On Writing While Old

I like to write.  I’ve been at this blogging thing for 8 years now, knocking out a couple posts a month. I am a prime example of how blogging opens the world of “publishing” to absolutely anyone. I don’t have illusions of competency or popular appeal, but what the heck, it’s easier than scribbling in a spiral notebook and it's a satisfying hobby, considerably cheaper than gambling, yacht racing or golf. I've convinced myself it keeps my mind from totally atrophying.

I tend to write a draft quite quickly. Often the inspiration forms during the time of insomnia, although these 3AM musings are frequently nonsensical. I then do a couple rounds of edit after the model of Norman Mailer: 

“I would hardly remember what I had written the day before. It read, therefore, as if someone else had done it. The critic in me was delighted. I could now proceed to fix the prose. The sole virtue of losing your short-term memory is that it does free you to be your own editor.”  

A real editor would of course say 'get rid of all those adjectives and adverbs' rather than adding more as is my egregious, irritating, incessant, unrepentant penchant.  I then let the post rest a couple days before coming back for a final edit or a decision to drop the whole thing into the bit bucket. And then the title. That takes awhile. 

The good thing about writing while old is that while the short-term is weak, the long term remains vivid (and perhaps idealized) and the many years provide many memories to draw on. But there are hazards. When you are an old writer, as Grace Paley said:

“You may begin to notice that you’re invisible. Especially if you’re gray-haired. But I say to whom? And so what? All the best minorities have suffered that and are rising nowadays in the joy of righteous wrath.” 

Actually, it's not just old writers.  It's old folks in general. We get discarded figuratively and literally, as the plague has so ruthlessly illustrated. So subliminally I write to assert we old folks’ relevancy.

Frank & Earnest are my role models. I started with tales of growing up in a small town in the prairie-lake country of west central Minnesota, writing from the perspective of a 10 year-old kid - my target audience being my family and a few homies - hence the title "Distant Innocence". But there’s just so much that that focus can yield, so over time I’ve expanded to whatever piques my interest. 

I write for my own personal entertainment. I’ve reached the age where I spend no time worrying about those who might object to my views. I don’t expect to convert anyone anyway. Although, if I’m completely honest, I try to write with some nuance and subtlety - the goal not to soften my 'message' but to make the writing more interesting and to get the reader to exercise some thought. And occasionally I attempt a humorous post - a dangerous enterprise. I am no Mark Twain. But if a few people get some enjoyment from these efforts, I'm satisfied.  

And as for those I annoy, weigh in. I am willing to be convinced of the error of my ways.  Just remember, I am old and it will be difficult to knock me from my high horse. I tend to hang on tight because I don’t bounce nearly as well as I did in my youth. But I don’t mind a good honest row - if you can avoid the name calling.

Copyright ©  2022  Dave Hoplin