The following and all of the other episodes to come are snapshots of what goes on in my head, now and in the past. There are times none of this will make sense. There will be times when I might get lucky and the blog I post will be well constructed and will flow like a mountain stream to an awaiting lake below. Other times it will seem like the ramblings of a madman and you’ll ask yourself, “What the……?”
You should probably get used to the latter.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED NINETY SIX: A DREAM OF THE FUTURE
The following is pure fiction.
Well, it’s fiction that, I hope in some way, becomes true.
I believe that if there’s something you want, you shouldn’t keep it to yourself. You have to put it out there for God, the Universe, or whatever (or whomever) to hear. If not, it dies on the vine.stern
Twenty-five years from now…
I wake up on a Friday morning to the early morning sounds of birds outside and the sun peeking through the window as it starts to rise in the Eastern horizon. I sit up and stretch but not too hard. My seventy-four-year-old body might pull a muscle and that would make the day’s activities difficult. And I can’t have that.
I shuffle into the kitchen with my cotton shorts and my comic book t-shirt draped over my thinner-than-it-was body and I kiss my wife. She has made orange rolls (one of my favorites) and coffee. She doesn’t drink the stuff herself but has decided she wants to make it for me. Most days it’s good. I sit at the dining table with my bounty and I’m met by our three cats and our dog. They all seem to be glad that I have joined them in this life one more day. I give them all rubs and finally shoo them away gently and devour my rolls. When I’m done and check with my wife that today’s activities are still planned, I take the rest of my coffee and head toward another day of work. Luckily, it’s just down the hall to the office. I never shut the door all the way, even when I’m in the thick of it. I like to be visited by my wife and those four-legged children of mine. I sit down at my desk and power up my laptop.
You see, I made it as a writer. I’m not making Stephen King or John Grisham money (or Louise Turner Greene, who you don’t know about yet), but I’m making a good living. We can vacation a couple of times a tear (though I still take my computer if we fly or if we drive and I’m feeling cocky, I take a portable typewriter) and we have three expensive (but paid for) vehicles in the garage and driveway. I’ve got five novels and two books of short stories under my belt and I’m working on my second screenplay. You come to find out hat my first one (based on a book written by yours truly) won Best Adapted Screenplay at the Acadamy Awards. It was a proud moment (plus, one of my crushes, Scarlett Johansson starred in the movie and still looks great for sixty). My wife doesn’t like to talk about how when Scarlett won for Best Actress, she gushed about me during her acceptance speech and how she gave me a kiss during the afterparty. It was on the side of my mouth and innocent but my wife just gives me ‘the look’ if it ever gets mentioned. Of course, she loves to laugh and smile about how a very spry seventy-five-year-old Matthew McConaughey hugged her a little too close for my liking on the red carpet. But, hell, I get it. That dude is still pretty damn good-looking.
I have a full day of writing ahead of me. The director will be calling me sometime after lunch to get a progress report. I’m almost done with the third draft and nearly finished but I’ll tell him I’m working on the second because I don’t like to be rushed.
So, yeah, life has turned out great and I hope I get to keep writing and people still want to read what I write for the rest of my life. Maybe they’ll read my stuff even after I have gone on to my great rest and inspire a generation (or a few) to put words down for themselves. That’s the hope and dream of all writers, isn’t it?
But the biggest thing that is on the schedule for today is seeing my grandchildren. Their parents are bringing them over before dinner and we keep them until Sunday. We love spoiling them. It’s our way of feeling young again. And by the time their parents come for them, they are going to be hyped up on Rocky Road ice cream, movies from the eighties, and love. I might even introduce them to
And you know what? That granddaughter of mine wants to be a writer like her old Pop. She has one typewriter she loves to type on when she’s here and I can tell she has the bug. At eleven years old, she writes pretty well. I think I’m going to keep stoking that fire. Maybe, one day, she’ll be up on a stage, receiving an award, and give me a shout-out.
I believe that wherever I’m at, at that moment, I’ll hear her.
Anyway, I got to get to it. Words and miles to go…
I’m not sure this going to happen.
But, I guess, as long as I’m still writing, still married to my wife, have a few grandkids to spoil and to influence in the best ways, still love typewriters, still have four-legged children running around, and have love surrounding me, then things can’t be too bad.
But all things are possible, aren’t they? If you believe and bust your butt, you can accomplish anything.
Maybe even an Academy Award.
And a kiss from Scarlett.
-Loyd Elmore Jr
I’ve decided to keep a blog about how I’m dealing with depression. I’m going to consider this a form of therapy. It might not help anybody else but it might help me.