When I was 16, a group of friends and I decided to start our own high school. Obviously, a group of kids with their heads in the clouds.
I smoked for twenty-eight years. Since I was a solid pack-a-day guy for more or less that entire time, this translates into ten thousand, two hundred twenty-seven packs (including leap years). One day, I decided to quit.
Students in classrooms around the globe, absorbing the lessons of Pindar’s Paradox: The more you give, the more you have. I can’t think of anything more gratifying.
That first step, the part of writing a story where there are no sentences and paragraphs yet, the part where there is only the empty blankness of the page, that is by far the hardest part. It’s also my favorite part.
Child’s masterpiece is about the pain, poignancy, and inevitability of the passage of an age as it makes way for the next, and how we deal with that change.
In 1996, I decided I wanted to have a career in Hollywood. Exactly how and when … that part was a little fuzzy.
The world of a child is not innocent, or naïve, or simplistic, or anything like an adult’s dumbed-down Disneyfied version of life. A child’s life and perspective is weighty with terror, wonder, bewilderment, yearning, and near-infinite depth of feeling.