It’s one of the perquisites of being the oldest person in the room: Chances are there are at least some jokes I can conjure up old enough that nobody’s heard them before.
The same things we found compelling about Charlie Chaplin drew us to W.C. Fields, Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Bill Cosby, George Carlin, Johnny Carson, Robin Williams, John Belushi, Gilda Radner and Jerry Seinfeld.
Any one of those 10 people could do a variation of “Take my wife ... please!” and mold it into a memorable moment.
That is the Writer’s charge, for truly, nothing is new under the sun. We all stand in the shadow of past greatness; the mediocrity of the past is in large part forgotten.
Or, as Shakespeare’s Mark Antony so aptly phrased it: “The evil that men do lives after them – The good is oft interred with their bones.”
Good writing is rarely made of sterner stuff.
There ‘tis, fair reader, three paragraphs, and not a fresh thought amongst them.
Whether a writing challenge is fictional (a Great American Novel to rival Billy Budd, no doubt), non-fictional (In Cold Blood) or corporate (“You’ll wonder where the yellow went ...”), the value in a well-turned phrase is perishable.
Andy Warhol claimed every person was due 15 minutes of fame. Assuming a 75-year lifespan, and fame accruing 24/7, each American would have to share that fame with about 150 other people. Throw in India and China and, well, fuggettaboutit ...
Looking at it another way, Americans stand to be demonstrably unique for about 1/150th of 15 minutes ... or roughly 5.7 seconds.
Writing is a way of being remembered for more than 5.7 seconds. Writing extends the hope that a small piece of the good we do can live beyond us.
For it’s not so much dying that I fear, as being forgotten.
Next: Part 3
[For personal writing assistance, go to www.fixadocument.com]
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