Well, today I ground out 2,000 words in my novel; me and Stephen King.
That’s how many words he writes EVERY day. It’s a goal for him that he usually hits, but one that I do not attain very often.
So, here is my interlude:
Damn . . .
Damn, damn, damn . . .
Writing a book is hard work, just like painting a picture, or creating ANYTHING.
If it is worth attempting, it merits following through. The story is good . . . but am I good enough for the story? We’ll see in the end. I will finish it – it will have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
My own little world, where the characters act just like I want them to.
Fiction is a gas . . . even though it is hard; for me, anyway. Into the eighth chapter, approaching 37,000 words.
I am updating my completion time to July instead of October/ November. Wish me luck!
I miss those days. I wasn’t even born during that time, but I still miss those days.
We all used to be black-and-white, you know; you can still see the pictures today. Man, those were the days. From coal miners, to the movers and shakers of high finance – like Andrew Carnegie , and the DuPonts, Rockefeller and the Vanderbilts – everybody was black-and-white.
God, just look at the pictures. The photos said it all. It appeared as though we all had such ambition, such values, such an incredible work ethic, such potential. New York, Chicago, St. Louis…even the photos of starving, depression-era children took on an air of stoic dignity. Even tenement housing, overfilled with extended families, had a compelling, perverse sort of glamor; somehow, you were going to make it if you were in black-and-white. The innocence, and the decadence, and the despair, and the aura of a wide-open field of opportunities were all there in black-and-white.
And the black-and-white movies…such grand affairs they were. War was glorious, and hope was the order of the day. Dancing and singing, comical, unpretentious adventures, and the elevation of culture were the domain of black-and-white. People flocked to Broadway to see the latest musicals. It was all class, man.
Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and Sammy Davis, Jr., Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, Andy Griffith, The Three Stooges, The Keystone Cops – and Marlon Brando, On The Waterfront. And let’s not forget Jimmy Stewart’s turns in It’s a Wonderful Life, and Twelve Angry Men. Looking back now, that was the hope and promise of America – all of those people in black-and-white, with a grand plan and an irrepressible spirit. But then came color.
Everything was fine for the first couple of years of color photos and films…but then something seems to have gone awry. The line became blurred between the good guys and the bad guys. And death suddenly had blood…red blood…and that took the glamor away from war and mobsters. Color somehow carried a different reality, and that reality wasn’t nearly as hopeful, or lighthearted, or forgiving as black-and-white had been.
Yes, black-and-white was the “good old days,” when you dressed for dinner, or to take a flight. Pure magic it was – but it really wasn’t.
No, folks drank and smoked themselves to death, abused their children and spouses and employees, and pulled every kind of scam that you can imagine to make a buck. Snake oil and “tonics,” cure-alls, rampant racism, endless political corruption. It was all there, behind the romance of the black-and-white stills.
There is only one place that you will find the “good-old-days,” and that’s TODAY. YOUR today. Don’t waste it looking back to a time that wasn’t what it seemed. This moment is your life…revel in it.
