Snow Day
In my travels I have been to some of the most remote and obscure places that people live. I have even met some of the people that live in such places whether by choice or accident of birth. I am sorry that I did not pay attention, ask questions or differentiate. I was pretty distracted at the time. They were there and did not leave with me so I figured they liked being there or at least accepted their lot in life.
I have never been to Antarctica. I have been seen the tundra of the Yukon in Canada and Northern Alaska. I have been to Point Barrow and understand what a whole lot of nothingness looks like. I know cold and could not imagine anything being much colder.
Still there was at least one day in my experiences that was quite possibly even colder.
I had left Purdue shortly after my last class on Friday and returned home to Ohio to visit with my mom and dad and do some laundry. I had not been home since shortly after Christmas, almost a whole month had passed. I hadn't done my laundry in that span either. As I had a mandatory 7:30 AM lab first thing on Monday, I left early Sunday for the three hour drive. I had hear a bit of the forecast before setting out and it was supposed to later on in the day. I drove I-70 to the I-465 loop around Indianapolis which I took to I-65. BNy the time I reqached the Indian state line it had begun to snow. Before I reached Indianapolis, the snow was accumulating on the road. It took me two and a half hours to reach the Lafayette off ramp. It took another hour for me to reach my fraternity atop Slater Hill. By the I had to get out and push my car along at times.
The weather had rapidly become the event of the new year. I had a mandatory 7:30 AM lab on a Monday after a blizzard hit Purdue University, in northwestern Indiana. The President of the University was on vacation in South Florida and had not answered his phone until 7:45 AM. From all reports Purdue had never before in its history cancelled a day of classes due to weather.
Let me explain the conditions for those of you that were not ion the midwest for the winters of 1977 and 1978. As I awakened for my 7:30 AM, mandatory-attendance lab, the weather had turned from bad to treacherous and bitterly cold. As I finally set out to my class i had to make stairsteps into the back of snow that was behind my fraternity. The campus water tower was in the back yard, across the driveway and parking lot. I climbed on top of the snowdrift in order to scross the parkingking, over the tops of cars and even drifter over the retaining wall and the chain link fence that surrounded the water tower. As I passed the peak of Slater Hill the tops of the street lamps were at eye level; yes, the part part where the lights are. I could even touched them with my ski glove. The snow drift at that point was 14 feet deep and I was walking on top of the snow that the long dark night of howling, almost hurricane strength wind had crusted over to the point that it would support my weight. Of course if I had found a weak spot during my excursion, I would had fallen into the drift and probably have frozen to death before anyone ever found me or the spring thaw, whichever came first. The wind chill that morning was 73 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Had I not been aptly covered even to the point of wearing a ski mask and goggles my flesh would have frozen within minutes.
I paint this dire picture for a reason. No one at Purdue University on that extreme and exceptional January morning had the balls to make a rather obvious judgement call: cancel classes despite the fact that the President of the University was vacationing in Sunny Florida and away from the reality of the immediate crisis. No one understood the danger that they were putting the students in. How could they? The majority of the administration was snowed in, warm and cozy at home. The administration was so tied to tradition, procedure and protocol that they forgot to be human. First and foremost we are supposed to always be human. I suppose they erred so in that they were human, far too human for my satisfaction that morning.
So, they had to contact the boss, get his permission to do what everyone of them already knew was the right thing to do. The majority of the faculty could not even make it onto campus anyway.
Apparebntly there had never been any sort of contingency plan. The thought of being snowed in had never occurred to anyone. It was as completely unexpected and caught everyone off guard. Who would ever think that it would snow a lot in January in northwestern Indiana. It is usually such a warm balmy place to ride out the winter! Sheesh!
So, even though the DJ on the local radio station kept saying that he could not believe that Purdue had not cancelled classes, and that surely there would be no classes, I was running out of time. I had to attend the class. I could not afford the docking of an entire letter grade for just one absense. That was why I went out in the cold.
I had layered clothing upon clothing and was waddling like an over inflated astronaut or an over levened Pillsbury Dough Boy - take your pick. It was a surreal landscape that I was negotiating. Everything that I knew was at least six and often ten or more feet beneath the wind-blown and crusted over snow upon which I was walking. I made it to my mandatory lab along with at least half of the roster, the other half were likely the saner ones that knew enough to have made the right choice, defying the stupidity of the usually unyielding rules of the University.
