion to truth, to objective reality, and to making my own way, I lost the tenuous "friendship" of more than one person.

Ultimately, all any of us can ever do is choose to make our own decisions – to choose wisely, as I say over and over again at The Martialist. One of things I like to think sets my publication and my work apart from others is my respect for others as sovereign human beings – people from whom I ask nothing except the mutual respect and recognition of me as another sovereign human being.  I don't ask that anyone take me seriously because I say so;  I make no pleas to impressive credentials;  I never refuse to substantiate my assertions.  I ask only that my work stand on its own merits and be evaluated as such.

Men have been taught that it is a virtue to agree with others. But the creator is the man who disagrees. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to swim with the current. But the creator is the man who goes against the current. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to stand together. But the creator is the man who stands alone.

– Ayn Rand

As I watch my heroes fall for no other reason than that I have dedicated myself to productive, useful work and the accomplishment of my own goals, I am tempted to be sad. I remind myself, however, that I do what I do for me – and that others will find value in what I do accordingly. It is my sincere hope that many do, but ultimately I must admit that I would keep working even if I thought no one would ever see what I wrote.

I would expect the same of anyone – out of respect for their potential and their sovereignty as human beings.

When our heroes die, they do not die because we kill them. They choose to commit suicide. In their place, other statues are erected.