Gautham: Bill Gauthier.com

Hello, friends.

Look at this. We’ve arrived at the last full week of August. Not the last newsletter of August, that comes next week, but the last full week. I’m writing this at a local library. It’s become tradition for G to read her summer reading book at the library and since this year’s book in question is likely to be really easy for her, I suspect we won’t be here long. It’s a nice change of scenery and reminds me I should do this more often.

This week I celebrate my 49^th birthday and when I say “celebrate” I mean hide from it and maybe study and pose my action figures, watch silly things, and otherwise try to forget it. Which is a little disingenuous of me since today’s essay is literally about my birthday. I also have two BS—sorry, PD days—this week at the Day Job. I know, I know, I made that same joke last week but this newsletter is free so you get what you pay for!

Seriously, I’m in a strange mental place right now where I feel a marked lack of anxiety about things. I’m not used to that and I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe there’s answers between the lines of this week’s essay that will help me understand.

Welcome to the 187^th installment of Gauthic Times, the newsletter about my writing, my life, and musings on turning 49. If you’re a reader who subscribes via Substack, my website, or Patreon, your encouragement helps motivate me. I’m thankful to have any audience.

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Four Moons continued to be edited this week. I passed the halfway point of the book. I found myself a little blasé about some of the writing this week, which meant it was easier to edit. If the words on the page aren’t singing, editing them to make them sing is easier. You’re more willing to cut and change things.

Project: Memoir had around 7,600 words added to it this week, bringing the word count up to 37,100. I wrote about some babysitters I had and how the experience left an impression and how it led to me becoming a latchkey kid, something many GenXers (and early-Millennials) understand. It was a little difficult because I found myself getting emotional about the last babysitter I had since the kids were awful to me. This week I’ll be talking about Batman, comic books, and getting bullied. And maybe my introduction to Stephen King.

I still haven’t officially begun writing Project: Nightmares yet but I’m close. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even begin it while I’m still here at the library. It’s so close….

I’ve made peace with the fact that I won’t be revising Project: Amusement Park until after school starts. That’s fine, I guess. It’ll be worth it.

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In two days (as I write this, one day as you read it) I will turn 49. Forty-nine. My father turned 49 in 1990, the year I turned 13. Mom turned 49 in 1999, the year I turned 22. And now it’s my turn. I’m surprisingly chill about it.

Maybe the freaking out will happen next year when I turn 50, but I’m not sure. It’s weird to think of myself as anything other than, maybe 25 or 26 years old. Honestly, a large part of me feels younger. I still love many of the same things I loved from childhood. I feel like 10 or 11 was just about my peak years for fun and imagination. Still young enough to play with toys or outside as characters without feeling strange about it but old enough to have a spark and some danger in what you play. It’s the spark and sense of fun I try to use when I’m writing.

I’ve seen others my age hitting 49 and making proclamations. I dig that. A friend, teaching colleague, and helluva writer Kristy Acevedo has been embarking on a “50 Things to Do Before Your 50” challenge. I admire that. I’m way too lazy to do that myself but I get the desire to do so. I’ve enjoyed reading her journey and applaud her from afar.

As I round the corner to my last year in my forties (and is there a more pretentious sounding way to put it?), I’m allowing myself to just be. I am who I am. I will always strive to become a better person but I feel more than ever that I shouldn’t have to hide my true thoughts. I’ve always been somewhat reserved and allowed most of my true feelings to come out through my writing if not in my day-to-day. I think I want to change that.

The people I admire most are the people who are themselves. They’re not perfect and will admit to that, but they also don’t change themselves to appease others. I’ve seen a lot of people act like assholes and get into positions of power and wonder why I’ve never just been myself. I think that even at my assholiest, I’m less an asshole than some of those others. The big thing is to make things better for others and to not hurt people, something most of these assholes care not a wit about. I do, so I’m already ahead in that way.

Turning 49 coincides with my 20^th anniversary of working in education. I became a teaching assistant in the 2006-2007 school year and was a teacher the following year. With 20 years of experience under my belt, I think I’m entitled to some opinions and respect. I will start acting like it, I think. Again, not to get on anyone’s nerves or be obstinate or confrontational, but to get by. Last school year fucked me up and I can’t let it happen again.

The one thing I truly want to do is to make sure that my creative life is more fulfilled in the last year of my forties. I don’t mean that I’m setting a goal to have an agent or big publisher or anything like that because I have no control over that, but what I want is the ability to make my creative work an even bigger part of my life. That will likely sound funny to many who know me since I already treat it with reverence and seriousness, but I think 49 is a good time to really go in. The clock is ticking after all and I have too many stories I want to tell still.

Aging is strange. Every day I’m a little surprised by the overweight man with graying hair that looks back from the mirror. I’m always surprised by the new pains and surprises the body has for me. When I sit with my 85-year-old father and listen to his stories of the past, I know that’s where I’m heading. That’s where we’re all heading. The past is what keeps us going. Those stories that are uniquely ours. I can’t deny that at 49, I’ve accumulated stories. I’ve seen things.

I’m afraid this might be sounding a little too much like new age, modern psych kind of response to the inevitability of aging. Man, I hope not. What this essay is about is telling myself that I’ve earned those gray hairs, those stories, and all 49 of those years. Yeah, I wish I was younger, but I feel a little better about myself than I did back then and that’s something.

If a measurement of who you are can be based on those who surround you, then I’ve done a good job so far. I can call amongst my friends and friendly acquaintances some of the nicest, most talented, most creative, and kindest people I’ve known. The bravery they show in both large and small ways, the humor they bring to difficult situations, the understanding and empathy they show to others inspires me. I am grateful for them.

I’m here because of them.

So here I go. Into 49 and toward 50. I hope things will be good and I will try my best to make it so.

Thank you for reading and for your continued support. It means the world to me.

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I’ve been invited to take part in the Merrimack Valley Halloween Book Festival on October 17^th, 2026, at the Lawrence Public Library in Lawrence, Massachusetts. I’m excited because so many authors, editors, and people I admire will be there, as well as a few friends. Find out more here!

I will also be joining a panel about monsters at Once Upon A Bookstore in Fall River, Massachusetts, about a week later! More info as we get closer.

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That’s this week’s newsletter. Thank you so much for subscribing, reading, and for your support. Be safe out there, friends.

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