tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-318729372024-03-07T21:42:53.451-05:00the Unending Journey of the Wandering AuthorA chronicle of the unending journey of the Wandering Author through life, with notes and observations made along the way.
My readers should be aware I will not censor comments that disagree with me, but I do refuse to display comment spam or pointless, obscene rants.
Humans may contact me at thewanderingauthor at yahoo dot com - I'll reply as I am able.The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-14162821625220078182012-08-16T00:50:00.000-04:002012-08-16T01:07:43.271-04:00Letter To Myself - What I Know Now<a href="http://www.faithbarista.com/join-faith-barista-jam-thursdays/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.faithbarista.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/FaithBarista_FreshJamBadge_Stacked2.jpg"></a><br />
<p><i>If any of my regular readers are still around, I hope you aren't too dismayed by the word 'faith'. I do plan to go back to writing fiction and other things here, but this was something I needed to do. I will also be writing about my faith, but not exclusively - and I'll try to make sure those who would rather avoid such posts can do so easily. And for those taking part in the Faith Jam, I hope I haven't broken any rules...</i></p><br />
<p>Hello, Ray;</p><p>It’s hard to remember just how my mind worked thirty six years ago when I was almost seventeen. So much has happened since then to change me, I’m not sure I’d even recognise myself. I suspect you’re going to have a hard time believing who this is from. After all, as much as you’d love to be able to travel in time, you know it isn’t possible. And it feels strange to be writing to myself, when that ‘self’ is so much different from the person I am today.</p><p>But I know things about you that you haven’t told anyone else yet. Most importantly, it was only a month ago you decided to give God a chance to prove He was real. You weren’t expecting that He was, but you did honestly want to know the truth, so He took up your challenge. You’ll learn that you can’t set limits on God, though; that’s why He took such pains to prove to you that He did exist in the one way you’d told Him you couldn’t possibly accept. And the fact that He managed to do that, when you were so sure you needed something tangible to overcome your reason, was a powerful proof in itself. So now you believe in Him, to your own shock, but there are so many things you don’t understand yet, things that you’ll find yourself learning through painful experience.</p><p>The first thing you need to know, and I’m not sure if it is the most important but it is the most urgent, is that you have a harder time hearing God than most people do. There are reasons for that, but before I get into those - if you can hear Him, He’s shouting. So when you hear Him telling you “Tell Michael about Me” - listen! Don’t take time to think about it first, or wait for the right time, like I know you’re going to want to. There <i>isn’t</i> time. Unless talking to Michael about God will change things, in about six weeks you’re going to be reading another note. This one won’t be from me. You’ll get home and find it, and it will say “There was a crash. The driver died. It was Michael ------.” And you’ll remember what you heard the night before, that awful sound you thought was an explosion, until you couldn’t see any flames out the window.</p><p>You’ll remember how you were so freaked out you put it out of your mind, even when you heard sirens and chainsaws and realised there had been an accident down at the corner, you never even connected that with the sound you heard first. When you went by the corner that morning and saw the oak tree ripped up by its roots, and knew that must have been what you heard them cutting up late into the night, you still didn’t connect it with the noise that you heard just after midnight. But once you read that note, and understand it was Michael’s car that slammed into that huge tree, his body that lay broken and dying on the ground, you won’t be able to forget the sound any longer. I can’t even write about this thirty six years later without crying. So talk to him.</p><p>If you listen, I don’t know what that will change, but I’m pretty sure your life won’t be nearly as much of a mess. If you think this is a joke and everything turns out the same way, there are a couple of other things you need to know. First, God forgives even something as awful as ignoring His voice when it matters as much as that. His love is that great. It took me years to figure that out, but there is nothing God won’t forgive. But even more important than that - God doesn’t just love you. He loves Michael, too. And if you screw it up, He knew you were going to do that, and with all His power and mercy and grace, there is no chance at all that He would allow Michael to burn in hell because <i>you</i> screwed up. I don’t know anything more than that, but I’ve learned that much about God. If you can remember it, it might keep you a lot saner than I was for a lot of years. It was still a horrible thing to do, and ignoring God is never a good idea, when you can figure out what He’s saying. But at least you’ll know He will and does forgive you, and that He is not so powerless that He needs to allow someone else to suffer because of your failure.</p><p>But there are other things you’ll need to know, that are important, too. Right now, you think what you need to do, once you’ve accepted Jesus and ‘gotten your passport stamped’ is try to be a good person. Forget about that. You can’t. You can never be a good person. No one can, not really. Only God, with His power, can help you to do that, and you have to follow Him and let Him work it all out instead of trying to do it yourself. I know all your instincts are telling you otherwise, but don’t listen to them. Those instincts are about as useful here as a lemming’s instinct is when he comes to the top of a cliff. You can do nothing on your own. Only God can accomplish anything worthwhile in your life. The only thing you can do is try to follow Him, wherever He leads you.</p><p>Some people will say that’s wrong, but there isn’t anyone who’s that good at understanding God. You’re not, I’m not, and neither is anybody else. People are horribly good at taking the truth of God’s Word and twisting it to fit what their human minds understand, or what they wish it said. All of us do that, and convince others, and confuse each other until no one is sure what He really meant. We end up arguing about it and hurting each other instead of loving one another the way He told us to do. I’m not any better at that than anyone else, sadly. As much as I understand God now, that was thanks to a pastor who had the guts to get up in front of us all and admit that he was scared, that he was flawed, that he screws up just like everybody else. God works best when you admit just what a mess you are. And I’ve seen God working enough in my life to be sure I’m at least somewhere near the right path on that, although I’m sure I’m still further off it than I’d like to think. But if He is working in my life, that means something. It means a lot more about His love and mercy and grace than anything to do with me. I never would have come to this point if He hadn’t drawn me in. I couldn’t even do <i>that</i> much on my own. Remember that, and don’t pat yourself on the back just because you know the truth. It doesn’t make you better than anyone else.</p><p>He made me the way I am, and I screwed it up. Yes, I had help. But no one alive chooses what they learn when they’re younger, when they’re just figuring things out. We all learn lies, bad habits, ways of coping that don’t work as well as we hoped they would. The people who taught you aren’t any different than you are. That’s one reason you shouldn’t judge anyone else. We are all struggling, and you don’t know what they have to fight any more than they know what you’re fighting against. We all misunderstand each other. You can see how messed up they are, but you haven’t figured out yet that doesn’t do you much good, because you’re just as messed up in different ways. The faster you figure that out, the better, because that’s a lesson you’ve got to learn in order to let God lead you instead. And even when something honestly isn’t your fault, that isn’t what matters - because you’re still the one who has to live with the way you are until you let go and let God fix everything that’s broken inside you. No matter how much someone else hurt you, or left you in a mess, you’re still the one who has to live with the consequences. So the best thing you can do is forget about everything except getting out of the way and letting God heal you. What’s happened to you is the same thing that happens to everyone; God makes them, and they and all the people around them damage what He’s made until only He can fix it.</p><p>It’s part of our nature to fight, to struggle, to try to figure it all out and fix it on our own. Yes, you’re smart, and there are people who get hurt a lot worse than you’ve been, or will be. So it looks like you can do it on your own, but you can’t. That’s God’s grace, because if you could patch yourself together enough to convince yourself the job was done, you’d never turn to Him for help. And the job wouldn’t really be done, you’d just have covered over all the cracks. Nobody can fix themselves. Only God can do that. He has all the blueprints, He knows how you work a lot better than you do - and how you were designed to work. He knows what you were meant to be, and what damage you’ve got that’s throwing you off that track. You’re so damaged, you think some of the broken parts were meant to be that way, and you go around breaking things that weren’t damaged yet, because you think they needed to be fixed. So you have to let Him do it.</p><p>You’re going to have some nasty surprises I can’t do much to help you with. You’re more different from other people than you can possibly understand right now. And that’s going to mislead you. Yes, you’re able to see that the Emperor isn’t wearing any clothes while everyone around you is busy applauding and exclaiming over his new outfit, but there are things they can see that <i>you</i> can’t. As long as you let yourself get distracted by how right you are on some things, you’ll keep right on walking off cliffs and into walls that you can’t see. Since you’re so sure you know what you’re doing, you’ll believe it was something else, too. Everybody seems to make that mistake, but you’re in a position to get more caught up in it than most people ever do. Getting the ‘genius’ label when you were young wasn’t helpful, and neither is obsessing over all the things that you’re right on that no one else can see. Sometimes you really <i>are</i> right, but some truths are just a distraction from much bigger, more important truths.</p><p>Everyone sees the world through tinted glasses. The only difference is what shade they are. Most of us even look through a couple of pairs at once. I know you won’t have any trouble believing that, since you’re already starting to figure it out - except that you’re almost certain to assume that you’re immune. You’re not. Just because you don’t have the same tinted lenses most people use hindering what you can see, that doesn’t mean you aren’t missing a different part of the spectrum. You’re going to get hurt, a lot. Then you’re going to start wondering if all the bullies were right after all. That isn’t true, either. Right now, you think the fact you’ll never be able to drive is a life sentence as an outcast. Later, you’ll come to realise you’re much more of an outcast than that, and eventually, you’ll even identify yourself as “an outcast even among the outcasts”. But neither extreme is what’s important. What matters is what God is doing in your life.</p><p>If you could see me right now, I suspect you’d be horrified. I’ve made a mess out of my life, and I have literally nothing but God Himself to rely on right now. That sounds like a bad thing to you, but it isn’t really. The truth is, anything but God that you rely on is an illusion. Even if it’s there at the moment, you can lose it as quickly and with as little warning as Michael died. So knowing that all you have is God, and nothing else, is really just being forced to face the truth you’ve been trying to hide from all along. You could write enough bestsellers to make you rich and famous, and you could count on your money and your fame and all the people who looked up to you as a bestselling author - and you could wake up one day and find out a financial crisis had wiped out everything you had, people had moved on and decided all your books were crap, and you had cancer. So trust God, learn to rely on Him, lean on Him. Worry about what He wants. That’s all that really matters.</p><p>Even in all the pain and misery and agony that you’re going to go through - God is there, beside you. He is watching over you, and He will bring you back to His side even when you lose your mind from the pain and shove Him away. And finally, when you’re ready, He’ll let you learn at least some things about yourself that you’ve never understood. All the reasons people have attacked you, have called you a liar when you weren’t, have challenged you when you were telling the truth so you even found it easier for a while to lie because they believed those more easily, all those things have an explanation. And, for all the hard times you’ve had being an outcast, for all the pain, when you finally understand what your eyes really work like (and, no, you don’t even know that yet; I won’t know until I’m fifty one) and how your mind works, you’re going to discover something amazing. God actually planned out those ‘defects’. He designed them to work together, to shape the person you already are, and they’ll go on helping you and shaping you in ways you aren’t ready to grasp yet. You have as much sin inside you as anyone else, you’re not any better - but you’re not worse, either. You’re not<br />
