That year we won it all

I have heard it said that 2020 is a terrible year. I say, “In your dreams.”

It’s not the calendar’s fault if you choose to be downcast and pessimistic and defeated.

Did you ever dance to those songs about getting knocked down and getting up again? Did you nod and stick your thumb up when someone said Rocky wasn’t beaten because he stood back up and kept fighting? Did you applaud when the speaker said you can’t always control what happens but you absolutely can control how you react to it? You remember that, son? Does it ring a bell, daughter?

OK, then. Your assignment for the next (how many days are left in 2020? that many) days is to make 2020 one of those years you look back on with a smile. “Man, we were so … that was when … those were the days … 2020 was one of the best years of my life.”

Don’t look at me like I’m some naive dolt who has finally, after too many years of beer drinking, rotted his brain and taken leave of his senses. Are you the one who takes comfort in “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference?” Are you?

OK, then. I’m telling you right now that you have the power to change your perspective on 2020 and make it one of the best years of your life. Go on, scoff all you want, stay knocked down and defeated. But you’ll feel a lot better if you stand up, look it in the eye, and go make a difference.

Not: OMG, what next, 2020? I can’t take any more.

Yes: OMG, 2020, is that all you got? Come on. Let’s dance.

Writers write

I got up early to write this morning — so I’d better start writing.

It’s really that simple. (I said simple, not easy.)

Over and over again, in the books that purport to tell the secrets of a successful writing career, I see the refrain. Writers write. Writers write.

So … Writers: Write.

The words don’t come if you don’t pick up the pen, or plant yourself in the chair, fingers at the keyboard, or somehow attached to a microphone and dictation app — you get the idea.

The words don’t come if you don’t write them down or otherwise preserve them in some way.

You say, “I’m a writer, but I haven’t found the time to write”? Then you’re not a writer.

I Meta Writer

“What are you doing?”

She could see what he was doing, of course: He was sitting in an easy chair, staring at the spot up across the room where the light green paint of the wall met the white of the ceiling. He had a blank page in his lap and a pen in his hand, but all he was doing was staring.

“I’m writing,” he said.

“Posh,” she retorted. “You’re sitting like a lump of lard wasting the day away.”

He turned to her and grinned.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re so welcome,” she sneered, and stalked away.

And he began to write: “‘What are you doing?’ She could see what he was doing, of course …”