I do read an insane amount. And I do write often. So I guess those myths apply in my case. Always assumed writers are readers though. Above all else I suppose it is a passion.
Three months out of Harvard Law School, I was making more money than my father. I owned a BMW, a five thousand-dollar stereo system, and had a beautiful girlfriend with long blond hair.
And I was dying inside.
Law was crushing me, and I had fifty more years to go.
I knew this disaster would happen, from the first week I got to law school and saw that the people who did best, who were meant to be lawyers, seemed the most anal retentive – they liked dotting every “i” and crossing every “t,” adored being careful. They were freaks to me. I had passion. I had something to say. But there was nowhere to say it in law school. No one gave a shit if you were a creative type there.
I figured it would get better once I got a job. I joined a law firm and stayed…
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