The Power of Writing

 Is the pen mightier than the sword? Not today’s topic at all.

I recently saw a video listed on YouTube, titled something along the lines, in relation to, expounding on, under the general theme of, how writing is beneficial in organizing your thoughts or brain or something. I did not watch the video.

I started blogging in 2006. “No Sanction”; intended to be a type of sword, and that still is its intent. It was not my first blog, though I had previously thought it was.

I have a tendency to speak truth to power on all my blogs. I question if that is always a good thing.

Funny story, my first blog, centered on my most loved chosen profession of architecture and planning, “Global Imprint” was started months prior to the aforementioned in 2006 because of an opinion piece of mine printed in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

I was replying to an article on some planned development in Waukesha county. The paper liked my perspective, at least that was my initial impression, and asked permission to print my letter to the editor so to speak.

The problem was it read so terribly in print. The reply window through which I created my opinion piece on the newspaper’s website, was not big enough to show even a full sentence. Due to a format that hindered any potential to edit, the state of print in which my opinions appeared would have sent any of my past English teachers into a comma. I had no choice but to find a way to correct my errors, not to be misunderstood, my intelligence misrepresented, on a topic near and dear to my heart.

So I started a blog to put forward the edited revised version; to make a better impression.

And here we are now.

“A Dog’s Life”; was started in 2007 over my pursuit of fitness and the appeasement of a long denied desire for competition. If I knew then what I know now I may have given the blog a different title. But it fits I must confess.

I investigated my faith life through my personal writings on “From the Inside”.

“Poker Facades” (entailing another extension of my competitive nature) and this blog, my relationship with God our Heavenly Parent acting as a sounding board, spurred me on to contemplate and evaluate activities and story creations that have not been traditionally considered part of a life of faith.

After all that what has writing done for me?

On a generic level, especially when taking time to step back, to review and to edit, every single grammar lesson I had been given in my youth has come back to me in vivid detail. The horror. I recognize mistakes and problems with my writing more and more frequently because a person in the past, who believed in the proper use of language and its importance, did their best to bore those lessons into my brain. I somehow actually must have been listening.

So the practice of writing opens our mind’s memories to the expanse of time bookended by conception and future.

In the sense of wording, the practice of writing makes you a better communicator. It increases the comprehension with which you present your own thoughts; it enlightens and promotes creativity.

These are my own observations, arising from my personal experience with now fifteen plus years of writing, including works of fiction (see sidebar for links to purchase) and a touch of poetry.

Now we approach the essence of the journey writing takes one on; the path of self realization and the growth that comes with it.

Particularly in works of fiction, one cannot help but adventure through the ins and outs of one’s life, the foundations of one’s imagination and world view.

Which brings me to the point of this contemplation. More than organizing one’s thoughts, beliefs, desires, perspectives, world view, the origins of our imagination and creativity… writing, trying to get out what is inside, opens many doors; reveals many truths to those willing to look inside.

From a humanistic perspective, something I distain, some would call this therapy.

I call it digging into one’s own mind, freeing oneself from the shackles of the world around us; a world that condemns humankind to the imprisonment which ignorance enforces upon the lost.

Know thyself. The truth shall set you free.

God Bless.

Thank you for reading.

Happy 2021!

I encourage you to write in a fashion fitting to yourself. We spend a lot of time on our annual Christmas letter to family and friends for example.

The chronology of my blogs.

“Global Imprint”                        2006 June

“No Sanction”                           2006 September

“It’s a Dog’s Life”                      2007 May

“From the Inside”                      2008 March

“Poker Facades”                       2009 June

“Versus, Haikus and Memoirs”  2009 June

What’s with June?

Okay, I’m done now.

Thanks again. Really done.

I should try to spend a whole week on developing a post rather than just the better part of the waking day.

Yeah. Done.

Is 2020 Real

 Are we caught in a social science sci-fy spectacular where truth and free thought are condemned by a willfully complicit public?

The truth is stranger than fiction? Reality is in question.

Have you seen those new “911” shows? I haven’t.

