The other night I was at Communist-era style, upscale Russian vodka bar called Bar Lubitsch in West Hollywood, when someone asked me what I do. I said I am in Marketing during the day (so I can pay for my cold brew coffee) and in Writing at night. He told me I am like everyone else in L.A.
I am. Yes, I do have thoughts that I feel are my own but inside I’m just a skeleton like everyone else.
But there are even differences between skeletons. For instance, people who are left handed have longer, stronger forearm and finger bones on their left side than on their right. Some skeletons are riddled with holes in the bones, from osteoporosis or other wear and tear. Others have scar tissue; bones that have broken and then healed and became even stronger than before.
So, really, each skeleton is unique. The material that they are made out of is the same but it manifests itself in different ways.
I like to think writing is like this. Perhaps it is true that there are no new stories to be told, but there are new ways of telling them. This is what I’m after.