Which is more respectful of your reader? This?

While I’m sitting her in my chair at my desk in front of my open laptop typing on the bluetooth keyboard and thoughtfully ruminating on how the best frame a response to this delightful short story, a sudden realization pierced the usual fog of my early morning routine (all the more because I had not had my coffee, the artisanal beans I generally favor for my personal blend being momentarily sold out) that the course of my life was to change; I was not, as I had been pretending since my sophomore year at an excellent east-coast college where I was at one time in contention for the prestigious William Lowell Putnam Medal for Advanced Theoretical Mathematics, but rather a writer of prose––and not just prose, but the lean, tense fiction I had been reading for years and knew as well as a seminary student might know the Gospel of Mark (“And it came to pass in those days, that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee, and was baptized of John in Jordan / And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened, and the Spirit like a dove descending upon him / And there came a voice from heaven, saying, Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”) or the Psalms ( Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. / For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods. / In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also.) and that I owed it not only to myself but to my future readers, people much like myself who may themselves have the germ of inspiration lying dormant deep within and need only the tiniest breath to set the fire glowing.

or this?

This morning I hoped I might write something worth reading.

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