Black Friday! Come on down! Bring the kids, the pets, the

Okay. I now know what Black Friday is. You can't get away from it. Everyone, who has something to sell, is waving their black flags and keeping their fingers crossed.

Of course, not only stubbornness on my part, but also a studied and self-delusional defensiveness permitted me that blissful ignorance for so long.

I'm still staying home.

Black Friday! Yikes!

I keep hearing about this. Is it plague? An economic crash or its aftershocks? A Mayan Day of Reckoning? It seems to be scheduled for the day after Thanksgiving, so, perhaps it signals nationwide indigestion.

I’m not sure, but I think it’s some kind of shopping extravaganza. This seems so unlike that world. So against the principles (principles?) and public relations of our consumer economy. Shouldn’t it be something like, The First Day of Christmas? Or, Viernes Gigante!? Or, The First Day of the Rest of Your Shopping Life?

Have I grown up? Have I grown old? Have I lost my wallet?

I have purposefully averted my eyes and ears, when the topic is raised. Ignorance of some things can be more than bliss; it may actually be a legitimate defense.

I’ll continue to speculate on the possible meaning of Black Friday. That sounds like a lot more fun than going shopping at the same time as a majority of the population.

For me, Black Friday can be a peaceful day at home. It can be the absence of all shopping. It may sound scary, but it is right in line with that long-held belief – TGIF!

Sarah Palin’s Book Tour Begins!

I was at the gym, where I get in most of my TV watching. Screens, on either side of me, hung from the ceiling. One showed a fantasy workout in Hawaii, with unnatural women lifting weights. On the other side, was SportsCenter. The one directly in front of me was reporting serious entertainment. It was the kind of show we once imagined was the news.

An attractive reporter made it hard to completely focus on exactly what she was saying. Also, I was reading subtitles. She was at a mall in Michigan. There was an endless line of people behind her. They were in line to buy Sarah Palin’s book, Going Rogue, and to have her sign their copies.

The line snaked off into the distance, through the deserted boulevards of the mall. It was nine in the morning. She wasn’t to appear until six o’clock tonight. They had been in line a long time already.

The reporter was amazed at the number of people and praised their determination. She spoke of their diversity, although I didn’t see anyone of color behind her. She said Sarah Palin was giving a voice to the people in line and to a great number of citizens around the country.

Sarah Palin is someone we have watched now for more than a year. In detail. Through many situations. I don’t know why, but giving her voice, one that is simplistic, narrow-minded, and shortsighted, manipulative and self-serving, to all these people shocked me. Could this really be the voice of these patient, peaceful people in line?

It was reported that she is a force that the Republican Party would have to take into account in the next election. The pundits, back at the station, said Sarah Palin is a skilled and influential politician. You can’t ever count her out. They, for one, or two, would never underestimate her. Plus, they said, she is on the cover of this week’s Newsweek, in running shorts!

Everyone took a deep breath. Then, they broke for a commercial.

Dog Flu

Today, I read a headline (that’s where I get all my news) that warned against Dog Flu! It’s one thing to get the flu from a pig or even a bird, but now I have to worry about Man’s Best Friend?

Why, Buster? Why? We walk. There are regular treats and snacks. I even let you lie on the couch during the ballgames. All that and, now, this?

Flu, all by itself, is bad enough. There’s fever and the attendant aches that not only make you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck, but the flu fogs your mind so you can’t think straight. Did I turn off the burner after making that tea? Should I be worried about work? And, to the woman with the ring on her finger, who is taking care of you, Do I know you?

And, often, there is the part of the flu that I do not want to mention. Having had both the plain, old, achy flu and the eruptive flu, I can assure you that the latter does not expel the germs or bring about the end of the illness any faster. Once you’ve got it, you’ve got it.

There is no benefit to continuing on as usual. You can’t fool the flu, no matter where you got it. And, you might as well give up that fantasy that your mind protects you from this stuff. Go to bed. Drink plenty of liquids. Take aspirin. Sleep.

There’s no way around it. You are not imagining this. You feel awful. Take a load off.