‘defective’.</p><p>I dare to hope that means He has some use for me. Why would He spend so much time working in my life, if all He meant to do was let me die in a gutter in six months? But even if that’s what happens, it won’t be a big deal, because death isn’t the end. Death is just a step across the threshold into Heaven. So focus on what matters. Remember that you have an especially hard time hearing God. That’s something I’m still working on. And you have more trouble focusing on anything than you’ll understand for a long time, so you need to be aware of that. And you need to let God guide you and unfold the details of His plan as you’re ready to take that next step. I still don’t know what use He has for me, but I know more than I did a few years ago. I’m growing. One other thing I’ve learned, though; whenever you get too impressed with how far you’ve grown, that’s a danger sign. Because there is a lot more that needs to be fixed than you can possibly comprehend all at once. Every time you think God’s done restoring you, He peels off another layer and lets you see all the rust and corrosion and damage underneath it.</p><p>Even if you don’t get this letter, or you decide it’s just a joke, it’s all right. God knows what’s going to happen, and He can make it work out the way He always meant it to. Great chess masters can stay just a couple of moves ahead of you, so they can beat you and make it look like magic. But God knows, before the board is even laid out on the table, how the whole game is going to turn out. If He allowed me to take this long to figure things out, then He can still make use of that, somehow, even if I never understand how. That’s His magic, and it is more powerful than any magic any person has ever imagined.</p><center>Yourself, at fifty three.</center><p>To anyone else reading this;</p><p>Since I am an ‘outlier’, so different that even people who know me well misunderstand me more often than not, no doubt you’re puzzled by some of the things I’ve referred to. I was born with poor vision and crossed eyes. Some of my earliest memories are of visits to eye doctors - and getting yelled at because I squirmed and tried to get away from the bright lights. It took until I was in third grade for a specialist, one of the most prestigious eye doctors in the state, to figure out that I was legally blind. Obviously, my poor vision had a huge influence on my life.</p><p>On top of that, a lot of people were always asking “What’s wrong with you?” Almost no one ever took me seriously. As an example, when I was ten, my pediatrician was digging wax out of my ears, and I screamed in pain until he yelled at me for being a “crybaby”. That stung almost as much as my ear, and made me shut up, until he was done. Then, my ear tickled, so I put my hand up to scratch it - and pulled it away covered in blood. The doctor simply looked at my mother and said “How was I supposed to know he had hair growing in his ears?”</p><p>As much as it stung that he couldn’t even be bothered to apologise for ripping so many hairs in my ear out by the roots that blood poured out for half an hour afterwards, or for calling me a crybaby for yelling in pain at that sensation, he wasn’t as terrible a doctor as you might imagine. That story illustrates the way most people react to me. My second grade teacher and the school nurse both called me a liar in front of the whole class for saying I couldn’t see things at the same distance everyone else could. They tried to force me to read books at a “normal” distance. Over and over again.</p><p>Even when I was grown up, things like this continued to happen to me, and even people who knew what I was going through would have what I found to be a most frustrating sympathy with the offenders. I heard, “It’s just something about you. I can’t explain it, but you almost ask for it.” so often I could recite the words by heart. And then there were the quirks I had I never told anyone about, or tried to bury or conceal somehow. I doubted my own sanity a lot more often than I was willing to admit to anyone else. So what was the explanation? Finally, in the summer of 2010, someone made a remark that got me thinking. By then, I’d already heard of Aspergers. I’d even thought a lot of things about it sounded very much like me. But there were other things that weren’t like me at all.</p><p>This time, I decided to really look into it, to settle the matter and figure it out one way or the other rather than wondering. When I was younger, no one even knew about Aspergers. And getting a formal diagnosis as an adult is a lot harder and more expensive than I was prepared to handle, but I could research it, and consider what I learned as it applied to me. After all, who knows me better than I do? So I did - and I still didn’t think I had Aspergers, until I realised something. The things I was sure didn’t apply to me were things other people often said about me - things I felt were unfair. So what if this was describing what someone with Aspergers looked like to a person on the outside? In that case, the description fit me amost perfectly. I did more reading, and met other people like me online. For the first time in my life, I was among other outcasts who thought I made sense. And they all thought the ‘experts’ didn’t understand us very well, either. Even people who had been formally diagnosed thought that.</p><p>Now that I finally know what it is that’s different about me, now that I know what advice from others I need to just ignore because they have no idea what’s going on inside my head, I’ve begun making more progress than I ever have before at actually figuring out my life and trying to accomplish something. Not much progress; the neurotypical world would laugh at what I call ‘progress’. But if I measure it against my own experience in the past, I’ve come further in two years than I ever managed to do in all the years that came before that. There are still things I don’t know how to overcome, that I’ll have to trust God to help me deal with.</p><p>Imagine that a cat was born in a dog’s body, among a pack of dogs, but still had all of a cat’s instincts and reflexes. When the dogs around them wagged their tails, they’d back off, fearful because they’d think they were angry. When the other dogs acted as if they were just another one of the pack, and should behave like any other dog, they’d be confused. They wouldn’t even know how. After all, they’re just doing what comes naturally to them. When they wagged their tail in fear or anger, the other dogs would think they were happy, then they’d blame the poor cat in dog’s body who swiped at them when they got close. Is it any wonder that poor creature would grow up confused, unsure what to believe or who to trust? Is it any wonder they might stop trying to communicate with those dogs at all, and, if they didn’t, that they might keep their distance and be very wary? That’s what life is like for us. We understand that <i>we</i> don’t understand <i>you</i>. But what most of you don’t understand is that <i>you</i> don’t understand <i>us</i> any<br />
better.</p><p>So I have struggled, and for years felt God must hate me. The more people urged me to do and be what I could not - to be a “good dog” when I am instead a cat - the more I believed that. But, only a month or so after I figured out my mind was different, I found out my eyes were, too. What the specialist of my childhood never knew - or at least never wrote on my diagnosis - was that I was born with ocular albinism. My eyes don’t work the same as almost everyone else’s either. Not even the same as most people with poor vision. Instead, what would be peripheral vision in anyone else is <i>all</i> my vision. I don’t need to fear macular degneration, because I never formed a macula to begin with. Of course my eyesight worked differently than anyone was used to. Of course it just added to the misunderstandings anyone with Aspergers learns to take for granted.</p><p>But it did something else, something powerful, something only God could do. I had to learn some of the letters when I was much younger than most kids ever learn, just to tell the eye doctors my parents kept taking me to what letters I saw on each line (or at least the top few lines) of their charts. The curiosity and drive to understand that burned inside me due to my autistic traits caused me to expand on that, to insist on learning to understand those letters, how they fit together, how to read. And then I learned that I was able, when I read very close up to the page, to see several words at one time, at a glance. And my autistic brain could take those words in almost instantly and piece them into the sentence I was building up in my mind. So I could read so fast most people who saw me do it couldn’t believe I was actually reading - until I proved it to them. Scanners didn’t really exist then, and I wasn’t quite as fast as a modern scanner, but in a sense, I was a sort of human scanner that fed input into my own brain.</p><p>And while that input, all the many books I devoured desperately, did not and could not ‘cure’ my autistic traits, since they are not a disease, not a ‘defect’, but simply a different neural circuitry, it did provide me with information that helped me to deal with some of the things I couldn’t cope with, that helped me gradually to understand at least some things that some of us who don’t read much never learn to understand. And it shaped me. It made me a writer. Printed and written language was my first and most lasting ‘obsession’. It made me who I am - a writer. The one word that identifies me even more absolutely than “outcast” is “writer”. So God used two ‘defects’ to work together to create the person I am now. In spite of all the torment and misery and struggle, the blessings I’ve gained from the interaction between my different vision and my different mind are such that I would not go back and live a ‘normal’ life even if I were allowed that opportunity. I couldn’t, because to do so would be to cause myself to never have existed. I would be a completely different person.</p><p>I’ve made this explanation so long because, although it isn’t a spiritual lesson I would have any need to explain to myself - I’ve always felt sympathy for outcasts, long before I understood why - it is a spiritual lesson I hope someone else might be able to learn from my words. There are so many others out there like me, lost, alone. Desperate. There are other sheep just as lost, even if they aren’t lost for precisely the same reasons. Mostly, we are the ones no one bothers to try to lead back to the fold, because we’ve gone so far astray, because we run when we see anyone coming toward us. It was only God’s grace that kept me from doing just that. But we need God just as badly as anyone else. Perhaps you have honestly tried leading someone so lost back to the fold, but until you understand that you <i>don’t</i> understand, until you know why they fear you, all you can possibly do is drive them further away.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-3648815439429033172011-11-23T23:27:00.001-05:002011-11-23T23:29:43.616-05:00My Crazy NaNo Project 2011<p>As anyone still reading this blog is probably aware, I'm doing NaNo again this year. Only I've gotten so used to it, I decided to make things a bit more "interesting". The curious can read the details over on the blog I set up just for this wild project: <a href="http://30daysofinksanity.blogspot.com/">Thirty Days and Nights of Inksanity</a>. Yes, I'm writing in longhand, with fountain pens and inks, and posting about them each day. I'm a few days behind, thanks to the "snowpocalypse" that struck in late October (which I posted about over there, too). But I'm having fun...</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-56500238622178023832011-09-11T08:46:00.001-04:002011-09-11T08:46:00.450-04:00Remembering Lindsay Coates Herkness IIIThis is a very painful piece for me to write, but I believe the least I can do for Lindsay Coates Herkness, who lost his life ten years ago today, is to publicly admit just how much I owe him, even though I only "met" him years after his death.<br />
