Myron Ward's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing-emotional-narratives"
Welcome to the Journey of "Solo Agers: Book I - Kakistocracy"
Aging and Societypersonal reflection and growthDystopian LiteratureHealthcare and PolicySocial Justice and AdvocacyStorytelling and WritingBooks and Literature
There comes a moment when life nudges you in a direction you never anticipated, a subtle yet profound shift that alters your trajectory. For me, that moment unfolded during a road trip to San Francisco with my father. It was more than just a drive up the California coast; it was a poignant chapter in our story—a celebration of life amid the early stages of his diagnosis.
As we navigated the winding roads, laughter and shared memories filled the spaces between us. But when I dropped him off at home, a stark reality settled in. I watched him hobble towards his front door, each step a delicate balance between the man he was and the fragility creeping in. The father I knew—strong, invincible in my eyes—was slipping away, and with each unsteady stride, a piece of him faded.
That image lingered with me. Here was a man who had spent over 40 years as an entrepreneur, providing jobs, contributing to the community, doing everything "right" to avoid institutionalization. Yet, despite his life's work, the possibility loomed that circumstances beyond his control might lead him to a place he never wanted to be. Not because of any failure on his part, but because illness doesn't discriminate, and our systems aren't always equipped to honor the dignity of those who age.
It struck me deeply—not just as his son, but as someone facing a similar path. I am unmarried, without children, and the realization dawned that if the roles were reversed, I might navigate my later years without the support system he had. This wasn't just about my father or me; it was about the millions of people in America aging into "solo ager" status. Who will stand with them? Who will ensure they're not invisible?
This profound concern sparked the inception of "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy."
In crafting this narrative, I wanted a lens through which readers could fully immerse themselves in this dystopian reality. Enter Stephanie—a resilient, complex protagonist who embodies the struggles and hopes of solo agers. She's not just a character; she's a conduit, a narrative mechanism that ushers you into a world uncomfortably close to our own.
Through Stephanie's eyes, you experience the unsettling terrain of a society that marginalizes its elders, especially those without traditional support networks. Her journey reflects the pressing social issues we often overlook—ageism, inadequate healthcare, and the erosion of empathy in our communities.
Writing this novella has been as much an inward journey as it has been a creative endeavor. Balancing the demands of caring for my elderly father, managing work, and carving out time to write was a challenge. But beyond the logistics, it forced me to confront facets of myself I hadn't fully acknowledged.
There were moments of frustration—feeling unseen in the sacrifices made, yearning for acknowledgment that seldom comes in caregiving. I grappled with my own emotional literacy, realizing that my inability to articulate feelings led to internal conflicts and tension. It wasn't just about managing time; it was about managing self.
Peeling back these layers wasn't easy. It required me to expand my emotional range, to hold space for multiple, often conflicting emotions simultaneously. Understanding intentions versus impact, recognizing the spectrum of blame, and navigating the complexities of human interaction—all of this enriched not only my personal growth but also the depth of my characters.
Researching for the novel was an eye-opener. The retirement crisis isn't a distant, abstract concept; it's a looming reality that will affect us all. The staggering economic challenges, such as unfunded healthcare obligations and the pressures of an aging population on our systems, are not just numbers—they represent lives, stories, and futures.
Recent political climates have also highlighted unsettling trends. Attacks on single women with no children, for instance, may seem targeted, but they underscore a broader societal undervaluing of individuals who don't fit traditional molds. As a middle-aged man without children, I felt the adjacent impact of these narratives, recognizing how easily policies and rhetoric can marginalize.
"Solo Agers: Kakistocracy" isn't just a speculative tale; it's a cautionary exploration of what could be if we continue down certain paths unchecked. My hope is that the story serves as both a mirror and a catalyst—a reflection of current societal issues and a prompt for meaningful conversations.
I want readers to pause and consider the solo agers in their own lives—the relatives, friends, and neighbors who might one day face these challenges alone. To move beyond a lack of awareness or empathy and toward active engagement and support.