There we sat in the sweltering lab, heated with steam from a centrally located plant on campus. It is pretty damned hard to stay awake and alert having come out of arctic cold into the relative steaminess of room temperature. At a few minutes before eight AM, the campus police entered the lab and told us that classes had been cancelled and they at least offered to assist those who lived in dorms back to their rooms. I lived in a fraternity, technically off campus. I had toreturn tot he worst conditions I had ever rexperienced in my life up to that point, hoofing it back to my fraternity house, trudging across the tundra to negotiate a little over a mile that was all uphill. Of course the snow had leveled that distance a little. I had only to aspect to the crust atop the drifts to enjoy a lisurely stroll amongst the gently rolling blinding white drifts.
As any self respecting college frat rat would have done, I knew that there was a place not so far out of the way that sold beer and the proprietor lived over the storefront. I figured he would open even if he had to burrow a hole out of his front door to join with the outside world. As I arrived I was not the only one that had that idea. There were only a few aluminum-lined cases of beer left and I stood my turn in line to purchase a couple of them. Considering the wind chill and everything else I figured that if I really wanted to I could start a party immediately upon returning to my fraternity as the beer I was buying would be adequately and appropriately chilled and fit for general human consumption.
Carrying two cases of beer in ski gloves was a challenge. I admit that I dropped one or the other here and there and had to pick it up again but before 9 AM I was back inside the relative comfort of the usually drafty fraternity. Only then were others stirring to the reality of that the world had become while they had slept. Most were elated at my pronouncement that all classes were cancelled for the day and that the word had come from the campus police. Even so some were skeptical and said that they were calling just for independent confirmation. Lemmings or sheep, it mattered little. They were conditioned to follow the leader and always obey the rules. "Look outside! There is the confirmation."
The lessons: I learned were that people need a figure of authority to tell them not to continue along a path that is personally dangerous and possibly self distructive. A bureaucracy will not act to stand opposed to a directive without the permission of the one that gave the directive regardless the preponderance of evidence that something should be done to contramand a direct order. There are few int he world that take the initiative and they are the ones that lead the parade of lemmings or sheep.
What I think should be worked into every future contingency plan is the concept of 'shit happens'. An extreme departure from the status quo, shit happens is all new territory. It is defined as a set of circumstances that are unpredictable but need to be addressed immediately and in the favor of those most immediately and adversely affected.
If it had not been for finding beer at Arth's Drug Store I might have joined in the protest and outcry for the removal of the President of the University following that incident. Even so his being in Florida and oblivious to the events in the Midwest is a classic example of poor leadership or at least lack of concern. Whichever it was unforgivable. I do not begrudge anyone their time off for vacation but if you have a standing order to still be in charge even when you are on vacation then at least be wary of what is going on in the outside world, the world insich you usually live. The alternative of course is to yield the power and authority to a trustworthy subordinate.
A true leader knows how to delegate and when to follow up.
E
The Love of Money... Is the Root of All Evil
Note: As promised I am posting a letter from a friend and aspiring writer that has been slightly edited to conform to legal considerations and the general theme of this blog. I have known Jeff for more than four years. He is a graduate of The Florida Institute of Technology and a serious student of linguistics. He has produced an impressive and inspired work of fantasy fiction and in the meanwhile created a pretty intricate world in the process. I am confident that he will be published very soon. He has begun a blog at
http://meditativeentropy.blogspot.com >E
Elgon,
Hey, it's Jeff. I can't tell you how odd it is to talk to you as anything other than a subordinate. Not that you ever held your superior position over me, but I feel there's a certain freedom in talking openly with a like-minded person who also happens to not be your immediate supervisor. I'll ask you the obligatory "how's things…", though only because I care how they are going in relation to you, not the company. I noticed in your blog that you refer to your former employer as the "Orange Giant". I like that. I think I shall refer my recent employer as the "Red Halfling" in those places where I am obliged to respect registered trademarks.
Anyhow, about your blog...I gotta say that this is a really good outlet for you. Even if I didn't know you, I would think it was terribly obvious from your "voice" in your postings. You truly are a good writer "in need of a good editor".
