I don't want to blog about the fire. Not today. It seems that my every thought has been consumed with that every thing and I simply do not want to delve into any of that deep enough to write an articulate post today. yet I feel compelled to post something. So I decided to go back exactly one year and see what I posted then. Here is that post with a bit of tweaking from me since the post was sorely in need of some editing.
Wait Until You're my Age
Thanks for all the great comments to my last post. I really thought most people would think my idea for a biggest liar show was too weird, especially given that I didn't do a very good job of explaining the idea. And no, I have no real plans to pursue the idea. I was simply spouting off. For one, I'd have no clue how to go about such a thing, and for another, all my free time is geared towards developing a writing career.
Matter of fact, as I write this post I am sitting in a coffee shop waiting on two fellow writers to show up so we can pick apart each others work and talk about the craft of fiction. I will be reading the first bit of Plundered Booty for them and I'm eager to get their thoughts. I think this a project that people will either love and buy into, or absolutely hate. Lets hope I can find an agent and eventually an editor that falls into the former.
And yes, for those who asked, that Elvis line in my last post came right out of my thick noggin. I actually used a very similar line in my second novel.
Here's a random thought I had this week.
Wait until you're my age.
There are no crueler words in the English language than those. Here's why ...
First off, you never believe them at the time they are spoken. You're young, dumb, and absolutely certain you'll never fall into the trap of using your age as an excuse. You hold fast to the belief that whether you're twenty, thirty, or forty -- you'll still be able to stay out all night drinking Jagar Meister and make it to work the next morning -- You'll still be able to play tackle football and walk without a limp the day after -- You'll still care more about whose going to win next weeks playoff game than next weeks presidential primary.
Least that is what you tell yourself.
But years later the truth hits you harder than a NFL linebacker.
Then you start to think about all the other times people have told you ...Wait Until you're my age ... and you realize ... Damn, They're probably right about everything else as well.
Now you've got a whole new list of stuff to worry about. Your kids becoming teenagers and driving, getting up to pee every other hour at night, the possibility of little blue pills somewhere in your future, joint pain, you're wife hitting menopause, aching knees every morning, social security woes, regrets that the nightly news doesn't come on at eight so you can be in bed at night.
I'm thirty five. Not old by any stretch, but old enough to reevaluate things. Old enough to realize you can't fight off old age by plucking the occasional stray gray hair from your goatee. Old enough to know better ... but still young enough to do it anyway.
Probably not my best post, but better than anything I could have come up with today. Thanks again for everything all of y'all have done to make things better for me and my family. I'll try to get another update posted within a few days.