This blog is the beginning of a dialogue. I aim to broaden the conversation around the social issues intertwined with aging, to shed light on the realities many might not even realize exist. Whether you're a solo ager yourself, a caregiver, a professional in healthcare, or simply someone interested in social justice, there's a place for you here.
Let's delve into the "what if" scenarios, not as a means to instill fear, but to inspire action and empathy. Let's use Stephanie's journey as a guide to navigate our own understanding and to advocate for a society that honors and supports its aging population.
I encourage you to join the discussion. Share your thoughts, your experiences, and your questions. Together, we can raise awareness and perhaps influence the narratives and policies that shape our futures.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through the personal experiences and insights that shaped "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy." As we delve into the themes of resilience, autonomy, and the societal impact of aging, I invite you to share your own stories and reflections. How have you seen these themes play out in your own life or in the lives of those around you? What changes would you like to see in how our society addresses aging and social justice?
📖 Pre-Order Now www.soloagernovel.com
Solo Agers: Book 1 - KakistocracyDon't miss out on the opportunity to be one of the first to explore the world of "Solo Agers." Pre-order your copy here.
Thank you for taking the time to read this first entry. I look forward to embarking on this journey with you—exploring the layers, confronting the challenges, and hopefully, making a difference along the way.
Warm regards,
Myron Ward
There comes a moment when life nudges you in a direction you never anticipated, a subtle yet profound shift that alters your trajectory. For me, that moment unfolded during a road trip to San Francisco with my father. It was more than just a drive up the California coast; it was a poignant chapter in our story—a celebration of life amid the early stages of his diagnosis.
As we navigated the winding roads, laughter and shared memories filled the spaces between us. But when I dropped him off at home, a stark reality settled in. I watched him hobble towards his front door, each step a delicate balance between the man he was and the fragility creeping in. The father I knew—strong, invincible in my eyes—was slipping away, and with each unsteady stride, a piece of him faded.
That image lingered with me. Here was a man who had spent over 40 years as an entrepreneur, providing jobs, contributing to the community, doing everything "right" to avoid institutionalization. Yet, despite his life's work, the possibility loomed that circumstances beyond his control might lead him to a place he never wanted to be. Not because of any failure on his part, but because illness doesn't discriminate, and our systems aren't always equipped to honor the dignity of those who age.
It struck me deeply—not just as his son, but as someone facing a similar path. I am unmarried, without children, and the realization dawned that if the roles were reversed, I might navigate my later years without the support system he had. This wasn't just about my father or me; it was about the millions of people in America aging into "solo ager" status. Who will stand with them? Who will ensure they're not invisible?
This profound concern sparked the inception of "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy."
In crafting this narrative, I wanted a lens through which readers could fully immerse themselves in this dystopian reality. Enter Stephanie—a resilient, complex protagonist who embodies the struggles and hopes of solo agers. She's not just a character; she's a conduit, a narrative mechanism that ushers you into a world uncomfortably close to our own.
Through Stephanie's eyes, you experience the unsettling terrain of a society that marginalizes its elders, especially those without traditional support networks. Her journey reflects the pressing social issues we often overlook—ageism, inadequate healthcare, and the erosion of empathy in our communities.
Writing this novella has been as much an inward journey as it has been a creative endeavor. Balancing the demands of caring for my elderly father, managing work, and carving out time to write was a challenge. But beyond the logistics, it forced me to confront facets of myself I hadn't fully acknowledged.
There were moments of frustration—feeling unseen in the sacrifices made, yearning for acknowledgment that seldom comes in caregiving. I grappled with my own emotional literacy, realizing that my inability to articulate feelings led to internal conflicts and tension. It wasn't just about managing time; it was about managing self.
Peeling back these layers wasn't easy. It required me to expand my emotional range, to hold space for multiple, often conflicting emotions simultaneously. Understanding intentions versus impact, recognizing the spectrum of blame, and navigating the complexities of human interaction—all of this enriched not only my personal growth but also the depth of my characters.
