MAILER AND ME AT AGE 84

Still working on the rewrite of Ghoul World. But I'm not
making much headway. Too many days, I get this sort of headache from sinus problems that blocks any clarity, and nearing the end of my life, I need clarity to go on. I don't really know what mentality it is that holds me back now or won't supply an adequate motivation to continue. I recall a visit to Mailer that someone made near the end of his life. The caller asked if he was working on anything. Mailer halfheartedly replied, "Yeah," but I didn't believe him. 

This photo is of Mailer at age 84, the same age I am as I write this. He's got more hair than me and more best sellers too, but I think I'm still handsomer and looking more fit than he does. Of course, I don't think he stopped drinking. I'm not sure of that, but not boozing can works wonders on your health.

OLIVETTI TYPEWRITERS AND DRINKING ADVENTURES

Just had to make this entry. I was going through some old files in a filing cabinet I hadn't looked at in decades. I found all these manuscripts that I typed on my old, wonderful Olivetti portable. I gave the typewriter to one of my hippy roomies when I left Dayton, Ohio to head to California. I was skipping out on the rent and gave him the typewriter as partial payment. Those were my drinking days. Such a transaction fits the type, eh?

I never made it to California. I thought my brother had a job for me with his pavement striping company out there. Turns out, he didn't own that company. He was selling drugs instead. His mother, my stepmother, informed me just as I was getting ready to drive away. So, instead, I drove South with a plan to find work on shrimp boats. Ended up in Mobile, Alabama. I almost achieved that goal, but that is another tale altogether that includes my six month marriage to a Southern gal which is another story. So many tales. 

Anyway, the Olivetti was a fine machine and typed very presentable manuscripts. I can date the manuscript to pre-1973. I would get sober in 1976, so I was well gone toward the end of my downward spiral. PS: I don't believe I ever sent this ms anywhere. Thinking I might dust it off and give it a whirl.

SWEATING MY WAY TO ANOTHER PORTLAND ADVENTURE

Tonight, my Tuesday night 6:30 - 9:30 screenwriting course begins at NW Film Center in downtown Portland. Teacher will be Randall Jahnson. If you've been following my bucket list quest, you'll recall that I took time off from rewriting novels to write a science fiction film two summers [or so?] back. I enjoyed the process and thought I might be able to do that in my declining memory years. One-hundred pages of film script is easier to keep in mind than a 500 page novel. Two of my novels are open to turning into film scripts. 

For the past week, I've been full of fear about the course, telling myself I have nothing more to say, telling myself I'll be out of place among young writers, imagining they'll laugh at this 79 year old codger trying to turn out film scripts. I questioned myself violently, doubting everything about myself and hit myself over the noggin with my financially unsuccessful writing career. I experienced moments of fear that reminded me of the fears I felt when I put the bottle down 40-some years ago, i.e. how will I be funny and pick up girls...I'll be so alone, etcetera. One fear was about the expense of parking in Portland, then I looked into taking the Max line in from PDX but was deterred from that by my fear of standing at 9:30 pm in downtown Portland waiting for the Max line to show. They run the last two runs to PDX at 9:55 and 10:30. I truly want to learn to take the Max line into Portland, so I'm compromising tonight. I drove in to park expensively in a garage near the school, then I'll look around as I leave the school at 9:30 to see how scary it might feel at the stop I'd need to wait at.

SILENTLY TIME FLIES, THEN IT'S TUESDAY AND ONE IS 76

find photo on this site

I've been thinking about the phrase "once upon a time" that I discussed in my last blog entry. I asked myself why would anyone (why did I) use that phrase in a work of fiction that is not a fairy tale? I fear I'm guilty of using that phrase frequently. I suppose it represents a lifetime attitude that most of life is a fairytale in the minds of most people. I've used the phrase unconsciously and sarcastically until it's become a sort of writer's tic. 

