Activate Yourself 99%

Many of us, if not most, have no experience with political activism. As Americans we are more accustomed to watching protests on TV in foreign countries than exercising our own political rights at home. Ironically, in a country where our freedoms are enshrined in the Constitution, very few of us participate in government and make our opinions and voices heard. The result, as we all know, has been taxation without representation in the form of war and financial bailouts that go directly into the pockets of criminal bankers. Until the financial crisis hit, many of us had been living in a state of consumer denial and political apathy more correctly defined as learned helplessness. In other words, so long as we had some comfort in the form of cheap material goods, and so long as political corruption did not affect our jobs or our pocketbooks, we were content to let things take their course.

Americans have always had a high tolerance for inequality, with each individual believing that they will always find themselves on the right side of the rich poor divide. Because inequality is not only tolerated, but actively promoted in America, it has provoked economic and social decline in the form of unemployment, poverty, crime, violence, neurosis and despair. While criminals in the banking sector, corporations, and our government have deliberately brought the United States to a state of collapse, we have passively allowed it to happen. The problem with the United States is not just economic, it has to do with our values and beliefs as a nation. By focusing on individualism, short-term gain, material comfort, personal leisure and mindless entertainment, we have forgotten that a resilient, enduring society is built on merit, hard work, intellectual debate, cooperation, thrift, and honesty. This political amnesia and negligence has allowed the greed, corruption, and criminal activity of the rich 1% to damage our nation and our democracy. Now that it has become clear as a mountain stream that the government does not represent our interests and is bought and paid for by the criminal elite at catastrophic expense to the American public through mass unemployment, foreclosures and evictions; now that what was the middle class has become a feudal underclass representing 99% of America, we are waking up and remembering Jefferson’s wisdom that “the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.”

A protest has to start somewhere. In this case it started in New York and was aptly titled Occupy Wall Street. While initially ignored by the mainstream media, the internet and social networking spread the message quickly, as it had in the Arab Spring. While few appreciated the irony of the Middle East (demonized by the West as primitive, authoritarian and corrupt) providing an example of how to assert our rights, the result was nonetheless successful as more and more Americans began to understand, perhaps for the first time, that political activism is possible in the United States.

In the face of peaceful protest, police brutality and repression gave us a candid glimpse of the true nature of our democracy. Protestors were cordoned off by police barricades, pepper-sprayed, clubbed with batons, and arrested for assembling peacefully in public and private space. The government hoped that by cracking down early with violence, intimidation and arrests they would keep people in fear and prevent them addressing their grievances through direct political action. But as the stand-off in Zuccotti Park illustrated, when the people unite in peaceful opposition, the government must back down or risk completely losing its threadbare legitimacy. The US government and the corporate 1% that run it know they cannot win a game of chicken with the American people; because we are the government. Again it is appropriate to quote Jefferson, “When the people fear their government, there is tyranny, when the government fears the people, there is liberty.” The Occupy Wall Street movement represents the end of the line for the status quo and the start of a new beginning. It is time for all of us to organize and take to the streets to demand accountability from our government.

Protest is both hard and amazingly simple. For a protest to be successful everyone must join. It is not enough to sit in one’s living room and complain to sympathetic friends and family. These complaints only leave us feeling depressed and impotent in the face of the problems that surround us. A nation of armchair activists accomplishes nothing. We are not seen, nor heard, and by failing to gather in public we abet an irresponsible, corrupt and predatory government. Furthermore, by staying home and allowing a brave few to fight our battles in the street, we rob public protest of its true source of power: people. When few people gather they are more likely to be ignored, intimidated, and signaled out for abuse. For those of us who rationalize that we don’t have time to protest, we must ask ourselves: when will we find the time to defend our rights? We must also understand that citizenship is an obligation that requires us to donate our time to a cause larger than our own immediate self-interest. In other words, we have to make time to protest. In a nation that, according to Nielsen’s “Three Screen Repot”, spends approximately five hours a day watching TV, this time is available. And for those of us who consider voting the extent of our political obligation, by now it must be clear that voting for candidates funded by corporations is a waste of time. The truth is the main roadblock to activism for many of us is simply a lack of experience. But now that we have made our decision to take part, because we are fed up, our nerves and fears turn to resolve and even excited anticipation as we prepare for the fight.

When you finally walk out that door with your poster in hand and meet in the public space with others who are frustrated like yourself, you find your sense of isolation, doubts, fear, and anxiety evaporate in the light of a common cause. You realize that there are in fact many people of all ages like you, upset with their government and its lack of accountability. Although they come from all walks of life and backgrounds, talking to them you realize you have a lot in common: principally the desire for fair-paid work, a roof over your head, and food on the table for yourself and your family.

So this is what it’s like to be politically active, you think, feeling the energy of the crowd and the rush of being part of something larger than yourself. You realize to your amazement that political participation is fun; it is a social event, an excuse to meet and talk to other people, and to express opinions that hitherto have been repressed. “This is what democracy looks like!,” you respond to the chant, savoring the truth of the statement. And you wonder why you waited so long to participate. The community you longed for in empty suburban streets, apartment complexes with closed doors, sterile strip malls, and alienating freeways is a political one, one in which people discuss ideas, agree and disagree and form opinions to exert pressure on the government to draft policies and laws to manage the nation according to the people’s needs. This is not the city council meeting where you and twenty other citizens voice your opposition to some ill-advised development plan, only to see it rammed through by cynical council members; this is a space of true compromise and cooperation, in which people are not bought and things are not decided beforehand in backroom deals. Occupy Wall Street envisions a democracy where everyone who participates has an influence on the path we take as a nation. Imagine that.

