Tramps Like Us

It takes a lot of courage to stand on a stage and sing these words:Some day girl, I don't know when, we're gonna get to that place where we really want to go and we'll walk in the sun. But 'til then, tramps like us, baby we were born to run.It is, in my not so humble opinion, the greatest pop song ever written, encapsulating both the exuberant idealism of youthful ambition and the sneaking suspicion that one's dreams will never come true. I will never write anything as good as the lyrics to Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run."But it's not just a lack of talent that prevents me from reaching such heights. It is a lack of hope. No, I'm not a cynic by nature. But in my writing, I am as dark as night. And I'm not sure why. I have never written anything that ends on a purely positive note. I have never written anything triumphant or even overwhelmingly optimistic. And I'm not sure why.David Mitchell managed it in his wonderful absolutely must-read novel, Cloud Atlas. Seriously, add it to your Amazon wish list. You will not be able to put it down. It's magic. What so impressed me about it, besides his wicked story-telling and cracklingly original characters, was his ability to take us into the depths of human depravity and still find cause for hope. I manage this trick every once in a while when I'm walking down the street day-dreaming. But as soon as I start typing out a short story or a novel, the forces of darkness descend, obstacles become insurmountable, society becomes a poisonous conspiracy of buffoons, thieves, and liars. I can't even write about food without conjuring insidious motivations. The snide aside, the smirk, is always there.Some day. Some day soon (I hope), I'll have the courage, the audacity to present hope as the only rational response to the tawdry adventures I concoct for my hapless characters.But 'til then...