It’s an age-old trope: the struggling artist desperately seeking to be heard. It’s not hard to imagine the poor genius painter stuck in his studio—skinny, bearded, anemic—deliriously committed to his canvas. Or the musician—penniless and on the street—with a voice so full of soul, and a guitar case sitting empty along side him. Or the author, furiously scribbling on a cocktail napkin in a dark corner of a bar, earning just enough to maintain his habit of whiskey and cigarettes.