When you do decide to get out on the street, it’s best to be prepared. I set about making some posters the other day for a local 99% protest. I went to the store and bought some poster board and mused as I did on the possibility that, as the Occupy Wall Street protests grew, there would be a run on art supplies. Having seen protests before and having participated in one at the university where I used to work, I noticed that the posters people made were often hard to read. The key to making a good poster is to be succinct in your message and to write in big letters. While this may seem obvious, many protesters try to cram manifestos onto their posters, and write in cuneiform or like a doctor filling out a prescription. I encountered this problem when I first sat down and brainstormed some ideas of what I wanted to say and share with the public. One of my calls to action was to be the following:

CUT THE DEFENSE BUDGET

INVEST IN INFRASTRUCTURE

R&D, TRAINING & EDUCATION

TO CREATE JOBS

AND MAKE AMERICA COMPETITIVE

Now try writing that on a 22” by 28” poster board; if you can fit it, it will not be legible to a motorist at a stoplight or a passerby on the other side of the street. Furthermore, unnecessary articles, prepositions, and conjunctions need to be eliminated. So I boiled it down to the following:

Which brings me to another point about posters. You’ll notice how the red draws attention to the poster itself, while the black lettering stands out on the white background. Readability is key. If I had written black on red, I would have lost my audience. It might be funny to think about protesting in this way, as marketing, but it is. You want to get your ideas across, and as any graphic designer or ad-person will tell you, the font, color and placement of the text is key in achieving this. Block letters are therefore de rigueur. Also the beauty of writing on half sheets of printer paper is that your sign is reusable and can contain any number of messages as the political situation demands. Also, if you make a mistake in the lettering or spelling, as sometimes happens to even the most detail-oriented activist, you can start over and not mess up the poster itself. In regard to lettering, it is good to start in pencil to make sure the words fit. There is nothing more frustrating than coming to the end of a political statement and having to leave off the last letter. For example:

THE REVOLUTION IS HER-

Also, it is important to avoid categorical statements. For example:

BANKERS ARE CRIMINALS!

While in large part true, this does not get at the root of the problem; and it makes us feel helpless to change anything. Instead, make your message a call to action:

In the above poster, we are going to do something about the bankers: try them in a court of law and then jail those who are guilty of crimes such as fraud and insider trading, otherwise known as theft. We also make the association between the theft of bankers, and the fact that it has caused the economy to collapse resulting in high unemployment and the lack of fair-paid jobs for those who normally engage in productive work, and not financial speculation with other people’s money.

Like your resume, the ideal poster should include action verbs that motivate people. While the poster above pushes the limit for space and therefore has to discard verbs, this final example is illustrative:

We could have made many damning and true statements about corporations, but instead we are asking the public at large, and more importantly the government by and for the people, to do something. Revoking, repealing, terminating, eliminating, etc. corporate personhood, would make corporations legally liable for their actions. Add to that the elimination of corporate campaign contributions and we are really making progress in establishing the democracy we have lost.

From one amateur protester to another, I encourage you to make posters with creative messages that express your unique character and highlight your particular grievances. We are the 99%, the country belongs to us, and we will take it back. I look forward to seeing you out there at the next rally.

Further research

Books:

The Lonely American, Jaqueline Olds & Richard S. Schwartz

From Dictatorship to Democracy, Gene Sharp

Documentary:

Inside Job, Charles Ferguson

Angel

Claudia Luna’s father went to heaven, and sometimes when people go to heaven they don’t come back. At least that was what her mother, Rosa, always said. Claudia didn’t see her mother much, because Rosa was always working to pay the rent and feed her three children. She worked the morning shift as a maid at a local hotel, and freelanced for a small house cleaning company after lunch. In the evenings she cooked at a local Salvadoran restaurant. Her life as a single mother had made Rosa old before her time. In just a few years, all her youthful vigor had vanished, and with it her smile, laughter, and love of dancing. In spite of her demanding schedule, Rosa plodded on sacrificing herself for her son and two daughters. Fourteen-year-old Ricky, her oldest, was in a rebellious stage and spent most of his time conspiring with his friends in the street. Adriana, who was ten, was starting to wear clothes not suited for a girl her age. She listened to the latest pop music and wanted to look just like her idols. So she nagged her mother for short skirts and tight tops, and complained that the other girls would make fun of her if she wore the “lame” clothes her mother picked out. Seven-year-old Claudia was a dreamer. Her teachers were concerned because she did not speak in class, though she always did her work. On several occasions Rosa was asked to come to school for a parent/teacher conference, but she never did because she was working. And she wouldn’t have come anyway, ashamed as she was about her poor English. If her daughter was doing fine in school then she saw no need to come and talk about her silence. Obviously, Claudia listened to and understood her teachers. It was Rosa’s opinion that people talked too much anyway. In her work she spent most of the day not talking at all, just taking orders from her bosses.

Because their mother was always working, Adriana took care of her little sister and they both spent a great deal of time alone in the apartment. Ricky would only come home to heat up some pupusas mom had brought home from the restaurant before going out again to hang out with the other kids in the complex. On school days, after walking home together and eating a snack their mother had prepared for them, Adriana would listen to her music and chat with her friends on the computer. Sometimes Adriana would have friends over and they would lock themselves in the bedroom she shared with her sister, leaving Claudia alone. One way Claudia occupied the time until her mother came home and tucked her into bed, was to draw. Claudia’s preferred subject matter was angels. In the second grade alone she had drawn almost one hundred angels, each unique like a snowflake or fingerprint. She drew angels to save the world. She hoped her drawings would call the angels down to earth to help people with their problems. To Claudia people seemed to have a lot of problems, particularly adults. When she watched her teachers she noticed how they seldom smiled, were often upset, and seemed tired. She noticed the same thing about people she saw in the street, rushing about from one place to the next, always in a hurry and ignoring one another. But she was most concerned about her mother, and had drawn an archangel with the hope that he would come take care of her. That angel was her father. She knew she would have to draw many more angels to save the world and make everybody happy, and so everyday after school she drew. Her sister laughed at this, saying, “Angels are stupid. Can’t you draw anything else?” To which Claudia shrugged. Of course she could draw other things. She was particularly good at cats, horses, and palm trees, but there were enough of those in the world, so she would only use them as a background sometimes. In her drawings angels rescued people from burning buildings, helped the sick, fought gangsters, prevented natural disasters, built houses, fed the hungry, and gave people gifts. Claudia’s angels were responsible for fixing people’s problems and so far they were doing a very good job. She knew that her angels were there on the streets, but she also knew that they were hard to spot because like her they liked to be quiet about what they were doing. They did not help people in order to get a good grade or for some monetary reward; their reward was in helping others and seeing them happy.

Claudia got good grades, always brushed her teeth, went to bed on time, helped her mother with chores, and was always quiet and never complained because she was an angel herself. She had never told anyone that before, but it was true. She knew that one day she would be able to fly and then she could see the angels in heaven with their wings and white robes. On earth it was impossible to spot an angel because their wings were invisible; they were on missions to help people, but one rule of helping others when you were an angel was that you could never tell them your true identity. If you did then you would have to go right back to heaven and another angel would take your place to finish your job.