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Five years ago, I decided to take part in the <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/">2996 Project</a>, an effort by bloggers to honour each of the victims of America's greatest tragedy on the fifth anniversary of that day. I was assigned a tribute, which I wrote and posted, but then I learned that some of the bloggers who had signed up to write a tribute never did so. Those of us who took our responsibilities seriously were horrified, thinking of the families who might seek out their loved one's tribute, only to find nothing. So some of us agreed to research, and to write, tributes for these victims as quickly as we could.<br />
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I was given the name of Lindsay Coates Herkness III, with the mission of researching his life and writing <a href="http://the-wandering-author.blogspot.com/2006/09/tribute-lindsay-coates-herkness-iii.html">his tribute</a> literally overnight. I am ashamed to confess this next truth, but I must, in order to explain what Lindsay taught me, even after his death. When I began to research him, I discovered that he was someone I'd formed a poor opinion of in the days immediately following the disaster. He was the man who remained in his office, refusing to leave, until one of the Port Authority security officers went up to bring him down. Both men died when the tower collapsed.<br />
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The fact that I wasn't the only person to criticise him when I heard the news report about the rich financier who 'got a poor security guard killed' is no consolation. You see, whatever prior opinion I'd formed about him, I believed that I owed it to Lindsay himself, and to his family and friends, to learn whatever I could and to write the best tribute for him that I honestly could. So I sat up, in the middle of the night, reading about his life, and reading the comments people who had known him left on various memorial sites. In the process, a very different picture emerged from the man I'd been so quick to criticise.<br />
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It became obvious that he was the type of man others relied on, whose calm refusal to leave would have helped to keep others calm. It was also obvious he must have known this, or at least guessed it, and his "foolish" decision was in reality the best thing he could have done to prevent a panic. Remembering my own arrogant judgment of his actions, and the fact that many others had made similar remarks at the time, I wrote his tribute in such a way that, I hope, anyone who had misunderstood his actions would be convinced he had in fact done nothing wrong. At the time, as tired as I was, that was the best I could do.<br />
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But since then, I've remembered Lindsay at times, especially in early September, but on other occasions as well. And I've remembered just what he taught me, even though he had already been dead for five years at the time. I learned how very easy it is to criticise someone else, even when you're wrong. I learned how arrogant, how judgmental, I could be, even towards a man who paid with his life for his choice. I learned how easy it is to attack someone with the benefit of hindsight. I learned just how important it is to try to view something from the other person's point of view before you make up your mind why they acted as they did.<br />
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So, I'm sorry, Lindsay. This is my public apology to you. You taught me a great deal, and I owe you more than I could repay even if you were alive. I hope someone else may read this, and learn from my mistake - and remember your life, and the choices that you made, and do better than I did that awful day. You were a generous and a gracious man, so I'm sure you would have forgiven me, if you had the chance. Thank you for that, and for what you've taught me. I wish I could have known you.<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-92167731908338828622011-09-11T08:46:00.000-04:002011-09-11T08:46:00.224-04:00Remembering Francis Esposito, FDNYI never knew Francis Esposito while he was alive. I "met" him in the summer of 2006, when I was researching <a href="http://the-wandering-author.blogspot.com/2006/09/tribute-firefighter-francis-esposito.html">my tribute</a> for him as part of the <a href="http://project2996.wordpress.com/">2,996 Project</a> to commemorate the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Since that time, I have thought of him often, especially as the anniversary of that terrible day approaches each year. I think of his sacrifice, and I think of what the world lost when he died.<br />
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Our world has changed so much in just ten years. Yet if we spent more time reflecting on what men like Frank have taught us, we might make the world a much better place than it is today. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." (Testament of John, Chapter 15, verse 13) Francis Esposito offered us one example of what such love looks like. He marched into a blazing tower, a sight so terrifying that I, safe in front of a television in Massachusetts, was consumed by fear and dread. He marched in to save the lives of others, knowing he might never come out again.<br />
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How many people owe their lives to him? We'll never know the exact number, but that isn't as important as the lesson we can learn from his life, and the manner of his death. Every time we remember his bravery in the face of something much worse than anything which will ever confront most of us, and march on, we honour Frank and the way he lived his life. Every time we think of how much he sacrificed to help others in peril, and set aside our own personal desires to aid someone else who needs our help, we respect his memory and add just a little bit more to his legacy. Those of us who weren't in those towers, who weren't even in New York, that day <i>still</i> owe him much more than I can ever express, for setting the example that he did, for making the sacrifice that he did.<br />
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So, please, take a moment to think of Frank Esposito, and to pray for him and for his family. And when you go on, let his example make you a little better than you were before you learned about him.<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-62341831908949591392011-07-23T12:07:00.004-04:002011-07-23T12:36:49.321-04:00Horror In NorwayI am writing this post in response to the horror which took place in Norway yesterday. First, my condolences and my sympathies to all the Norwegian people, especially those who have lost loved ones and friends, but also those who simply no longer feel safe, who have had their peaceful world shattered. There is little I can do to help you, but I think one thing we can all do in moments of such tragedy is learn all we can, in order to prevent such tragedies.<br /><br />Yesterday, the news media was full of speculation that this attack might be linked to Al-Quaeda, or some other Muslim terrorist organisation. Today, we learn that is not so. The man responsible for this outrage apparently considered himself a Christian fundamentalist. Now, lest I allow myself to become guilty of hypocrisy, I had better admit right here that I certainly found the suggestion yesterday that this was an attack inspired by Muslim fundamentalists perfectly plausible. I'm ashamed to say that, but it is the truth.<br /><br />So what can I learn from this? I already knew all Muslims were not terrorists, and considered any such assumption absurd. But I did allow myself to forget that not all terrorists were Muslims, and in so doing, I was still unfair to peaceful Muslims everywhere. If you are a peaceful Muslim, and are reading this, I apologise to you.<br /><br />I consider myself a Christian, and I certainly know that all Christians are not terrorists. But I am shocked and humbled to discover that anyone who considers themselves a Christian could resort to this type of violence. I can only repeat my own version of what Muslims have struggled to remind everyone for the past ten years. Those who use such measures <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">are not following the teachings of Jesus Christ</span></span>.<br /><br />In my own shock and my own pain, I understand much more today of what Muslims everywhere who did not support the terrorists who used their religion as an excuse must have been feeling for the past ten years and more. Again, I apologise. I have never believed that you should be persecuted just for what you believe, but I <span style="font-style:italic;">have</span> failed to appreciate just what a terrible burden you were struggling under.<br /><br />We all need to remember that not everyone who can be lumped under any label deserves to be judged by the actions of the worst among them. We all need to remember that treating <span style="font-style:italic;">any</span> person who does not themselves resort to violence or actively support the use of violence in the same way as those who do is to make <span style="font-style:italic;">ourselves</span> no better than the worst among us. And, most of all, we all need to be united in one basic certainty: <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">blowing up, shooting, or otherwise killing and maiming innocent people in the name of any cause, any belief, any goal, is wrong</span></span>. And we all need to avoid blaming those who share the beliefs but not the willingness to resort to such tactics.<br /><br />Every time we assume that one group must be responsible for violence, even before there is any evidence to prove anything beyond the simple fact violence has occurred, we encourage <span style="font-style:italic;">all</span> groups to resort to violent tactics. By viewing them with suspicion, refusing to trust them, and treating them unfairly, we push members of the group we fear toward extremism as their only option - and, in so doing, we share their guilt. And by pointing a finger at that one group, we encourage the extremists among every other group, those who are just waiting for an excuse, to believe they are justified in their attacks. And, in so doing, we share their guilt.<br /><br />Violence <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> wrong, <span style="font-style:italic;">whoever</span> resorts to it. But isolating a single group, and presuming that is the only group capable of unjustified violence, is just as wrong. The man who killed so many people in Norway yesterday <span style="font-style:italic;">knew</span> what we would think at first. He felt even more strongly than we did about Muslims. But in sharing his feelings, even in part, we encouraged him.<br /><br />I can argue that my own part in that was tiny, and it was. But that doesn't make any difference, because I <span style="font-style:italic;">did</span> have some tiny part in it. Just because I was in the back of the mob, and wasn't shouting as loudly as the leaders at the front, just because my own slogans weren't as broad or as harsh as those others were using, doesn't excuse me. The only excuse would have been if I had been standing <span style="font-style:italic;">against</span> that mob, urging them to calm down. Every time I heard of a new explosion, a new shooting, and agreed, "Yeah, it was probably Muslim terrorists", every single time I did that, I stood shoulder to shoulder with the mob and failed to oppose it. And, for that, I am very sorry. It isn't enough, but all I can do now is try not to do it again.