As we enter this season, I recommend you avoid farms, forget bird watching, and do not kiss or shake hands with your dog or with anyone else’s.

And, dogs, wash those paws often, turn your head when you bark, refrain from going out (unless you absolutely have to), and have some compassion for your best friend. He’s not weird. He’s sick.

Into The Future!

Meet George Jetson. Jane, his wife. Everyone is smiling. We’re levitating. Or, our food is. Robots are everywhere and they’re smiling. I can’t wait to get there.

Back in the Twentieth Century, we adolescent boomers had not only the world before us, but the future, too. There were no limits to what would be accomplished and everyday would be better than the one before.

The future would hold no end of surprises and improvements. The future would open out limitlessly and, at the end of it, somewhere, was a rainbow or the largest ice cream cone in the universe or something way beyond what we could even begin to imagine. No matter what, it was going to be good. It was exciting.

I’m not so sure, anymore. Have I just gotten older or did something else happen that changed that view?

At my core, I still feel that way – there are no limits to what can be accomplished and there are people, just like me, who are discovering, developing, and creating a future that is exciting and good for everyone.

But something feels different. I used the phrase – in the future - in a letter yesterday and could feel that change. The words are the same, but my idea of the future has been tempered by gray hair, traffic, and weather.

Time passes and, though relative, it’s also, for each of us, finite. As the possibility, the probability, and finally, the inevitability of an end becomes a reality, my idea of the future undergoes radical change.

But, there’s more to it than just my mortality. The population has increased and all those initial realizations and forecasts that had recently begun to surface, when I was young, have become fact. Statistics, though open to interpretation, signal overload. Resources, employment, and psychological stability are under tremendous pressure.

Systems of all sorts and the biggest one of them all – the ecological system – are failing and not moving toward that brighter future. War, political conflict, the decline of natural resources, an outdated educational process, and attacks on reason cast a pall over many things.

This is not the exciting future I was expecting. Where are all the smiling robots? I am able to see now that the older model of the future I had was a passive one. Inaccurate. Unrealistic. I thought the future would stop at the corner and pick me up, as it went by. It may be the passing of time or because of all the information that’s available, but I know now that things don’t work that way.

The future is, and always has been, a function of choice. A function of our individual efforts and imagination. We actually get to choose what that future will be. What each of us does with our time here matters. Our actions determine that future. We can learn from the past and imagine what we want to happen next. We can put our energy behind that. We can see it in whatever way we want.

We can feel what makes us uncomfortable and what makes us hopeful. That’s a choice that shouldn’t be that complicated. Stop or go? Give up or try? Despair or hope? What feels good or what feels bad? Forget about what is possible or not. We won’t know until we try.

The future I want to participate in, exist in, walk into, move into, claim as my own, is one that sparkles. The one that starts again each day. The one I/we get to make. Not the one I’m afraid is going to happen, but the one I want to happen.

In the future, everything will still be a surprise and beyond my imagination, but it will be one that I have a hand in creating. That’s my choice. How this future comes together will always be a mystery, a conundrum, a paradox. It’s the micro and the macro. Individual and inclusive. Here today and here tomorrow. I can’t worry about that.

I’m letting go of that old future. I’ve got a choice and I’m making it. I’m making the future right now. Come on over and we can create it together.

Writing the Twitter Novel

Concerning Twitter, brevity is the soul of everything. Each Tweet (cyber message) is limited to 140 characters. Each character is a letter, a mark of punctuation, or a space. That’s not a lot of leeway to introduce a protagonist. Or, to create an atmosphere. Or, even, to provide meals of any length.

Twitter encourages the author to cut to the chase. I’m not sure I ever really understood that phrase until now. Hmm… It also encourages good memory on the part of the reader.

What follows (so to speak) are some of the lessons I am learning about this new (and great) artform:

The Twitter structure is not a limitation. For most writers (and readers) it is a blessing. By the way (BTW), parentheses count as two characters.

Each Tweet must not only be 140 characters or less, but also be entertaining, moving, and engaging, by itself, AND move the story forward.
(That’s 140 characters.)

