“No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.”
Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)
Seriously, Sam?
I mean, given the number who actually make money from their writing,
must be a lot of disappointed scribblers out there,
unfortunate blockheads having to settle merely for the joy
of playing with words and capturing their music on paper,
or leaving a record, however ephemeral, of an ephemeral life--
that one was once here, felt things, knew things, loved things--
reporting from the frontlines on their first-hand experiences of truth,
or wanting to make some small contribution to humanity’s forward movement,
or just tell a good story.
All those unfortunate blockheads dancing delirious with the muse
for a moment, or for an hour, or a lifetime,
alas, without any financial reward.
So sad.
[First posted: November 9, 2019]
