From a great profile piece (this week's THR cover story) on mega-writer Damon Lindelof, who works much harder than most internet trolls give him credit for:

At a time when franchises are driving the box office, and those who can craft addictive stories to back up mere concepts are in high demand, Lindelof has proved invaluable. He arguably is the single most- visible screenwriter in a town that traditionally marginalizes them, in great part because he's taken to social media like an irate town crier, engaging his quarter of a million Twitter followers -- about, among other things, the relative quality of his own work -- when he should probably turn the other cheek. And yet … and yet.

"A lot of writers whom I love, admire and call friends share this feeling," confides Lindelof, "which is this fundamental idea that we're frauds. That we will be pushed out on to the stage, and it will be revealed that the emperor has no clothes. That was always like a fun, self-deprecating thing that I said. But it was always something that I felt."

On this day, a couple of weeks before his 40th birthday -- which will be spent with a few close friends (and a cake modeled after a ridiculous yellow hat worn by Lindelof's recent Twitter obsession, Justin Bieber) at a party at L.A.'s Osteria Mozza -- Lindelof looks tired. His brown eyes, framed by thick black glasses, still are alert, but there's an occasional sigh in his barrel chest that conveys exhaustion.

Which is understandable, given that since Lost ended in May 2010, he's been working nearly nonstop.