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-38559959078423331822011-06-19T20:20:00.004-04:002011-06-19T20:45:07.821-04:00A Brief UpdateI'd meant to write a longer update today, but that isn't going to happen. In addition to the larger issues that have kept me from blogging for so long, I am fighting a nasty sinus infection that wants to (or perhaps already has) become bronchitis. I never get sick in the summer, I wasn't sick all last winter, but where I live, a lot of people seem to have been hit with this, and it is nasty. I've been getting much more exercise, and regaining much of the energy I thought I'd lost in the past decade or so, but this illness has just exhausted me and tired me out.<br /><br />I did win NaNo last year, even if I failed to update my readers here. I had about sixty thousand words before the end of November, when I got stuck on a conflict between my plot and the realities of history. I'm still trying to work that out, and I may need to go back and rewrite much of what I have, but I think it is an interesting story.<br /><br />Various troubles have interfered, and I've written about many of them. But late last year, I finally began to understand all the odd things about myself that have never made sense. One relatively simple explanation put my own struggles, and a number of bizarre experiences throughout my life, into perspective. It also dug up and exposed memories reaching all the way back to my earliest childhood, many of them painful. I've actually considered writing a memoir, in the hope it might be helpful to someone else.<br /><br />And, at the same time I was going through this total reassessment of my entire life, my father developed severe dementia. I suspect he has always heard voices; "somebody" told me was a common excuse for odd pronouncements. And he has claimed in the past to hear from God and from angels, and to have some secret source of knowledge. But last fall, he began to wake us up in the middle of the night, shouting "Nobody move! The police are outside and they're shooting everyone!" And he got the idea that the house had been moved to Boston, right next to the Park Street Church. When he went outside and saw it was on the same lot it has always been on, he started yelling that the police were going to arrest whoever had moved it back "and take them straight to hell!"<br /><br />Those are just a few of the incidents that spring to mind, but there have been a lot more. There was one stretch of several weeks when we didn't get a single night of uninterrupted sleep. At one point, while he was in a rehab facility, he grew so violent they had to call the police to have him taken out of there. The police took him to the hospital, where they promptly sent him right back to us. And the medications the doctors have been giving him to make him calmer seem to have actually had the opposite effect.<br /><br />Caught between a major reassessment of my life, and a crisis that would test the limits and the sanity of those with more to spare than I have, I haven't even thought of posting here until Miss Kitty stopped by to say hello and ask how I was. I promised her an update, and felt in case there was any other loyal reader out there who might come by one day and wonder, that would best be posted here.<br /><br />I may try to post, sporadically, to explain more about the new understanding of myself that has caused me to examine everything in my life differently. I may try to post a few other things, here and there. But the way my life is at the moment, I dare not promise any particular schedule for posting. I'm trying, whenever I can fit it in, to go through all the writing I've accumulated over the years, to finish the incomplete fragments, to revise stories that have promise, and to generally get everything I've written in some sort of order. That project has priority for the moment, and simply working out strategies to keep writing, to make my life a bit easier.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-64944883949702412452010-11-10T21:51:00.002-05:002010-11-10T21:59:08.552-05:00NaNo Diary: Day TenI know I haven't posted the past few days. I've been writing, but that and everything else in my life just took up too much time to allow me to update my NaNo Diary here. I'm dealing with a great deal of personal stress and tension, problems that keep cropping up and have to be resolved, other things I need to do.<br /><br />But, in spite of all that, my novel is doing well. I don't mean to suggest it is perfect. I've gone off the rails in a few places, and I'll need to clean things up quite a bit when I revise - but this is a first draft. I am not one of the rare writers who can put a flawless first draft down on paper. At least not usually, and the very rare times when I do, it is a poem or a very short story...<br /><br />The point is that a few interesting twists have come up to enliven what I'd planned in the few days I managed to devote to that. The story and the characters are coming alive, and developing a certain momentum of their own. No matter how much cutting, patching, putting things back together, and otherwise rearranging I'll need to do in revision, I do at least have a story I think I can polish into something interesting.<br /><br />And Dietrich Bonhoeffer hasn't even stepped into the story yet... Yes, he has a cameo in this alternate history. He sets my main character thinking along different lines. Anyway, if anyone is reading this, I know what you're waiting for is my current word count. As of tonight, I am up to <span style="font-weight:bold;">21,921 words!</span>. For the first time ever, I have consistently been ahead of my goal from the very first day, and each day, my 'lead' keeps growing. By now, I am slightly more than three days ahead of target. I dare not grow complacent, but at least I'm not thousands of words behind - and my story is picking up steam, as I already said.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-17226565183223878772010-11-02T23:22:00.002-04:002010-11-02T23:24:45.959-04:00NaNo Diary: Day TwoI seem to be on a roll so far; my two day total is 4,010 words. But since I am also fighting off a nasty bug, my entire lead may disappear at any moment. Still, I plan on making as much progress as I can as quickly as I can, and dealing with the problems as they come up. Since it is late and I'm tired, this will be a brief update...<br /><br />But...<br /><br />4,010 words! Woohoo!<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-47826084296508929802010-11-01T22:31:00.002-04:002010-11-01T22:33:53.411-04:00NaNo Diary: Day OneFor the first time, I am - slightly - ahead of target on the very first day of NaNo! I'm excited by my story, my main character is really taking shape on the page, and I have 1,775 words already written. That's 108 words more than my target. Now, if I can only keep this up...<br /><br />So, if you're following my progress, wish me luck.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-32473207553669078122010-10-31T22:08:00.002-04:002010-10-31T22:18:06.755-04:00NaNo Diary - Calm Before the StormIn a few hours, the frenzy of National Novel Writing Month will be upon me, as I try my best to finish 50,000 words in spite of everything life can throw at me. This will be a difficult year, since I'm still coming to terms with a number of issues, and since I am struggling with other distractions as well.<br /><br />However, I do have some <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/125314">idea what I want to write</a>, and I hope to start setting words down on paper tomorrow. I will be making periodic updates here, every day if possible, or at least every few days, to note my current word count and my thoughts at the time.<br /><br />I've entered a contest to win a <a href="http://sites.google.com/site/clayplotbunnies/home">clay Plot Bunny</a>, and I have two chances to win. My best shot is to be the first entrant who wins NaNo, and I am at least going to try for that. If I miss that opportunity, as long as I get my 50,000 words before the end of November, I will be among those from whom a second winner is drawn. The contest adds a bit of spice to this year's efforts, and gives me a little extra motivation, which I really need this year.<br /><br />On the other hand, I'm excited about my idea, and I'm desperate to really get back into a writing streak, so I do have a fighting chance. Let me know if you're observing my progress and cheering me on (or hoping you win the plot bunny instead...).<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-78357838319478892012010-08-09T16:36:00.002-04:002010-08-09T16:45:34.173-04:00QuestionsEvery now and then, something will just leap out at me and irritate me, even if it is something not particularly related to any of my major concerns. The whole issue of blood diamonds is an important one, but not one I feel I need to speak out on. And I don't care that much about celebrities. But Naomi Campbell dragged her feet so long in attempting to avoid testifying that I was curious what she was going to say when they finally got her on the stand.<br /><br />As I understand it, her reason for refusing to testify until she was compelled to was the fact that Charles Taylor is a scary, violent man, and she didn't want to risk his harming her or her family. That sounds reasonable - at first. But wait! She didn't know who he was, isn't sure he was the one who gave her the diamonds, and wasn't even sure they were diamonds until someone else pointed it out to her. In other words, if you believe her, she knows nothing.<br /><br />So why was she afraid of testifying? Even a violent and dangerous man is hardly going to go to the trouble of harming someone, or their family, just for saying they don't know anything about him. I know absolutely nothing of these events beyond what I've read in the press. What I'm about to say is purely my own opinion, but it seems to me that the delay was in order to find out just how vague she could make her testimony, just how unrevealing, without quite crossing the line into anything which could be proved as perjury.<br /><br />Now, that's just my analysis of what she said, based on the point that, if she really knew so little, I can't understand what she would have had to fear in the first place. But what irritates me is that no one in the press, no one in the courtroom, no one at all, seems to have even thought of this possibility. Shouldn't the question at least be asked? Shouldn't the possibility at least be discussed?<br /><br />As I said, the violence and lust for power that lurks behind blood diamonds is an important issue, and one that should be explored thoroughly. I don't know what really happened, or who is to blame, but if so much money and effort is going to be expended to look into this, shouldn't someone at least consider the obvious?<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-54239986723929474522010-08-05T00:29:00.008-04:002010-08-05T01:13:00.827-04:00Anne Rice: Writers, Christianity, and Following ChristReading about Anne Rice's decision to quit Christianity brought me back here after such a long absence. Although I don't have even one reader for every ten thousand she has, I've struggled with many of the issues which drove her to make such an anguished declaration. I've never even mentioned before on this blog that I consider myself a follower of Jesus Christ, not because I am ashamed of him, but because I am ashamed of many of those who claim to follow him.<br /><br />Even as a writer, I'm an outcast. I've finally come to terms with that. But what troubles me is the thought that my readers and friends might go away and never come back, without ever giving me a chance to explain I'm not like "them". I've waited, hoping I could find the right words. But now, I suspect there are no right words. Some of the most vocal of those who call themselves Christians take positions I disagree with on nearly everything.<br /><br />Even most of the Christians I respect are not people whose opinions I agree with without question. Of course, I don't expect anyone to agree with my opinions without question, either. The problem is, non-Christians often assume anyone who says they are a Christian must be like the worst examples they can think of, and Christians often assume anyone who calls themselves a Christian must agree with <i>their</i> interpretation of the Bible.<br /><br />I don't think Jesus Christ cared about politics. He cared about people's hearts, and left the politics to the politicians. That was one of the reasons he upset people. He refused to be politic and keep from upsetting the status quo. And I don't think he expected his followers to impose Mosaic Law on non-believers, even the "family values" clauses within that law. All he asked of us was this, to believe in him and to let him work in our lives, so he could help us set an example for the rest of the world.