But I have seen the advertisements.

Tsunamis, the HOLLYWOOD sign sliding into oblivion, a volcano in Texas; right under a public swimming area of course. And each week the show goes on.

The norm is to confine events that permanently alter the path of history and society to movies, or a series of movies, …because you have to create a whole new realty that does not jive with what currently exists.

Our 911 operators and first responders truly deserve our respect. Is that the gist of the show? Would not reality convey that sentiment more deeply?

Who writes this junk?

Reality is relative, just as is morality. No questions allowed.

If I had just awoke from a forty year sleep, yes I am twice as tired as old Rip, I would think I had awoken in an alternative universe.

No matter how familiar my family members would appear to me I would question if they were the same as those of old whom I had known, the world being so incongruent with the past.

I mean… Donald Trump is President.

Hoorah!

Many a film, from possibly the very beginning of film making, (from the start of the written story itself) depict a future parallel to where many of us believe this nation is heading, and henceforth the world.

Dystopia comes to mind.

But how did these dystopian worlds, societies of gloom and oppression, come about… the meat of the how is seldom deeply elaborated upon in the story. The process of getting to the supposed future neglected, almost as if the story teller themself could not possibly believe it could really happen.

We are in the midst of the how, and when it comes to story telling the ability to write appears to have led us all astray.

I am fascinated by how oral traditions, often belittled, only to be proven accurate when the archeology is done, have been conveyed accurately through history generation after generation.

The sources of the Bible began as oral traditions. People took  their traditions and history seriously, when conveying them to script; accuracy being of utmost importance.

Of course much of the New Testament began as the written word in the form of letters. Only a fraction of those associated letters were chosen to be anointed as God’s word, and then by a select few. So …how many Christian denominations exist today?

Thousands, and now the Chinese communist party is literally rewriting the Bible.

Every religion began with a man conveying a word through his very mouth to the very ears of others. And hence that man was judged by how he embodied the words he conveyed and the fruits of his beliefs.

And these beliefs formed the fabric of their associated societies.

To what standards do we hold our media personalities and politicians; our now elite conveyors of the word? (perhaps ‘controllers’ is more appropriate) Time and time again the supposed best and brightest in both professions are shown to be perverse and corrupt.

We have replaced the fabric of society with the king’s new clothes.

And whereas we have all sold our souls to the shiny screen, looking to it for the answers to all our questions. Longing to receive its' accolades. Betrayed by our own creation we are lost; truth denied.

Betrayed by one’s own creation, most often facilitated by the socially blind and the greedy, is a familiar storyline. The topic here is writing. Please do not misunderstand my contemplation over the ins and outs of storytelling as politicizing.

Thank you for reading.

Does the fabric of our society yet shield us, or have we discovered ourselves beaten and naked along the side of the road?

Happy Halloween

A full moon tonight. Not a common occurrence for this day of what is more common than we all comprehend; our parlance with the world unseen.

The Winter of our, or rather my… something or other.

Winter is coming and it is going to be deep. Is that the right word?

The point being, I was at the farmer’s market Thursday, standing, attending to my business, then in a start spent some moments when no one was around going over my notebooks. Seven years of writing, not a whole lot the last two years, took some review.

This is the Winter, where I either make something out of my writing, or take it in a totally different direction. I different direction does not necessarily mean a cryptic end to my writing, perhaps a change of direction.

Yes, it is November; that write a book in November thing that comes up every year. But I have one Farmer’s market still running until after Thanksgiving. Beside, much of my work is in a really raw state and needs sooo much refinement.

More of hazy apparitions than novels in some cases.

The wherewolfal for just a quick post this month. I would have four blog posts (on four blogs) this month if I had the time and means. Put all the posts together in my head but finding the proper atmosphere and taking time to write and revise just did not materialize. (no ghost writers here)

I need to let a draft lie dead at least five hours before going back over it. If I can make it a three day process I get the best results.

Rising from the grave so to speak.

When I first started blogging an entire post took not much more than an hour.

A major change I hope will make both my wife and I more productive. We are rising significantly earlier and getting to the sleep sooner.