It's sadly true that most people grow emotionally until they reach the age of 12 or so, then they freeze into that emotional state, half escaped from fairy tales and gods and romantic notions about life, country and family they picked up in the home. They reside in those falsehoods until, in the last decade of their lives, many realize they've been foolish. 

Sometimes, I imagine my alcoholism, my three divorces and all the pain in my life and pain I created in others lives was the price I paid to escape the fairy tales that still entrap so many humans. It's not always comfortable outside the human family that remains sitting around the campfire and endlessly retelling the old fairy tales they continue to live by, but I'd rather live on the fringes than live in the fairy tale. 

What proof do I offer for what I've just said? I look around my world. Would a species of grownup, sensible people create the sort of mockery of life we force ourselves and others to live in if we actually knew better?

OLD DOG FROM SILENT GEN. LEARNS NEW TRICKS

find this photo at

Jefferson wrote "The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do." Why argue with the man who wrote America's "Declaration of Independence"? Yesterday, I wrote a sentence that ended with "an old building that once upon a time housed the famous Powell's Bookstore." How many times, I wondered, had I written "once upon a time" when "once" accounted very well for the longer phrase? I can't imagine how far along I'd be if I hadn't first had to deal with alcoholism and woman issues before I got down to serious attempts at successful writing. I can't fret about my wasted years and lack of confidence or I'll have regret to deal with next. One does what one can and at whatever pace he discovers he can do it at.

On the far northeast section of my daily walk, I sometimes enter a neighborhood of expensive homes, and I imagine living there one day ... if, of course, I can write one successful book that becomes a movie. I think I'm writing that book now, and walking through that neighborhood always fires my imagination. Who knows? More unlikely things have happened. Once that sentence would have read "More unlikely things have been known to happen"? See what I mean? I can now instruct Jefferson too: "The most valuable talent is never using two words when one will do." The superlative "most" eliminated the need for "of all" in Jefferson's maxim. Of course, history reveals that the pronoun "that" would have been required in Jefferson's time to refer to "valuable" and that historical circumstance is why Jefferson constructed his sentence as he did.

What's This Blog All About?

I'm 75 and hoping to address a community of intelligent seniors who enjoy lively writing. I'm one of that Generation called the Silent Generation who found himself aboard the Boomer's VW bus, heading in directions that would surprise me as much as they altered me.

Reminiscences about old times are wonderful, but they oughtn't to be all seniors have to talk about. A long time ago, when I was a young man, hitting up the bars, I realized that the alcoholics on the neighboring stools, the ones I saw every day in the neighborhood taverns I frequented, were stuck in the past. They carried around a set of stories that they used, I realized, to make themselves feel bad and to keep themselves trapped in their cycles of drink and despair. I'd hear a familiar story appear on the lips of Sam (for example) and I'd tell myself, "Well, Sam's not going to return to work this afternoon." I was frequently right, and I swore that would never happen to me. However, if one spends enough time in the company of heavy drinkers, he'll soon find he's drinking pretty heavily himself...won't he? Ha! Ha! There's the rub, as Shakespeare would say.

Alcoholics aren't the only ones who tell themselves stories that hold them down and create despair. Everyone falls into such traps at times. But, there's a pile of difference between using one's past from which to create solid ideas about reality and using tragic memories to beat oneself up with.

Most of what I put in this blog will aim toward the enlightenment I've experienced rather than dwelling on the despair that forced me to change, but there will be a few hellish moments! Sex might even creep into the discussion, and that's one scary subject. Many seniors might not be comfortable aboard this craft (analogy intended) where all sorts of ideas are likely to appear...thoughts and experiences that might make the faint of heart faint dead away.

Feel free to sit down, pull off your socks or support hose, make yourself comfortable. I'll be checking in every day or so to see who's showed up and add another piece of lively writing for your entertainment and enlightenment...

 ...I hope.

Might even point you to where a couple of my books are stocked on the internet and to books I enjoy reading and to books I'm working on.