When Adriana was in her room with her friends listening to music and talking about boys, Claudia would sometimes go to the small altar by the door with the votive Virgin Mary candle and wooden cross, and, putting the phone book on the floor, she would stand on it, extend her arms and flap them slowly and gracefully like a bird. Flapping, she would stand on her tiptoes, shut her eyes and feel her feet leave the ground. Even if it was just an inch and for a second, she would fly, and this was proof that she was becoming an angel de verdad. Once her sister and her friend Raquel came out of the room and caught her. Though she quickly dropped her arms, Raquel said, “What are you doing?” To which Adriana replied, “She’s so weird. She’s obsessed with angels, and now she’s trying to fly. Right, hermanita? Well, none of us are ever going to be angels, so you’re wasting your time.” From there they went into the kitchen to get a soda and Raquel asked, “What’s wrong with your sister, anyway?” “She’s just stupid. She doesn’t have any friends and doesn’t have anything better to do.”

After Raquel went home, Adriana grabbed her sister by the arm and shook her, “Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends, okay? You’re such a retard. Now Raquel is going to tell everybody at school. Why can’t you just act normal?” And then she went to their room and slammed the door. Claudia didn’t say anything. She was used to being talked to that way. Somehow she understood that if you were an angel people would not understand you, and because you could not explain it to them they often got angry and said mean things. Both her mother and her brother did the same thing. Regardless of what they thought about her behavior, Claudia knew if she kept practicing she would be able to fly. Like birds, flying was something angels had to learn. On earth you couldn’t see wings; only angels knew their arms were wings. So Claudia kept standing on the phone book whenever she could flapping her arms each day lifting off a little higher, hovering over the carpet in the dark and gloomy apartment that was identical to all the others in the complex, while other children played video games or watched TV. It felt good to fly. Soon she would fly to heaven and see the other angels, and among them would be the one who was her father. The reason her father was not with them was because her mother had found out he was an angel when he was on earth and he had been sent back and replaced. Her mother never talked about him, because it was her fault he was gone. So now it was up to Claudia to visit him. Like in school, she would be a good angel who would never be found out and could come and go from heaven as she pleased.

Once her mother came home early and caught her daughter red-faced frantically flapping her arms with her eyes closed. Rosa stood a long time watching her daughter do this, and, with each second that passed, she found herself getting more and more angry until finally she grabbed her daughter off her perch and slapped her face several times.
“What is wrong with you? Your teachers tell me you don’t talk, and you are always staring off into space, and drawing pictures of angels. This obsession has gone far enough. You’re too old for this. Angels don’t exist, mihija! At least not here. So get it out of your head. God save me, how much I have to suffer for this child! I don’t want to ever catch you doing it again. It’s a sacrilege to make fun of God. It just brings bad luck.”
“I’m sorry, mama,” Claudia said, thinking how lucky she was that her mother hadn’t found out the truth; if she had then Claudia wouldn’t be able to return from her visit to see her father.

“Come in the kitchen and help me with dinner,” Rosa said, hugging her daughter and regretting her slaps and harsh words. While Rosa began preparing dinner she thought about her husband, Hector, who had died in a car accident shortly after Claudia was born. When she was old enough to understand, Rosa had told Claudia that her father had gone to heaven, without going into the details of how he got there: a head on collision with a semi truck. He had fallen asleep at the wheel and drifted into the other lane, waking up to the other driver’s horn seconds before impact. This incident would cause Rosa to doubt God, and to begin to think of life as a series of chance events. Again and again she considered the probability that her husband should fall asleep at the wheel and that a truck should be coming at that moment in the other direction. If the truck hadn’t been there would he have woken up? Would he have had an accident of a different type, and if so, would he have survived it? What if he had left work earlier, or been sick that day, or gotten a better night’s sleep? What if this and what if that.

In compulsively reviewing the incident that had destroyed her family and changed her life forever, Rosa even began to wonder if she could have done something to prevent it. She tried to remember: had she felt some sort of premonition that day? Had there been some sign that she should have heeded to prevent her husband from going to work? Had she done something wrong to cause God to forsake her in this way? Try as she might she could find no meaning in the suffering. And now her daughter thought only about angels and was trying be one to meet up with her father, and try as she might, Rosa could not tell her daughter the truth, that her father was simply dead, and that there was no guarantee that he was in heaven. It made her angry to be reminded of it: first with the drawings, and then in her daughter’s attempts to fly. Now angels made Rosa think of death; they were a bad omen. Like her daughter, Rosa was a spiritual person prone to superstition; pretending that there was some power or meaning beyond the struggle that was her life was the last resort to coping with tragedy. She wanted her daughter to be well, but it was becoming increasing clear that she wasn’t. Hector didn’t die, she thought. We did.

Then one day Claudia learned to fly. This was no longer the inch or two of hovering over the phone book, she was suspended several feet in midair over the living room floor and, flapping her wings, she was soon pressed to the ceiling. It was a glorious feeling. I’m an angel, she thought. I’m an angel and I’m going to heaven to see my dad! In her mind flashed the image of a smiling man throwing her into the air; it was Claudia’s only memory of her father.

Her sister was at the park that day, where she was hanging out with Raquel and some of the boys they liked from school. It was this absence that had given Claudia the time to fly to the ceiling. Having accomplished this, she slowed her wings and came back down until her feet touched the floor. She did not want to waste anymore time. Just beyond the clouds was heaven and she was going to fly there and back before her mother came home to scold her. She would only stay a short while this time. Heaven was a big place and it might take some time to locate her father. Though she was shy, she would work up the courage to ask any angels she met if they knew or had seen him. She imagined the clouds were like houses organized into neighborhoods, except that they came and went and changed size and shape, so it was probably more like camping and sleeping in a tent. She would visit some of the clouds she could see outside her window and then come home and go back and visit others another day. Now that she could fly there didn’t seem to be any hurry. She just had to be sure no one found out or she would be stuck in heaven and unable to help her mom and her sister and brother on earth.

Claudia stepped out onto the concrete balcony and shut the sliding glass door behind her. She stood there for a moment surveying the scene. In the distance she could see her sister and her sister’s friends in the park. If they looked they would be able to see her too, but they weren’t paying attention. Claudia stood there for a minute looking at the changing shapes and colors of the clouds. They were much more interesting than the boring old apartment complex. It was spring; the sun was shining and a light breeze was blowing. Ideal conditions. Some birds glided by and she smiled knowing now how they felt to hang in the sky and look down to the earth. She dragged a chair over to the corner of the balcony and stood on it. Then she got up on the railing and propped her hand on the wall to keep her balance. When she felt stable enough she let go and began to flap her wings slowly at first and with increasing vigor like she had been practicing. She felt the usual lightness in her feet as she began to lift free of the balcony.