Researching for the novel was an eye-opener. The retirement crisis isn't a distant, abstract concept; it's a looming reality that will affect us all. The staggering economic challenges, such as unfunded healthcare obligations and the pressures of an aging population on our systems, are not just numbers—they represent lives, stories, and futures.
Recent political climates have also highlighted unsettling trends. Attacks on single women with no children, for instance, may seem targeted, but they underscore a broader societal undervaluing of individuals who don't fit traditional molds. As a middle-aged man without children, I felt the adjacent impact of these narratives, recognizing how easily policies and rhetoric can marginalize.
"Solo Agers: Kakistocracy" isn't just a speculative tale; it's a cautionary exploration of what could be if we continue down certain paths unchecked. My hope is that the story serves as both a mirror and a catalyst—a reflection of current societal issues and a prompt for meaningful conversations.
I want readers to pause and consider the solo agers in their own lives—the relatives, friends, and neighbors who might one day face these challenges alone. To move beyond a lack of awareness or empathy and toward active engagement and support.
This blog is the beginning of a dialogue. I aim to broaden the conversation around the social issues intertwined with aging, to shed light on the realities many might not even realize exist. Whether you're a solo ager yourself, a caregiver, a professional in healthcare, or simply someone interested in social justice, there's a place for you here.
Let's delve into the "what if" scenarios, not as a means to instill fear, but to inspire action and empathy. Let's use Stephanie's journey as a guide to navigate our own understanding and to advocate for a society that honors and supports its aging population.
I encourage you to join the discussion. Share your thoughts, your experiences, and your questions. Together, we can raise awareness and perhaps influence the narratives and policies that shape our futures.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through the personal experiences and insights that shaped "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy." As we delve into the themes of resilience, autonomy, and the societal impact of aging, I invite you to share your own stories and reflections. How have you seen these themes play out in your own life or in the lives of those around you? What changes would you like to see in how our society addresses aging and social justice?
📖 Pre-Order Now www.soloagernovel.com
Solo Agers: Book 1 - KakistocracyDon't miss out on the opportunity to be one of the first to explore the world of "Solo Agers." Pre-order your copy here.
Thank you for taking the time to read this first entry. I look forward to embarking on this journey with you—exploring the layers, confronting the challenges, and hopefully, making a difference along the way.
Warm regards,
Myron Ward
Facing Fears and Finding Voice: My Personal Growth Through Writing.
There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with staring down a blank page. When I began working on “Solo Agers,” I expected the usual creative hurdles—shaping characters, refining plot points—but what I didn’t anticipate was how intensely I would have to confront myself. In this process, every fear, every past insecurity, every doubt I’d long buried seemed to rise up, demanding to be acknowledged.
Embracing the Fear of Limitations
One of my earliest fears was that I lacked the formal skills to do my story justice. I’m largely autodidactic; much of my learning came from reading hefty books and wrestling with words whose pronunciations and nuances I never fully mastered. Without formal training or a writer’s pedigree, my grammar and punctuation felt like an exposed weakness. Sometimes I’d labor over a single sentence for hours, questioning every choice. But pushing through that discomfort taught me something crucial: authenticity doesn’t always wear a polished veneer. Grit, patience, and effort can render a passage powerful in its own way.
Self-Doubt as a Constant Companion
If I’m being honest, self-doubt and uncertainty never completely disappear for a writer—they merely learn to share space with you. There wasn’t one dramatic moment of triumph over fear; instead, it was a relentless, daily negotiation. Each page drafted, each revision attempted, was a small stand against the voice whispering, “You can’t do this.” The only way through was forward: writing, editing, and refining until the fear’s hold weakened. It taught me that persistence, not fleeting bursts of confidence, sustains the creative process.
