Writing

Stephanie has been gently encouraging me to write something more substantial than a blog post for several years now and I stupidly promised about a week ago to write a short story or an essay or something that would qualify. Alas, I've been a complete failure in my mission so this post will have to suffice. It's writing something. It is. And if I get into the habit of sitting in front of the keyboard on a regular basis perhaps something more interesting will spew forth.

I was reading a really good book this week, Bad Things Happen by Harry Dolan. It's a murder mystery populated by characters who, ironically, either write or edit murder mysteries. There was an idea in the book that struck me; about being an editor. That no one really sets out to be one. Folks just sort of fall into it through happenstance or circumstance. Of course that's not true. I'm sure there are plenty of people who aspire to be editors from an early age. But I do believe or would like to believe that there are probably plenty who start out, as another of the characters in Dolan's book did, to be writers but find they're better at pulling apart and putting together others' writing than they are at creating their own.

I think now in hindsight I would have really really enjoyed editing books since I love reading them so much. I'm also reminded of John Irving's The World According to Garp in which Garp's wife Helen, an English professor, explains that there are writers, like Garp, and there are readers, like her. As I'm sure you've gathered by now I'm more the reader than the writer. I would desperately like to be able to write something original. I can write a book report but I tremble like the proverbial leaf at the thought of writing a piece of fiction. I have all the best intentions when it comes to writing something but find I haven't the foggiest idea where to start. I'm sure "at the beginning" is probably the best place so I'll endeavor to try try try again. So maybe editing. Hmmm...In the book this character anonymously drops off three drafts of his own short story at the offices of a literary magazine named Gray Streets that publishes noir stories. Each draft is an improvement on the other. At the third leaving he runs smack dab into the managing editor of said magazine who hires him on the spot for his ingenuity and his evident editorial talent.

Once upon a time I held the title of Executive Editor with McGraw Hill Higher Education. Of  course like most titles this one was quite deceiving since I was neither technically an "executive" (whatever that is...or maybe I was) nor certainly an editor. I was a product manager for software products. But that's neither here nor there. I'm not sure where it is.

As I find myself faced with this dread disease and pondering death and dying on a more frequent basis I find myself noodling on things like writing or editing. Career paths I think in retrospect I might have pursued. Of course as the years go by I guess we all go from "It's never too late." to in my case it really is. It's not too late to write something that my children can read and even their children can read. I suppose they could even read this measly blog if that's what it comes down to and it will be...something. So if I never write my magnum opus I've left a few lines to be read and remembered by. So there. Not that I've given up on the opus. Opus opus opus.