I imagined that quote from Book 2 working out better. It wasn't worded quite as I remember it though. For those of us that know you, the pieces of you that you put into your characters is obvious, and you go no easier on those parts of them than you do on yourself.
According to Lana, Jackson says Brent is a "so-so writer in need of a good editor". Friend or no, I don't think any publisher would put his fledgling company on the line for a "so-so" writer. Brent has to be better than that, and so do you. I think it's out there for everyone to see. And there's nothing wrong with needing an editor. If anyone knows that it's me, and probably every other honest writer out there.
Ok, so, I have a couple of things to say. They are unrelated, but sometimes I need an outlet too and there are few people I know personally that I think would fully appreciate, if not the subject matter, then at least the way I articulate it.
Firstly, inspiration, I believe, is contagious. That has to be why we appreciate art so much in all its many forms. This comes to mind because reading your blog brings to the forefront that incessant, addictive need to write. In fact, reading almost anything stirs up that need in me, especially if the linguistic interplay is particularly memorable.
It's kind of like spending time appreciating a classical painting, or any such artwork that you may happen to like. Or it's like listening to your favorite symphony. Seeing the dynamic of lights and darks on a canvas, or hearing the rise and fall of a well composed concerto, these are the artists' best attempt at recording the eddies stirred up in that place where the muses skim stones upon your soul. When we appreciate such art, the eddies radiate outward and our own spirits take up a sympathetic vibration.
I don't know, maybe it's me. I know people feel "inspired" by works of other people's inspiration, but how many people go out and do something because of it. For some, it is simply enough to "feel" inspired. I am not one of those. Being an artist myself, and I don't care if no one else confirms or bestows that title, I know that if I let those sympathetic vibrations, or the ones created by my own muses, fade I can never get them back, no matter how I try to shake up my own soul.
The friction of your everyday life, much like in real physics, will cause those vibrations to slow and eventually stop. That's why they say inspiration is fleeting. For some of us it definitely returns, but rarely at the frequency it previously held. That's why it is imperative as an artist to obey the chiming of the muses, for when they come to call, their message is always different.
Okay, so here's the other thing. This one is likely to be articulated less artistically, because it deals with something that is far from that paradigm. Aside from this, it is such a common lament that there is likely little I can say that has not been similarly uttered.
When did we become a society of numbers? I suppose my question isn't really when, because that probably has answers ranging from the elementary to the intricate. I guess what I really want to know is why. I'm sure it all has to do with the accumulation of perceived wealth, which is why I can't help but feel there is some truth to the old saying that "money is the root of all evil". Although, I can't really fault money as an object or even a concept itself. In the most abstract sense I think "money" or, more accurately, wealth isn't a terribly bad idea. It is, however, easy to be at best ambivalent at worst resentful of wealth and those who have it when you so frequently find yourself with the short end of the proverbial stick.
I'm digressing a bit from the point I am attempting to make. Let me give you a few examples of what frustrates me about this numbers-based society, and it's not always about money, although the "M-word" is usually not found far astray.
Today I had the pleasure of talking with a customer service/technical support rep in India who introduced herself as Mary. Now, though linguistics is my passion and though I have a great interest in foreign cultures, I will admit that I have not had the pleasure of brushing up on the culture of language of India. I am, however, certain that "Mary" or "Vic" or "Mike" are not overly common birth names over there, at least, not in those forms. So, when I am confronted with such a name from a male or female with some corporation's customer service line and it is delivered with an Indian accent my immediate reaction is one of intrigued skepticism.
I am fascinated and a little impressed by their foresight in attempting to make it easier for ugly Americans to deal with them. I try not to identify myself as an ugly American; I don't think I am one, but I suspect there's something in that supposition that belies its validity, at least to those who would label me as one. And, like any ugly American would, I feel a bit affronted by the little white lie with which "Mary" begins our 20 minute relationship.
Admittedly, Mary did turn out to be very helpful and even pleasant to speak with. I will certainly give positive feedback should I receive by email the survey that she assured me I would. But here's the thing...the ease and pleasantness of dealing with Mary made me completely forget that it took me two days to get through to a real person at her company.
