The Year That Wasn't

This is the first year in which I realize I am getting old. There have been other years in which I felt old. Or I could imagine getting old in an esoteric, quasi-philosophical sense. But this year - finally- I know it's happening. And I'm not much impressed with this development.

You see, I'm used to living my life in five-year plans much like the Communist parties of Russia and China used to do. You have a goal and five years to achieve it. Mine went a bit differently, however. I had a goal and muddled around for five years until I needed to come up with a new goal. So each period of five years has seemed to be a life in and of itself, with no ties to the future or to my own mortality. I have always assumed - based on this pattern - that I would simply start again, start a new plan. And that seemed to work - until this year.

I am in year eight of the current plan. There is no end in sight. I have passed the post, left the farm, and have no more fodder for renewing myself. The best I can do is write a story in which I can play for a time as a fictional character. It helps ward off the morbid thoughts that come at night, when the house is silent and the shadows deep. Then I worry about vampires, which have not been a concern until recently.

No, this year started all right, as most years do, full of joy and positivity, resolutions and such. Then things started to happen. Some good, most bad. This was not a model year, which is one reason I feel the turn has occurred for me. No more five-year plans.

It was easy enough to launch an epic fantasy novel involving dragons. That was in March, when dragons hatch. It was also delightful to teach a course on Romantic Literature. Both helped remind me of my youth, my origins in fantasy, both reading and writing. I remembered that I was a Romantic at heart. Yes, I knew it intellectually, but in my spirit I needed reminding. Returning to the works of poetry and prose which matched and fired up my spirit gave me new life. I soared! I wrote silly poetry again. I wanted to fall in love once more, one last time.

Then summer came and all manner of obstacles to moving forward were thrown up at me. But I got to China, taught the class on business writing, still filled with that Romantic spirit. Life was good. Especially including a former student of mine turned dear friend (code name: Maria). I returned home still filled with that delight, still soaring. I had high hopes. I could make a new five-year plan - despite my true age. Then it all came crashing down.

Throughout the year, I've posted blogs about all sorts of things. Many times when I've been about to post a blog full of silly trivial topics, something awful has happened in the world. The usual suspects: man-made violence or natural disasters. With so much reality in our consciousness it seemed pointless, even counterproductive, to post a blog about, say, writing tips, when people had lost loved ones, lost property, didn't know where their next five-year plan would go. 

Often I posted a blog, feeling cheery, only to have the news report of something awful later the same day. I began to be leery of posting any blog until I checked the news reports. This year, it has seemed that far too many weekends have contained awful events - to the point where I felt like giving up. If every time I try to post a blog about something stupid, going for humor, something truly terrible happens, then maybe I'm the jinx.

Well, it's been a few weekends with nothing worse happening than my football team extending their losing streak. So I'm blogging again. About blogging. The obvious topic. In fact, many bloggers recommend blogging about blogging when you can't think of anything to blog about.

Did I mention hurricanes? This year featured three big ones and finally - finally! - it involved me. My parents' home is/was near the beach in Texas when Harvey the Hurricane came to visit. Dealing with that clean-up (on-going) and taking care of my elderly parents (they have long accepted their ages) has ruined what should have been a continuation of my summer delight. My five-year plan is ruined. It lays in tatters now. And finally, seeing these two old people relying on me shows me - in a show-don't-tell mantra we writers like to repeat - that I am heading there, too.

I am a couple weeks away from instigating my first ever ten-year plan. If I should live that long. However, I don't know what will happen beyond the first month. I have no resolutions - never have, actually, but I like to say the word. I hope to launch the sequel to my 2014 vampire novel in the spring, so I suppose I will then start writing the third book so I can call it a trilogy. And I'm scheduled to teach a course in World Literature, which again should lift my intellectual spirits. I think I will return to China, as well, for perhaps the last time. I will drink more coffee and consume less ice cream. It is a plan.


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