<br /><br />In those days, people still left unwanted newborns out on mountainsides to die. If these babies, usually either girls or sickly boys, were lucky, a slave trader would find them and raise them until they could be sold. Jesus didn't send his disciples out to find people exposing their children and stone them. He simply told his disciples to follow him. Now, I happen to believe abortion is wrong. That isn't the point. Where I disagree is in how Jesus would expect his followers to act. I don't think he'd have us pass laws; I think he'd just have us live so much for him that we radiated his light into the world, making others want to know and follow him, until the practice just naturally withered.<br /><br />Maybe I'm wrong about that. I'm not God, and I'm not Jesus Christ. But it is what I honestly believe, based on what I read about his actions and those of his followers in the Bible. I don't say that lightly. I've agonised over the issue. In Nazi Germany, I would have been considered unfit and gassed. No matter how much the modern world would like to forget this, abortion grew out of the eugenics movement, and the eugenics movement is just the generic name for Nazi "race science". I instinctively loathe and fear anything that smacks of their policies.<br /><br />Abortion is as horrible an idea to me as it is to anyone else, with aspects of nightmare overlaid. I just happen to think the usual Christian way of attacking the problem is not the way Christ himself would have tackled it. His followers did things his way, and it wasn't very long before babies were no longer left to die in the wilderness. All the Christian protests just seem to strengthen the resolve of those who support the idea of abortion as a kind of freedom.<br /><br />Fiction writers are tortured at the best of times, and a fiction writer who genuinely wishes to follow Christ is torn between the competing forces of the stories that rise up inside them, and whatever Christians decide to define as "Christian" fiction. Why can't a Christian writer just write, and trust that some bit of the beliefs which led them to their faith will shine through? Jesus often spoke in parables which were far from clear, even to his own disciples. Yet they told a story and made a point he considered important. He seems to have considered these little stories, with their subtle points, the best way to communicate in many situations. Since he is capable of opening anyone's ears and heart, why can't he use a story which does not fit the "Christian" label to do so?<br /><br />There are so few Christian writers who honestly want to serve the God they believe in, but who also reject the traditional niches reserved for "Christian writers", that it is impossible to even find anyone to discuss how best to keep our writing on the right track. A well-known writer such as Anne Rice, with a publisher and editors imposing their own expectations on her, and fans adding their voices, has an impossible task.<br /><br />Don't any of you Christians who are so quick to object to her remarks ever consider you might share some of the blame for driving her to this point? If you don't, you should. As obscure as I am, I understand her frustration and her agony. I pray for her, not because I think she has done anything terrible, but just because I think she has been trapped in a terrible position. And we can all use prayer. If you read this, and consider yourself a Christian, please pray for Anne Rice, not because she is any more imperfect than you are, but just because she is hurting.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-13218308663601238632009-09-25T12:43:00.003-04:002009-09-25T13:42:41.823-04:00Nurses: the Best of People, the Worst of PeopleA recent post over at <a href="http://educatedandpoor.blogspot.com">Educated and Poor</a> <a href="http://educatedandpoor.blogspot.com/2009/09/florence-nightingale-vs-nurse-ratched.html">asking for individual experiences with nurses</a> got me thinking. Compassionate nurses are among the best of people, but those who lack compassion can be among the worst of people. Yet I also suspect in many cases even the worst of nurses didn't start out hard-hearted. The suffering they are exposed to seems to burn out the compassion in even the most decent people. Yet it is hard for the patients in their hands to remember that.<br /><br />My own worst experience with a nurse occurred when I was eight or nine. I was due for one of my regular shots, and the nurse marched in, announced "This won't hurt a bit" in a tone that, rather than being reassuring, informed me I would get nothing but a label as a crybaby if I complained. Without waiting for a response, she stuck the needle in. I was watching while she did it, and she jabbed me so hard, the shaft of the needle visibly bent. <i>Shudder.</i> I think it was sheer horror that helped me contain my instinct to howl in pain and outrage.<br /><br />I know little about this particular nurse, but in fairness, the pediatrician she worked for was far worse, so she may have picked up the attitude at work. Although not an experience with a nurse, I'll relate one of my two worst personal medical experiences ever, involving her boss. It does illustrate the harm a complete lack of compassion can inflict. I was ten, nearly eleven, at the time. To be fair, even I didn't yet understand that my physiology was out of the ordinary in various ways. I had an ear infection, and the doctor decided to clean the wax out of the other ear. He took out whatever sort of probe they used at the time, stuck it into my ear, and began hauling out the wax.<br /><br />Even with intense migraines and pinched nerves, I am not sure I have ever felt such intense pain again in my life. It felt as if a <i>huge</i>, red-hot knife blade was being jammed into my ear. I couldn't help screaming and crying. The doctor ignored my pleas to stop, and mocked me as a crybaby. He finished up and turned away, and I felt a tickle on that earlobe. I put my hand up to scratch it, and when I took my hand away, it was covered in blood! Blood was pouring out of my ear. The doctor glanced at it, didn't even bother to reassure me - and yes, I was panicked by this point. Feeling so much pain, followed by bleeding so badly, had me convinced I was going to die, probably horribly.<br /><br />He turned to my mother, said "How was I supposed to know he had hair in his ears?", and turned back, very matter of factly, to deal with me. No apology, no admission that if he had listened to my protests he might have figured it out before doing so much harm, nothing. I ended up having to lay on one side with that ear up for almost an hour before blood stopped trickling out. And since that day, I have had trouble trusting any doctor.<br /><br />However, I have seen examples of real compassion, especially from nurses. When I was nineteen, my month-old son was clearly very sick. We took him to the hospital emergency room, where they finally figured out he was having heart problems his pediatrician had completely overlooked. He was going to have to be transferred, by ambulance, to Children's Hospital in Boston. One of the nurses took the time and trouble to reassure us that he had a good chance of doing okay, and promised she would ride with him, which she did. She made a terrifying day much more bearable.<br /><br />It turned out he had been born with a hole in his heart, and would need surgery as soon as he was big enough that would be possible. He was in the ICU for a while, and I was not in very good shape myself. First, any parent would be upset in that situation. Second, it didn't help my emotions that he had been named after my best friend in high school - who had died. Third, I somehow got the flu, and even after I was over it, I felt terrible. And I wasn't getting enough sleep, or eating decently, as anyone who's snatched meals from hospital vending machines and cafeterias will understand.<br /><br />On top of that, I had been overprotected as a child to a degree that I was still learning how to interact with normal human beings. Looking back, I honestly think if I'd been raised by wolves I would have ended up with better social skills. I was hyper, inwardly dreadfully shy and trying to hide it by being just the opposite outwardly, and had no idea how to behave. On top of that, I was now frantic and feeling miserable. Anyone who blew my head off with a shotgun would have had more than enough justification.<br /><br />One particular nurse cared for my son much of the time. Her name was Jan. She was calm, patient, compassionate, and incredibly competent. She managed to such a good job of caring for Michael even I couldn't miss it. On top of that, she had the decency and patience to do all that she could to alleviate my fears, listen to my babbling, and put up with my no doubt incredibly annoying, hyper presence. At that point, I had total distrust of anything medical: on top of my own experiences, I'd grown up listening to my father's stories of how her doctor killed his grandmother, and a vet had maliciously caused the death of my first two cats.<br /><br />Despite that prejudice, despite an ingrained predisposition to assume anyone even vaguely medical was either incompetent, uncaring, or probably an outright sadist, Jan managed to make such an impression on me I trusted her. When Michael went back for his surgery, as soon as I heard she was the nurse assigned to him after the operation, I calmed right down and relaxed. Yes, there were other very decent doctors and nurses at Children's Hospital. I remember at least some of them. But she was the one who first allowed me to calm down enough to see that. Any ability at all I now have to trust the medical profession, I owe to her.<br /><br />I hope all the suffering kids, all the ones who died, never managed to destroy her inside. That would be a double tragedy, because I owe her more than I can express, and I'd hate to think she suffered in any way for her caring, and also because it would be such a terrible loss to the patients she cared for and their families. Yet I do know decent nurses can burn out.<br /><br />How do I know this? One of my aunts was a nurse. When I knew her, she wasn't hard-hearted, and she could be compassionate, but to hear her talk of her patients, she obviously treated them in a brisk, businesslike way. Yet later, I learned more of her history. She was an Army nurse in World War Two, and good enough to be promoted to Lieutenant. She was stationed in Britain, and was given some of the worst cases to care for. So many suffering, horribly maimed and disfigured young men passed through her care that the experience finally broke her. She had what at the time was called a nervous breakdown.<br /><br />Even to the end of her life, more than fifty years later, she was never completely whole. Her very compassion proved to be the instrument of its own destruction. Who can blame anyone for that? And she did try to be fair. For years, I heard her talk of patients who complained that their IVs hurt. She made it plain she briskly assured them that was impossible, and it was all in their minds. Then, she found herself a patient. She had to have an IV, and she discovered that it caused a burning sensation in her arm that did hurt. She was honestly surprised, and apologetic, and vowed to do her best to minimise the hurt in the future.<br /><br />I've also visited enough people in hospitals by now, and observed enough, to see that often, it is the system and not the individuals that causes problems. How is any nurse to do their best when they aren't allowed enough time to do so? How are they to be at their best when they are forced to work such long shifts they're exhausted? Yes, it is dreadful for the people who suffer, but it is not always the nurse's fault.<br /><br />What do I conclude from all this? First of all, that nurses are a perfect example of all the best that humans are capable of, when they choose to be. Second of all, that even when they are not, they are often doing their best. Yes, they need to try to find some way to do even better, for the sake of their victims, but none of us is perfect. We owe it to all nurses to at least stop and try to discover what the problem really is, and if they really should be blamed, no matter how bitterly we might wish to blame them. And finally, for those few who really do lack compassion, who have simply found a job they can use to earn a living and don't care a bit about their patients - and, no matter how few they may be, there do seem to be a few - some way needs to be found to identify those few and force them out of nursing, for the sake of their patients and the sake of all the other nurses whose reputations they stain.