No fear of the sun in this house.

Thank you for reading.

Ah-chew! : Another Short Story

Ah-Chew!

Randy's face awoke with wonder. 'What a sneeze.'

Ah-chew! Ah-chew!

Ah-chew! Ah-chew! Ah-chew! Ah-chew!

"Wow." Randy's brain churned, his eyes narrowed. 'Odd' impressed upon his mind.

Tick  tock, tick  tock, tick  tock, tick  tock, his grandmother's coo-coo clock pinged off his skull. Set high on the wall Randy was always forced to look up to read it. It was where his grandmother wanted it.

A soft bubbly hiss rose off the essential oil diffuser.

A mutt, a German Shepherd-Lab mix, sighed slow and deep projecting a restful spirit, disrupting Randy's concentration.

A car rumbled harsh along the street in front of his house. The wheels ground out a squeak as they rolled.

Outside the trees lining his street rocked, leaves thrashing loudly together as the wind waxed and waned under a carpet of gray autumn sky.

Randy shot to his feet from a worn winged arm chair his mind trapped in a desperate pursuit.

The noises of the old house, left to him by his late grandmother; the only house he had ever lived in, the noises of the house settling with the wind, creeped, creaking and rattling in around him.

A draft freshened the musty air, thickened by a vapor of pine and oregano essential oils.

Randy looked at the dog, snoring softly, resting upon a yellowed sheet draping the fitted cover over a couch older than himself.

The dog had looked happier and more upbeat lately, Randy running the diffuser for him now near daily. The pine and oregano espoused as an anti-bacterial as well as an anti-viral: a holistic treatment for the dog's Lyme disease, or so he was told.

Anti-viral pierced Randy's thoughts. "Of Course." Randy began to dictate to himself, "The virus. I must be infected. And the essential oils..."

Now he understood. Randy could sense the virus, its' futile struggle for survival, for dominion over his body, controlling his sneezes in an attempt to expel the antidote with its final death throws.

'Control of our bodies... Beyond our own thoughts...' It all began to fit together.

Another sneeze began to rise behind his nostrils. Randy focused his will and took in a deep breath through his nose. The urge to sneeze subsided. He had won.

"How does the vaccine fit in?" Randy pondered out loud as he stepped to the sash windows of floated glass and gazed over the empty streets of his neighborhood.

Drive thru trash lined the curbs. Cars, new and expensive to dilapidated along with an old pickup piled with scrap lined the far side of the street, every house like the other but each different, each run down in varying degrees.

Dusk began to dim Randy's view when suddenly it hit him. 'The virus needs a receiver. A signal translator, an operating system to facilitate commands. The vaccine?.. Yes, the vaccine, it must be the vaccine.'

"5G" Randy hissed. 'The signal carrier, or is it HD signals' Randy always wondered why they kept changing the HD frequencies, why he always had to rescan the television.

'Were they monitoring changes in the crime rate? Consumer confidence with each adjustment?

'But I am free now,' Randy cheered in his imagination, 'thanks to dog.'

"HD or 5G?" slithered through his teeth. A toss of the dice as far as Randy could tell. 'Best to cover both.'

A shadow shrouded Randy's face. A sternness darkened his gaze. "My guns need cleaning." a small firm voice exhaled. He mulled over his collection in his mind and took a mental inventory of his munitions.

"A man is only as good as his tools" Randy's father would always say.

"Keep your tools clean." he would scold.

Randy's father lived in his mother's, Randy's grandmother's basement with his tools. Then he was dead.

"Keep your tool clean." Randy's father would laugh.

"I like my tools." Randy chanted through a blank stare and vacant smile.

Randy had work to do.

Hey! Radio signals and the like as control agents have always been part of science fiction in both books and movies. And it goes way back to the day when science fiction was based on science fact, not fantasy as it is today.

Just some things to think about. This story just came to me when I had my own sneezing fit. We were running the diffuser because our dog has Lyme disease...

Never mind.

