You will finish the tome,
It may not be today.
And though years pass like buses,
You shall find a way.
I believe that you can,
I know that you will,
Take a leaf from my book,
And swallow the pill
Which is crafted from surety,
And wild perseverance,
Encased in tenacity,
And bloodied in appearance.
You’re not good enough, no,
You’re exceptional say I,
Slap the face of distraction,
Punch solicitude in the eye.
There’s a beast stuffed within you,
His kingdom shall come.
Your muse may be the fuse…
But the match is held ‘tween your, finger and thumb.
Every one of the following, refers to the writer’s debut novel;
- Suzanne Collins was 46 when she wrote ‘The Hunger Games‘
2. Charles Darwin was 50 years old when his book ‘On the Origin of Species’ came out - Daniel Defoe completed Robinson Crusoe just before his 60th birthday.
- Charles Bukowski quit his post office job and published his first novel, Post Office, in 1971, at 50 years old.
- Raymond Chandler wrote his first and most famous novel, The Big Sleep, in 1939 at the age of 51.
- Mary Wesley launched The Camomile Lawn at 70
- Karl Marlantes, author of Matterhorn, worked on his manuscript for 33 years and finally saw it published in his 60s.
- Dr. Seuss was 54 when he wrote The Cat in the Hat
- V. C. Andrews published Flowers in the Attic when she was 56.
- Anna Sewell wrote Black Beauty when she was 57
- Karen Blixen wrote Out of Africa at age 50
- Richard Adams was 52 when he wrote Watership Down
- Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote Little House on the Prairie when she was 64
- Frank McCourt wrote Angela’s Ashes at age 66
- Alex Haley published his debut novel Roots when he was 55.
15. Dorothea Tanning published her first novel, Chasm: A Weekend when Tanning was 93 years old
16. James Arruda Henry learned to read and write when he was in his mid-nineties. He published his autobiography In A Fisherman’s Language at the age of 98 - Harriet Doerr published her first novel, Stones for Ibarra, at age 74. She was awarded a National Book Award for this work.
- Norman McLean wrote A River Runs Through It at age 74.
Esme's Cloud 
Write on sister. You’ll be 19 before you’re 50.
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It did, and thus it was proven to a solitary Zygal that eternity may be embraced in little under three interminable hours. As the H-shaped one’s mind wandered in that ploddingly bleak expanse of time, it recalled what friend Johnny would have said, “these feet are on their last legs”.
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Johnny – “I’ve got an infinite number of places to go, the problem is where to stay.”
Time is an illusion H, (lunch-time doubly so), therefore lift those plodders get roller skates on and zip through Waitrose naked at midday, with a Gerbera up your arsehole – brighten all the old posh pensioner’s day, and find yourself giddy with life. sonmi will not stand bail for H by the by.
–
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“Are ya wiv me?”
[Limps off to Waitrose to minimalist harp accompaniment]
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I’m off to see the Perseids right now on the Cloud! So no, but I like the limp. laughs
s.u.t.C
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There’s hope then!
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There very much is…it has feathers, and perches in the soul. smiles
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There is hope for me then
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nods – “To live without hope is to Cease to live.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky
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I don’t know whether to agree with Dostoyevsky or Nietzsche who observed that hope was the greatest of evils for it prolonged our suffering
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I’ve had Nietzsche on laughing gas in the back pantry for two days, and he’s feeling much more positive about things apparently.
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The poor man would do with some laughing gas
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He seemed happy enough when he was doing the can-can on the kitchen roof.
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Do you have any gas left? I have another candidate, Arthur Schopenhauer. He needs some loosening up too
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Line them up. I have all of eternity.
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I will populate the list
Have a pleasant week
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Good man, you have a lovely week too smiles and waves.
sonmiupontheCloud
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An honest to goodness feel good post. I am sure I did not even consider the maturity of those accomplished individuals. Let’s see… what can I write about?
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I suppose it is yes. It’s hard not to lose faith in writing sometimes, especially when penning the big ‘uns. Several of the Gods told me to write this post, and I find obeying them is usually a good idea. Someone needed hoisting up on high, or confirmation of sorts, maybe lots of people did. sonmi is the messenger smiles.