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-67194139261297025312009-06-21T21:42:00.004-04:002009-06-21T21:59:57.028-04:00In Memoriam: Neda SoltaniIn Iran, a teenage girl stood watching the protests. She was not even taking part, simply peacefully watching with her father. The next moment, she was shot down and lay in the street, bloody, dying. Her name was Neda Soltani. The video of her death is a tragedy. What is even more tragic is that anyone calling themselves a cleric of any religion could support such murder.<br /><br />The only thing the clerics of Iran may now do to show their religion is not one of murder and savagery is to strip themselves of <b>everything</b> - power, wealth, even possessions, and live in the gutter on the charity of strangers. Neda Soltani's blood cries out, accusing them, staining them with the crimson of murderers, vicious criminals who will lie, kill, oppress, anything to keep themselves in power.<br /><br />How long must young girls such as Neda live at the mercy of such beasts? How long will the people of Iran permit such injustice among themselves. My heart bleeds for the people living in Iran, for, with the exception of a few savage, murderous monsters who lust after power, they have a horrible choice ahead. They may submit to the injustice, the cruelty, the snatching after power in the name of religion, the murder of innocent young girls, they may make themselves accomplices to all that - or they may face the guns and tanks of the monsters in power.<br /><br />Make no mistake, such men do not surrender all the privileges they exploit to assuage their terrible lusts easily. They will fight, they will invoke their twisted image of God, they will lie. And the worst among the Iranian people, the bullies, the thugs, the criminals, those are the people who support such a regime because they grow fat and powerful under it. They will fight to preserve it. They will satisfy their own hunger for blood.<br /><br />And the innocent people, the decent people, will suffer, no matter what they do. I hate that fact, I rage against it in my mind and with my words, and if I lived in Iran I would rage against it in protest. Yet all that rage cannot change the way the world is. When evil men cling to power, the innocent suffer. I can only think of poor Neda Soltani, suffering and frightened on the ground as she lay dying, and pray that she will not be forgotten, that her memory will rise up and smash the evil that grips Iran right now.<br /><br />May everyone who looks upon the grim, hate twisted face of Iran's "President" see the blood of Neda Soltani that drips from his beard, staining it, thanks to his greedy gulping of power. May every appearance of the "Supreme Leader" with his smug ability to twist the truth, to distort the God he claims to worship into nothing but a pillar of his own power, reveal Neda's lifeblood dripping from his beard. May they choke on her blood, may it spill over and drown them, before the blood they shed drowns more of the innocent people they exploit.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-73466316209391639022009-06-11T13:09:00.003-04:002009-06-11T13:35:07.978-04:00In Memoriam: Stephen T. JohnsStephen T. Johns died yesterday heroically defending one of the most important sites in the world, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D. C. He was gunned down in cold blood by a man unable to bear the presence of such a museum, one dedicated to proving the awful destructiveness of hate. Mr. Johns died protecting others, and if not for his actions and those of his colleagues, we can only imagine how many visitors to the museum might have died.<br /><br />I urge everyone who reads this to learn the lesson that was enacted again yesterday, in minature. Hatred is a destructive force. It accomplishes nothing but killing. It deserves only enough attention to understand why it must be avoided. The important story is that of Stephen Johns, who gave his own life in order to save others. That is a legacy which is worthy of being remembered, and I urge all of you to keep Stephen Johns and his family in your thoughts and your prayers, and to remember his sacrifice.<br /><br />Although what is important was how Mr. Johns, as an individual, acted yesterday, and although I know most of my readers understand this anyway, I do want to make one other point. Mr. Johns happened to be a black man. His murderer was white, someone who endorsed the absurd belief that that single fact, the colour of his skin, made him somehow superior. However, his own actions and those of Mr. Johns yesterday give the lie, once and for all, to that belief.<br /><br />It is ironic this bigot proved exactly what he would have liked to disprove, but I think it is important to take note of this. A white man, convinced this fact alone made him superior, proved by his own actions he was inferior to the black man he confronted. Superiority is not conferred by skin colour, race, heritage, or anything other than what each of us, as individuals, chooses to do and how we choose to act. And the fact a self professed "genius" could overlook the way in which what he planned to do would demonstrate how very wrong he was illustrates, clearly, how little anyone really learns who chooses to blame all their frustrations on a scapegoat.<br /><br />I'm very, very sorry Stephen Johns had to die proving that lesson, which most of us already understood, once again, but I'd like to think, if it had to happen anyway, he would be pleased to know his actions did affirm just how dreadful a lie racism and bigotry really are. And if even one person who reads this finally understands the reality of this important lesson for the first time, perhaps some small good can come out of such a great tragedy.<br /><br />And, although I hardly dare hope so, if this incident, which so emphatically establishes just what pathetic losers all those people are who believe in any sort of racial supremacy, reverses the spread of hate groups through our society like cancer, I hope Stephen Johns will at least be remembered as the man whose heroism brought it about. Whatever the outcome, he deserved better. From now on, when I hear the phrase "only the good die young", the name of Stephen T. Johns will be added to the list of those who come to mind. May God bless you and may you rest in peace, Mr. Johns.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-84081930022562189752009-06-08T16:28:00.002-04:002009-06-08T16:57:19.995-04:00An Apology: To the Government and People of IsraelThis is my two hundredth post. I've been busy, but I'd hoped to make this a bit of a celebration. Instead, I'm posting this with tears on my face, confronted with a reality I find unbearable. I am certainly not a blind supporter of US policy, and never have been. There are any number of incidents that disturb me, and policies I oppose. But President Obama, in his speech in Cairo last week, has <a href="http://a12iggymom.vox.com/library/post/barack-obama-and-the-moral-equivalence-of-holocaust.html">gone too far</a>.<br /><br />Go to the link and read the original post which upset me. I have no idea how many things Erick Erickson and I would agree on, but on this issue we agree totally. I can't even bring myself to repeat the offending quote. If I simply retyped it, my fingers would feel filthy for the rest of my life. If you read the archives of this blog for January, you'll see that I tried to give President Obama the benefit of the doubt any new president deserves.<br /><br />I'll admit, I've never thought <i>any</i> politician would be able to do much to make the world a better place, but some of them at least manage to avoid making it noticeably worse. Now, his defenders will no doubt say it was just a speech, and he was trying to appeal to his audience... <b>No!</b> That is not an excuse. First, because such a comparison is so utterly outrageous, so horrific, it deserves to be treated as the type of propaganda it is: a "Big Lie". Goebbels, the Nazi propaganda minister, would be rubbing his hands in glee if he read that statement. And any statement we can imagine making Goebbels happy is inexcusable.<br /><br />And it is not just a speech. There is the context as well, a context in which America, a huge country, seeks to use our power to force Israel, a small and young country, into a false peace which will destroy them. The Palestinians in charge have made it plain they are murderers, bent on Israel's total destruction, and that they are willing to violate any promise they make. Any deal under such conditions will eventually prove to be a fatal one.<br /><br />Let me be very clear here. I don't hate Palestinians as individuals. Many of them may honestly wish to live in peace. I hope they get that wish. I cry when I see reports of women and children killed. The difference is, instead of blaming Israel as so many people do, I look at the facts. Many of those innocent deaths were planned, as a cold calculation, by the leaders who want to use them as propaganda. Many of the ordinary people are misled by their leaders' lies. Their blood is on the hands of their own leaders. And now, the country I live in is siding with those vicious monsters.<br /><br />We're singling out the very people so many other nations have persecuted and tried to exterminate for thousands of years, and we're trying to hand them over to their enemies. Then, when the inevitable tragedy happens, we'll shrug and say it wasn't our fault, because we really believed the Palestinians wanted peace. Perhaps some of them do - but not those in power! Those in power want blood, and that blood will be on the hands of anyone who helps them.<br /><br />If you read this, you can ignore it. It isn't very well written; it's a blog post, after all, not a polished editorial. But if you ignore it, you too will be guilty. Every individual has a choice: to speak out and oppose such wrong, or to stay silent. If you stay silent, you will be just like the Germans at the end of World War Two who claimed they knew nothing of the horrors that took place in their own cities and towns. If true, it was because they turned away, because they didn't want to know.<br /><br />I've sent the following message to the Israeli embassy in Washington, D. C. to let them know that they are not utterly alone in the world. Governments may be against them, but not every individual agrees. I hope you'll consider doing the same.<br /><br /><b>To the Government and People of Israel;</b><br /><br />I am an ordinary American citisen, with no power or authority to speak for anyone but myself. Recently, though, I've been distressed observing some of the policies of the government I live under. In specific, I've found the insistence that the nation of Israel deal on equal terms with terrorists who have consistently violated their earlier obligations, made their intentions to destroy Israel every bit as plain as Adolf Hitler ever made his intent to kill Jews, and who continue to murder innocent Israeli citizens, utterly repugnant. As far as I can see, this serves no purpose other than to cement our President's reputation and gain him political capital as the President who "solved" the tension in the Middle East.<br /><br />I was not alive when Adolf Hitler was in power, and so I could only hope, if I ever saw anything so terrible happening again, that I would have the sense and the courage to speak out. Now, I do see something that may prove just as terrible happening, although I hope it will not be allowed to go that far. I must at least speak out. I have little power to stop it. I am one voter, with one vote, all but drowned out among the sea of idiots who believe the half-truths and outright lies published in our press. (After seeing how our reporters refuse to print the truth out of fear of reprisals, I am ashamed that I ever considered becoming a journalist.)<br /><br />Yet I do have the ability to speak, publicly. If I fail to do at least that much, I am guilty of whatever harm is done to Israel. If I were a Jew, with the "right of return", I would move to Israel to stand beside you as you struggle to survive. I am not, so I cannot do that, but I can at least add my voice to those protesting this travesty of justice. I am ashamed to live in a nation that is putting more pressure on Israel than on Iran or North Korea, nations guilty of real crimes. I am ashamed to see an innocent country and her innocent citisens punished in my name.