So what will become of Randy? Perhaps if he had bought one of those new fancy condos that are all the rage among those young successful people these days, had made some friends, things would have brightened for him.

Certainly finding the Mother of Peace, watching the Rally of Hope, will turn his life around.

"Hope springs eternal."

Don't be a Randy.

Thank you for reading.

Comments and feedback of any type is greatly appreciated.

Static

Does static add tension to a story? Static as noun that makes a message unintelligible. Things must be hidden in order to be revealed, and it is the reveal that adds the punch.

Or does the distraction, the veil of noise, just fill our lives to the point where we miss what is important?

Perhaps literature no longer exists for a lack of static; the crackle and hiss.

How does that man arrange his plate and consume his meal? Why do we add such detail, sometimes dwell on it? Even if just for awhile. Telling or misleading?

Lives are full of static. That which shrouds what is of greatest value, that pull us to a status quo that thrives on mediocrity. Our deepest desires and wounds, joys and pain are all muzzled, often by intention, willful or otherwise, by the static, the chatter, the day to day buzz.

Literature: does a man need to overcome unimaginable fantastical obstacles to make a story exciting, or does true literature arise from struggles more basic, more universal?

Super heroes. All the rage. I was never a big reader of comic books. Perhaps the depth of human experience, or lack thereof, found in a comic book is reflected in its brash flash and material lack of substance.

There are countless stories all around us hidden among the clutter. But one needs first to address one’s true heart and recognize what wounds. People need to decide to be happy and long to heal.

People create static, distracting voices, to manipulate, to deceive, to.keep the truth out of sight, out of the conversation.

Is organized religion mostly static? Are callings of faith lost under doctrines and tenants designed to confine?

The answers are never found in the static; the noise. To break through the static, or perhaps decipher is more accurate, is where victory is gained; where the answers are revealed.

To write without static is to miss the whole human experience. A man seeking virtue through the static is like a superhero confronting his villain.

Have I lost you yet?

Or am I simply writing about detail? There is detail which distracts from the virtuous, like that devil on one’s shoulder looking to dismay. Versus the detail which brings peace and happiness conveyed by a messenger from on high. Subtle messages hidden among the static.

Who will win? Where will the story go? Is not every life filled with such a dynamic. I know it is. If you think Shakespeare would doth protest at my confessions you haven’t read Shakespeare.

Science fiction is a popular genre for many young writer’s. Why not? You have a static environment; static in the sense of adjective, a lack of change.

Put people on a ship, an unchanging set. Of course, since they are on a ship they must be going someplace. Where? Why? How? (did that worm hole take them someplace unexpected, as it always does) For who do they fight?

Such a story is a static killer in the sense of both noun and adjective. Where is the noise!? How do you find the moral of the story without traversing the noise?

Oh, our crew is good, those are the bad guys.

Gotcha.

Just sharing my reflections.

I will be setting aside specific hours to write. Thanks to my helper at the farmer’s market.

Thank you for reading.

Go out and make some noise.

Content, Content, Content

July is almost over. I made it through my birthday. Much of this month I have been listening to a lot of music on my Pandora ‘Glenn Campbell’ channel.

You could communicate entirely in lyric through those oldish songs.

I believe these protesters nowadays are neither familiar with any of those oldish artists nor the values and heart they worked to convey.

Oh how civilized society has fallen. How shall I lament. Listen to more music perhaps?

Again I contemplate content. Some of my stories I may never publish. They are for a time past. I believe in a bright future.

I have neglected my blogs. Past blogs from many years ago come to mind and I think; “Wow, that was not quite right. I will have to go back and change that sometime.”

I should go over everything and make a chronological collection, making corrections as I go.

Yes, I hear your uproar of disbelief but just settle down. I didn’t say I was wrong, just not quite right.

I apologize if I have shaken your faith in me.

I regret never having written a consistent diary of the events of my life. I should write my own memoirs at some time in the future. Going over old blog posts, fairly consistent content for what, over fifteen years, should prompt my memory.

So everything is getting organized and filed.