Mary works for a support line for a major manufacturer of handheld digital devices such as PDA’s and hybrid PDA phones. The device for which I was attempting to reach them was out of warranty. Now, I am no novice to surfing corporate websites to track down service numbers, but it was next to impossible for this one. I found at least four toll free numbers for their sales department (they have no qualms if you want to give them copious amounts of money for shiny new material things) and no less than three long distance numbers for their corporate offices. Finding a customer support number, however, was a convoluted process of insisting to their website that I did NOT want to facilitate an online repair. As a rational human being, I do not do well trying to argue with a nonentity such as a website.
When I finally tracked down a number for their support department, where I no doubt would have been transferred had I simply dialed the readily available sales number, I thought I had scored a minor victory against numeric insignificance. I should have known better. After 30 minutes of an endless loop of piano music dispersed by the occasional message that reassured, "All of our agents are currently assisting other customers. Please remain on the line and someone will assist you shortly." Or insisted, "Your estimated wait time is longer than 5 minutes." I was cut off! Thirty minutes of diligent waiting, staring numeric insignificance in the face and daring it to make the first move, I was cut off.
I stared at the phone in pained uncertainty as it apologized with an unsympathetic dial tone. I gritted my teeth and with a renewed sense of determination I redialed the support number. Once again, a half an hour later found me blinking in disbelief as a recording helpfully suggested, "If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again..."
Well, this being the last hour of my work day and having wasted it by sitting on a fruitless phone call to limbo, I decided to call it a day. I went home, but with full intentions of coming back tomorrow and doing something that some would call insane...doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result.
Which begs the question, if the result does end up being different at some point, can you then relinquish the title of insane, or indeed, not acquire it at all? This brings us back to Mary. The next day when I tried I was only on hold for 20 minutes before Mary's pleasant voice and foreign accent interrupted the piano music I was beginning to memorize. I was relieved to say the least.
But, though I finally got my task accomplish by reaching an actual person, did I really escape reduction to a simple number? You and I both know the answer to that. That I had to jump through these hoops in the first place is a testament to that answer. The fact that I was speaking to someone whose primary language or general geographic location was not the same as mine is a testament to that answer. In the end Mary gave me a work order number, to which I am sure she will refer to me if she ever needs to for some reason...and here I stopped putting quotes around her name.
Ok, that first example took a little longer to relate than I thought, but I think it illustrated the point. Let me give one more, hopefully shorter example.
The company I just left, which I have at some point previously stated I will refer to as the Red Halfling, knowingly facilitated the aforementioned leaving. My position in said company was retail salesperson, and though I was, perhaps, not the most stellar the company had ever seen, I was certainly good enough to keep my job and be pleased with my commission-based paycheck. My technique, which was incredibly effective at instilling a sort of fierce loyalty in my customers, was simply to be as helpful as I possibly could and to admit when I didn't know but promise that I would find out.
Mine was the kind of technique you don't really see in retail sales these days. Perhaps it's just that I don't have the mind of a salesman, but the examples we were expected to learn from seemed to me archaic. I know that "sales" has pretty much been the same since the beginning of time, but this time is different than any before it. The "Numeric Shift" of modern society has had several side effects. Consumers like me have become wary of numeric insignificance and have thus educated themselves, at least through experience, about the dynamics of this new common perception. Many consumers can smell an old sales pitch like, oh say, a jar of 50 years old limburger cheese.
Not that I can completely fault the Red Halfling's sales training techniques. I acquired a lot of good information that I know will help me in future endeavors, but for the most part I did things my own way. I started off with really believing in what I was selling. I followed up with really learning the details about what I was selling. I finished up with presenting it in an honest way to my customers so that they knew what was available to them and what my own personal advice was. Of course, for some, the mere fact that my title was "salesperson" made it impossible for them to buy what I was really trying to sell: my sincerity. I can honestly say, though, now that I no longer work for the Red Halfling, I truly was sincere. I wish there was a way I could impart that to every customer who didn't believe me.
It is likely that any salesperson who reads this is going to roll their eyes at that last point. They will probably believe that any failings I had as a salesperson can be summed up in the previous paragraph. But it is that thinking which promoted the kind of changes in society that brought about my decision to no longer offer my services to the Red Halfling.