<br /><br />When I read some of the outrageous statements made by President Obama in Cairo - so outrageous I refuse to even repeat them - I could no longer bear to remain silent. When I consider what the country I live in now stands for, I am sick. I cannot bear the thought of living in a country guilty of actions any Nazi would be proud of. Yet I cannot prevent those actions. I can only apologise for them, insofar as they are carried out in my name, and beg the government and the people of Israel to keep in mind that not every American agrees with the moral depravity which would deliberately equate actions taken only as a defense against unprovoked attacks with those meant to exterminate an entire people.<br /><br />In fact, I would like to thank Israel and her people for standing firm against terrorists who believe murder is a legitimate political tool. I for one am glad you are there to do what my country has lost the decency or the courage to do.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-739504601557842262009-05-15T23:05:00.009-04:002009-05-15T23:58:20.484-04:00Wolfram Alpha Launch - Dead in the WaterI've been hearing a lot about Wolfram Alpha and how it will replace Google, since it can parse natural language phrases and figure out the user's intent. Well, tonight I was watching the live broadcast of the preparations to launch Wolfram Alpha for the first time. I actually managed to load the page and run a few queries while the data center was still reporting no connections. (But the page only loaded <i>after</i> they announced they'd activated, about ten to fifteen seconds after, so I was not using the broken, 'back door' version.)<br /><br />It was interesting to be in at the very start, but rather underwhelming once I tried it out. I admit, I tried a few queries I was sure would not work, just to see how it handled them. It wasn't sure what to do with them. Okay, fine. This is just the launch, and I was asking questions I really didn't expect it to get right. So, for my first real test, I decided to hand it a fairly easy one. I tried phrasing my test question a few ways, and it kept being unsure what to do with the question, so I decided to all but hand the computation engine the answer on a silver platter. After all, I don't know how it works yet, so it is only fair to tweak my question until it ought to be easy for the engine to figure out what I want.<br /><br />I asked "What major events happened in London, England during the year 1666?" I defined 'London' in the question; I specified that 1666 was a year - and I still got the answer "Wolfram/Alpha isn't sure what to do with your input." I have a screenshot of this - it was hard to imagine, after all the hype, it would miss the Great Fire of London. Now it did at least list "More to Explore", so I clicked on "People & History" - which opened with "Harriet Tubman" filled in as a suggestion. This is when I really began to wonder what all the fuss was about. It has a place, a date, and all it can think of to suggest is a woman who lived on another continent nearly two centuries later?<br /><br />I tried another question, this one admittedly a bit more difficult, but surely one with many potential answers or at least links. "How can I improve my fiction writing skills?" Wolfram Alpha wasn't sure what to do with that, either. Well, it is a less clearly defined question, so perhaps it isn't fair to judge the engine too harshly for shrugging. So I decided to give it something easy, something it could calculate. "Is India larger than America?" It didn't know what to do with that, either. So much for natural language.<br /><br />I was wondering if it was simply not working, so I decided to try baby talk. "Who was Abraham Lincoln?" Well, that showed me it was working, sort of. It told me he was a head of state - but not of which country - it gave me dates and places for his birth and death, and that was that. No links, no details at all about the man. By this time, my hopes of a real alternative to Google, something that might let me gather information instead of wading through commercial links I have no interest in were fading fast.<br /><br />Okay, I still wanted to see what it can do, so I figured I'd ask a question with a simple, short answer. "When did the Emperor of Brazil abdicate?" It didn't know how to handle that, either. I asked it an admittedly vague question next, one I hoped it might at least ask me to clarify. "How long would it take a rocket to reach Pluto?" To be fair, this leaves a lot of variables out - but it is exactly the kind of question a normal user might ask. I thought it might at least ask for details. No, it simply didn't know what to do again.<br /><br />By now, I was desperate to find something it <i>could</i> do. I typed in "November 15 1889" (which, by the way, is the date the Emperor of Brazil abdicated) and it did figure out I'd entered a date, and gave me a few dull details, like how many weeks, days, and years ago this date was. It also told me nothing important happened on that date. Well, perhaps the designers simply weren't that concerned with South America. So I tried again. "November 15 1889 in Brazil". <i>That</i> ought to tell it what to look for. It almost worked. It listed "Republic Day (Brazil)" - the holiday celebrating the end of the monarchy. But it also said "(no known major notable events)". It has the holiday, but not the event it is based on. I might just put this down to the fact it <i>is</i> just a launch, if it weren't for all the other problems I've had, even when I tried to help the engine along with hints.<br /><br />Still, I decided to give it one more chance to play to its own strengths. I typed in the date of a very major event, the start of the Great Fire of London, "September 2 1666". It offered me an 'input interpretation' that suggested this was a date in the Gregorian calendar - without offering any option for the Julian calendar, <i>still in use in the English speaking world at this date</i>. And it didn't mention anything about any events that might have happened on this day in either calendar.<br /><br />I don't know. The idea might be sound. After another ten years of fiddling with natural language and letting it look at data, it might actually be able to answer a few questions that aren't mathematical. I deliberately avoided those; after all, Mathematica already exists, and works. If Wolfram Alpha is just another front end for Mathematica, it isn't very impressive at all. Yet of all the "Wow!" comments I read in the chat reports of other users' tests, they all seemed to be asking it to calculate something, and using pretty standard terms to do it. I guess the guys at Google can get some sleep tonight. Meanwhile, all of the researchers who were hoping for more can keep on dreaming, because Wolfram Alpha just is not going to make our lives any easier. Even with the spam, I can pull more information out of Google faster - and as for the suggestion just before the launch that people might forget how to think because Wolfram Alpha will do all the work for them - HA! I was thinking harder than I usually do, trying to lead it to the answers and figure out what kept tripping it up, and it still couldn't manage much.<br /><br />Yes, these are one user's impressions, typed right after trying it out, and they <i>are</i> harsh. But I <i>do</i> understand every launch like this is someone's dream, and a lot of hard work has gone into it. I don't enjoy crushing dreams, not that my one post will have the power to do that. But if the Wolfram Alpha people ever read this, it will be discouraging for them, and I don't do that lightly. I honestly don't think the hype raised my expectations too high; I just think there isn't very much there to work with. In one way, this is a vindication for something I've long believed, that math and language are so inherently different that a computer will never be any good at language. Yet it is also a huge disappointment, because I wish I could see at least the potential for a useful new tool that might be helpful in research.<br /><br /><i>Footnote: I'm aware this isn't very well written. It is late, I'm tired, and I just wanted to get my first impressions down. I'd thought I was witnessing something historic, and the impetus of that carried me forward. Now, I'm just deflated.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-45433867798307034222008-12-17T21:50:00.004-05:002008-12-17T22:30:06.483-05:00Annoyances In A Writer's LifeI'm still thinking about "time and attention", which is an important concept to get right. It would seem so simple. Just focus your attention, and spend your time, on those things that are most important. First, of course, you have to decide what is most important. That isn't very difficult for most of us, until you start to realise all the dimensions "important" takes on.<br /><br />None of us <i>wants</i> to waste time being sick, but it is one of those things that are hard to avoid. That's just a little annoyance, but then there are the big issues. I <i>want</i> to be writing. Instead, I'm trying to keep my computer cooled down while I figure out what's wrong. Since I can't afford a new one right now, it becomes most important to keep the stupid thing from melting down so I can keep <i>on</i> writing.<br /><br />It is running sluggishly, thanks to some bottleneck of processes at the CPU, and all these racing cycles have it on the verge of overheating any time I try to do much with it. Okay, I know enough about computers to solve this - or at least I <i>thought</i> I did. I cleaned out most of the apps that start up with Windows. I pruned my fonts folder to the lowest level it has ever reached on this machine (which ran fine with more fonts installed for a couple of years). Nothing.<br /><br />I set up resource meters to see what was gobbling up all my resources. Nothing unusual there, no reason for the trouble. I'm pretty careful, but I downloaded a few more powerful malware scanners, which is where I really got stuck. There seems to be something quietly sitting in the background meddling with every process. Before you helpfully point out in the comments that this must be the malware I was looking for, my research has uncovered the thrilling fact that <i>security software</i> acts in many of the same ways as malware. It hides itself, refuses to identify itself, and makes itself abominably difficult to get rid of.<br /><br />My particular "infection" is so murky, I have not yet been able to figure out whether it is true malware, or the security software I paid cold hard cash for. Thanks, guys! Either you failed to protect me, or your product is as bad as malware on my system. Either way, I wasted all that cash, and I'm wasting a dreadful amount of time I could be spending writing. I have to work out a plan to uninstall my security software: anti-virus, firewall, and malware detector, and make sure it's gone.<br /><br />I also have to find alternates so my computer isn't left unprotected. Some of what I have now is freeware, and I'm hoping all of what I put in its place will be free. The best tools I have, the ones I've already been able to verify aren't causing me any trouble at all, are all freeware. Then I have to take the time to back up everything crucial, in case of real trouble, remove the old junk, and install the new stuff so I can see what happens. If that doesn't fix the problem, I'll have to seek out the malware some jerk put on my computer.<br /><br />What really annoys me is the fact this is too important to ignore, yet it means I'm going to lose a whole lot of writing time. Life is short! Time not spent writing is wasted! (Well, mostly.) When I'm done all that, I need to work out the best (that is, the one that is most helpful <i>without</i> requiring a huge investment of time) method for keeping my attention focused where it ought to be, rather than allowing myself to be distracted by every tantalising article in the tech press.<br /><br />Avoiding distractions is hard when you're a writer. After all, many ideas come from hunting down this or that intriguing lead. So any promising headline might be a great new idea just waiting to burst onto the stage of my consciousness. Then, of course, saving and managing all those great new resources I find takes up time of its own, but how can I use them if I can't find them again? So time and attention are important resources, but allocating them well is not as easy as it sounds.