I have hired some help for our farm oriented business to free up some time. We haven’t actually been able to give ourselves a salary, but the hired help allows openings for expansion if an opportunity arises.

So family is telling me “They want you out of your neighborhood.” Though who ‘they’ are is unclear. I have an idea of who.

I was at the market, talking with a fellow vendor about my help, explaining that I need the time to get to repairing my home, namely rebuilding a wall on our free standing garage, when she says. “They are going to condemn your house.”

“No.” I scoffed, “There’s no reason my house should be condemned.”

I wish I had followed up and asked her to elaborate. She seemed quite confident.

The drama builds. Will the city sic their protesters upon me and side step a direct confrontation. How our youth embrace religious bigotry yet claim the high ground with one liner proclamations accusing others of a racism that’s definition seems to morph according to circumstance to justify their self-afflicted violence and destruction.

Yes… their self-afflicted violence and destruction, for if they were truly wise they would recognize that they are only committing violence against themselves, destroying themselves as human beings, children of God.

Plenty of the extraordinary events to observe these days. A window into the ways of good and evil.

You know… some of my stories have truly evil characters in them. Would they horrify the readers mind, ring true? Is it my vanity that longs to find out? Just do not think I am going to publish those. “The Dauntless Recruits” is one.

Horrifically tragic and dystopian. Cannot decide if I should publish that one. “Life on the Farm”

Feedback is welcome. Though I appear on all levels of Internet activity to be shadow banned, I see I am getting a bit of traffic here. I often wonder why I cannot get a single comment on even one of my numerous blogs for many a year now. Still I will be writing much more on my various blogs.

Thank you so much for reading.

May I recommend this memoir.

Words have a Purpose

I am reading more.

That translates into more writing. I am spending a lot of time contemplating the content of my books. Understandable as much of my reading has always been religious text and testimony; always.

I was a big reader of Proverbs as a youth and by the time I was twenty-one had read the Bible more than five times from cover to cover.

So I was watching a couple of old “Dragnet” episode, a few early episodes titled “Badge 714”. What magnificent dialogue, not to mention acting.

Jack Web produced powerful dialogue arising from the play between responsibility and respect; the play between those in authority whether arising from age, experience or position, or all three, and those under authority for the yet to be achieved aforementioned attributes. So many life lessons.

And words have purpose. Over thousands of years every word kept a specific meaning that was cherished, necessary, hence preserved.

Words set the parameters for the responsibility respect dynamic.

Now we have common words we are no longer allowed to use. Certain aspects of the human experience cannot be expressed. When basic words embodying the human experience are not allowed, or even worse, no longer taught, and the words that remain are open to interpretation, manipulation and malign, their definitions changed, anarchy rules.

I did a search for ‘Winston Churchill’ on my Kindle. His vocabulary and articulation were unmatched. I thought there must be a collection of his speeches or personal writings somewhere.

I wanted to immerse myself in his vocabulary.

I had started those verbal advantage tapes sometime back, apparently right when they fell out of favor and became hard to find.

One of the reasons I like the Kindle is the on demand dictionary to immediately look up any word not completely familiar to me. Yes, more than understanding via context, I seek the exact meaning.

Words are power. The author, or any professing a word,  has an immense responsibility and in turn their words are freely open to scrutiny.

But debate has been shutdown. Words have been abandoned for shouts, grunts and growls.

Zero results for my ‘Winston Churchill’ search.

What will come next.

Perhaps these words will point the way.

Thank you for reading.


(I missed my deadline. Sorry to those of you who have been waiting to read my shadow banned content. Disruptive family news hit and I completely forgot to post by the end of the month. I was reminded in prayer at 1am July 1st. I repent.)

Apparel

You can tell one’s profession by what one wears. You can determine official status or rank. You can discern ethnicity, the seasons or the presence of a pathogen.

Are you wearing your face mask? Or a gas mask?

The state of one’s apparel can convey mood or mental acuity.

If you never leave your home, you care little over what you wear.

One can deceive with one’s apparel.

Dictated apparel can be used to control for both useful purpose, as in a well run military, or in a destructive purpose to stifle creativity and thought in the larger society.

