So I'm reading White Teeth by Zadie Smith, which she wrote when she was 21-22 years old. Smith is 2 years older than me. She has recently published a much-ballyhooed book called On Beauty, which I believe has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize and possibly also the Pulitzer. She is 2 years older than me. And I have come to the heart-sinking, dream-deflating, ego-crushing realization that never, and I mean ever, will I be as talented, articulate, creative and intelligent in all my years on Earth as she was at 21. And it sickens me. I feel like Salieri in the movie Amadeus - I have the passion and the desire to be an artistic genius, but unfortunately just not the talent. Why not me, Lord? Why not me?
*Sigh* So I guess I'll just go to bed (although not sleep, since I've been having the insomnia again), get up tomorrow, and plod off to my meaningless job at the peanut factory, where I will sit in mind-numbing boredom for 8 hours staring at my computer screen like a zombie because I'm too stupid, lazy, and/or talentless to do something interesting with my life.
Not that I'm drowning in self-pity or anything.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Don't sell yourself short. Have a little faith in your abilities and talent. You just have to get a really good idea of what you want to write.
Post a Comment