So, when I was 25, I remember looking around to find writers who experienced great success before the age of 30. I was hopeful. Ambitious. And ultimately, disappointed. Oh there were lots of writers who came out of the gate like being shot out of a cannon. I just wasn’t one of them.
A few weeks back, I googled “writers who publish their first novel after the age of 60”.
Came up with a couple hits, including an article from The Atlantic about great literary late bloomers. Not just good, but great. So it has been done and done well. Time flies, hope springs eternal and WTF??? Over 60 and still haven’t published a novel? My 25 year self would be so ashamed. In fact, he’s standing behind me right now and whacking me with something wet and sticky that smells horrible. Or maybe I’ve just filled my adult diaper again. These things are so confusing.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Reminiscing about my path to glory. My younger self was such a cheeky little prick – thinking that the best way to fame and fortune was to break as many taboos as possible. But no. Turns out that’s just a good way to embarrass yourself with stuff that’s so irredeemably politically incorrect that you want to do nothing more than bury it. But – of course, this is the internet age, so nothing stays buried. Nothing to do but own it. So if you find something of mine that deserves to be buried, please just go to a different web page and forget you ever saw it. I have already forgotten it.
Don’t know whether that’s the old age or these gummies I’ve been sucking on. Joy for the toothless generation.
What was I saying?
Right. Literary late bloomers. I need your support, eh. Are these bloomers are supposed to be worn under the diapers or over? It ain’t the writing that’s hard – it’s remembering where I put my reading glasses.
So anyhoo, to that end I’m going to cut and paste my entire novel into this blog entry. It’s “CTRL-X,” right?
What does the CTRL stand for? And where’d I put that novel. Don’t worry. I’ll find it. I’m nothing, if not persistent.