You could make similar assertions in regards to the architecture of a society also.

Who has the absolute best job in the world?

The woman studio news presenter.

The anchor, co-anchor, or weather woman; everyday it is a new dress.

Wow. Stunning. Patterns, lines, fit, all designed to impress.

And what of the women field reporters with their utilitarian wear and company logoed jackets?

I imagine great pains are taken that the female studio presenter and female field reporter never be allowed to cross paths. A truly volatile circumstance, wise to be avoided.

The man field reporter walks in and says to his anchor counterpart, “Check out our new company jackets.”

“Yeah, I know. I have one too.” responds the anchorman in yet another tailored suit and tie.

“Yeah, but I get to wear mine every day.”

Apparel defines relationships. It proclaims action.

Where are the best clothing designers in the world? I would claim, where you have the four seasons.

Is spring apparel not all that more stunning because of the Winter. Summer wear all the more alluring because of it’s fleeting nature. The rich colors of Autumn verses the brights of Spring, and what is exposed in the blistering heat, concealed by the frigid cold; each season accentuating the other.

They wear almost nothing in the tropics year round. What’s the point? Nothing to see here.

Then you have “Star Trek”, living in the depths of space, a completely controlled environment where everyone wears the same thing, one’s fate determined simply by the color of one’s shirt.

As far as writing, there is much to consider in regards to dress. That is if you are writing something that actually includes people.

How does one tell Bigfoot’s story?

I start writing again, then I get distracted. You know, making money, fixing the house, taking care of the wife; wondering what God’s plan for me is.

Stocking my old worn portfolio, lugging around my notebooks and dreaming of fame and fortune. Getting back into the groove.

Thank for reading.

Or you could read to be truly inspired.

Non-Fiction

I have many non-fiction writings. Some are opinions, some editorials; ethical inquiries. I have ideas on planning and food production.

It has been a long time since I wrote any form of diary. I am contemplating a chronicle on my micro greens adventure. I like to sketch and have not gotten into it for sometime.

No one has this virus thing right. Best to watch and observe; the ultimate insight into human nature. The ultimate workshop in liberty and tyranny.

Now that my micro greens operation has been streamlined I will have much more time for writing. Adventure fills my mind. The fruit trees, plants and features in the garden will fill  my sketch books.

My works of fiction just need to be pumped out but these troubled times, personally and now as a society, keep my mind from a proper state of focus.

So back to the notebooks and sketch books. Thought of taking back up the piano but no money for the instrument. It is about trying to keep my mind and hands young. A long time goal I’ve had but unless the stock market pays off…

The world will need a major rethink after this. Will my books shape any minds.

I will be vehemently promoting a new book that is not my own; a real mind opener. Dr. Hak Ja Han Moon’s autobiography will be out in English soon and I hope to be sharing her story with many.

My books?… I have to get them out. Pacing my basement, taking care of my micro greens, writing, designing and putting together… if only I had an organ to play, going out at night to take care of the garden. They could call me the phantom of the garden.

Who comes up with stories like that?

“Train to Pusan” is a real tear jerker, if you are looking for a good movie during your lockup.

What would my autobiography be like. “Shards of a Life” may be an appropriate title.

I like my basement. The walls are white.

I ramble.

Thanks for reading.

I'm Sick

I’m sick of the lack of virtue, so prominent in this time of crisis.

I was talking with an aunt of 90 years the other day and the conversation drifted to stories of a great aunt of mine: Aunt Tillie.

I had heard the name often and had a vague concept of who she was, more so when I was much younger than now, but I could not put a face to her.

In the course of our telephone conversation, I am not visiting 90 year olds at a time such as this, my aunt mentioned how Aunt Tillie (Matilda) used to wash her dishes. My memory was jogged and though I still could not put a clear face to her, I remembered.

My dad was the kind of man who sought out relatives, no matter how distant. So visiting our elderly relatives across Wisconsin was common in our family.

