The Study of Time and
Pressure
One of the more memorable parts from the film Twelve Angry Men, at least for myself, is
when the protagonist, Henry Fonda’s Juror #8, asks E.G. Marshall’s glasses
wearing Juror #4 to recall how he spent his time over the past few days. By the
time Marshall’s character reaches three of four nights back (my memory is
foggy: hence theme!) he cannot recall the titles of the two films he’d seen
with his wife, thus illustrating the brevity and delicate veracity of memory
for both the jurors and the audience.
It was a key sequence in the film (although one could argue
every single sequence in that film is key. There’s a reason it’s ranked the
fifth greatest movie of all time on IMDB) that continued to turn the tide in
favor of Fonda and the young defendant, but when I first viewed the film in my
early twenties, it was the only argument that struck me as contrived and even
disingenuous. “Who the hell can’t remember what they were doing three days
ago?” asked my twenty-three-year-old self. “What sort of mind allows itself
such forgetfulness? Plotting blasphemy!”
“Your mind, you idiot,”
my thirty-one-year-old self responds. “Now you forget the simple minutia that
constitutes what you were doing this time five days ago. And guess what? Ten
years from now it will absolutely be three nights ago. Now go write this idea
for a blog post down before it floats away into the stratosphere.”
Basically, I’m getting old. Old enough to know that I don’t
really know anything. Old enough to understand the arrogance of youth, but
still young enough to occasionally fall into its passionate pitfalls. The
passage of time used to be taken for granted, but that’s not the case any longer.
It’s becoming more and more of a precious commodity. I’ve never been big on
birthdays as celebrations, but now they are seen as the milestones they really
are. At thirty-one, I look back on my life and see everything that has happened
and think, “Holy shit, this life is crazy. How am I still alive?” It must be an
extraordinary feeling at the age of forty (the word despondence definitely isn’t
coming to mind), and more and more so on down the line.
My Grandma shared this quote with me several months back. “Today is the oldest you've ever been, and the youngest you'll ever be again.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt.
Time humbles everyone. Its passage dictates life’s goals and
makes anything worth doing both difficult and beautiful. I’m finally able to empathize
with all of those that must struggle against that always-ticking clock (read:
literally every human that ever existed). From the four-year-old who can’t
remember where he left is favorite toy (it’s in his hand) to the eighty-four
year-old widower that grasps with sad but enviable nostalgia onto that one of
many priceless memories of her deceased husband (it dominates her heart), time
makes comedy and tragedy of us all. Peggy Olson tells Peter Campbell during an
episode of the greatest television series ever made (Mad Men), “It’s not easy for anyone, Pete.”
Time continues to win its battle against all of us, but the
spoils do not all go to the victor. Keenness runs its course, producing wisdom
as caution replaces vigor; the selfishness of youth can transcend into an
empathy for (or manipulation of) others; the fires of passion and unbridled
love are molded into temperance and respect. Time makes us earn these lessons.
I have not yet come close to achieving my goals in this
life, but I’m working on it. Time willing. This is all a long-winded way of
getting to The Principles of Posterity,
and my pride (hello ego) in both that novel’s completion and its content. It
took approximately fourteen months to write the book; the first draft was
completed on January 14th, 2016, after which a few drinks were had
while watching The Dark Knight Rises
(Bane isn’t The Joker, but damn is he a badass villain). That feeling of
completing a difficult project over the course of such a long time is incredible.
It’s one part bewilderment, one part ecstasy, one part exhaustion, and three
parts elation. It was one of the best nights of my life. I’ll always remember
it.
What started out as a little distraction or reprieve between
my first novel, Check to the Better,
and its sequel, soon blossomed into a sci-fi epic (pretty sure it can be called
an epic) that monopolized my worry, ideas, and life. Hundreds upon hundreds of
writing and editing sessions later, a short novel originally planned to take
two months at most had turned into a behemoth that took almost two years to
reach publication.
By the time The Principles
of Posterity (TPOP) was ready for the masses, I’d become a head case
regarding its quality. It doesn’t matter if you’re working over the greatest
novel ever written, reading and editing it for the fifth time will make you
squirm, worry, and agonize over every word, sentence, paragraph, chapter, and
plot in the book. The more complicated and lengthy the novel, the more
exacerbated this effect becomes. A
passage would be loved one day and loathed the next. When TPOP was finally
released on September 28th, there was far more relief than
excitement. Now, with the help of time (boo-yah), I can look more objectively
(objective right? Right. Definitely no bias around these parts) at the work and
absolutely enjoy its existence in this finite world of ours.
I enjoy the story, the characters, and the twisting and
turning plot. I enjoy the structure of the novel (fairly original), and how
that structure lends itself to creating far more character depth and immersive
plotting. It’s awesome that so much time was spent on a project that can be looked
back at it with a genuine fondness that will be with me for the rest of my
life. After all of that work, it can
honestly be said that TPOP is a novel I would pick up off of the bookshelf and
read (or, more likely, download onto the Kindle app). About a third of the way
through this life’s journey—barring tragedy or some awesome scientific
advancements—I’ve finished a second novel. It shaped me as I created it. I put
everything—heart, soul, understanding, and imagination—into that damn book, and
came out with something that might just be worth reading.
I’ll leave it to another writer to express my feelings
towards this chosen profession. The quote comes from the final episode of Westworld. (That first season was great,
by the way, and there are, ahem, quite a few similarities between it and TPOP. If
you enjoyed Westworld, TPOP could be
right up your alley.) And don’t worry, no spoilers ahead:
Dr. Robert Ford (played by Anthony Hopkins): “Since I was a
child... I always loved a good story. I believed that stories helped us to
ennoble ourselves, to fix what was broken in us, and to help us become the
people we dreamed of being. Lies that told a deeper truth. I always thought I
could play some small part in the grand tradition.”
Yup, that about sums it up.
Speaking of time, I guess I’d better get back to writing Check to the Better’s sequel. What’s it
been? Two years and change already? My goodness.
The eBook and print versions of The Principles of Posterity and Check
to the Better are available at Amazon and almost all other eBook retailers.
