I Write Plays And Movies, I Live

One Wants To Move Through Life With Elegance And Grace, Blossoming Infrequently But With Exquisite Taste, And Perfect Timing, Like A Rare Bloom, A Zebra Orchid... One Wants... But One So Seldom Gets What One Wants, Does One?

My Whole Life Has Conspired To Bring Me To This Place, And I Can’t Despise My Whole Life.

What Makes The Voice Pathetic Is That It Doesn't Know What Kind Of People It's Reaching. Us. No One Hears It, Except Us. This Age Wanted Heroes. It Got Us Instead: Carefully Constructed, But Immobile. Subtle But, Unfit To Take Up The Burden Of The Times. It Happens. A Whole Generation Of Washouts. History Says Stand Up, And We Totter And Collapse, Weeping, Moved, But Not Sufficient.

Trying Every Day To Tell The Truth Is Hard. There Are Harder Things, Of Course - Arguably, Living With Lies And Meaninglessness, Living In Despair Is Harder, But It's Hardship Disguised As Luxury And Easier Perhaps To Grow Accustomed To, Since Truth Is Usually The Enemy Of Custom. There Are Harder Things Than Writing, Being President Obama, For Instance, And Having To Deal With House Republicans, Or Trying To Fix The Leak At The Fukushima Reactor, These Are Harder, But Writing Is Hard.

One Is Told That You're Either A Hot Writer, Or You're Finished And You're Over. But Of Course, The More You Hang Around And The More You Become Aware Not Only Of What "reputation" Is For Other Writers, But Also What Your Own Reputation Is, You Become Aware That It's Much More Complicated Than The Conventional Media Would Have You Believe.