At just this moment old man Vargas came walking by on the street below with his dog. Looking up he saw what appeared to be an angel in the form young girl floating in the air above the balcony of a third floor apartment. It was a fantastic sight and one that made him cross his heart with reverence. He realized that she had come to take someone to heaven. Though it would be pleasant to go with her, he decided to keep walking. He was still too attached to life to join this gentle creature on his final journey. Let her take someone else this time.

Claudia didn’t notice the old man because she had shut her eyes to concentrate like she always did just before take off. In order to fly like an angel your mind had to be clear and free of doubt and fear. At some point her mother had come home, but Claudia didn’t hear the door. Rosa called out to her daughters and, receiving no reply, went to their bedroom, which was empty. They must be at the park, she thought, opening the door to the balcony. In that instant, Rosa was transfixed by the vision of her daughter’s flight. Then panic took her and she shouted Claudia’s name.

Startled, Claudia turned to look at her mother; then she fell three stories to the pavement. Rosa had found out her secret, and, like her father, Claudia could never return. Rosa’s last memory was of her daughter with her wings spread wide hovering over the balcony. From then on she always referred to her as an angel. “She wanted so badly to see her father so she flew to heaven,” Rosa would tell friends and neighbors. “I saw her with my own eyes. She was my little angel.” And they would nod in that polite compassionate way one does to people who have suffered a tragedy which affects their reason and from which they are ultimately unable to recover.

Procrastination

“Procrastination is a good friend to the blues.” “Lazy Mind” Elijah Emanuel (Reggae artist)

We all procrastinate, some of us more than others. Generally, we procrastinate over doing things that we find tedious, unpleasant or exceedingly difficult. We procrastinate to avoid increased responsibility, financial outlays, and potentially bad news. We put off doing our taxes because we are afraid that we may owe Uncle Sam money. We delay starting a new project, because we know that once started it will require a lot of work to see it through. We avoid going to the dentist for a regular check-up because we don’t want to hear that we have a cavity, and the longer we delay the more likely this is the case. We shirk the daily maintenance activities of our lives, such as changing the oil in our cars, fixing the leaky faucet or doing the laundry, until they become critical.

Businesses do not hesitate to exploit the human tendency to procrastinate. From credit cards to doctor’s bills, rental fees to travel plans, we are penalized for not paying or returning things on time, and for putting off time-sensitive purchases. The profit motive behind procrastination has turned us into a culture of debt. We buy something we can’t afford, get the bill, delay in paying and are charged a late fee. Even if we pay on time, we don’t pay in full and are charged interest on the outstanding sum. From consumer purchases to student loans we subscribe to the buy now pay later mentality, wherein it becomes increasing difficult to pay in the long term for vacations already enjoyed and education already received.

Clearly procrastination is laziness, but it is also a desire for things to remain the same (read: trouble free). Sometimes we have to face up to the bad choices we made in the past. When we procrastinate in this regard the outcome is usually not favorable; we are better off taking care of it sooner than later, in order to avoid unnecessary emotional stress. And often we find that dealing with it wasn’t as difficult or unpleasant as we had thought. Sometimes we just want a break from the endless cycle of obligations that occupy a large part of our time. We wake up in the morning and linger in bed with the thought of just skipping the day ahead, aware of all the challenges and stress we will face. But in doing so we know we will miss out on many beautiful moments: a sunny day, a good laugh with a coworker, a delicious lunch at a new location, or a chance encounter.

Increasingly, we procrastinate to simply avoid making decisions, regardless of whether they are trivial or of major consequence, unpleasant or potentially enjoyable. We may be just as likely to procrastinate over taking out the garbage, setting up an important client meeting, deciding what movie to watch, or committing to our friend’s backyard barbecue. This form of procrastination is directly related to information overload. While we still have obligations we would like to ignore, we also have more choices than ever of what to do with our free time, so we want to pick the best, in other words the activity that will give us the most fun for the least expense and logistical trouble.

This utilitarian function of procrastination is something we also apply in our professional lives. When making an important decision about our careers, we often stall until we have better information. When faced with criticism of our work, instead of reacting with pathos, we have learned that is best to wait and come up with a more reasoned and professional response. Sometimes we get tired of our job, social life and the place we call home. Instead of taking the time to reflect on why we feel this way and deciding on a feasible and moderate course of action to improve our lives, we tell ourselves and others that we plan to quit our job, move to another country, and take up an entirely different career without any experience to speak of, and no contacts at our future destination. While it sounds romantic and adventurous, when we think it over carefully we realize it is a stupid idea fraught with hardship and disappointment. Taking action just for the sake of dispelling inertia is usually not the best solution to our problems.

While a hasty decision built on frustration can be unproductive, it is also true that one can reflect too much and end up second-guessing themselves and arriving at decisions that are neurotic and therefore flawed. In cases when there is no best choice or positive outcome for a situation, we merely put off the inevitable and potentially make it worse by waiting. While procrastination can slow the pace of our lives and lead to more reflective action, it can also lead to inaction and paralysis, thereby causing us to lose sight of our goals and purpose in life. Life is a dangerous and precarious thing, but if we are to live productive lives we need to ignore this fact. Sure, we could get hit by a car in the street tomorrow but that doesn’t mean we should stay home cowering in our house. That girl or guy might break our heart but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t love them. We will never have perfect information, so we have to make decisions before our options disappear.

The problem with existence is that each decision we make shapes our future options and ultimately the direction of our lives. The choice to travel to Panama instead of China can have a major impact on our life: for example, if in Panama we get malaria, and if in China we make an important business contact which in the long term makes us a millionaire. When we are young we are more likely to be spontaneous, choosing to do things for the sake of the experience without worrying about how it might shape our future. In spite of the mistakes, wrong turns and occasional misplaced enthusiasm of youth, this is probably for the best. As we get older we spend more time weighing the options and finding excuses for not doing something, worried as we are that something may go wrong and impact the relative stability of our lives in a negative way.

