I know what itâ€™s like to have something creative inside and not be able to get it out.
Something like a song, a play, a sculpture, a comedy routine, a story.
You know itâ€™s in there, you think maybe itâ€™s â€œgood,â€ you donâ€™t know how good, but you know youâ€™ve got it. You nurture it inside and it becomes who you are, secretly. You show a little of it sometimes, and that leads to your family and all your friends saying things like â€œThatâ€™s as good as anything on Broadway/TV/the radio/CDâ€™s. You should write/sing/perform more. Go for it!!â€
Youâ€™re momentarily flattered, but after all itâ€™s your family and friends and they are obviously (and rightly) biased and might not be telling you the truth and they might not be qualified to judge such things anyway, so of course you donâ€™t go for it, because you have to clean the garage, take out the garbage, work for a living (or find a job), get some food, score some drugs, find someone whoâ€™ll do you, and so on. Thereâ€™s no TIME.
But there is time, and time goes on, and one day you look around and half your friends are drifting away in one way or another, and among the other half, half donâ€™t want to know you any more and the other half are dead or as good as, and how long do you think you have remaining to produce anything worthwhile? You donâ€™t know, so you promise yourself youâ€™re going to buckle down and do something, create something while youâ€™ve still got a chance, and by now you donâ€™t even care if anybody likes it or if it gets on Broadway/TV/the radio/CDâ€™s, because itâ€™s like youâ€™ve been pregnant longer than an elephant and itâ€™s about god damned time for the blessed event!
You know what I mean?