You have a wealth of subjects to write about masodo! A strange tale of redemption that involves darkrooms, pinhole cameras, uncannily timed gifs and fake blood (or was it?) would be perfect nods a lot laughing.
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My basic takeaway here is the irrelevancy of age. That, and the necessity of eventually making long stretches of time available for sitting down with one’s own heart, and making notes of all that is discussed.
Michael
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Yes indeed. And faith in oneself too, minus negative comparison, and plus positive. smiles
sonmiuponthecloud
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“The Last Vegan,” by Peter Schreiner began its futile, pathetic, embryonic existence in the cold harsh winter of 2012, or was it the warm spring of ’13. No, I’m pretty sure it was ’12, maybe even ’11. Who knows? Who cares! It was out of season then as now. But since then, since that dark and vile and wasteful day, it has died, a lonely and agonizing death, well deserved and better for the world. Now, all that remains of it is to delete its lingering remnants,to bury its past, throw it out as one would throw out an odd old stinky sock. Though it clings (like an odd old stinky sock), chillingly, hopelessly irrevocably to the soul, a parasite.
And now, Ms. Sonmi, here its clear, crystal clear dear, that you imply the existence, the validity of hope (or have I misread?).
No, there is no hope, damn you! Hope, as is said, and well said I say, is but an empty vessel. A perforated, cracked, faded, dried-up shriveled-up old vat, I would add. Nonetheless, your poem she is a beauty, a beauty of inspiration for those deemed worthy, and to hell with hope. Implied or not.
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Thank you Peter. smiles
Hope? Yes, for some, knowledge from the baseline of the Cloud though – come with me;
*sonmi pins on her wings of eternity, puts her hands under Peter’s armpits and flies him up, up, up, and then through time, flitting around like a supersonic bee from flower to flower, only it is not nectar she is showing him, but the incredible difference that one man, a man who has no belief in human beings and their often innate cruelty, but loves animals so much that he feels their suffering on a daily basis, and it weighs on him as lead upon his shoulders – yay, the difference that one man will make upon future animals lives, and humans too, by cherishing his poem, sharing it, and keeping the beacon lit that he holds within his pen, and which sends out a million ripples through his fingers throughout the world, touching minds and hearts. Then, she shows him what happens if he discards his poetry, and sees no light in the future at all.
Afterwards, she takes him to the fabled Island of Bali Ha’i for a couple of beers, because a bit of fun is called for. Once back on the Cloud, she unpins her wings, and erases from his mind all he has seen, barring the knowledge that he will, and indeed does, make a difference – one vital piece in an interstellar jigsaw.
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Not having drunk a drop, or dropped a drunk, since ’82 I suspect a couple of beers would erase my memory clean of pretty much everything, at least for a couple of days. But, I did have a most peculiar dream last night, although I can’t recall it with any degree of vividness, it’s all remains sort of cloudy.
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You can’t sue if you ‘aint sure – that’s the main thing – hides the LSD.
sonmiallinnocentlookingupontheCloud
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Why are there so many of us writing novels? Fun poem.
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Thank you J.B. They say everyone has a novel in them. I’d say each of us has hundreds of tales within. Some have the ability to free them from their cages, some are better in this endeavour than others, but the main thing is to persevere, and have some iron-clad confidence in your own ability. smiles
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This spring I turn 60… I had a feeling it was just getting started. “There’s a beast stuffed within you…” Love it.
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60 is an excellent age; I consider every year that passes to be an achievement of sorts. Survival! I’m chuffed you like my stuffed beast, thank you – laughing
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the selected polka – no doubt a timeless classic.
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Oh yes, one of esme’s favourites for a few years now. You must learn the words as well mind you.
Nuapurista kuulu se polokan tahti
jalakani pohjii kutkutti.
Ievan äiti se tyttöösä vahti
vaan kyllähän Ieva sen jutkutti,
sillä ei meitä silloin kiellot haittaa
kun myö tanssimme laiasta laitaan.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
Ievan suu oli vehnäsellä
ko immeiset onnee toevotti.
Peä oli märkänä jokaisella
ja viulu se vonku ja voevotti.
