Were you, perhaps, born in a time that you were not meant for? Pushed out under a sun that was too bright for your wise eyes or too old for your new perspective. Then you can be a writer. Then you can wend the pages that are what you see. Your readers will "ooh" and "aah" at your new fangled ideas or your twist on the past and they will wonder who comes up with this stuff. Creativity is only living in a world that doesn't understand you. Only seeing shadows of a better time everywhere.