Begin Afresh, Afresh, Afresh
I got that feeling in my bones yesterday- that early springtime feeling- which goes (quoting Larkin) "Begin, afresh, afresh, afresh". It's nice to know it still comes to me- but hard to know what I'm supposed to be doing about it.
Once upon a time I used to go everywhere on foot. Now I'm very sedentary. But I'm trying to push the clock back by walking to the supermarket every couple of days. I don't want to turn into my grandmother- who spent her last decade, though still relatively fit, sitting in her Louis Quinze chair with her Daily Express and her cigarettes. Life is interesting, even with aching joints, and I don't ever want to get to the point where I no longer care.
Certain things have been taken away. I used to write poetry a lot. Now I rarely get the urge. I accept this. It's normal. Poetry is a young person's game. And I don't suppose I'll ever want to write fiction again. The novel is also for the young. Name me a great novel that was written by someone over 60. Bet you can't. A novelist has to be in tune with the age- and the older person- however hard they try- no longer feels the pulse from the streets.
And that's partly because it's the work of old age to let go. One builds up a presence in the world, one sits on one's heap, then one starts to divest. There's the art of holy living and there's the art of holy dying. Dying isn't something one only does at the end of one's life; it's something one should always be practising- and practising more assiduously as one ages. We come into the world....
Dee-dee-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-dee...
Sorry, I had to get up there to answer the phone. It was some chap with an Indian accent assuring me he wasn't going to offer me a loan, but merely wanted to share some information about his company's government sponsored programme. I cut him off there. But he'd done his job; he'd stopped me from becoming maudlin and sententious.
So where was I? Yes, life goes on. It goes on until it stops.
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Precisely. No longer caring for me equals ready to die.
So, we'll not see more of Purchas?
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However, I have revised the books and sometime soon I mean to post the revisions over at Purchas's blog. The changes aren't major- but they smooth out the plot- which I was improvising- and get rid of inconsistencies.
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:)
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:)
I'll be looking forward to it.
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(Anonymous) 2010-04-28 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)翌日もコーディネーターに来てもらう?
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Be an artist now... start painting! There is no age limit to that!
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It's true, though, great painters seem to go on and- and get better and better. I've often wondered why that is
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As for novels, maybe Vonnegut's Timequake? He was 75.
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There have in fact been highly acclaimed novelists who didn't publish their first novels until quite late on in life and novelists certainly keep on going. Ah, I've finally remembered the name I was groping for -- Mary Wesley!
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In fact writing, unlike many other careers, is one in which you are never too old to be successful because ultimately, it's the novel you're selling, not you and writing a story doesn't involve heavy lifting. :)
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I thought Tolstoy qualified, but he did his great work in his 50s, though he lived to be 82.
Would you consider "time inflation"--many older novelists did fine work in their 50s, the equivalent of today's 60s.
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What the Bird Said Early in the Year
'This year the summer will come true. This year. This year.
'Winds will not strip the blossoms from the apple trees
This year, nor want of rain destroy the peas.
'This year time's nature will no more defeat you,
Nor all the promised moments in their passing cheat you.
'This year they will not lead you round and back
To Autumn, one year older, by the well-worn track.
'This year, this year, as all these flowers foretell,
We shall escape the circle and undo the spell.
'Often deceived, yet open once again your heart,
Quick, quick, quick, quick!--the gates are drawn apart.'
--C. S. Lewis
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