The confluence of these explosive books, in the months leading up to the 2020 election, has made Simon & Schuster the current front-runner in an ongoing race among publishers to produce news-making titles about the Trump administration. It’s a lucrative business to be in right now. – The New York Times
An old friend and former newspaper colleague, Steve Bornfeld, has published an essay about aging, the slow death of an industry and losing one’s job to the pandemic. Titled“The Cost of Quarantine,” it might better be called “The Cost of Being Human.” Steve is almost five years younger than me. One of the hazards of getting old is coming to believe that our earthly rewards are nigh. We’ve endured this long and paid our dues, where are the goodies we deserve? In The Rambler #127, Dr. Johnson reminds us of the poet for whom “the latter part of his life seldom equalled the sallies of his youth.” To his credit, Steve skirts self-pity but doesn’t indulge. He writes:
“But at age 63, the thrill of the unknown is missing for the ex-8-year-old. Much of my life has been spent, my flaws calcified, my talents tapped. Perhaps tapped out. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now. Is reinvention really possible?”
That’s the American Way, isn’t it? I’ve known Steve for more than thirty years. He’s a word-man with a healthy work ethic. You’ll note an undertone of wit in his essay, even echoes of growing up in The Bronx. At some lower frequency he sees the unhappy comedy in what is happening. Such knowledge doesn’t pay the rent but it may temper the mind sufficiently to launch yet another assault on reality. Johnson writes:
“Some hindrances will be found in every road of life, but he that fixes his eyes upon any thing at a distance, necessarily loses sight of all that fills up the intermediate space, and therefore sets forward with alacrity and confidence, nor suspects a thousand obstacles, by which he afterwards finds his passage embarrassed and obstructed. Some are indeed stopped at once in their career by a sudden shock of calamity, or diverted to a different direction by the cross impulse of some violent passion; but far the greater part languish by slow degrees, deviate at first into slight obliquities, and themselves scarcely perceive at what time their ardour forsook them, or when they lost sight of their original design.”
There is another potential outcome. I would still like to believe that despite all the unignorable evidence, the ability to write – accurately, stylishly, on deadline – remains a marketable skill. I can provide contact information if you have some ideas, and I won’t charge Steve a commission.