The calm satisfaction of having been influential, in some unquantifiable way, behind the scenes, without any of the hassle of anybody's actually having heard of you. No-one can evaluate your contribution, hold it up to criticism or scrutiny. You can't be excluded from the pantheon any more than you can be included in it. But you can point to those who are in the pantheon and say "ah yes, well, I had my own small part in getting them where they are today". And of those not in the pantheon you can say "perhaps if they had listened to me...but each must choose their own destiny...". Here and there you are mentioned in the acknowledgements of others' books - some very fine books among them - and in a way isn't that almost as good as having written books of your own, books which might have been disappointing or sunk without a trace? Of course there is that very small volume you once put together, which sits on the shelves of a handful of those very much in the know. A minor gem, they assure you: no-one else has ever written anything quite like it. You've demonstrated capability; there's really no need to labour the point by writing anything else. You were in talks once with a large publisher, well-known, but you really couldn't see eye-to-eye, they wanted different things, commercially viable things, and you couldn't put your heart into a project like that, a pity but there it is. Ultimately you just don't have the necessary vanity, you know, to seek a wider audience. You are reconciled, wholly reconciled, to being a minor figure, but you hope that others' biographers will trouble to account for your influence, where it mattered. At the very least they could get the name of your bloody blog right.