So I came home. Mothers are always right. I was playing a bad hand, living in a city that had taken more from me than it had given, and I needed to stop.
It didn’t happen over night. I had a few deals to close before I could leave, but by the time of the one-year anniversary of our conversation on the hill, I was back, entrenched in Berwick.
The city had taken something from my soul, sucking out my spirit, leaving me a living version of dead as I had chased a writing dream. I’d been well-received by one of my professors and even had a couple of short items published in the school newspaper.
Upon graduation I took the clichéd path of writing during the days and working various service jobs in the evenings. Unlike all the greats, it didn’t work for me, and instead I was left bitter, broke and exhausted.
Late in my 20s I turned to real estate. While not an overnight success, I discovered I had a knack for the business. My focus shifted away from what fed my soul and on to the making of money at all costs.
But it took something from me, kowtowing to all these people with two much money on over-priced luxury apartments or selling to people with too little money apartments that were still over-priced by lacking in luxury. It was soul-sucking and made me question my purpose.
I did become wealthy and that was the money that allowed me to come back to Berwick and try to make a difference. Hard work matters a lot, but money is the real game-changer.
I became the majority owner of the Daily Herald, Berwick’s newspaper. I’ve kept my hands off for the most part, asking only that our writers and editors focus on finding truth, no matter how ugly, within the community and surrounding areas. I also asked if I could write a once-a-week column.
I’ve decided to do a sketch on a person or institution of Berwick to try and raise some interest in the community and its redevelopment. They were kind enough to allow me to do so, which I’d like to think was due to my writing acumen, but I know is more likely due to the perks of ownership. So far it has been well received by our readership.
I also bought the Tavern. It’s a bit run down these days, but with some work I can see great writing happening in a quiet bar with a glass of Scotch to the left of a typewriter, or in this day and age, a computer. I’m a bit of a romantic that way.
My last major investment was the Holmes Mills. The one my father died in is still a burnt out husk, but the other five are still standing in general states of disrepair. I don’t think there’s a single whole pane of glass in the whole place.
Ownership has changed hands a half dozen times in the last twenty-five years. None of the different owners had any idea what they wanted to do with the buildings. They all had visions of grandeur, but ended up with empty piles of bricks due to a combination of a lack of funding, community pushback and a fear of getting started.
The lessons Santiago taught me have come home to roost. I’m going to be dead at some point, so I might as well do some living in the here and now. It seems such a simple lesson, and yet, fear always seems to have a hand on the wheel of my life.
No longer. We’re renovating two of the mills, turning them into lofts and apartments, the same thing everyone does to repurpose the abandoned mills in these old factory towns. It wouldn’t be a renovated mill without a pub or microbrewery of some sort, so were adding one of those to the larger of the two buildings.
The other two are going to remain empty for the moment. We don’t want to rush change to a town that hasn’t had much good going for it.. If all goes well, I’m thinking a coffee shop, but we’ll see. Sometimes people who have been down for so long, they can’t see to pull themselves back up. Revamping the mills isn’t the only answer, but it’s a start.
I don’t think about death so much anymore. I don’t worry about my feelings towards it. If someone I know from the past or the present dies, I let myself feel whatever I feel, without self-judgment. After all, it is the destiny of all of us.
Aside from the my column in the paper, I’ve taken up my pen again. I wake before the sun and put my thoughts on the page before I have to go to work. I find it best to get things down before the day intrudes.
I think I’m getting better. I hope I am. My characters feel more fleshed out, more real, now that I’m interacting with the people who inspired them and the place they all live.
I did have an agent right out of college. There was potential. She’s been a loyal friend over the years, encouraging me to keep going, despite the twists and turns my life took. She also told me I was crazy to move back to Berwick. She wanted to know, if it was my dream to be published, how could I leave the heart of the literary world? It was a valid question.
Now, she thinks it might have saved whatever writing career I might have. She says my writing has never felt so authentic. She has even sold a few of my shorter pieces to small publications and there are whispers here and there about interest in a collection, or perhaps even a novel. As with the reinvention of Berwick, we’ll see. Baby steps.
