Restarting Life in the Late Afternoon

I have a 15 year old. Soon to be a “new driver” and in need of a car. I’m working on that, and then realized—insurance. The mounting expenses, hang in the near horizon. This line of thinking, just this afternoon, yielded a cold reality.

In August of last year, I got laid off from a gig. I have been working freelance for more than 3 decades, and it wasn’t the first time. But it WAS the first time I felt emotionally “done” with the career. I started to write. I wrote 100, 100 word short stories, I wrote some semi-historical documents about life growing up as part of a nomadic family. I wrote a novel, my first. I found that I LOVED to write. I am compelled to do it. I can’t pass a day without doing it. I wrote another novel - it’s waiting in the wings for the first to come out to glorious fanfare, or my family buying a few copies. The second one came quickly, it’s a fun, roller coaster ride of a story. I started a third, it’s currently a work in progress. It’s exciting and dark, and a reflection of my thoughts and fears. It is something I have to do in short bursts, not because I’m bored, but because it feels too real and too shocking and terrifying.

All of this to say, I haven’t seen a paycheck in a good long while. I have been squeaking by, with help from family, and large doses of delusional hope, moving savings around and selling the unimportant items I own, now believing they should go to good use, rather than be kept as meaningless mementoes.

But my kid is going to need car insurance.

I talked to a possible authority on almost everything, an AI chatbot…”I am 59 years old, my career is screwed due to AI and age. I need to work for at least 3 more years before retirement. I need to learn a marketable skill for my age at this point in the workforce history. I have a long career in TV and film editing, experience in photography, I'm pretty good with people and a fast learner. I'm a writer of novels.”

It gave me a rather encouraging list of suggestions, based on my skills, and what I know how to do… to adapt. Talk to people about story, edit some video. Not beautiful poignant hand crafted video meant to emotionally rock its audience, but to simply entertain. Entertain in a way that my kids love, but I don’t understand. I can do this.

I talked to my older child, “talk to the younger,” she said, “he likes the kind of stuff that you want to do.”

“Send me some you like.” I said. And she will.

I talked to the younger, he wound up with energy, “They always start with one of three things…”

And he explained, without the regular language, smash zooms, whip pans, punchy dialog, guiding the eye effectively with title placements, I explained title vs. caption, and he nodded and didn’t miss a beat as he continued on.

I can do this.

The AI chatbot, proposed a three week transition schedule. I got excited and saw a job advertised on LinkedIn cutting stuff for @thebulwark - I need a reel. I have to make some social media stuff for my own book promo, may as well be practice.

Today, I decided that I need to make my own transition from 30 year film editor, to novelist that MUST be a novelist, who MUST put aside pride, and prejudice about what the kids are watching and LEARN something new. I can do this.

The novels are happening whether I like it or not, and I like it.

My kid is going to need insurance, and she will have it.

It is the late afternoon of my life, and the twilight of my film editing career. It is the dawn of my writing career. All my training, and slog through the trenches of my now former career will inform my next. I have about six years of work that needs to be done. Money that needs to be made. Insurance that needs to be bought.

I can do this.

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