I keep wondering what it was like for F Scott Fitzgerald to
write the last page of The Great Gatsby. To wake up one morning,
have coffee and a light breakfast, sit down at the typewriter and
type so we beat on... Or did he write that after lunch towards the
end of a frustrating day gazing off into the twilight? Was he
listening to music at the time? Did he have a cat sitting by him?
Did his mother or girlfriend ring him before he finished? The point
is someone sat down on a given day and wrote something that
beautiful, unique, and complete. I want to do something great—I
thought we all did. We want to build and create and be admired by
our friends and peers. But when's it going to come? When is it
going to happen?