Time Marches on

 I get discouraged, not just sometimes, but often, because aside from a few victories and minor successes in my past, I have never really had any real, lasting success, neither in a career nor in my personal life. Sometimes I think my melancholy reaches critical levels of sadness, especially when I regard myself as too far gone in life for things to change significantly. I ask myself, "has the opportunity passed me by?"

I seek success in more than one area. I look to find accomplishment as a cartoonist, which most people who know me are well acquainted with, but that's not all. I also seek to be a capable writer who is not necessarily a best seller, but someone who, as a result of his books, is an authority in my specific field of endeavor. Of course, having an income derived from book sales is also something I would never turn away.

But this all leads back to my original question; has the opportunity passed me by at this stage?

One of my favorite books I've read is Late Bloomers by Rich Karlgaard and he addresses this very question, and it truly gave me inspiration. Karlgaard addresses the general issue of people who find success later in life and he gives many examples but one area I specifically seek is writing and cartooning. So, I researched the question to and here is an answer:

Yes, many writers have found success in their 60s and beyond, including those who published their first work at that age. Rather than being a barrier, starting to write later in life offers a depth of experience and perspective that can make for richer, more authentic stories. 

Authors who found success in their 60s

• Frank McCourt (age 66)

After decades as a high school teacher, McCourt published his memoir Angela's Ashes at the age of 66. 

It became a surprise bestseller and spent over two years on the New York Times bestseller list.The book went on to win the Pulitzer Prize for Biography and the National Book Critics Circle Award. 

• Laura Ingalls Wilder (age 65)

The author of the beloved Little House on the Prairie series began writing her fictionalized memoirs in her 60s. 

The first book, Little House in the Big Woods, was published when she was 65, and the series became a lasting literary success. 

• Bonnie Garmus (age 65)

Her debut novel, Lessons in Chemistry, was a smash hit that became a bestseller and was adapted into a streaming series. Garmus published the book at 65 after it had been rejected 98 times. She has stated that age doesn't matter for writers because "no one really cares how old you are". 

• Delia Owens (late 60s)

The bestselling debut novel Where the Crawdads Sing was published when Owens was in her late 60s.The book was a massive commercial success and was later turned into a film. 

• J.R.R. Tolkien (age 62)

While Tolkien published The Hobbit at 45, his greatest commercial and critical success came with The Lord of the Rings trilogy. He published the first volume, The Fellowship of the Ring, at the age of 62. 

• Sam Savage (age 65)

After giving up on writing in his 50s, Savage returned to it and found success when his first book, Firmin: Adventures of a Metropolitan Lowlife, was published at 65. It sold one million copies, and he went on to publish four more books. 

• Mary Wesley (age 70)

After her husband's death, British novelist Mary Wesley began writing seriously in her later years. Her first adult novel was published when she was 70, and she became a bestselling author, selling millions of copies. 

• Donna Gordon (age 65)

Gordon's debut novel, What Ben Franklin Would Have Told Me, was published at the age of 65. The book received critical praise and was selected as a top read by the Independent Book Review. 

So yes, writers specifically have found success later in life, and in particular at my stage in life, and since my question has been answered as far as best sellers are concerned, I think I can safely presume that there are many, many lesser-known writers out there who have found their own degree of success. I wish to become one of them and since it's possible, (in fact the odds, I think, are better than just possible) I intend to be one of them.

However, does this lead to another of my issues? I may expound on it in another post but, for now, suffice it to say, I'm plagued with Learned Helplessness. Well, if nothing else, it may be another subject included somehow in a future book I author.

Stop Wishing

 Confession time.

There are a series of wishes and wants I am in the habit of thinking and expressing. 

• I wish I had a house.
• I wish I could afford a new car.
• I wish I had good credit.
• I want help with my light bill.
• I wish business was better
• I want to walk every day.

The list goes on, but it's my mindset; it's what I think about that becomes the reality in my life. A more accurate description may be, it's how I think about it that becomes the reality.

