Sunlight Shining Through Cloud

It began as a high-speed thrill — a weekly snow machine race up and back on the frozen Yukon River, thinking to myself, “Someday, my grandkids are going to be amazed at the extreme coolness of their grandaddy.” That was back in 1978, and I never forgot.

There are three grands these 45+ years later. The way their worlds are arranged, online telecons bridge the many miles between us. And a depth of conversation can’t really be had at their ages anyway. So I wrote the frozen Yukon story, and then added a few more. And as I wrote, I wondered if my years had produced anything of significance; something useful for the world to enjoy when I’m gone. After 2,000 words, I concluded, “Nah, nuthin’ much.” So I stopped writing, but didn’t stop thinking. And I wound up writing some more.

It started to look like a life story; indeed, a book. So I researched the parameters for an autobiography and found that the skinnier ones usually approach 50,000 words. In all my years, I’ve never written any single thing that large.

Something else I learned is that autobiographies rank among the lowest categories in the world of books. Everyone thinks they’re a writer, but they ain’t. Everyone thinks they’ve got a good story, but they ain’t. And if you ain’t somebody famous, nobody wants to read your drivel. That’s disheartening because an essential part of the writer’s compact is that your words will be read — the more readers the better. That’s why you put all the hard work into it.

If you look at writing as an enterprise, you should be discouraged. If you look at it as a burning need erupting from the core, you write. Damn the consequences. I fit into this latter group, and was smitten with the project for the better part of a year.

The ‘addresses’ structure of Part One made it easier for me to recall events. There were so many, and I scratched a bunch of ’em thinking they weren’t interesting enough. But to me, the surviving stories pointed to a pretty exciting life — one worthy of the exposure.

I was thinking ahead, though, to what would become Part Two: the part where I gave voice to my opinions. “Nobody cares what I think,” I thought, “especially about matters of controversy and matters about which every reader is likely to have formed their own strong opinions.” To achieve that level of caring, I reckoned, the reader has to care about me first. So I worked extra hard to make Part One sparkle.

Imagine my surprise, then, when readers told me that Part One was a bit dull. And, more surprisingly, that they wanted more depth on the subjects contained in Part Two. Honestly, I’m not sure how to do that without maybe pissing some people off.

Which brings me to a comment from reader zuzusays: “I’ve been quite hesitant to write anything [about herself] that would be seen by the public for fear that being honest would hurt feelings, and if I wasn’t honest what would be the point?”

I truly hope that an appeal of my writing style is that I make a point unambiguously, but without flame-throwing. I try to say things strongly and intelligently without making the opposing view look like the utterances of blubbering idiots. The temptation exists, but I resists.

That said, I have found it impossible to not hurt feelings. If they wanna be hurt, they will be — despite my best intentions and the great care I take in crafting words. Probably every public-facing person has stuck his foot in his mouth (as I did, for example, when I said on the air, “The computer made a mistake”). You’re gonna screw up or mis-speak, and even when you don’t, some people will find a reason to call you out for a perceived wrong. It can’t be helped. It will happen. It has happened to me and, sadly, I have lost beloved friends because of it.

I’ve been nearly silent over the past decade for this very reason. “When you reach my age,” I’ve said half jokingly, “you can’t afford to lose any friends.” But, today, I have fewer friends; some are lost to natural causes, and some are lost because of my big mouth.

Well, I’m really sorry about that. But if I don’t get back to doing what I was gifted to do at birth, I will either explode, or die an old, sad man. Either way, I will leave the planet. But maybe I will have left it with a smile on someone’s face. Or a bit of wisdom that inspires someone to greatness. Or gives someone the assurance that life is worth the effort despite the obstacles.

So, look out, interweb: Fred has chewed the lock off his e-cage.

And you weren’t looking forward to 2024.