True but every razor cuts both ways.

I rest upon the fence. I must qualify that I am by no means a journalist, an animal that in my senses and decrepit grey matter, functions nobly but far from a novelist.

To assume only the greyed and worn of shoe can convey life and imagery is to deny a plethora of great wordsmiths. Pushkin turns in his grave.

To believe the breadth of imagination is only encapsulated in those staid and dulled by routine trudgery and convention is to believe that we can only precipitate into expression and creativity over time, not discover it from within, from self-exploration/examination.

The depth of emotions within humanity is not, I believe, dependent upon years but more on bravery and an ability to offer the humility of serving the dreams in our souls to the reader.

Equally the staggering presumptions of the quick to turn a word to a dollar and participate in the dialogue of 'snake oils salesmen - how I made XXX$' writers belittles the efforts of the truly talented on Medium who wish to express their view of the world without the maturation of conscious thought.

Medium is a puzzle. Is it a home for get rich-quick, 'nailed it', amateurs or dusted depressed old farts with naught but decimated years behind them and dismal horizons before them?

An engaging article. Keep at it. I must, in my dotage, return to editing my 160k historical fiction... perhaps I am an historical fiction; a shadow in my own past, a secondary character in my own biography.

Creativity has no prescribed age limit, sadly nor does hubris.

Thanks for writing.K