Blogging has become so difficult. I no longer have interesting thoughts. Something I read recently (a nonfiction book called "Imagine") told me that creativity peaks when you are exactly 30 years old. Apparently, that is why so many great artistic geniuses create their "masterpieces" around their 20's, and can never really reclaim that artistry no matter how old and sage they become. I don't want to believe this, but it feels true. How awesome was "The Shining?" When was the last one of his 1,000 books he wrote even close to "The Shining?" When was the last time Sam Shepard wrote something like "Lie of the Mind?" No matter how depressing it seems, you can't help but look at the facts. According to history, it looks pretty true. At least, as far as writers go. That's mostly what I am basing this current conundrum on. So if this is true, that means I have exactly 3 years (4 if this
truth counts for the entire 30th year) to create the best things in my life. And the sad thing is, I look at this not with fear, but with hope. If you would have asked me three years ago when I was moving from Chicago to L.A. what would happen in a year or so, I would have said, "Oh, I don't know where I'll be in my career, but I am pretty sure I would have written something very, very good." That has yet to happen. I keep thinking I'm going to write something "very, very good" any second now. So I do things like (see post below) that I think have the potential to be wonderful. But usually, they simply result in strangeness. And result in finished projects that quietly sleep under my bed. Because I know they aren't my masterpiece. And who wants to come out of the unknown-writer-closet with anything less than a masterpiece?
PS. Stephen King and Stephen Hawking look extremely similar, right?
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