Last autumn, I had a mischievous fantasy that I would fudge my address as Bartley, Nebraska, or Piedmont, South Dakota, on some grant applications in the hope of boosting my odds for success. If every other writer applying to the Guggenheim or the National Endowment for the Arts lives in Brooklyn, or Silver Lake, wouldn't a rural Zip Code give my application a glimmer of geographic diversity? I offer this small confession because many writers, painters, musicians, and art teachers, suffering the proverbial Stockholm syndrome, have internalized the Republican dogma that established artists in coastal cities are hoarding public and private art funds, in a self-serving parochial loop.