Once, a former reader told me You have moments where you are so spot on and unique, then others where you sound like Archie Bunker.
Though the ‘Bunker’ comment was ment as an excuse, or more of a warning that the ugly side of what I write could be / would be / is offensive to people in the publishing industry.
If you’re looking to sell a book, you can’t write shit like that.
There is apparently, in the world of major publishers a rule book and trend pallet of what can and can’t be said - or at least what is easier to sell.
I dunno. I never looked into it.
But sometimes my writing needs to be a bit warty, poop filled and just plain mean.
Why?
Otherwise I’d sound like some sort of Pollyanna.
That would be as welcome as wet farts in silk panties.
Instead?
It’s good to be a bit of a prick now and then.
That way?
We can highlight some remarkable things in the world without sounding like a smug gusher.
Today, I read a great interview with Brendan Gleeson in the Irish Times.
The headline that caught my eye?
I got tired of watching fatherhood portrayed as something that was almost an abuse
It’s great.
Gleeson sees his latest film as a celebration of greatness of fatherhood in both the impact of incredible fathers and how becoming a father can transform a man.
But read the article if you want.
If not?
The final paragraph captures something that I think is essential:
Speaking about his own experience of fatherhood, Gleeson added: “When I had my kids, I realised I no longer have the option to be pessimistic. I bought in to the life. So optimism now is a duty, not a choice.”
Optimism as a duty, not a choice?
Though Archie Bunker was a prick, he stuck around. He played the role of ‘dad’ as best he could.
He was optimistic enough to believe that somehow he could hang in, keep trying to love and connect with his family and those around him in his own, unique fucked up way.
He understood his duty to love as he could with the reckless optimism that it might actually land.
He understood his duty to love as he could with the reckless optimism that it might actually land.
I sound like Archie Bunker (sometimes).
And?
I’m still here, writing with the fragrant belief that somehow of this horseshit might connect with one or two of you turkeys.
That’s not pessimism.
That’s not Pollyanna.
That’s just a prick with a duty—and the reckless optimism to keep showing up.
Eat jellybeans and fart candy apples you delicious shit factories.
I prefer “serious possibilism” nowadays (tip to the late Hans Rosling).
Ah the age of intolerant tolerism.
Whatever man, stay freaky.