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Sometime in your life, someone has looked at something you've writen, drawn, or photographed, and said, "Wow, you really should do something with your talent. I wish I could be half that talented." And you though, Oh yeah, smart guy? Well, what would you do with half the talent? Would you draw the little pirate and trundle off to art school so you could learn to do drawings for you local church bulletin? Maybe you would send your photographs to some local whatzit who would publish your blood-felt work in a mindless zine that's dust and forgotten before the ink dries. Maybe, you would score a matte room job at a local ad or design firm, brewing coffee and cutting and pasting for the "real creatives." And by the time you turned 65, your career would just be taking off with your heart clogging up from years of stress and cheap food. Maybe. That's the back atcha inside your head for all those people who so admire your talent. But also in your head you're thinking, wondering, worring that your talent might be some sort of cosmic joke or self-delusion. Maybe you're merely - a worm. Or maybe, yes maybe, you're a caterpiller, and, given the time and proper environment, not only could you make "something" of your life, but something beautiful and purposeful.
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