Last night, after Chelsey and I discussed other aspects of her wedding plans, she asked if I would watch a movie with her. Naturally, I said "yes" and then went in search of a DVD among our voluminous stacks of Andy Griffith Show seasons and my son's many Jackass movies and spin-offs. Back in the dusty side of history I discovered Finding Forrester . . . a DVD that still had the shrink wrap on it.
"What's that about?"
"Well," I said, "as I recall it is about two writers. One older, one younger. One black, one white. One accomplished, one learning. It's about friendship and mentoring."
We watched it. Not as good as I recall first time around at the theatre, but a decent movie, nonetheless.
My favorite quote from the movie was, "Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?"
Indeed. It's far more difficult to write for others. And when one sets out to do that there is a kind of self-awareness and loathing that can take over the writing. Seems that way to me, anyway.
I'm still trying to write something that other people will want to read, and I loathe myself for all of the stalled, slow, and weak results I commonly produce.
Perhaps one of these days I'll find myself. That would be an interesting introduction, I think . . . meeting me.