Not Our Grandmother’s 70
By Jayne Martin
If someone had told me when I was 30, that I would be publishing my first book of short fiction at the age of 70, undoubtedly I would have smirked and said, “From where? A rocker at the old folks’ home?” Only the young can be so cocky. In all fairness, at age 30, that was my only role model. But today? Oh, girlfriend, today 70 ain’t nothin’.
Recent studies comparing calendar age to biological age have found calendar age a woeful second in evaluating a person’s life expectancy. On my birthday this past April, I declared 70 the new 50. My friends laughed at what they saw as denial. But recently I took one of those online aging surveys and it turns out my biological age is actually 48. So who’s laughing now, huh? But the fact is, I have lived a lot of years.
Always a voracious reader, I often fantasized that the book I held in my hands had my name on the cover. I dreamed of the day a box of my books would arrive from my publisher and how I’d rip it open and pull out a real book that I’d written. The weight of it in my hands. The smell of newly-printed pages. Even in my fantasy, I’d cry a little bit out of pure joy. Now that box is actually on its way.
It’s not like I haven’t had success as a writer. I spent 25 years writing movies-for-television. It was a good career, paid well, and I have a nice pension from the Writer’s Guild, but there was always something missing in terms of inner gratification. I was a writer for hire. Once I turned in the script any number of people could, and did, make whatever changes they wanted. There was no pride of ownership. No connection with an audience. A book, however, now that was something to leave in the world. A calling card to say “I was here!” But who was I kidding?
I was already well into (gulp) middle-age.
In 2009, my TV-writing career in the past, I joined the burgeoning blogging movement writing humor essays. I had no real goals, no idea that it might lead to anything, I just knew I enjoyed the interaction with readers. It was the best feeling to post a story in the morning and by that afternoon have a whole slew of comments. It was then that I realized why I write. It’s to connect. To touch people in some way that makes them respond.
The idea that I could write a book was still a far-off dream. I didn’t have a pressing desire to write a novel. But short stories? Now there was something that peeked my interest. And to my surprise, there was a whole community of writers out there doing just that and calling it “Flash Fiction,” stories under 1,000 words. Wow! This was fun. And so the seeds of what would become “Tender Cuts,” a collection of 38 tiny tales, was sown. I never thought of it as a potential book, but deep in my subconscious clearly that fantasy of one day being an author was still percolating.
It’s advised that if you want to slow the aging process continue to learn new things. I threw myself into every online flash fiction workshop I could find and read every book on the subject. If you have an interest in the genre, I highly recommend Rose Metal Press’s “Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction.” That drew me into flash writing communities on Facebook and Twitter and the world of literary journals where these stories were first published.
Over the intervening years from the start of my flash fiction journey, a body of work began to develop that seemed to have a theme. I saw other flash writers putting together collections and posting photos of themselves holding their books, and I thought, “Well, maybe I can do that, too.” It took me two years of honing the collection to my vision, which included finding an illustrator for each story, and submitting it to publisher after publisher. In March of this year, I received an offer from Vine Leaves Press, and in just a few days all those years of dreaming will come true.
Joking aside, calendar years do matter. While my earlier writing successes were exciting and celebrated, publishing “Tender Cuts” at this time in my life, when I can actually see the end of the runway looming, means more to me than it may have at a younger age. We all want a piece of us to live on after we’re gone. By choice, I never had children. My work as a writer is that piece of me.
When I pick up my book for the very first time, will I cry? You betcha!
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Bio: Jayne Martin lives in Santa Barbara, California, where she rides horses and drinks copious amounts of fine wines, though not at the same time. She is a Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfictions nominee, and a recipient of Vestal Review’s VERA award. Her debut collection of flash fiction, “Tender Cuts,” from Vine Leaves Press, is available now. Visit her website at:
Follow her on Twitter @Jayne_Martin
If Joy Williams and Raymond Carver had a love child that was often left in the care of Lydia Davis it might grow up to be Jayne Martin. Martin’s writing evokes the literary DNA of those who have influenced her most, while in a style and voice that is uniquely her own.
In these 38 tiny tales, everyday people do their best to manage the wounds life inflicts on all of us: A six-year-old beauty pageant contestant strives to please her demanding mother; a woman marries a 1985 Buick LeSabre; in a laundromat bored wives fall under the romantic spell of a lobster; a grown woman is still being fat-shamed by her deceased mother via a Ouija board; a widow carries her husband’s ashes around in Baggies.
With pathos and humor, these and all of the characters in this collection will speak to the reader’s own wounded heart.
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips
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