March 1, 2005
Charlie’s Diary
I cannot account for this fixation other than by analogy. Most normal kids decide they want to be a football star or a ballerina at some time; a few of them are stubborn enough that they actually persist with the ball-kicking or dancing for years after their less fixated peers give up on it, and get good enough to fully develop their potential. I just knew I was going to be a novelist. If I’d realized back then just how unlikely this ambition was — and indeed, it’s even less likely than becoming a football star or a prima ballerina — I’d have settled for something reasonable, like training as a brain surgeon or running for parliament. But nobody told me until I’d already persisted for more years than was sensible, written probably a million words of complete crap, and was beginning to acquire some basic skills: by which time the thought of giving up on those wasted years was too depressing to contemplate.
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