If we look at life as a dark room lit with a lone candle, it seems better to reconnoiter our surroundings, regardless of the risk of bumping into furniture or falling down the stairs, instead of standing in one place without a point of reference. In life we are constantly faced with the question of doing something new or doing what we have always done. If we assume that a life well-lived is one in which we take on new challenges, then clearly it is best to just do it instead of procrastinating until the opportunity has passed us by. Sometimes the opportunities that come in life are disguised as difficulties or setbacks. If we can learn to find value in these experiences then we can gain some knowledge that will make us stronger in the future. And when real opportunities come our way, even though they may not be exactly what we were looking for, we mustn’t hesitate, or those who are quicker on the draw will take our place. As the folk wisdom states, we must strike while the iron is hot, though we may not know what the outcome may be of the new experience we are forging.

In terms of the practicalities of living, it is best to pay our debts on time, without thought and by reflex, mend a shirt or a relationship before it completely falls apart, and not overthink things or focus too much on what can go wrong. We must consider that everyday we live so many things go right, from the moment we wake up and find that we are still alive, to feeding ourselves a tasty breakfast, being gainfully employed, arriving safely to our jobs, completing projects that provide us with a sense of self worth and something of value to others, communicating with our friends and family, exercising our bodies, and lying down at night in a warm bed to enjoy restful sleep. We must continue to assume that in all the decisions we make the majority of things will go right, and that when they don’t we will be resilient enough to adapt and make the best of it. It is that attitude that has gotten us this far as a species, and it will likely continue to carry us through. In the meantime when we have an obligation or a choice to make, we should act, like an animal that when hungry instinctively forages for food, instead of spending too much time weighing our options, worrying and wasting time. It is a tall order, but one that we are given the opportunity to address each and every day.

To quote Pipeline master and surfing legend Gerry Lopez, “when in doubt, paddle out.” Even if conditions aren’t ideal at the moment, we certainly don’t want to be standing on the shore when the perfect wave arrives to give us the ride of our lives.

TMB*

One impact of modern communication technology is that we now prefer to text instead of talking on the phone. Sometimes texting can be a fast and efficient way to figure out logistics. Adept texters set up their messages in way that minimizes message overload. A typical text from such a person will state the time of the event and invite you along; the event will happen with or without you, and you don’t even need to reply. If you choose to then you can accept or decline the generic invitation with a short phrase. While mass texting is efficient, it should be used sparingly, and only to communicate info regarding an important event. Etiquette would demand that people do not mass text about some minor detail of their lives, such as what they happen to be doing at the moment, personal preference, or their opinion. Facebook and Twitter remain the appropriate venue for such communication. Also it can be risky and a hassle to mass text and invite people to an event with limited attendance. For example, “I have two tickets to the ( - ) show, anyone want to go?” Depending on the text list, this can quickly turn into a nightmare for the texter, when more people want to go then there are tickets, seats, spaces available, or when people agree then change their minds. In this case, it’s best to create a Facebook event or send an old fashioned Evite. Mass texting is undoubtedly about efficiency and inclusion, but it is important to manage the text list properly so that you don’t invite people out who have since moved, are on vacation, or are recently deceased.

While mass texting is sometimes necessary, the majority of the messages we send are to individuals. We all have different attitudes toward texting in regard to what is acceptable or even necessary. Some like to send messages about trivial things, while others prefer that messages serve some logistical or practical purpose. From this we get texts as varied as, “just saw a pink cat at the mall,” to “pick up some milk on your way home from work.” Much of people’s attitude toward texting is determined by their texting plan. If you pay a twenty cents a text, you are likely not going to appreciate hearing about the pink cat; if you have an unlimited plan, you might find yourself commenting on all manner of things you see and experience in your daily routine: pink cats, a rash on your leg, the tasty burrito you just ate, how boring your client meeting is, etc. In this way texting serves to prove we exist and have thoughts and feelings. Whether anyone cares or not, this form of communication is once again more appropriate for a status update or a tweet.

Texting, along with tweeting and status updates, is changing the way we write. With texting we are developing a new shorthand for communication. Above all, we want texting to be fast, so instead of spelling out words, we reproduce them phonetically by single vowels, letters, or numbers. In this way, we take contraction to a new level and “I’ll see you later,” becomes “c u l8r.” In addition to abbreviating our words, we have created new acronyms such as MEGO, my eyes glaze over, for you business types at a meeting; MOS, mother over shoulder, for the precocious teen; or ADIH, another day in hell, for the dyed-in-the-wool optimist. One wonders if in the future we will be able to communicate in a lexicon comprised entirely of acronyms, the roots of which we will all have since committed to memory. Certainly, it wouldn’t be difficult to just use the first letter of every word, and, like airport codes, when there was some redundancy we could include only the crucial letters. What would it sound like if, for nations using the Roman alphabet, we made it a spoken language as well? Like pig latin, the question is whether or not it would catch on. AAR IDTS BITMT WWJD**?

One problem with texting is that with its short format and abbreviated form it is very difficult to sense the tone of a person’s communication. While emoticons may be helpful in indicating when someone is happy, sad, or trying to be funny, they fall far short of expressing more subtle emotions. Even if the list of emotions was expanded and the expressions refined, emoticons would still be useless in expressing irony or sarcasm. In the absence of being able to see a person’s face, hear their voice, and observe their body language, novels seem the most capable of providing us with an in-depth look into the emotional landscapes of human beings. We have all likely experienced a misunderstanding while texting where what we intended to communicate was not what was perceived. In this way the happy emoticon we intended to be funny was thought to be mocking, or the sad emoticon we employed to sympathize was misconstrued as pity. Not all of us are poets who can express great emotion and beauty with an economy of words, and even poets would have trouble employing the new vernacular to mine the depths of their souls and seduce the maidens of their hearts.

Another problem with texting is that, like all recorded writing, once the message is sent over the airwaves it is permanent. There is no taking back that drunk text to your ex-sombody late at night, that petty comment made to a friend or coworker, that bitter complaint about your job or your boss, that obscene come-on to a new love interest, and any and all off-the-cuff comments that can be misunderstood and taken out of context; no, it has become a part of the ether, recorded on someone else’s phone, and possibly forwarded to where it can make you look like a fool, do considerable damage to your reputation, and potentially destroy your livelihood. So perhaps an economy of language isn’t so bad after all. Instead of texting to replace verbal communication, which we forgive for its spontaneity and is lost to the wind, we should use it for practical purposes, never saying any more than necessary, as if we were being interrogated in a courtroom.