Turning Inward to Shape the Narrative
Delving into my fears led me to unexpected narrative depths. I discovered uncomfortable truths about myself—hidden biases, lingering regrets, and emotional blind spots. Some characters originated as reflections of these darker facets. I had to acknowledge parts of myself that weren’t heroic or admirable to breathe authentic life into the story. As I embraced this complexity, my writing shifted. Originally I wrote in third-person, but it felt distant and sanitized. By moving into a first-person narrative, I could inhabit the characters’ minds more fully, allowing their voices—and, in turn, mine—to resonate with greater honesty and empathy.
Finding an Authentic Voice Through Vulnerability
Stepping into unfamiliar emotional territory required a new kind of courage. In learning to articulate my own emotional states, I grew more patient with myself. I stopped viewing confusion and anxiety as deficiencies and started seeing them as layers of human complexity. This acceptance allowed me to better understand my characters’ internal worlds. By confronting my limitations and no longer relying on blame or defensiveness, I gained a new sophistication in handling difficult emotions—both on the page and in life.
Techniques for Honing the Craft
On a practical level, I became meticulous. I consulted dictionaries, cross-referenced facts, tested metaphors to ensure they truly communicated what I intended. I learned that clarity matters as much as creativity. My mind could conjure vivid images, but if I couldn’t translate them into comprehensible language, the story would never reach readers. The process taught me that writing isn’t just about lofty ideas—it’s about doing the nitty-gritty work of refinement, ensuring each phrase serves the narrative and not just my ego.
Personal Growth Beyond the Page
As I dug deeper, my personal life came under scrutiny as well. I began to re-examine my relationships and patterns, understanding how my past choices shaped my present self. This introspection wasn’t just about creating richer characters; it helped me grapple with the very core of who I am and who I wanted to become. I realized the importance of aging gracefully, of approaching the future without bitterness. Learning to accept limitations as part of life’s natural ebb and flow made me more compassionate—to myself, to others, and to the world I was creating in my fiction.
Shifts in Communication
Embracing my fears changed how I communicate, both in writing and conversation. I learned to approach difficult dialogues without defensiveness, to seek solutions rather than assign blame. This mindset expanded my empathy. Rather than labeling people one-dimensionally, I began to appreciate their complexities. Every person, I realized, is grappling with their own internal struggles—just like my characters, just like me.
An Invitation to Other Creators
For anyone wrestling with self-doubt or feeling stuck, my hope is that this journey offers a light. True creative breakthroughs often come from looking inward. Are you writing something that pushes you to grow, even if it leads you into dark, uncharted emotional territory? Instead of relying on gimmicks or trade secrets, focus on who you are. Your authentic self—fears, flaws, and all—holds the key to originality.
Advice to My Past Self
If I could speak to the writer I was at the beginning, I’d urge openness. Don’t let perceived limitations define you; investigate them. Understanding your constraints can lead to breakthroughs in character development and theme. When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, our stories gain depth. And as our stories deepen, so does our understanding of the human condition—a gift to both writer and reader.
Looking to the Future
As I move forward, I’ll carry these lessons with me. Before putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), I’ll remind myself of what I’m trying to say—not just to readers, but to myself. The tension between what I reveal and what I hide in my characters can mirror my own growth. By embracing discomfort and striving for honesty, I can continue to craft stories that speak to universal truths.
In the end, facing my fears and finding my voice wasn’t a linear journey. It was a messy, iterative process of uncovering what makes me human. And that, perhaps, is the true magic of writing: in daring to tell stories, we discover the stories we carry within ourselves.
Solo Agers: Kakistocracy
Embracing the Fear of Limitations
One of my earliest fears was that I lacked the formal skills to do my story justice. I’m largely autodidactic; much of my learning came from reading hefty books and wrestling with words whose pronunciations and nuances I never fully mastered. Without formal training or a writer’s pedigree, my grammar and punctuation felt like an exposed weakness. Sometimes I’d labor over a single sentence for hours, questioning every choice. But pushing through that discomfort taught me something crucial: authenticity doesn’t always wear a polished veneer. Grit, patience, and effort can render a passage powerful in its own way.
