Two years after Richard Nixon lost the presidential election to JFK, he ran for Governor of California. He lost that race, too. At a news conference, Nixon famously said, “You’re not going to have Dick Nixon to kick around anymore.” More than fifty years later, I say, keep swinging your leg. I am not going anywhere. As with Nixon, I am not a quitter. Or was that a crook?
I am reading your responses, even as I attempt to get past Chapter Nine, quicksand by any definition. Keeping up with a blog is tough enough. A book? Forget it. Why do we do this to ourselves? W. Somerset Maugham wrote voluminous short stories, many set in the South Seas. They featured Americans or, more commonly, Europeans, who had opted out and chosen lives of excess in beach communities. I have spent time with these stories, wondering, where did I go wrong? I have no answers.
My problem with the fantasy is that heat kills me. This summer has been oppressive. A normal summer combines with climate change, and, voila, dust off the wheelchair. I barely can walk. This time summer is bad, really bad. Mr. Maugham, you are in danger of losing your audience. Spend time outdoors, then try to read. Concentrate. Write. Dream on.