I would like to preface this portal by pointing out that I myself am an optimist. Pessimists argue we would spare ourselves disappointment if we kept our hopes low. I’ve never been able to do that, and I don’t believe it would do me any good. I think I would have given up long ago in my writing career if I couldn’t get excited about my next “maybes”. Maybe my next idea will turn out to be a great novel; or maybe this next person I query will want to read my book, maybe they will be THE ONE! (Finding the right people to love my books is a lot like match-making; way harder than finding my husband). Anticipation in itself keeps me going. Given my perspective, you may choose to believe my sixteen-year-old self was mocking pessimists in this filk of South Pacific’s “Cock-Eyed Optimist”. In all honesty, I was rather fond of Eeyore the donkey and Puddleglum the Marshwiggle. I thought it only fair that they have their own version of the song:
When the sky has a dark and stormy feel,
I forget every rainbow that shines through.
So they call me a cross-eyed pessimist,
Mature and incurably blue.
I have heard people laugh and cheer and squeal
That we’re carefree and might as well be kings,
And I just can’t imagine such things.
I hear the human race dwells in a perfect place,
A spinning ball of paradise,
But every belching mill is selling me a bill
And telling me it ain’t so nice.
I could say life is one big happy meal
And appear more agreeable and light,
But I’m heavy as lead
With the thing called dread
And I can’t get it out of my sight.