by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner
I’m of an age when I have to reflect on what I have — and haven’t — done with my life. And I also have to admit that obviously I can come across as something of an eccentric. Or, to use the phrase the late Annie Shapiro used on me when we at the height of our “divorce” over the fate of ROKon Magazine, I’m a “delusional jerk with a good heart.”
So me being bonkers combined with my age and general lack of having done anything with my life since I left South Korea a long, long, long time ago really is beginning to eat away at me as I realize I really do have a shot at writing a novel good enough that it deserves a book contract, all things being equal. But things aren’t all equal.
I’m a drunk, bonkers old man (in relative terms) that literary types (apparently) are unable to take seriously. How do you fix those problems? Of course, if I found any success, all my eccentricities would be quickly re-defined as “endearing” and “interesting.”
But there are no assurances of success ever coming my way and I have to prepare for that possibility. And, yet, this novel project is existential for me. Not only does this give me something to think about besides my inevitable demise one day, but I am innately creative enough that I have a lot of drive to be creative for the sake of being creative.
While there’s life, there’s hope — and creativity.
