I look at Neil Gaiman and can't prevent every fiber of my being from falling into despair. He was one of my first inspirations when getting into writing for the first time in my life. I read his books, loved his sense of humor and whimsy, even agreed with what makes a person creative.

Now, even though I've seen Neil's "Social Justice" side come out (the first was when he decried the studio in charge of adapting his book for the big screen for having men whose background are gangster films in charge rather than hire a woman to oversee its gestation since women know romance better) bit by bit, I put on a "Meh" face while crying on the inside.

Crying for the fact that every inspiration and artistic role model like Neil has succumbed to this. Makes me feel lonely, isolated while doing my own thing as a writer.

I've had to reduce my catalogue drastically over the years. To the point where I just can't read modern novels or authors anymore (save for Suzanne Collins). Looking instead to the classics for creative fuel. If one day I find out they're like Neil Gaiman in the midst of my adulation. It's like a motto I live by: "Don't fall in love too hard. You'll only end up disappointed."

Funny, I remember in high school lacking any artistic role models. Didn't really care for it. Preferred surviving day by day, taking it one minute at a time as my other peers looked up to and beyond their creative titans.

Now I wonder if maybe I should've just stayed in my shell as an adult.