Self-Doubt as a Constant Companion
If I’m being honest, self-doubt and uncertainty never completely disappear for a writer—they merely learn to share space with you. There wasn’t one dramatic moment of triumph over fear; instead, it was a relentless, daily negotiation. Each page drafted, each revision attempted, was a small stand against the voice whispering, “You can’t do this.” The only way through was forward: writing, editing, and refining until the fear’s hold weakened. It taught me that persistence, not fleeting bursts of confidence, sustains the creative process.
Turning Inward to Shape the Narrative
Delving into my fears led me to unexpected narrative depths. I discovered uncomfortable truths about myself—hidden biases, lingering regrets, and emotional blind spots. Some characters originated as reflections of these darker facets. I had to acknowledge parts of myself that weren’t heroic or admirable to breathe authentic life into the story. As I embraced this complexity, my writing shifted. Originally I wrote in third-person, but it felt distant and sanitized. By moving into a first-person narrative, I could inhabit the characters’ minds more fully, allowing their voices—and, in turn, mine—to resonate with greater honesty and empathy.
Finding an Authentic Voice Through Vulnerability
Stepping into unfamiliar emotional territory required a new kind of courage. In learning to articulate my own emotional states, I grew more patient with myself. I stopped viewing confusion and anxiety as deficiencies and started seeing them as layers of human complexity. This acceptance allowed me to better understand my characters’ internal worlds. By confronting my limitations and no longer relying on blame or defensiveness, I gained a new sophistication in handling difficult emotions—both on the page and in life.
Techniques for Honing the Craft
On a practical level, I became meticulous. I consulted dictionaries, cross-referenced facts, tested metaphors to ensure they truly communicated what I intended. I learned that clarity matters as much as creativity. My mind could conjure vivid images, but if I couldn’t translate them into comprehensible language, the story would never reach readers. The process taught me that writing isn’t just about lofty ideas—it’s about doing the nitty-gritty work of refinement, ensuring each phrase serves the narrative and not just my ego.
Personal Growth Beyond the Page
As I dug deeper, my personal life came under scrutiny as well. I began to re-examine my relationships and patterns, understanding how my past choices shaped my present self. This introspection wasn’t just about creating richer characters; it helped me grapple with the very core of who I am and who I wanted to become. I realized the importance of aging gracefully, of approaching the future without bitterness. Learning to accept limitations as part of life’s natural ebb and flow made me more compassionate—to myself, to others, and to the world I was creating in my fiction.
Shifts in Communication
Embracing my fears changed how I communicate, both in writing and conversation. I learned to approach difficult dialogues without defensiveness, to seek solutions rather than assign blame. This mindset expanded my empathy. Rather than labeling people one-dimensionally, I began to appreciate their complexities. Every person, I realized, is grappling with their own internal struggles—just like my characters, just like me.
An Invitation to Other Creators
For anyone wrestling with self-doubt or feeling stuck, my hope is that this journey offers a light. True creative breakthroughs often come from looking inward. Are you writing something that pushes you to grow, even if it leads you into dark, uncharted emotional territory? Instead of relying on gimmicks or trade secrets, focus on who you are. Your authentic self—fears, flaws, and all—holds the key to originality.
Advice to My Past Self
If I could speak to the writer I was at the beginning, I’d urge openness. Don’t let perceived limitations define you; investigate them. Understanding your constraints can lead to breakthroughs in character development and theme. When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, our stories gain depth. And as our stories deepen, so does our understanding of the human condition—a gift to both writer and reader.
Looking to the Future
As I move forward, I’ll carry these lessons with me. Before putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), I’ll remind myself of what I’m trying to say—not just to readers, but to myself. The tension between what I reveal and what I hide in my characters can mirror my own growth. By embracing discomfort and striving for honesty, I can continue to craft stories that speak to universal truths.
In the end, facing my fears and finding my voice wasn’t a linear journey. It was a messy, iterative process of uncovering what makes me human. And that, perhaps, is the true magic of writing: in daring to tell stories, we discover the stories we carry within ourselves.
Solo Agers: Kakistocracy