So, onto the reason for my resignation. The Red Halfling has been slowly restructuring itself over the past year or so, as have many companies of such stature, hoping to someday attain, if not the height, then at least the comfortable girth of the Orange Giant. The most recent change instituted by the company was, to put it bluntly, slap their moneymakers, the salespeople, as a pimp would his bitches. And what for, might you ask? Why else does the affluent manager of a lucrative street corner of working girls resort to such unjust action? Money, of course.
The company claims that under its "Performance Pay Plan" customers were subjected to "overly aggressive sales techniques", which conflicts with its follow up argument that salespeople were too concerned with reaching a sales volume plateau to care about selling the things the company wanted you to sell. The solution to this gross, if poorly explained, injustice to the clientele? Level the playing field. Make all retail salespeople hourly. Oh yeah, and give out raises every three months regardless of performance. If you have a knack for being a mindless drone, guess what? You can continue to earn money up until a cap that is still a fraction of what you were making before. Otherwise you'll lose your job. I guess that's what I get for believing communism is a good idea "in theory". A point which makes the moniker "Red Halfling" even more appropriate.
Honestly, not all salespeople working for the Red Halfling got the raw deal on this one. Some of them probably made out, while still others remained about the same. For me and many others, though, it meant a significant slash in pay. Their hourly offer was laughable, regardless of how they reworked the "incentives" for selling services. The one thing I will give them credit for is offering a severance to those who had been with them for a considerable time, a number that included me.
But once again, it comes down to that word...number. I was just one of "a number" of salespeople that left the Red Halfling because of their treatment of us and their clientele as "a number". And I know that though my number was retired, it is destined to be replaced almost instantaneously by another, higher only in that it is a number incremented as many times as there have been employees since my hire date, but not higher in value to the eyes of the company.
I am convinced that the moment the very first shepherd invented counting, it was only so that he could know how many more sheep he had than his neighbor. From then on that instinct to "have more than" doomed us to be a society dependent upon numbers. Don't get me wrong, I have a deep appreciation for numbers, because without an understanding of numbers we may never have stumbled upon mathematics, which have told us more about the inner workings of our universe than we could have ever hoped to learn without it. But let's face it, if the average person were confronted with a complete numerical model of the universe or an abstract vernacular for describing the universe in a complete but succinct manner, which do you think would be more memorable and effective for conveying the idea to the rest of humanity? I realize that it is not likely that either will ever exist, but I believe the answer to this hypothetical question is beyond obvious.
I lament that companies like the Red Halfling and the one for which Mary works have so easily subscribed to this numeric philosophy. I realize how important the bottom line is for a business. As my general manager always said, "We are not a philanthropic organization." But why not? Can't a business be interested in helping humanity AND turning a profit? People always talk about word of mouth and customer service. I've even heard it out of the mouths of the people I used to call my employers. But I don't think you've ever heard someone say to their friend, "Guess what? I'm customer number 957887864320032 at company XYZ, which means that they'll let me stand in a crowd of faceless people where I'll wait to be asked what I want and then shuffled off to obscurity!"
Come to think of it, I've never heard anyone say, "Dude, you gotta come work for the company that I work for. I'm one of about a million people worldwide and my immediate supervisor can't remember my name even though I've been there for three years. They pay me a mediocre wage and take an inordinate amount of money away for crappy benefits that they don't want me to use anyway! It's great!"
Anyhow...I think I've made my point, though I probably took the long road to do so. Hopefully there was something of worth in my rants. If not, at least it helped me to get some things out that I would not have otherwise. Thank you for listening...and even if you don't read this far, I'd still like to thank Notepad.exe, who has patiently observed as I directed all these 1's and 0's to the memory it reserved for itself.
P.S. Elgon, I think some of the latter material in this email shows this pretty clearly, but if you wish to post any part of this in your blog, which I don't think is likely as it has little to do with its purpose, or if you wish to paraphrase me in future posts, which may be more likely, I give you permission to do so, though I would like credit, for whatever little pleasure I will get from knowing that any of it was of value, and if you would, please, refer to me as a fried rather than a former co-worker or employee, which I expect you would do anyways, but I ask just in case. How's THAT for a run-on sentence?!
It was a tirade of commas, but I tend to use commas when I am fatigued. They mimic my drooping eyelids in a way, I suppose. Oh, and if you do not wish to post any of this, but wish me to do so, just let me know. This was originally just intended to be a friendly email, but it has sated somewhat my urge to write for the evening. I had fun.
