There comes a moment in the life of a writer when you realize that you're becoming older faster than you're becoming better.
And you are left to hope that age itself is making you better—or that its lengthening life view, its insults and disasters (tragic and hilarious) and the erosion of vanities is at least keeping you interesting.
I once asked my old man why he figured most of my friends were a lot older than me. "Old guys are more interesting even when they're being quiet," he said.
And then added, "And old guys have a lot to be quiet about."