“What sound does that color make?” Yeah, that was a question of hers in fifth grade. And I was like, “Well, colors don’t have sound.” And eventually, she said, “You know red sounds different than blue.” And I, “Yeah, red sounds angry, blue sounds —” And so she was pushing me into, “Here’s your simile, here’s your metaphor. This is all you’re going to need. Run, my child.”

It became such a big part of my life that even when I sleep in past 6 o'clock in the morning, I feel guilty because I hear my father's voice saying, you know, Arnold, that's not how this country was built, by sleeping in. Be useful. Do something. What are you doing now?

The one thing that I learned from Clint, of the many things I learned from Clint, is to always trust your instinct, and don’t think about it too much.

It goes back to that music teacher when I was 12 years old. After the third lesson, I was singing some popular country song of the day. I forget the name. I think it was a Hank Williams, no, it was too early for Hank Williams, I guess. Whatever the song was, I didn’t sing it like the artist had sung it on the radio. And she said, “You’re a song stylist.” She said, “Always do it your way.” And from the age of 12, I didn’t forget that.

No. I mean if you fail 70 percent of the time, you had a great year. You're dealing with failure seven out of ten times as a hitter.