It's always satisfying to see someone make strides creatively, both in short bursts and over the long haul, and to share in the process in a public way no matter what the potential criticism or negative feedback. It's why I've struggled with creative impulses for years and years. Like others, I crave warm and fuzzy validation, but I also want to be taken seriously, and that requires ripping apart old work, acknowledging writing tendencies and consciously navigating a way around them, and, perhaps most importantly, finding a unique "voice," one that reflects who I am, rather than just mimicking others. Most of us don't want to walk that tightrope, and one fall without a net is usually enough to deter efforts for awhile, if not indefinitely. Then there's the conundrum of balancing catharsis and commerce. I've made enough on ad click-throughs here in my first month to buy a sandwich. Not a fancy Grey Poupon-dressed Dagwood either, more like a dollar menu item with fries. I tell myself I don't care if I never make a dime writing creatively, but that's a flat-out lie. I write big-bucks spec movie scripts in my mind in the shower, and plot pulp stories and indie comic scripts in cerebral Notepad while walking to the cafeteria. So, again, it's both satisfying and inspiring to see a friend and contemporary travel on that journey, take risks, and reach for something more. Bret Taylor's Hey, Ladies, is a statement in that regard. Both a new start and the culmination of years of experimentation without major fanfare or exposure.
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