On the other hand, perhaps an inverse relationship exists between the quantity and the quality of our written communication. A consequence of constant texting, tweeting and updating our profiles may be that we are less concerned with the conventions of grammar, engage in less in-depth thought, and have lost our sense of audience, concerned as we are with sharing our own day to day activities and opinions with the world. The benefit of this is that if we share something personal and perhaps compromising people are less likely to care. In the sea of written information that we are all swimming in, we can no longer see the meaning for the words.

In this period of overlapping technologies and unlimited access to information, it can be confusing to understand the proper forum, format, and etiquette for our communication. Already on our phones we can talk, text, email, watch videos, play video games, listen to music, and surf the net; the same goes for our computers. The north south divide notwithstanding, what this has meant is the horizontal integration of human society in which everyone can be a creative subject. While this has made it easier to express one’s ideas and pursue one’s own self interest, it has also made it harder to be recognized in sea of competition, and harder still to determine what is quality content. Simply put, we are overwhelmed with information and need to be selective and sincere in what we share and consume.


* TMB (Text me back)
** AAR IDTS BITMT WWJD? (At any rate I don’t think so, but in the meantime what would Jesus do?)

Click here for a list of text message abbreviations.

Finding the Flow

Never before in history has it been so easy to communicate with our fellow human beings. In the developed world, the majority of us carry an internet-enabled cell phone in our pocket wherever we go. At home most of us have wireless access on our computers. Through our phones and computers we surf the web, read blogs, watch videos, listen to music, and email and socially network on sites including Facebook, Twitter, etc. Meanwhile, our digital technology is radically changing the way we communicate: people spend less time talking face-to-face, more people choose to text instead of talk on their phones, short format written messages are more popular than long format, and overall quality of communication is declining. Finally, given the accessibility, variety, and redundancy of information technology, many people are feeling overwhelmed and tuning out. In short, improved technology does not necessarily mean improved communication.

When I lived in Granada, Spain, I didn’t have a phone, nor did I have internet access at home or at school, and there were no internet cafes. Yes, it sounds incredible, but it’s true. At the time, the internet was a fairly new phenomenon, and though cell phones were popular in Europe a decade before the United States, they were far from ubiquitous; I didn’t have one and neither did anyone I knew. In order to remedy these barriers to communication, I did the incredible: I paid spontaneous personal visits to my friends. While I know this is shocking and extremely faux pas in the contemporary United States, where you wouldn’t want to bother anybody who must be extremely busy by stopping by unannounced, in Granada that was what you had to do if you wanted to have friends. So when I wasn’t attending class, studying, working, etc. I would walk around town and visit people. When a friend wasn’t home, I would often hang out with and befriend a roommate; when they were, we would do the same: sit and talk, listen to music, eat, or go out to a bar or café. From there we might visit someone else and repeat the process, this time maybe substituting the bar for a park or plaza, or a sports activity. Since we all spent a lot of time hanging out face-to-face, we knew each other and our schedules pretty well: who was working where, who was at their favorite café, and who was meeting up for a volleyball game.

Socializing in Spain

Even though Granada was a town of 230,000 people, there was no need to have a phone or internet connection to locate anyone. Everything we did happened in person or by word of mouth. We all lived in shared apartments so our network was large; Groups formed organically, people would come and go depending on their obligations, and one event would transition seamlessly into the next; a day of sport would segue into drinks at a bar where someone would suggest dinner at their flat, and someone else would stop by with news of a private party or show that night. We were living in the flow, which meant embracing chance encounters and spontaneous events, and being open to and inspiring each other. This creative lifestyle opened the door to numerous positive experiences and opportunities to learn and grow as a person. While we all had our obligations, we did not neglect our social lives, and we never considered an impromptu visit an interruption or an imposition. While some aspects of that lifestyle were characteristic of being a young student, in our adult lives we still desire and deserve to be part of a dynamic loving community.

A Flamenco Community

Unfortunately, in the United States today community is become increasing harder to find and maintain. Part of this is cultural: we subscribe unquestioningly to the flawed notion that time is money, which makes it so that we are always in a hurry. We are horrified by the idea of wasting time, so we move through our lives like a train, each on our own track, making the necessary stops, and squeezing activities in where we can: grocery shopping or a visit to the doctor on our lunch break, the gym after work, dinner on the go, always for a fixed amount of time, always in terms of “How long will it take to do x, y, or z?” Sometimes our trains cross paths but most of the time they don’t. When they do we seldom stop to say hello; consequently, we have difficulty making new connections.

We take the same approach to our social lives, planning things with a sense of urgency that is self-imposed and often unnecessary. We schedule our free time like work, one hour for this and two hours for that, often overcommitting ourselves and consequently reducing the quality of our experiences with others. We do this because we mistakenly believe that if we don’t try to do it all we are somehow missing out. Ironically, by always being overbooked and in a hurry, we miss out anyway because we have eliminated spontaneity from our lives. We have forgotten that life is organic and the best experiences and encounters are those that are not planned or expected. But instead of adapting to and embracing the moment, we cling to our schedule, telling ourselves that something exciting will happen again, later, and this time as a part of our plans. But we are only fooling ourselves. In our embrace of the corporate ethos of productivity and efficiency we have lost sight of the concept of life as an exploration where value and meaning are created through quality communication, personal reflection, and informed action. It is not enough to merely act busy, make an appearance, and look the part.

Communications technology exacerbates the problem by providing us with twenty-four hour access to an ever-growing network of friends and colleagues. We are connected to so many people that it becomes harder to communicate with them all in depth or with sincerity. The number of events we hear about has grown exponentially and we feel anxious over having to choose between them. We are past the point where it is possible to delude ourselves with overbooking; there is no way we can do it all, which means we have to miss out. Our reaction to this phenomenon is two-fold: we spread ourselves too thin, thereby neglecting and straining our close relationships, and/or we begin to block communication, particularly the in-depth time-consuming variety, thereby isolating ourselves. Because we wish to stay connected, we spend more time online instead of meeting people in person, while our phone ultimately becomes a logistical device.