Even if I don't audibly say the words out loud, they come in other thought forms like when I drive through a nice neighborhood and admire the lovely homes and well-manicured lawns. It's when I see someone driving a nice, well-maintained, clean car. It's knowing there are people having a tasty meal with their family in a nice restaurant. 

There is no reason why I can't have those things, none what-so-ever. The verbiage I use is only a reflection of the way I think but I can't help believing that the words I say, out loud, or to myself, reenforces my thoughts, my belief system and my reality. 

Change my verbiage, to change my mind, to change my reality:

• I am working toward owning a home.
• I will have a new car.
• I will change my credit rating.
• I will pay my light bill in time and in full.
• Business will improve by my own efforts.
• I am walking two miles every morning. 

Wishing for things is nonsense. 

You'll Find it Here

 Welcome to Reelfoot Lake

There is a place in northwest Tennessee, just south of the Kentucky border, where I used to love going as a child. My father and I would stay in a rented cabin on Reelfoot Lake and it's some of my fondest childhood memories. There isn't any place in the world like it and the neighboring towns were tiny Tiptonville and Union City, no more than dots on any map.

Spenser's

Every year, on our drive up from Memphis, we'd stop at Spencer's Groceries, just inside Tiptonville, to get a few supplies, like food, drinks, or some worms, before we moved on to our cabin on the lake. Spencer's Groceries was a very small store, not much more than the old general stores one would see in TV westerns, and it only held the bare essentials; nothing fancy. 

Mr. Spencer was not just the owner, but he was also the only cashier, and he didn't even have a cash register. Instead, he used an adding machine, the kind with the mechanical handle he'd have to pull to get sub-totals and finally the total. 

Everyone's Favorite

Spencer's groceries was every local's favorite place to shop for groceries and even though Mr. Spencer was never what most would consider a huge success, he had a profitable business, everyone in Tiptonville shopped there, he served his customers well, and he was very happy with it. 

The Newcomers

Not only did all the locals shop there, but it was also the first place newcomers would go to for supplies or directions. There is a story that one day a stranger arrived at the store and walked up to Mr. Spencer, who was working on the books behind his adding machine.

"Excuse me sir, ", said the visitor, "but I just got transferred here and I'll be your new neighbor, and I was just wondering, what kind of people there are that live here."

Mr. Spencer looked up from his books, over his glasses and asked, "What kind of people were they where you come from?"

The gentleman said, "Oh, they were the friendliest people you'd ever want to know. They were a hardworking and thrifty bunch who'd give you the shirt of their back if you needed it."

"Well,", said Mr. Spencer, with a smile, "that'll be the kind of people you'll find here also."

The gentleman got his supplies and left.

On a different day, another gentleman came into the store while Mr. Spencer was pricing and stocking canned beans onto the shelf and the stranger approached him.

"Excuse me sir," the stranger said, "I was just transferred to Tiptonville, so I'll be living here. What kind of people would you say are here?"

"What kind of people were they where you're moving from?" asked Mr. Spencer.

"Oh, they were terrible. They were hard to get along with, always so rude and unwilling to help with anything." said the stranger. "They were unfriendly and never said hello and so lazy."

"Well," said Mr. Spencer, "I imagine that's the kind of people you'll find here in Tiptonville." 

The man left in a huff as Mr. Spencer finished his task and preceded towards his adding machine, to wait for the next customer.

The Plains, the Mountains and San Diego

 What's the opposite of success? 

Most people would say the opposite of success is failure, but consider this. Success isn't possible without failure as they are two sides of the same coin; book ends if you will, so even though success may be on the opposite end of the failure spectrum it isn't the opposite of the experience of success. The real opposite of true success is mediocrity.

Webster defines mediocrity:

"of only moderate quality; not very good"

Mediocrity is doing just enough to get by; adequate but nothing more. It's just enough to pay the bills and keep gas in the car and not much else.

South Dakota

I drove through South Dakota a long time ago and it was the flattest place I'd ever seen. I drove from one end of the state to the other and the only thing higher than the land around me was my car. I felt like if I stood on the eastern border of the state, I could look west and see the whole state, all the way to the western border, without interruption. 

