Do As I Say, Not As I Do

I picked up a few books, real books, hard copy novels from my parent’s estate, as they have passed on.

The authors are names most would recognize. If you asked someone who any of these people are, they would most likely answer; “Don’t they write books or something?”

Amidst all the advice one may come across as a self publishing author, to show not tell, is amongst the most frequent. To develop content, such as a person’s character or back story through some dialogue, action or event; intertwining various threads. How someone reacts in a confrontation can convey much about them and their past.

So I start to read one of these crime novels. I had selected three books from three different recognizable authors. I am over 10% into the first book. Telling is 99% of what I have read so far.

And the repetition of background is just too tedious.

I am sure all that will change. Long storylines, back stories, for an assortment of apparently unrelated characters makes one wonder how these characters will all come together. It grabs your interest as it bores you into a midafternoon stupor guaranteed to ruin any intended nap time.

But these names, and perhaps there are several people contributing to each book, make big money; at least they are renowned for selling lots of books. Once in awhile a movie deal may come along.

How does this stuff make money when far better works, those approaching the level of literature, are completely lost in the crowd? Yes, I have read many a wonderful self published work that actually does show rather than tell. It makes a much more interesting read.

I am not saying best selling novels are not up to adequate standards for a good read and plot development. I am saying that there is far better stuff out there that few will ever see or be exposed to.

How does this happen?

Why have I not received the call, with the job market as it is now?

Actually I did receive a call, from a head hunter looking to fill some positions in Architecture, and responded enthusiastically. As of yet I have not heard back. There were suspicious aspects to the call, such as what sounded to me like canned crowd noises in the background. I had to wonder if someone had an interest in me saying anything that could possibly be construed as a lack of interest in my chosen profession.

There are lots of traps in life. Or you can stretch innocent but not so common experiences into something insidious for a good storyline.

Like being ordered to inspect a job site without a hard hat. Oh sure, I asked five people at the office (I was being outsourced at the time) if I could borrow theirs; “No.” The contractor offered to provide me with one. He was talked down by my boss, and as I am ordered up several stories on a cherry picker to inspect some work, pictures are taken. You have to know that it was not I who was in trouble with OSHA.

One could twist that into quite a tale of intrigue, but you need more for a proper plot.

I should have known better, with that virtual shell game of putting my initials on some work I was going to take over, save file here, save file there and so forth. Perhaps the work that I corrected was not the work they wanted to pin me with.

The intrigue builds. How will the story end?

I should say hello to Scott here. Hello Scott.

So I go into one of the civil buildings downtown last month to pull a permit to raze one of my garages. I speak with a delightful lady. A few moments into our exchange, a city official from the next stall slides over. He Leans in crossing the back of the desk divider. The entire time, more than a few minutes, he is perched at forty-five degrees gawking at me through some not so stylish eyewear.

But there’s more! What a story a vivid imagination could make of all this. Nearly everyone in the office is getting up an slow walking behind her, gathering for little chats and joining in the gawking.

The plot thickens. Forty-five degree man continues to gawk.

These are the kind of events I suffered through that pushed me to create an freedom of information request of my Alderman some years ago under the freedom of information act. I was told no e-mails in his system met the criteria, but have since learned otherwise. It may have been a technicality. After a second FOIR I again received zero e-mails. Not sure what I am going to do about that.

I have to say I have never felt any sense of malice on the part of my alderman or the city in my interactions.

Well, …two months ago I was the only one to get a parking ticket in our alley for parking our vehicle on our property overnight. I asked everyone else along the alley who parks their vehicles in the same way, “Have you ever received a parking ticket for parking on your apron in the alley?” The typical answer was, “No, never.”

So am I going back to work in Architecture, full time, working under the critical eye of another? A critical eye is good if you want to produce quality.

It is sort of like Polish jokes. The south side of Milwaukee was one huge mass of ethnic Poles back in the day. I was a young kinder back then. Many Polish jokes went around implying a lack of skill and understanding on the target groups part. Yet today if you look up any skilled trade, or seek out craftsman of the highest caliber, there is a strong likelihood they will be Polish.

We have a great Polish Fest here in Milwaukee.

So what was with the jokes? The Germans were running everything.

Things are not always as they appear. Standards have become arbitrary in a world of moral relevance. We want to believe we live in a moral and ethical world, but we fail when we mistake position with, even in some cases professional prowess, not to mention the righteousness of a person.

And in the digital age, it can be far worse. I will expound on that point in another blog; No Sanction. I haven’t posted there in awhile but… I’m back.

So the writing grows in prominence as the days grow shorter. I have some YouTube videos I am trying to piece together, one of me demolishing my garage, hard hat and work boots included.

Not too many months ago I had three dreams, yes some dreams I never forget, of hit men being hired to take me out. I even remember back into my mother’s womb. Too much information? Sorry.

They were just dreams of course, but look at all the material I have here to make a great story of mystery, intrigue and victory over all the odds.

Thanks for reading and tolerating my rant.