So my aunt mentioned how Aunt Tillie would scour all her dishes. How she intensely scrubbed down her cutting boards every week. I remember witnessing the routine.

You see, Aunt Tillie was alive in 1918. She knew many people in their neighborhood who had died in the Spanish flu. It shaped her life in many ways.

Traditions, history, experience, trauma, war, travel and so many other past events are behind every person, every character one may try to convey in a story.

When the reader has shared the same experience, portraying such background in words and actions, becomes more cogent, powerful and has the potential to convey deeper meaning.

Such references display the value of history, of the wisdom of those who have come before. This is the basis for virtue.

How does one convey virtue in a character or society if not through traditions passed down and the reasons for them? An earth shattering event or being touched by God.

Earthquakes, tsunamis and a whole slew of natural disaster have not only shut down economies but destroyed the machinery of those economies, yet they bounced back. For many who experienced those events, the economic setback was not the formative nature of the event. It was the human tragedy; the human story.

But our economy is about to be destroyed because… we are going to shut it down for a couple months? How are many of our businesses even supposed to keep going if they depend on a supply stream that originates in China?

Idiots. Charlatans. ‘This is just the flu’ many had been screaming but their views now just morph about, never admitting they were wrong.

Who understands exponential growth? Who understands the difference between an antigen test and an antibody test and the significance of each. Who can discern reputable sources?

Not many.

All the talking heads are grasping at anything that might justified their flawed views. All the talking heads abandoned the free market decades ago. All the talking heads have been found lacking in virtue when a real crisis has finally arisen.

Dystopian novels/movies appear a mainstay for many readers and viewers. Survival of the fittest, natural selection is driven by what? Not just strength but by higher thinking.

The ability to see what is coming, not just to report on it ounce it happens determined rise and fall.

Damn technology for destroying this dynamic.

I am sick of what I am hearing.

The result? Well, I listen to the radio far less which shifts my focus from more manual labor oriented tasks, I have plenty of those, to more intellectually oriented tasks, including writing.

I am also back strong into Master Class which includes many courses by reputable authors.

Perhaps this is a post more suited for my “No Sanction” blog, but I made it fit here.

I have a story to tell.

I started more than one post for “No Sanction” but with so many failures of virtue, greed and corruption, and the fragility of our institutions each needing to be addresses and coming so quickly one upon the other, I never get a single concept fully developed.

A new age is coming.

Here is a concept shattering phrase, societal shattering or some may simply claim an introduction to a work of fantasy:

The only begotten daughter of God.

Why not?

Thanks for reading.

Occam's Razor

Have you heard of Occam” razor: the simplest solution is always, or usually, correct. Or more precisely that the answer that requires the fewest assumptions is always correct.

Observation of the human condition, archetypes in story telling and a worldview that rings true are all part of creating a compelling story.

KISS, keep it simple stupid is applicable in this illustration, arising from the observations of my ever churning mind.

Complexity is the enemy. Let me take some real world examples and show how they can be used as parts of a seemingly complex story but arise from very simple evaluations of, what the heck is going on.

Lady Gaga, so popular. I heard her song “Poker Face” the other day and thought; ‘Man, I haven’t heard her songs in a while. And I haven’t even heard her in the news/TV circuit in like forever.’

Let’s apply Occam’s Razor. Lady Gaga was a big proponent of smoking pot. She claimed it spurred her creativity, etc.. Then I heard she changed her views on pot.

Boom! She dropped from media stardom. News reports have just mentioned her new album. We will see what transpires.

Gregory Mannarino is a stock guy who keeps pointing out that the job participation numbers are lower than during the Obama years, raising an alert as to the strength of our economy.

I hear on the radio from a local talk show guy, and my friend who is continually pushed into overtime has told me that people’s inability to pass a drug test keep them from being hired.

We have a political party that is continually promoting the legalization of pot.

So job participation numbers could be much higher if not for the dominance of drug use in society, because the jobs are there. I see and hear of help wanted everywhere.

So surrounding pot I have just linked, the media, celebrity, politics, the common working man,high finance and the health of the economy.