Sometimes I imagine how life would be in Granada if I were studying there now. I would likely spend a lot of time updating my profile for my global network of friends, while seeing those nearby less. I would know everybody’s whereabouts, and would plan my visits accordingly, never stopping by unannounced. Instead of calling people, I would text them to set up a meeting time; we would likely text back and forth several times to find out a mutually convenient time to meet at a mutually acceptable location. We would text other people and suddenly it would become too complicated and no one would go. Being informed of all the events happening on any given day through my network would ensure that I seldom went anywhere without a specific plan or purpose. Showing up or not wouldn’t matter because the invitation would be generic. If I did show up, I could pose for a couple of pictures and leave, thereby checking the activity off my to do list, because somehow having been there would become more important than being there. Alternatively, I might not go at all, after having seen no new names on the guest list, and given my familiarity with the location and the predictability of the event. When someone posted their pictures the next day, I could just imagine myself in them, write a comment like “Whoa, you’re such a crazy dancer (insert name here),” send a thumbs up and feel like I had participated, thereby maintaining my online visibility without the work of actually socializing. As a result of this more structured isolated life, I would meet less people and have fewer novel experiences. Ironically, I would feel more connected than ever while being less so.

While email, social networks, and cell phones can be useful for keeping in touch, they are not a substitute for face-to-face communication. If world leaders still insist on meeting in person, we should, too.

Corto Maltese

Let me confess: I’m a fan of cartoons. I’m not talking about the Marvel or DC variety, with their save the world ethos and characters wearing tights with superpowers, fresh out of bodybuilding competitions, or Japanese Manga, but European and underground comics and graphic novels, which present the adventures of unusual and interesting characters with original artwork in the context of entertaining and well-developed plots.

I grew up reading Goscinny and Uderzo’s Asterix, the story of two unlikely Gauls, one short (Asterix) the other fat (Obelix), who take on the Roman empire with the help of a magic potion brewed from roots gathered by the village druid (Miraculix). While the cartoon does include historical elements, it clearly does not take itself seriously. The Romans are depicted as buffoons, and the fictional village from which the unlikely heroes originate (somewhere on the coast of modern Brittany, France) is full of idiosyncratic and truculent characters that frequently suspend their internal dramas to fight the Romans alongside their heroes.

Later I discovered Hergé’s The Adventures of Tintin, a comic about a young Belgian reporter of the same name who participates in dramatic and often unusual events in exotic destinations, along with a cast of characters that include the alcoholic and irritable Captain Haddock, hard of hearing but brilliant Professor Calculus, and the bumbling twin detectives Thomson and Thomson. Hergé’s unique “ligne claire” drawing style, characterized by clean lines of uniform thickness paired with detailed realistic settings, makes the comic a pleasure read.

While historically these have been two of the more popular European comics, anyone who has been to a comic book store in Europe, or the reading library of the Belgian Comic Strip Center in Brussels, knows that they only scratch the surface of the endless variety of interesting comics available. Given the diversity of plots and themes such comics explore, they are popular with children as well as adults. In Japan, Manga are also popular with adults, in some cases because they contain pornographic content. In the United States, comics remain of interest mostly to children and young adults, though they have seen increased acceptance by an adult audience through adaptation into film. American superhero comics have historically dominated the industry while currently Manga are experiencing increased popularity. As a result, European comics, such as Hugo Pratt’s Corto Maltese, are not as well known in the United States, which is unfortunate because they are truly works of art.

I first discovered Corto Maltese in Bologna, Italy in a nightclub painted with characters and scenes from his adventures. I found the artwork so compelling that I stopped by a bookstore the next day to buy a copy of series. In brief, the eponymous character Corto Maltese is an enigmatic sailor/adventurer who was born in Malta to a Spanish gypsy witch and a British sailor, and who grew up in Córdoba in Andalucía. While you may find characters with a similar unusual past within the pantheon of Marvel or DC superheroes, what you won’t find is the complex character development and behavior to back it up.

Mostly, mainstream American superheroes are vehicles designed to move the plot forward in a struggle between good and evil. Frequently, they are individuals with a marginal or troubled background who discover they have superpowers as a result of some “accident,” which leads them either to become villains who avenge themselves on the world to compensate for an inferiority complex, or heroes who fight to save the world in order to gain acceptance or right some past wrong. Corto Maltese, on the other hand, is an ordinary man who does not wear a costume, has no superpowers, and possesses no special weapons. Instead of becoming a psychopath or dedicating his life to fighting injustice, as his background might indicate, he simply goes about his life looking for opportunity where he can find it; in short, he is a morally ambiguous opportunist like most human beings. And while Corto is depicted as tall, dark and handsome, he does not possess the ideal superhero physique. He is not very muscular, is hirsute, and has the rough features of a French Foreign Legionnaire. Furthermore, Pratt’s artwork displays an unfinished organic quality that adds value to the comic, but that is unfamiliar to mainstream superhero comics and Japanese Manga, which are often drawn by formula.

Another salient difference between Corto Maltese and superhero comics is their worldview. Superhero comics provide an escape from human limitations in that the reader lives vicariously through the superhero or supervillain of their choice and is able to indulge in violence without accountability and fantasize about its potential application to the obstacles in their own life. Morality in this genre is merely a function of the existing power structure; superheroes work to protect the status quo while “criminals” attempt to co-opt and/or subvert it. Corto Maltese avoids this facile dichotomy of right and wrong. Corto’s world is totally grey, and the only morality that is valid is relative to one’s own stake in the game. Corto often finds himself caught in difficult situations in which there are no easy solutions; consequently, he must make a compromise choice that often involves a sacrifice of life, a betrayal, the abandoning of some goal, or a precipitated escape when the odds become overwhelming. And while Corto Maltese does provide us with an escape, in that Corto is a risk-taker with nothing to lose who pursues opportunities worldwide, the comic is more of a reflection on the moral and ethical ambiguities of existence in the context of dramatic circumstances as experienced by an adventurous but flawed human being.

Corto is not concerned with world domination or absolute power; he is instead a man without illusions motivated by personal gain. Corto is, above all, a lonely adventurer who knows ultimately that he must look out for himself; he is not the sort to sacrifice himself for an ideal or the greater good. He is also a stoic, who speaks only when necessary and who is equally tolerant of solitude or mutually beneficial cooperation. He makes no show of his feelings, and while he may appear at times despondent, he is humble and patient, waiting for an opportunity to arrive. He does not make a big show of love, but he is not without feelings, though his expectations appear low in this regard. While Corto is no saint or role model, he often comes to the aid of the oppressed and is open minded and accepting of others.