Thanks.
Jeff
In Response to an Email from a Friend
Jeff,
I love the way you write. You should start a blog. If nothing else it serves as a good public journal. Amazingly, there are some people that I don't know who are reading the blog. Sometimes my daughters post comments but usually I just get emails from the readers. I get emails alerting me to a posted comment, of course. For whatever reason Outlook sees the feedback posts as junk mail. I was almost ready to delete my junk mail when I decided to just scan it for familiar names, just in case. Yours was number 47 out of 62 'junk' mails. Talk about finding a pearl in pig poop! Wait is that a real saying or did I just make it up, another Elgonism?
I am posting this to the blog, BTW. I find the entirety of your email interesting. Far be it for me to ever call anything that you write 'long'. I will post some of it at least. It is relevant to the theme of this blog, I think. Even if it is the first time that I post something from another writer, your comments pertain to One Over X and some of the other material posted on this blog.
In reference to your comment about Lana's remark in A Game of Hangman, that Brent is a 'so so writer in need of a good editor', the relationship between Brent and Jackson is a little strange to say the least. Jackson and Brent are maybe not friends so much as acquaintances. Over the course of the series and into the next series they actually become friends. Brent even begins to call Jackson by his first name, Jonathan. Jackson's son is a supporting character in the second series.
Jackson does see Brent's potential as a writer but is frustrated that Brent does not see it in himself. Brent writes because he has to. It matters little to him whether anyone ever buys his writing. He only wants someone to read it and undertsnad what he is trying to convey. Only someone who is a writer or more generally an artist understands that. I know that you do.
There are some pretty good legal reasons why I cannot comment about the Red Halfling (I like the moniker) but I think you know how I feel. I have always tried to be truthful and over the years I took beatings for the petty goals that we weren't achieving. I hate micro-management.
I used to think that I might be on a mission to educate the Red Halfling about proper customer service. Even before I was an employee I was a customer. The store in Orange Connecticut was within walking distance of the Orange Giant store where I worked. When I purchased a computer I did not buy it there but I bought software and upgrade items.
One of the things that I really shopped for was a Jazz Drive, if you remember those. A 1GB removable hard drive - what a great idea for backing up data. It is a pity that CD-R's came along and destroyed that market. Anyway, at the time I really felt that I just had to have one.
I shopped all the competition and found that Circuit City has the drive cheaper but the required SCSI card was not. The Red Halfling had the SCSI card a good thirty dollars cheaper. In fact if I bought both items from Red Halfling it would work out that I would save $10 over buying the set at Circuit City. Being a number's sort of guy at the time, that was not good enough. Being a manager for the Orange Giant I also knew every technique that customers had used on me to get what they wanted. I want one or the other of the stores to match pricing. Trouble was that neither one of the stores had both items in stock; so price matching was out of the question because the competitor did not have it. Neither of the stores general managers could understand why I was so upset with their intransigence. This is what I said and I know full well that whenever I state the company policy now I am in direct violation of how I really feel, but then you know you have to be gifted with near Machiavellian detachment in retail management. I told them IT IS NOT MY F&*KING PROBLEM THAT YOUR COMPANY CANNOT SEEM TO STAY IN STOCK AND IT IS CERTAINLY BEYOND MY CONTROL OR CONCERN THAT YOUR COMPETITOR IS AS INCOMPETENT AT SERVING THEIR CUSTOMERS AS YOU ARE!
I bought the card at The Red Halfling and the drive from Circuit City. Each store believed that they had won a battle. Both stores had missed the point and missing the fact that I was prepared to spend even more money if only they would take off the blinders and run their business the way that any mom and pop computer store would have.
So, yeah your point about numbers in society is well stated and I really don't think that I could have expressed it any better than you have. I'll go through and post excerpts of your 'rant' as a message from a friend and fellow traveler.
For the record, I know you were customer focused. Your presence is already missed. I cannot officially say what I want to say about the situation. It was uncomfortable to say the least.
