Is it Okay, at Age 55, to Commit Random Acts of Foolishness?

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January 18, 2012: T minus 26 days.

I’ve found little in life as gratifying as arranging words on a blank screen—orchestrating the lives of my alter egos and writing the happily ever after ending that has, thus far (after several false starts), eluded me, even as recent events have conspired to give me renewed hope.

Typing The End after spending the better part of a year locked in a short-term love affair with a story is bitter sweet. Completing a first draft is but the first step in the long process of writing a novel. It is, for me, the easiest and most pleasurable step: creation in its purest form. I give myself permission to go anywhere my imagination takes me, a sort of stream of consciousness that would make Jack Kerouac proud.

On January 2, 2012, I completed 500 Miles to Go, my seventh novel. In a few weeks I’ll read it, cover-to-cover, for the first time, going over it with a critical eye for pacing, continuity, character development and relationships between characters, believability, and more. I’ll correct typos I may have missed and, much to Kerouac’s chagrin (he would accuse me of self-censorship), I’ll also polish text, add scenes and perhaps delete others that may not add to the story. This last part is difficult for me, but I understand that cutting a scene I may love is necessary in order to improve the whole.

Before I start on my second draft of 500 Miles to Go, I’ll work on my fifth draft of A Retrospect in Death, which I completed last January. When I finished ARiD, I felt it was my best work to date; before that, I felt The Cobb Legacy was my best work, and before that, Backstop. Now I have to say 500 Miles to Go is my best. Which, perhaps, is as it should be.

I’ve often cited the wit and wisdom of Raymond Chandler, but I find I must tip my hat to him yet again: “Everything a writer learns about the art or craft of fiction takes just a little away from his need or desire to write at all. In the end he knows all the tricks and has nothing to say.”

I’m still learning my art and each new novel reflects that, as I take my work to ever higher levels. In short, I still have plenty to say.

All of which brings me to my next major project. I’m in no hurry to commence, considering I have two projects in revision; but I have a couple ideas I’m kicking around—neither one is, at this point, demanding me to sit down and put fingers to keyboard. But, I have a new lady love in my life to whom I must give credit for both these ideas. I suggested we co-write one of them, but her idea of co-writing differs from mine: “You mean I’d actually have to do some work?” she asked. “You do if you want your name to share the cover with mine,” I replied. “Otherwise you get a ‘based on an idea by’ reference on the ‘thanks to’ page.”

She and I started corresponding on Facebook one Saturday evening in early December, although I’d friended her two years previously (hmm, I thought at the time, she’s adorable, even though I considered her to be way out of my league in a totally different sport), at a time when she was going through a divorce. She’d pop up on my wall from time to time, responding to some silly comment I made—nothing flirtatious. But it wasn’t until I posted one about a Kay Jewelers commercial—you know the one: “Every kiss begins at Kay”—that we really connected. I referenced the commercial in a post and wrote something about staying single if I had to buy a bauble every time I wanted a kiss from a girl.

She took a chance, later claiming that she gave into a little voice inside her head telling her to “go for it,” and commented on my post, accusing me of watching too much TV, a charge I didn’t deny, confessing to living alone (a fishing expedition that netted me a nibble—yes, she, too, was spending her Saturday evening alone). A few more wall posts with this utterly charming woman left me enchanted and so we took our correspondence off my wall and into email, exchanged phone numbers, and have been talking nearly every day for the past six weeks and change.

My dad told me, when I was teenager, that there were three topics a young man never discussed with a young woman on a first date: politics, religion and sex. Well, we’ve already discussed all three of these topics, as well as many others, and we’ve yet to have our first date.

Timing is everything in romance, that much I’ve learned over the years, and it was my good fortune that I’d just bundled my phone and Internet services with my cable, resulting in unlimited free long distance calling. I’m now four years out of my last relationship and her divorce is two years behind her, so neither one of us is on the rebound.

The 739 miles between us has forced us to go slowly and focus on friendship before romance. It’s important, we both agree, that we like each other before committing to love. During the first week, we agreed again that we knew only enough about each other to say we didn’t not like the other. A week later we concluded that what we knew about the other we liked. And our feelings have been growing ever since. I love what I know about her, and I love how she makes me feel: young and prone to acts of foolishness.

I’m amazed because I thought young love was a thing of the past for me. That notion was a mixed bag because on the one hand I thought, good riddance, I’m too old to be chasing a woman’s car while in my skivvies, begging her not to abandon me; yet on the other hand, I missed feeling, saying and giving in to random acts of foolishness, even if such foolishness is rooted in the wisdom of middle age.

The distance between us has prohibited us from meeting face-to-face, although we have exchanged photographs. She’s beautiful—inside and out—is creative, witty, intelligent, and makes me laugh harder and more often than I have in years, and so we’ve made plans to meet next month for three days in a neutral city. Beyond that, well, I might be looking for a new job in a new city—one which won’t require me to bring my snow shovel with me. Neither of us is willing to consider any other outcome—which feels kind of strange for me because in recent years I’ve become a glass seven-eighths empty kind of guy.

Anyway, I digress.

This terrific woman suggested a short time ago that I write a novel based on recent events in my own life—to say more would be to risk someone stealing the idea; but think Fatal Attraction with a twenty-first century slant. As I turn this seed over and over in my mind in anticipation of it taking root, it occurs to me I would be a fool not to go forward with it when the time comes. Which is precisely how I feel about my ’Bama baby. And that’s not foolish thinking.

Stay tuned for an update next month—not only on my first date in a strange city with a woman I’ve yet to meet, but also on my next project …

To promote the launch of January’s Thaw, leave a comment and I’ll select one to receive copies of the January triology, January’s Pardigm, One Hot January and January’s Thaw.

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