At the risk of sounding immodest, I have impeccable taste.
I have almost a supernatural ability to spot real, raw talent in writing, acting, and film.
I can peg an up-and-coming actor or DP years before Hollywood gives him/her a project in which to shine.
I can demolish a bad script - tell you what to do to make it better - provide story and character analysis that's second to none.
And yet, when I go to put my own pen to paper, I come up woefully short.
The writing falls flat. The emotion, saccharin.
When I take the stage, my performance, though internally layered as an onion, doesn't translate to my limbs or face.
What I can see and teach so well to others I cannot seem to grasp for myself.
I can mold external clay, but internally I'm the artistic equivalent of a toddler's crayon drawing.