Montana

But then, after driving for a few hours, I ended up in Montana which is the opposite of South Dakota with gigantic mountains that seemed to never end. The views were indescribable. I felt like I wouldn't have appreciated the magnificence of the mountains if I had not first been through the featureless plains of S. Dakota. 

Someone once said, a person can never know how beautiful it is on the mountain top unless they've been in the deepest valley. If there were no valleys, there would be no mountains. If there was no bad, there would be no good. If there were no failure, there would be no success. 

Go Ahead and Vomit

One more story. As a young recruit in San Diego, our drill instructors had us understand in their own colorful manners, that during the brutal training we were undergoing, we were going to pass out from exhaustion, vomit from the heat, pull muscles, get bruised, bloodied and blistered. 

"So what?", they said. "When you get through vomiting or when you regain consciousness, just pick up where you left off and finish." 

You can't have success without failure even if it means vomiting your guts out.

Joleen is Having a Bad Day

When I showed this particular gag to some people, they asked "who is she talking to?". 

Fair question, but my intention was to make it appear as if Joleen were talking to someone off-screen like a husband or a friend. 

Yes, I know before I put this to publication in another book, I should make modifications, but I think it brings to mind something totally unrelated to the joke itself. The fact is, most of the people who I showed it to, initially, knew that Joleen was talking to someone not pictured until I asked, "Does it look like she's talking to an invisible man?". 

"Oh, yeah, maybe, now that you mention it." some people answered.

Afterwards, I began formulating the theory that most people don't notice imperfections until someone points them out. I experience this many, many times in my profession. When I see the mistakes and faults and imperfections in things I draw (or anything else for that matter) others do not. So, I thank them for the compliments and move on to the next drawing, without bringing to their attention, the flaws. 

Garnish, Steak Dinners and Windows

 

Garnish doesn't make the steak taste better. 

What does that mean? I think to understand it better, it may help to define what garnish means.

Garnish: To decorate or embellish, especially related to food.

If a restaurant garnishes a steak dinner by putting a sprig of parsley on the plate, it's for appearances only and has nothing to do with the way the food tastes. The way the steak tastes has to do with the cut of meat, the way it was prepared, and how it was cooked, which has everything to do with the chef. 

But it looks so good

In the mind of the person eating the meal, the appearance of garnish next to the steak may give him the impression that it tastes better but even in that case, if the steak sucks, he will not likely order it again (or may never return to the restaurant) regardless of how green the sprig of parsley is sitting next to it. In fact, I've had steaks so tough and bland, I left most of the steak and ate the parsley instead.  

In my particular line of work, if I had pretty drawing paper and fancy pens, but wasn't skilled at drawing, I wouldn't be in business very long. As a window cleaner, I can have a nice uniform, new equipment and a fancy ladder, but if I don't get the windows clean, I'll not receive return calls or have any more customers. 

So, in conclusion, maybe it means to be wary of outward appearances. What does the work say?

Not Playing by the Same Rules

 

A lion, feeling majestic one hot afternoon, was sauntering through the jungle when he happened upon a hyena and the lion rumbled,

“Who’s the mightiest of the forest?”

“You are” said the hyena, meekly.

“Thats right”, declared the lion who walked away smugly.

He then approached a zebra, gazed at him and said again,

“Who’s the mightiest of the forest?”

The zebra fearfully said, “You are.”

“That’s right”, said the lion as he resumed his walk. He then saw a huge elephant feeding on the cool, tasty leaves located high in an Acacia tree and with self-assurance the lion said to him,

“Who’s the mightiest of the forest?”

At that the great elephant peered at him with his black eyes over his massive trunk, reached out, gripped the lion and pounded him on the ground with great force several times. He then held him down while he stomped him into the dirt repeatedly with his massive foot and finally the mastodon kicked him 20 feet into the rigid trunk of the Acacia tree where the lion fell to the ground, dazed.

Finally, after regaining his senses, the lion looked up through his battered face a said, wearily “he just doesn’t understand. He just doesn't understand.”