This will sound like a whiney old man’s kind of post, but here it is!

The topic is obvious. When do we lose the ability to be discouraged?

Is it when we’re twenty-two and don’t get a job we applied for?

Is it when we’re thirty, and realize that we’re two steps behind on the basketball court?

Is it when we’re forty, and don’t get the expected promotion?

Is it when we are fifty, and are told that a new person could do our jobs, and at half the cost?

Is it when we are sixty, and realize that we’re cheating the average life expectancy for our age?

Is it when we are in our late seventies, and understand, unequivocally, that a writing project about a murder in Wolfeboro, N.H.  we have worked on for eight years is going nowhere because the murderer has not been apprehended, and there is no sign of him/her ever being caught?

Is it, finally, when a writer realizes that perhaps his work is not quite as good as he thought?

Here’s my biggest discouragement in a simple five word statement: Stacey Burns’s killer still walks! I didn’t know the woman and still care about this. What about all of you out there who did know her? Is it as discouraging for you?

Have a good day!