Ei tätä poikoo märkyys haittaa
sillon ko laskoo laiasta laitaan.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
Ievan äiti se kammarissa
virsiä veisata huijjuutti,
kun tämä poika naapurissa
ämmän tyttöä nuijjuutti.
Eikä tätä poikoo ämmät haittaa
sillon ko laskoo laiasta laitaan.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
Hilipati hilipati hilipati hillaa,
hilipati hilipati hilipampaa.
Jalituli jallaa talituli jallaa
tilitali tilitali tilitantaa.
Halituli jallaa tilituli tallaa
tilitili tilitili tilitili tallaa.
Halituli tilitali jallati jallan,
tilitali talitali helevantaa.
Rimpatirallaa ripirapirallaa
rumpatiruppa ripirampuu.
Jakkarittaa rippari lapalan
tulituli lallan tipiran tuu.
Jatsu tsappari dikkari dallan
tittari tillan titstan dullaa,
dipidapi dallaa ruppati rupiran
kurikan kukka ja kirikan kuu.
Ratsatsaa ja ripidabi dilla
beritstan dillan dellan doo.
A baribbattaa baribbariiba
ribiribi distan dellan doo.
Ja barillas dillan deia dooa
daba daba daba daba daba duvja vuu.
Baristal dillas dillan duu ba daga
daiga daida duu duu deiga dou.
Siellä oli lystiä soiton jäläkeen
sain minä kerran sytkyyttee.
Kottiin ko mäntii ni ämmä se riitelj
ja Ieva jo alako nyyhkyytteek.
Minä sanon Ievalle mitäpä se haittaa
laskemma vielähi laiasta laitaa.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
Muorille sanon jotta tukkee suusi
en ruppee sun terveyttäs takkoomaa.
Terveenä peäset ku korjoot luusi
ja määt siitä murjuus makkoomaa.
Ei tätä poikoo hellyys haittaa
ko akkoja huhkii laiasta laitaan.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
Sen minä sanon jotta purra pittää
ei mua niin voan nielasta.
Suat männä ite vaikka lännestä ittään
vaan minä en luovu Ievasta,
sillä ei tätä poikoo kainous haittaa
sillon ko tanssii laiasta laitaan.
Salivili hipput tupput tapput
äppyt tipput hilijalleen.
I really do know them all!
Here is the translation, but I prefer the sounds made on the original;
The sound of a polka drifted from my neighbor’s
And set my feet a-tapping oh!
Ieva’s mother had her eye on her daughter but
Ieva she managed to fool her, you know.
‘Cause who’s going to listen to mother saying no
When we’re all busy dancing to and fro!
Ieva was smiling, the fiddle it was wailing
As people crowded round to wish her luck.
Everyone was hot but it didn’t seem to bother
The handsome young man, the dashing buck.
‘Cause who’s going to mind a drop of sweat
When he’s all busy dancing to and fro!
Ieva’s mother she shut herself away
In her own quiet room to hum a hymn.
Leaving our hero to have a spot of fun
In a neighbor’s house when the lights are dim.
‘Cause what does it matter what the old folks say
When you’re all busy dancing to and fro!
When the music stopped then the real fun began
And that’s when the laddie fooled around.
When he took her home, when the dancing was over
Her mother angrily waiting they found.
But I said to her, Ieva, now don’t you weep
And we’ll soon be dancing to and fro!
I said to her mother now stop that noise
Or I won’t be responsible for what I do.
If you go quietly and stay in your room
You won’t get hurt while your daughter I woo.
‘Cause this fine laddie is a wild sort of guy
When he’s all busy dancing to and fro!
One thing I tell you is you won’t trap me,
No, you won’t find me an easy catch.
Travel to the east and travel to the west but
Ieva and I are going to make a match.
‘Cause this fine laddie ain’t the bashful sort
When he’s all busy dancing to and fro
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O k ay ( l on g pause ) as i catch mybreath kuulu se polokan!
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I love the video! I am definitely learning the – um – the… other language. English schminglish.
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Good man! It’s great isn’t it? I like a bit of folk music every now and again, and this is quite nuts as well. Enjoy.
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