It is with some irony then that Corto Maltese asks the ostensibly rhetorical question, “I’m not a hero, am I?” He is undoubtedly an antihero, like anyone who faces the challenges in their ordinary lives with patience, intelligence and reasoned action, and who bears their personal burdens with a sense of irony and humility. Corto is an individual one can respect because he minds his own business, neither boasts nor brags, is even-tempered and generally reasonable in his actions. But he is also a man capable of violence who is selfish in his pursuits, reticent about his true feelings, and loyal to none. While Corto embodies many of the stereotypical traits of manhood, for good and bad, he also possesses confidence, cosmopolitan elegance, self-awareness, and a sense of irony, in addition to exhibiting some sadness and vulnerability born of his solitary and unstable life. Corto is a compelling character precisely because he is enigmatic. In the world of superhero comics where people are saved, justice is served, and what you see is what you get, Corto Maltese offers no easy answers or solutions. In the context of adventure, Hugo Pratt’s seminal comic forces us to look below the surface at the mystery of life with the full knowledge that we may never come to understand ourselves or others. In this regard, Corto Maltese is an undeniable success.

In a recent conversation with a friend, I discovered that several films have been made based on Corto Maltese. Click here for a clip of Corto Maltese: La Cour secrete des Arcanes (2002). While the artwork is stylized and differs from Pratt’s original drawings, the film gives you an idea of what Corto’s all about. The clip is in French, but you can enjoy the images even if you’re not a French speaker. Unfortunately, the film is not yet available on Netflix. Join me in requesting that they add it to their library.

The Usual Suspects

I’m pleased to announce that I have recently started writing a new novel, which I will discuss in more detail soon. For now, let me say that I am making good progress, and that it is exciting to once again be engaged in a major creative project. People often ask me how I develop the plot for my novels and create my characters. Do I write an outline? Do I already know the ending? Are my characters based on people I know? For each writer the approach is different. Nabokov was known to write his stories down on index cards that he could shuffle to create the preferred plot progression. Some authors use a white board or tape butcher paper to the wall to document the traits, personalities, and appearance of their characters and to list the events that will occur in each chapter. Others like Kerouac have sat down and knocked out a draft of a novel in a fever of inspiration over several uninterrupted days. Indeed, the strategies and techniques to writing novels are as varied as the authors who write them.

In my case, I develop the plot in my head without writing it down. This is an ongoing process, whether I am walking on the beach, hanging out with friends at a potluck dinner or in a bar, or lying in bed at three in the morning. During this incubation period the things I experience in my daily life catalyze a story that may have been on my mind for many years. Something as simple as a crow pecking at a paper bag, a wilted rose in the gutter, a lingerie advertisement, or a busker in a sailor’s cap playing the guitar can start a chain reaction in my head as I make connections between things that are apparently unrelated in time, space, or logic. As for character development, all my characters are hybrids of people I know, strangers, archetypes, and often myself. To develop literary characters is to shuffle the fragments of appearance, personality, behavior, emotions, thoughts, beliefs, morals, and history, and create beautiful mosaics. Every experience a writer has strengthens his craft, and every individual he meets is a potential source of inspiration. There are talented writers who have stayed in one place all their lives, and others who have traveled the world in search of novel experience. It can take a lifetime to know one place well and even in a small town one never knows everyone. Many people can travel the world without perceiving anything but themselves and their own preoccupations and prejudices. Both the sedentary and wandering writer are good at their craft when they pay attention to their environment and listen to what people have to say. They are similar in that they are inherently curious and want to acquire some understanding of people and the world they live in.

The final scene of the film The Usual Suspects (1995) provides an excellent illustration of the creative process of a writer. For those of you unfamiliar with the film, it centers on the narrative of Roger “Verbal” Kint, an apparently crippled con man who is under police interrogation as a suspect of a massacre and boat fire in San Pedro Bay, Los Angeles. The film is essentially Verbal’s retelling of the events leading up to the incident, the people involved, and their motivations. In his story he makes frequent reference to Keyser Söze, the criminal mastermind who everybody fears but few have ever seen, and who Verbal claims is responsible for the killings on the boat. Verbal’s story, it turns out, is a fabrication created from bits of information gleaned from a bulletin board on the wall behind U.S. Customs Agent Dave Kujan’s desk, and other visual clues, including the manufacturer of Kujan’s coffee cup, Kobayashi. Verbal skillfully mixes these facts with his lived experience and imagination, and, conscious of his audience, tailors it to convince Agent Kujan to let him walk out of the police station a free man.

Like the aptly nicknamed Verbal, the fiction author also draws on his experience and environment for inspiration and, with the help of the imagination, modifies it to create a credible and compelling story. In the end, only the author knows what the origins of a character or a scene really are: how many parts this and how much of that, how much fact and how much fantasy. Writing fiction is complex in that it is both a conscious and logical, and subconscious and instinctual act. The plot is developed in a logical way to a certain end, with each scene having a specific purpose, but once the characters with their unique personalities are released into their artificial environment, all bets are off. Like real people they behave irrationally, say strange and inappropriate things, mock themselves, dawdle when action is needed, refuse to die or die prematurely, become murderers, love the wrong people, find luck without merit, rebel against their fate, and often fail to learn their lesson. Who could have known? I believe these surprises are the subconscious part of writing, and more abstractly the result of instinct, or knowing what is right for a scene when logic comes up short. The writer seeks to explore themes and answer questions, and develops a plot to that end. Fiction is fascinating because, with its unique blend of fact and fantasy, it takes both the writer and the reader on unusual journeys with surprising conclusions and revelations.

Fiction is an artistic discipline that acknowledges by definition its own falsehood, while ironically revealing general truths about the human experience that we often ignore or are afraid to recognize. In our daily interactions we spend too much of our time lying to ourselves and to each other. These are white lies, lies by omission, lies of defense, lies of malice, lies for personal gain, etc. What fiction allows us, under the guise of fabrication, is to face the truth; non-fiction, on the other hand, while containing extensive factual information, cannot escape being a lie, or the subjective interpretation of events about which others would disagree. What the writer discovers in the pursuit of his profession is that all of human civilization is a fiction generated by human imagination. Everywhere the writer looks, he cannot help but see the absurdity of certain beliefs, attitudes, and behavior perpetuated by force of habit or laziness, or through violence and repression. Consequently, he considers anyone who accepts the world at face value either a coward or a fool. Ultimately, he feels compelled to sit down and explore in writing the mystery of human existence. He chooses fiction because within its pages he enjoys a freedom of expression frequently absent in the physical world. Like Scheherazade, the writer endeavors to make our precarious and finite existence as meaningful and rewarding as possible by spinning a good yarn. To that end he creates the usual suspects for his next book, knowing that they will acquire a life of their own and surprise us, like the gangster Keyser Söze.