Some of my high school teachers did remind me that I had an

“Some of my high school teachers did remind me that I had an excellent imagination when it came to making up excuses.” Thus spoke David E. Kelley, the teller of stories and builder of worlds, half in jest yet half in truth. In his words there echoes a lesson both humorous and profound: that the gift of imagination, when untempered by honesty and purpose, may lead a man not toward greatness, but toward evasion. It is a reminder that every talent—no matter how bright—must find its moral compass, else it wanders into folly. For imagination is a divine spark, but the fire it kindles may either illuminate or deceive.

In ancient days, the wise understood that wit and wisdom are not the same. The clever man can weave words like silk to escape consequence, while the wise man weaves truth from those same threads. The youth who crafts excuses trains the same muscles of thought that the poet or philosopher uses—but bends them toward self-preservation rather than creation. Thus, Kelley’s teachers, in their gentle irony, recognized in him the makings of a storyteller—the same imagination that would one day create compelling fictions—but in those days, its light was turned inward, serving to conceal rather than reveal.

For imagination is a double-edged gift. It allows us to see beyond the ordinary, to paint new realities, to dream what does not yet exist. But when wielded without virtue, it becomes the art of justification, a spell that blinds rather than opens eyes. Many through history have fallen by their own brilliance—men and women so skilled in crafting stories that they began to believe their own illusions. Think of the tragic brilliance of Oscar Wilde, whose wit could charm kings and confound critics, yet who at times built a life too dependent on performance, too wrapped in the beautiful excuse of art for art’s sake. His downfall, like many others, reminds us that the imagination must be anchored in truth lest it drift into self-deception.

Yet, we must not scorn the child who invents excuses; rather, we should see in them the seed of potential. Every excuse is a story, every story an act of creation. The one who invents a lie to escape blame has already begun to shape narrative from chaos. What is needed is not suppression, but redirection—a turning of that energy from self-defense to self-expression. Kelley, in time, transformed his youthful trickery into artistry. Where once his imagination sought to avoid truth, it later sought to reveal it—through drama, through character, through the mirror of storytelling that reflects human frailty and strength alike.

This transformation is the heart of wisdom: to take what was once misused and redeem it through purpose. The liar may become the poet, the trickster the teacher, the wanderer the prophet. Even the ancients revered Hermes, god of both thieves and messages—a reminder that what begins as cunning may end as inspiration. Thus, we must not despise our early misdirections, for within them lies the potential for greatness. What matters is the direction in which we point the flame of our imagination.

O listener, understand this deeply: imagination is not evil, nor good—it is power. When we use it to escape, it weakens us. When we use it to create, it ennobles us. To make excuses is to flee from the truth; to make art is to face it in disguise. The difference lies not in talent, but in intention. The same mind that once invents reasons for failure can, if disciplined, invent pathways to triumph. The storyteller and the excuse-maker share the same instrument—only one plays it for the soul, the other for the ego.

Therefore, let this be your lesson: Do not bury your imagination beneath deceit or fear. When you are tempted to justify your mistakes, instead imagine how you might correct them. When you long to escape consequence, imagine how courage might transform it into wisdom. Use your creative power not as a shield, but as a sword that cuts through falsehood—first in yourself, then in the world. For every excuse avoided, every truth spoken despite fear, strengthens the artist within you. And perhaps, like David E. Kelley, your excellent imagination—once a tool for excuses—will become the instrument through which truth and beauty are born.