LIFE LESSONS/THE TOP SHELF

How Do You Know When You’re Too Old to Dream?

Maybe it’s healthier to just “give it up”

In spite of the longer days and extended sunlight, dark thoughts have been a constant companion of late. As I close in on another birthday, my tendency is to dwell on my failings as opposed to my meager successes and the potential that I believe has yet to be realized.

Although I’ve been diligent, I can’t help but think that keeping abreast of the news both in the States and abroad is akin to hitting ourselves in the head with hammers. Because there’s no avoiding that we’re in deep trouble.

Innocent people in Ukraine are forced to leave their homeland or die if they stay as there is no reasoning with a psychopath who is so drunk on power, that the only way to stop him is to put him down like the rabid creature he is.

In a movie starring Matt Damon, that’s exactly how things would go.

Many of us are struggling financially and making a herculean effort to stay above water. Still, we can barely afford to buy food or gas. Our climate is in the shit, no matter the thick layer of denial that blankets this country like an impenetrable cloud, and we’re still wearing masks. Some of us, anyway.

When the shit hits the fan, like it is and has been for the last three years, it would seem that holding on to whatever dreams we have provides a glimmer of hope, of joy. Like a liferaft to keep us from going under.

That is what I hoped Medium would be when I was first introduced to this platform, after taking a break from screenwriting which is my first love. But, neither is going as I’d hoped and it’s taken a great deal out of me and from me.

Monetarily here, I’m a flop. And yes, it is about the money in spite of the tired mantra that “we write because we have to, and for the joy of it.” Yes, this is true, but we also need to eat and pay bills. If writing is our profession, as it is mine, then we’re fools to work for free. And, as my monthly earnings continue to disappoint, foolish is exactly how I feel.

“Dumb AF” is more like it.

That doesn’t mean I’m quitting. But it is giving me much pause for thought. Is this what I want for the rest of my life? Moreover, and cringe-inducing for me, will I at some point appear a “joke?”

The actor William Hurt recently passed away at seventy-one of “natural causes.” Seventy-one! I’m less than three years away from that number. Do I want to check out an hour or two after publishing yet another story here that’s died on the vine? Or, after bemoaning all the scripts I’ve written that haven’t sold?

Maybe you’re in the same boat. Maybe like me, you’ve been writing on Medium for a few years and are disappointed with the results or lack of them. Or, perhaps you’ve been dreaming of writing a novel and haven’t penned a paragraph. Oh yes, self-publishing a book has been on my radar as well, but first, I have to write one.

But, I’m tired. Aren’t you? If only we knew, with a rigid certainty, how we should be spending what’s left of our time here on earth, perhaps we would get the opportunity to really live before we die. To know whether we should be writing a book — or reading one. Or tending a garden because the price of food has become stupifying. Or merely sitting on our asses in front of the TV, binging our favorite programs and to hell with working out.

How do we know if this would be best for us, as opposed to tramping through a virtual jungle, chasing whatever we believe is going to fulfill us, while swinging machetes in a fruitless attempt to chop away any obstacles in our path?

We don’t. And that’s the crux of this biscuit, my friends. We don’t.

I’ve been swinging that machete for years and each time I try to launch it into the stratosphere and get rid of it forever, it comes back to me, like a boomerang. Which is why I haven’t given up. Yet. Because I prefer to believe that perhaps this is a sign that I should keep slogging ahead, until I hit that proverbial wall marked by one line of graffiti.

“Give it up, already. You’re done.”

I apologize that this is darker than my usual fare. I know some readers have come to expect a rant from me, or a few laughs, but I want to dispel that notion here and now. I’m not a one-trick pony. I am who I am and that is a writer who shares all sorts of things because that’s what I enjoy and I get a kick out of keeping readers on their toes.

When I read stories from writers who consistently brag about their success, post screenshots of their stats and who never actually share anything that feels remotely heartfelt, I’m both angry and frustrated. Is this truly what people want to read about? Some bloviating jerk’s bottom line?

I’ve seen several writers whom I like and admire, drop by the wayside and give up, here. I gotta tell you, I admire the shit out of them because it takes guts to know when you’ve had it. When the path you’re on is a circular one leading nowhere.

Although I’ve thought long and hard as to what I would do if I was to step away from Medium and never write another script, at least for now, this might not be the healthiest option for me. I’d most likely wallow in depression and pop the wine cork even earlier than I normally do. But that said, it must be considered.

How about you? Have you been on the treadmill long enough, chasing that elusive something just out of your grasp? Or are you dogged in your determination to realize your dream, whatever that may be?

It’s a quandary, is it not? Difficult to determine when to surrender. Maybe that’s what makes us human. We search for happiness in all the wrong places. And when we finally figure it out…well.

I don’t want to be like that. Yet I’m not ready to throw in the towel. So, I’m stuck.

Hey, maybe this will give you a laugh. Either that, or make you feel sorry for me. But, please don’t waste any pity on me as the following is a mere blip among many on my radar. And if I can laugh about it, albeit with some measure of discomfort, so can you.

Recently, I wrote that my former manager contacted me in an attempt to reinvigorate our working relationship. In the middles of shopping my best script, he flaked out on me. Decided to quit the industry and “serve God.”

I shit you not. From what he said, and he’s nuts so I have to take everything with a grain of salt, he attended some worship service and was so overcome that he passed out for twenty minutes and upon awakening, said “fuck this” and told his clients he was ditching us.

When I heard from him, approximately three weeks ago, I decided to give him another shot as I’d parted ways, amicably, with the woman who repped me after he quit. I figured, why not see what he can do. Maybe he’ll be appropriately regretful and really get out there and hustle for me.

Turns out, the guy is still nuts. All he wants to pitch are “life affirming, faith-based scripts.” Well, fuck it all. That is not me. One would think he could have brought this up when he got back in touch. The truth is, I can’t even be sure he is who he claims to be. There is precious little available about him online and trust me, I’ve done the legwork.

So, yesterday, I kicked his ass to the curb and woke up this morning to a long, rambling email where he referred to me as alternately “talented” and “entitled.” And also, that God loves me. A point he made several times.

Entitled. Me. I’ve been slogging away at this shit for nearly twenty years. If that makes me entitled, then I guess I’m missing something.

There’s much more to this twisted tale than I’m revealing here, because I decided to write a script about it. Working title: The Manager.

And so it goes. Yeah?

Note: I want to thank Klara Jane Holloway for encouraging me to share why I’ve been feeling so low. Thank you, Klara.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.

Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to check out the following, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.