Why doesn’t Gregory Mannarino mention the drug issue in regards to jobs?

A question. A mystery?

All from a simple line of observations with a common thread.

You create characters with everyday interests in varying aspects of the issue, with competing viewpoints, unintended but understandable crossings of fate and a compelling story can be spun.

Let me get Biblical to explain why simple works.

The fall of man. The forbidden fruit. What is it. In my faith it is in simplest terms a love triangle. Adam and Eve did cover their lower parts. Apply Occam’s Razor.

Not the leading theory on the fall but not unheard of in the Judeo/Christian world.

Isn’t the love triangle the most heart wrenching of stories? Is it that difficult to understand? Is it simple?

You can even see it coming, yet these stories grip the imaginations over and over. Because they connect to so many people in an almost infinite variety of ways. The emotional imagination runs wild.

Engaging the imagination is key to a good story. Being too graphic or too much detail is a mistake. It is the reader’s imagination that makes a story great. Significant and telling details are necessary, but not every detail should be spelled out.

Personally, I cannot tolerate such heart wrenching stories. They are too tragic, disturbing, for me.

Then there is the unseen connections. Your character is very altruistic, kind, sacrifices for the greater good yet is despised and suffers misfortune.

To get Biblical again, the sins of the father’s coming down upon their children: Occam’s Razor. An unseen negative energy being poured upon a character.

Yet when the details come out it is easy to understand.

Another mystery, that turns out not so mysterious.

Uncovering all that is hidden, step by step, is the adventure. And when everything is exposed it may appear obvious, simple, but that is what rings true.

It is like riddle’s people play with that appear impossible to answer, but when the riddle is revealed, it is so obvious people laugh at themselves for not being able to figure out.

Now, if the reader can’t or simply won’t accept what has been revealed…


Thank you for reading.

Speaking Truth to Power

Have you ever brought great success on a healthy and sustainable diet?

But you don’t do the grocery shopping and you certainly do not run the kitchen.

Eventually my wife will come around. Some day my wife will listen to me. I will no longer have to compromise on my dietary ideals.

There is a whole lot of truth being spoken to power concerning diet, and health, via YouTube. The media aspect of these health practitioners becomes a whole new profession in and of itself in many cases.

But on a more personal level, I have never shown any hesitation to speak truth to power. I do not consider myself a trouble maker, perhaps a thorn in people’s side, but never malicious in my portrayals.

I am not going to lay out the bigotry I experienced in my chosen profession, Architecture, here. You can research back into some of my blogs if you are interested.

I write in good faith, from a point where the lack of ethics are irrefutable and known clearly, at least to some.

I have never looked to profit from any misdeeds people may have committed against me.

Rather than repent, a religious concept, or simply relent when challenged on their values people of position may claim, “You have burned your bridges.”

No bridges burned. Not with anyone I would want to work with.

So… in order to speak truth to power, to be a moral voice one needs to be a religious?

Or should a religious turn the other cheek, never speaking out?

Writers, and fiction writers can speak, or rather write, truth to power, but mostly in fields akin to journalism, are they the only ones allowed to set the moral compass for a society?

The irony here being journalists are some of the most immoral and unethical influencers in modern society.

Religion is not something to bring into the office. It is something to be done on your own time, so society claims.

Your own time?

All my time is my own time.

The problem with society today is people cannot be whole beings. They must segregate their lives into compartments, none allowed to overlap with the other.

This is a generalization, but it holds water. Whatever one’s profession they should feel a moral imperative to uphold the values they hold dear; values arising from faith and family.

One’s values should be organic, not bestowed upon another by self proclaimed overseers.

I often think about my propensity to speak truth to power, a practice often judged to be in poor taste. A propensity I feel is essential to maintain in working for a moral society.

Is my choice in my present circumstance to be either a writer or to shut my mouth? Bind my fingers from typing?

My life is far more expansive than simply being a writer, and it is going to stay that way. And if people I am involved with are out of line, I will let them know; respectfully and in good time.

You need to understand what life is about and start living it people.

I love to write.


Thanks for reading.