<br /><br />After reading an article over at <a href="http://www.kk.org/thetechnium/">The Technium</a> about preserving information in a digital age, I have some thoughts I hope to expand on here. Preserving information is, or ought to be, an issue of great concern to every writer. The thought of losing any of my manuscripts to any of a thousand possible mishaps fills me with dread. Add to that my background as a former genealogist and my interest in emergency preparedness, and the subject is just too interesting to resist.<br /><br />Tonight, though, since my theme is annoyances, I'm going to end with something that has been bothering me ever since the election. I'm not very political - my opinion is that either party is just the flip side of the other one. They are both part of "the way things work", and since I believe that needs a real overhaul (my only surprise in this whole economic mess has been how long it took to fall apart), I don't think either choice matters that much.<br /><br />Oh, it matters a great deal to the specific special interests that stand to gain or lose, but to the average person, life is much the same. So I wasn't convinced the election of either candidate spelled out either our doom or our salvation. Barack Obama isn't a bad man, but I couldn't justify spending my own time and attention (big grin) on whether he or John McCain won.<br /><br />What I <i>can't</i> ignore is the outpouring of hatred since Barack Obama <i>did</i> win. Instead of accepting their loss and getting over it, this time many of those who opposed him seem determined to keep their fight going. I'm referring to the racial incidents since the election, and especially to the news that there have been significantly more threats against Barack Obama's life than against any other President-elect.<br /><br />Now, if you oppose the policies he intends to follow, and can make a rational statement of your opposition on those grounds, I may be bored, but I'll at least contend you have a right to your opinions. Even that, of course, is no justification for threatening someone's life. But in <i>this</i> case, it seems the problem is simply the colour of his skin.<br /><br />Haven't we grown up a bit more than that? Aren't we smarter than that? Some of us are, and I'd hoped most of us were, but it appears that isn't the case. There seem to be people out there who want to <i>kill</i> a man for no better reason than the fact his <i>skin</i> is darker than theirs. Anyone who even has a stray thought along those lines ought to be ashamed of themselves. I know I'm ashamed of my fellow humans.<br /><br />Even considering killing <i>anyone</i> for <i>any</i> reason is a pretty drastic thing to do. Doing so for no better reason than their outward appearance would be pathetic if it weren't so frightening that so many people seem inclined to do so. So I sit here, sick at heart, horrified at what could happen if just one idiot gets lucky. I'd like to think, if you're reading my blog, that you share my feelings. If so, I hope you'll say a prayer for Barack Obama and for his family, that they will all stay safe and unharmed. And once he is inaugurated, I hope you'll support President Obama. He's going to be facing enough difficulties without that kind of hatred to deal with. No matter which side you're on when it comes to his policies, he doesn't deserve that.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-84203571917507498282008-12-10T15:27:00.003-05:002008-12-10T15:43:43.094-05:00Time, Attention, and CreativityI've been giving a lot of thought lately to the new direction Merlin Mann is taking over at <a href="http://www.43folders.com" target="_blank">43 Folders</a>. His new focus is less on productivity, and more on "time, attention, and creative work". It makes a lot of sense when you think about it.<br /><br />What difference does it make if I'm twice as productive, if I'm wasting my time and focusing my attention on something marginal? For widget makers, as long as they can sell the widgets they churn out, I suppose productivity is all they need care about. But what about writers, artists, musicians, and anyone else creative? Wouldn't we all be better off creating something of lasting value, instead of whipping out words (or cartoons, riffs, what have you) no one cares about at the time, let alone three months later?<br /><br />Yes, a knowledge of how to work more effectively is good; it might mean the difference between a life's work that comprises a single ten thousand page novel exploring the meaning of life, or <b>two</b> ten thousand page novels... Seriously, I do think some effort to improve work habits, learn to get things done more quickly, and so on, does pay off, if only in a bit more time to do the things you really want to.<br /><br />In my opinion, the important difference is in the effect your efforts have. If they do leave you more time to do the important work, they're worth keeping up. If you're just losing a lot of time downloading cool software you'll use once and forget, you'd probably be happier doing something else. Yes, you have to allow room for mistakes; that's part of the learning process.<br /><br />The point isn't to be so cautious, so miserly with your time, that you avoid all mistakes. Almost nothing is truly wasted when real creativity is applied to extracting some meaning from it. The point is to remain aware, to stop the experiment as soon as you've learned it is a mistake, instead of going ahead out of habit, or some sense of duty.<br /><br />How do these thoughts apply to my blog? I haven't fully decided yet whether or not Blogger will remain its permanent home, but I will keep a blog. I will try to post to it with something approaching semi-regularity. As I learn to focus my time and attention where I want them, I may even do a better job of posting. What I won't do is spend much time writing "filler" posts. Either I'll write a post on an issue I'm trying to work out my own thoughts on, as in this case, or I'll post about something I believe may be of real value to my readers, which I also hope this post may prove to be, if it gets you thinking as well.<br /><br />If you do start thinking about this, remember, the point isn't to focus your time and attention in the place <b>I</b> think it ought to be, or anyone else, for that matter. The point is to make up your mind where <b>you</b> believe your efforts will best be spent. If you're at all creative, you ought to be able to find someplace fulfilling to spend your energies.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-68796547721458822512008-12-10T15:17:00.002-05:002008-12-10T15:26:02.743-05:00NaNo Diary: the AftermathThe next day, the 29th, I had a party I had (and did want) to go to, later in the evening. I had originally hoped I might slip in a bit more work on the WIP, just to pile up a more impressive word count, even thought I'd officially become a winner the night before. This and that cropped up, however, and since I no longer had the urgent drive to win, I couldn't swat them aside as easily. In any case, I was pretty tired, and not exactly blazing through anything at impressive speed.<br /><br />After the party, a friend stuck around for a while, so I was up much later than planned. Between that and NaNo, I was exhausted for the final day of November, and barely crawled out of bed. The weather was nasty, too, which didn't help; dark, gloomy, and wet without light, wind, or anything else to recommend it. Bleah! I got up the next day full of good resolutions, but determined first of all to begin catching up on all that backlog from November.<br /><br />I started to climb that mountain, and discovered it was much higher, and steeper, than I'd guessed from the bottom. A few minor things cropped up, as they always do, just to make things interesting, and left me updating this diary over a week later than planned. Sorry to anyone who was watching the drama, I didn't mean to let you down. A server malfunction on one of the mailing lists I subscribe to didn't help; it dumped a heap of delayed e-mails, including a whole raft of duplicate ones (with no way to sort the dupes except by opening and scanning), into my inbox starting the other day. They're still coming...<br /><br />For those of you who are wondering; I do like the book, I think it has potential. I plan to finish the first draft as soon as I can catch my breath and settle down to that, then let it sit in the dark for a while before I revise it and decide just what to do with it. I can't let a chance to slaughter a few sacred cows in SF pass, now can I?<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-84908301986188262312008-12-10T15:12:00.000-05:002008-12-10T15:17:23.230-05:00NaNo Diary: Day Twenty-EightI sat down and wrote as soon as I could, for as long as I could stand. I knew the next two days would be too busy to fit in much writing, if any, and I wanted to get as far as I possibly could. I had continuity issues, and spent quite a lot of time re-reading, going back and tweaking this or that mention, or adding a line or two as needed. I know you're not supposed to do that during NaNo, as it slows you down, but I prefer a book that is at least mostly coherent.<br /><br />By the end of my writing marathon, I suspected I'd passed 50,000 words, at least barely, and a quick check of my word count agreed, but only NaNo's validator could tell for sure. I was exhausted, but I pasted the full manuscript into the validator - and won! The official count was 50,794 words, and that in only twenty-eight days instead of the full thirty, with problems dragging me backwards all month. I paused to smile broadly at the result, then went to bed while I still had the energy to do that.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-60780443270831432782008-12-10T15:09:00.001-05:002008-12-10T15:11:56.496-05:00NaNo Diary: Day Twenty-SevenYes, this is posted quite late, as subsequent posts may explain. Thanksgiving Day is never my best day during NaNo, but I did manage to fit in a bit of writing in the evening. I didn't even bother to update my word count (or to post to the blog), but I just wanted to narrow that margin as much as I could. Especially near the end of the month, this is a great strategy - don't even count the words, don't add them to your total, just slip in a bit more work when you have a spare nanosecond.<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-31826763941656543782008-11-26T23:47:00.002-05:002008-11-26T23:52:08.149-05:00NaNo Diary: Day Twenty-SixI managed a pretty good spurt today. I still don't want to do a victory roll, just in case that fans the fire in my starboard engine, but I can see the airstrip from here, and I still seem to have power. I can probably even glide through tomorrow without writing anything, although if I get the chance I'm going to put fingers to keyboard.<br /><br />Today's Total: 3,798 words<br />Days Left: 4<br />Cumulative Total: 48,179 words<br />(4,837 words <b>ahead</b> of target)<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-73871914461754495982008-11-25T22:15:00.003-05:002008-11-25T22:20:58.225-05:00NaNo Diary: Day Twenty-FiveAs I've found before, desperation is often a great spur to writing. I seem to be coming down with something, but before I felt too awful, I managed to write enough words to at least get me out of immediate danger. I still won't say I'm sure of a safe landing, but I have the damage under control. I also have only a few days left. We'll just have to see how things turn out. Of course, it helps that I've hit an exciting part of the story...<br /><br />Today's Total: 6,096 words<br />Days Left: 5<br />Cumulative Total: 44,381 words<br />(2,706 words <b>ahead</b> of target)<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31872937.post-21656237473614820232008-11-25T00:38:00.004-05:002008-11-25T00:53:05.996-05:00NaNo Diary: Day Twenty-FourYesterday's trip was long and grueling, and I am still worn out (and somewhat dehydrated). Also, in the "it never rains but it pours" department, one of my cats was sick, nothing serious but enough distraction to keep me from writing until late. I managed a bit, but not nearly enough to catch up. I am dangerously far behind right now. Still, I plan to keep writing. If I lose, it may as well be by as slim a margin as possible (although if I hit the deadline with 2 or 3 words to go, you may hear my scream even if you live on another continent...).<br /><br />Today's Total: 1,055 words<br />Days Left: 6<br />Cumulative Total: 38,285 words<br />(1,723 words behind target)<div class="blogger-post-footer">All items Copyright by the Wandering Author - All Rights Reserved - Contact the Wandering Author for reprint permission</div>The Wandering Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05404559867270050616noreply@blogger.com0