Hitting the target of 140 characters or less is a talent one develops, like eating or sleeping and, after a while, you barely have to think about it. (149)

Keeping to 140 characters or less, is a developed talent, like eating or sleeping. After a while, you barely think about it. (127)

If the Tweet exceeds the limit, the author is forced to find another, shorter, and, often, better way to phrase things. (121) Invention awakes. (139)

As author, you begin to appreciate the true value of every word. (Enough!)

You are saved, in spite of yourself, from your heretofore well-developed inclination to continue on and on, in love with your vocabulary and the exquisite quality of your observational skills, not to mention the signature flair with which you make use of the language. (268. I couldn’t stop it.)

Yes, and those skills, certainly bestowed upon you by the Gods, that you have developed and nurtured through years of heartache, experience, and an accumulating wisdom that won’t stop growing, no matter what form your writing takes, are challenged at their very root. (?)

As I said, brevity and power become your greatest attributes.

There is no need to outline the chapters and plot of your novel. In this format, you are able to turn on a dime. It is the length and content of each installment that is of ultimate importance and significance.

After hurting myself with the math, I find that, at my current rate of up to three tweets per day, to finish my novel will require 2.8 years of the reader’s time. With attention spans what they are, this is unacceptable.

My novel, Fit To Love, has been moving forward for a month and my character has barely made it through the first scene. I must revise my plan. And, speaking of revision, this kind of novel cannot be revised at a future date. It is published with each installment. This kind of writing favors the gut, the gusto, not to say, the glib.

In summary, be brief, be real, be yourself. Just not too much.

Deeper Than My Navel

Have you ever had one of those moments where the curtains draw back, the light is blinding, and you are filled with a revelation that you’ve had before, but it’s amazing all the same?

I’m not talking about waking up this morning. I mean a moment of epiphany when, all of a sudden, you are struck dumb by the immensity of it all. The whole thing. The doughnut and the hole. Kind of like your twenty-first birthday, but even bigger. Even bigger than fifty.

It can happen at any time. One moment, you’re going about your day and the next, you look at something and it’s as if you’re seeing it for the first time. Like King Kong on top of the Empire State Building. Like a satellite moving across the sky. Like a cannonball from the high dive.

I’m talking about the moment you find yourself looking at your hand or arm or something and you are completely floored, because it is actually holding a glass. That it works. That it obeys your will. You raise the glass to your lips, just to be sure. That taste! Those tastebuds! The blood in your veins. The connections in your mind. It all works! Cells reproducing, communicating, your stomach digesting. These very thoughts! What a miracle!

You don’t know what to think. You look away and gaze into the backyard. You see flowers, bushes, the grass. How do they do it?! And, then, even more profound, Why?!

It is truly a moment of revelation and wonderment. You’re suddenly on philosophical overload and everything begins to take on a kind of glow. You lift your eyes to the heavens and begin to contemplate the mysteries of the universe. How is this possible? Who figured all this stuff out? Why are we here?

You turn to your wife. A wonderful innocence shines out of you, as you say, “Have you ever wondered why we’re here?” And, she says, ‘Honey, what about lunch?”

In that moment, you drop back to everyday reality like a stone. These thoughts are so huge; you can’t entertain them for long. Not only that, but, put into words, they sound either naïve and pretentious or like it’s time you took your medication. It seems only people with special training can deal with these questions – monks, astronauts, and fifth grade teachers.

And, yet, it is a miracle. And, an ongoing one. In every moment of forever, this has been happening.

• Dinosaurs? Yes.
• The Renaissance? Yes.
• 1987, when the Twins won the series? Yes.

It has never stopped. Don’t even start wondering about the beginning and why, in the first place, all this stuff happened.

Seeing the world in a grain of sand or the miracle of life in the most mundane of occurrences is the kind of thinking that slows you down and warms you, but like the sun, you don’t want to look directly at it, for more than a moment.

Special training is really not required, but it’s better to start out with this as a passing thought, that you can contemplate, whenever you like, just not for too long. One that will warm your heart, make you think, and keep things growing.