When I left the Orange Giant, it a little different. At the time I felt that I had left on my terms but in reality they were trying to force me out. It was a numbers thing. They could have two or maybe even three managers for what they were paying me. My experience and my value as a trainer and mentor was not even considered. The fact that I could run the whole damned store by myself and had doneso on seevral occasions was not taken into account either. Whenever the bean counters assume positions of authority (generally any position outside of just counting beans) the company is doomed to a number-focused sort of myopia.
The way that I was treated did not make the transition any different. Before I was out of the building my replacements were on the way. That is how prepared they were for me quitting. They knew me and knew how far they needed to push me. I am still suffering from that decision but if I had to do it over again I wouldn't change a thing.
I am a writer. I always have been. I was a writer when I worked for The Orange Giant. I have always been about the craft just never seemed to have the spark of inspiration to turn my hobby into the magical form that some of my material has achieved: publication. Had I not left that company when I did I would have never become an author. I know that was the ultimate purpose. I am just not sure why things haven't gone a little more smoothly. I suppose I had some more suffering to do before the artist within could push past the proud and comfortable person I used to be.
So you never know at the instant why things happen as they do but you know how I feel about accidents and coincidences. Somewhere there is an evil genie laughing at us. To him or here we are but a society halfway intelligent animals, hardly any better or more important that a band of rhesus monkeys I think. Maybe this is the way your book gets into print and circulation.
Stay in touch, my friend.
E
Fame and Fortune
Some of us seek fame because fortune is almost always tied to it. There I have said it!
I have some friends that aspire to be famous or at least able to earn a living doing what they enjoy. A perfect world would allow for that. But the world is not perfect because we, the imperfect ones are the world. In our humanity jealous greed breeds not only interest in the good fortune of others but envy of what those with good fortune possess. I have said previously that those that we perceive to have succeeded are usually not finished with succeeding. In fact in most cases they would be the first to tell you that they have not succeeded at all or are just a little more fortunate to be a step ahead of the pack in the human race.
This may be a surprise to anyone that does not know me personally but I could care less about fame. I only want people to read the books. Being famous would really tend to be bothersome. I have never been one to seek attention. If it happens that I sell books on a large enough scale fame will probably come along for the ride, as a somewhat necessary partner.
As for fortune, we have separated ways so many times in the past that I will not even pursue it anymore. I can live without money. Thanks to the training I received in my past associations with agencies and departments of the government I could survive in the woods away from anyone. Also sleeping under a bridge does not scare me.
Lately the world seems to change every other second. Perception of it changes everytime someone points out an observation of change but for the most part we ignore what is subtly different. When I find something unique in the world I am prompt to point and say here it is. I have found something that might interest you.
Some of you may know that I have acquired a number of internet based friends, people that I have met in the course of exploring the internet and conducting research for books. A central character in One Over X is a supermodel, so my research reached into the world of modeling. It was certainly not at entirely boring world for me to research. There is a good bit about that world which would surprise the average person. For all its glamour it is very hard work and it takes a lot of effort and stamina just to make a living at it. Anyway, it should be no surprise that many of my internet acquaintances are models, a couple of them have become pretty good friends of mine.
Recently one of my close friends directed me toward a group promoting the aspirations of a young model. My friend told me that if From The Inside To The Closer was ever to be made into a movie, this model would make a perfect Marie Altobello. With such high praise, I of course had to check her out.
Over the last couple of months, the aspiring model and I have exchanged a few emails. I know a little bit about her. She probably knows even more about me but that is because I am pretty open for someone that has always been perceived as a generally shy sort of guy. I have offered her some marketing and promotional advice. That may seem odd since I am struggling with my own personal success but all that has a lot more to do with the competitive environment and the intransigence of the publishing industry toward promoting the relatively unknown. I know marketing and advertising.
Despite the pitch that she could be Marie, she is a bit taller than the description in the books. However she is a very pretty young lady of Italian heritage. She has 'the look'. I completely believe she will be the next big thing, well, if not next then very soon. She has a face that is a makeup artist's dream. She can look different in every shot. She has the long torso and the long legs to make her a mainstay in runway modeling but then she also has a very positive and outgoing personality so she will be an effective spokesmodel too. She is smart, sexy, alluring and exotic.
If you would like to see what she looks like, go to
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/mz_naji and join her group and then log in. She is a classy lady and I am confident that she will be a future supermodel.
E
