I believe the phrase was "arrogant ass."

So here's the thing about that podcast: TNG edited it for length, as any reasonable human would. He got it down to the juicy bits, as any reasonable editor would. And he presented differing perspectives, as any reasonable journalist would. But he left most of the angsty shit I have associated with writing on the cutting room floor.

I've used writing as a weapon since I was seven.

Back when xerox machines were spendy we used to get those purple mimeograph handouts. And I remember we got a "mad lib" one where we had to use a list of words to write a "story." It was bullshit. The words were all associated with ice cream parlors. "cherry." "soda." "glass." "chair." "vanilla." Who the fuck wants to write a story about ice cream? So I wrote four or five sentences that went "the giant cherry soda broke glass and threw chairs as it created vanilla doom." The object of the exercise, from my standpoint, was to demonstrate what bullshit the assignment was. The reaction was gifted testing, writing samples taken for analysis and appointments with the guidance counselor.

So I learned early that if you put your feet in the squares they can't tell if you're hopscotching or mocking them with your chicken dance. Manipulating and mocking those who gave me all this bullshit make-work became second-nature and so little of a challenge that any "joy of creation" was gone before it had a chance to thrive. I've never been about writing for my own edification; I'd draw if I had any skill at it. I'd paint if I could. I'd sculpt. I can easily say I draw vastly more satisfaction out of welding than I do out of writing. But writing has always been this thing that people fawn over and waste my time with.

In 8th grade a classmate wrote a "fantasy novel" of about 20 pages that was essentially a D&D script involving his friends and a select assortment of hot girls in school (scandalous!). I was deeply offended by the amount of praise this deeply mediocre bit of prose attracted and decided to try my hand at, you know, writing. It was some personal shit - angsty and violent - and crafted on the computer we had at home, which crashed, and which my father "recovered" line-by-line so that he had an excuse to read what sort of psychotic bullshit his son was writing. A year later he forgot my birthday (my sister's is the day before). Two years later I put a key lock on my bedroom door and didn't give anyone else the key. Three years later we had an armed standoff in the hall involving a machete. Four years later I was couch-surfing. Suffice it to say that as soon as I started giving a shit about my writing, the world conspired to fuck me over.

Nonetheless, by 10th grade I'd almost gotten back to the point of writing again. I'd polished a couple stories enough to submit; I was in the zone. Then I ended up in an honors english class where we had to write two 500-word persuasive essays a week, due Tuesdays and Fridays. It had the following effects: 1) I hate the fuck out of Willa Cather 2) I hate the fuck out of Aldo Leopold 3) I got trivially good at spewing 500 words of persuasive bullshit about anything 4) I put aside all thoughts of writing for fun 4 EVAR.

Ten years later a best buddy (see: "couch surfing") was working on his thesis film at Art Center. The script was not good. I didn't rewrite it because I wanted to write scripts. I didn't rewrite it because I thought I had any particular skill at it. I rewrote it because he was investing $25,000 on top of a $150,000 education and fuckin' A it couldn't be worse.

Four years after that I optioned a screenplay for enough to buy my wife's engagement ring. A year after that I'd made enough on script options to be ineligible for the Nicholl.

So it's not wholly accurate to say I "consider it a disservice" not to write. It's that my friends and family get pissed off when I don't write, that I've always gotten the annoying signals that I'm good enough to write, and that "writing" is something that I inherently feel no challenge from - unlike painting, unlike drawing, unlike sculpting - and that people are incongruously thankful when I contribute.

I imagine there are tall people who hate basketball, despite being full-ride-to-PAC-12-good at it. Some ass put a basketball in their hands when they were nine and never bothered to ask if they were having fun. Maybe they get a college education out of it, maybe they spend some time in the NBA. Maybe that takes some of the edge off. Me? I've never not had an impressive lay-up but "basketball" was never not a chore.

There are more players in the NBA than there are working writers in the WGA-west. One of those writers - sort of a Karl Malone-grade player - was in my school from 8th grade on. His parents paid for him to go to college; his parents didn't threaten to kill him if he didn't turn the radio down. He signed his first million-dollar contract three years out of school back when I was designing wastewater treatment plants. Billion-dollar wastewater treatment plants, to be sure, but wastewater treatment plants nonetheless.

I could out-write that fucker back in '88. I still can. So what I'm left with is the notion that this thing I don't enjoy can make me money if I play the game right, but it's a bullshit game that I've always hated.

More than you cared to know. Not exactly a "disservice." Better to say that I consider writing to be a chore for which I am drearily suited.