Not much is really known about William Shakespeare’s personal life. This has led to all forms of speculation regarding the “true identity” of this man: that he didn’t exist; others used the name as a pen name; he was a shill for the true author who had to remain nameless or lose his (her!) head.
I don’t care about all that. Very little fact existing on this guy (outside of what can be gleaned and inferred from municipal records, etc.) just made it easier for me to wax poetic. My Will is a dreamer and a little bit ADHD; he’s more than a little full of himself; he is dismissive of dullards, dunces, doofi, and dumb-asses; he’s incredibly arrogant, in love with the idea of himself, and thinks he’s the bees-knees and cat’s pyjamas.
Look at that little guy; he’s so cute, who could resist?
My Will is a self-made man and proud of it. So proud that he took for granted all the other good things in his life while living the dream. Now he’s paying the price.