A FIRE THAT WILL CROSS OCEANS

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A culture of oppression (whether corporate or government), excessive income inequality, unemployment, and lack of social concern, tends to have consequences.
Could the fire for genuine democracy kindles in Tunisia and Egypt, travel here?

Reportedly J.M. Barry, author of Peter Pan, The Admirable Crichton and a slew of other books and plays, wrote half a million words a year – all by hand. Not sure that is literally true but either way, the man was impressively prolific – not to say successful.

Apart from sharing the goal of most writers, which is to write as well as my brain tells me I can – but which is all too often contradicted by my fingers (which, being Irish are of an independent cast of mind) - I have long been concerned both to be as productive as possible, and to compensate for my cognitive deficiencies. Regarding the latter, I was diagnosed as suffering from a form of dyslexia in my fifties and certainly my brain seems to work in unorthodox ways. Some are advantageous, in that I have an excellent strategic sense and am pretty good at deductive reasoning. Others are a menace and include an inability to remember strings of numbers which makes performing some very simple tasks like dialing a phone number extremely difficult for me. However, most of us have quirks, and since I don’t sprout hair and howl like a wolf every full moon (or certainly won’t admit the fact) I consider I’m ahead on points, albeit I need all the help I can get.

I have tried to work around my deficiencies in various ways with varying degrees of success, but have probably achieved the best results with computers. Now that is ironic given that I have no innate talent for that area, but I have stayed with it resolutely pending the arrival of a guardian angel with a perfect memory who can type at speed. Overall it has been a long and painful journey which got off to a false start in 1981 when the IBM PC I ordered arrived without even a BIOS, and where the company I subsequently ordered a Mac from subsequently went bust. In the end, in 1986, I was kindly given a PC clone by a friend and was thus started – doubtless with the best of intentions - like most of us who opted for cheaper machines instead of Apples, on a road to computer perdition. Bill Gates has a lot to answer for.

There were various reasons why I didn’t switch to a Mac at various times – normally to do with lack of money or too much of an investment in PCs – but there were also periods when the future of Apple looked dicey. However, the primary reason why I didn’t switch to a Mac was that I was entirely hooked on a program called askSam which is a free-text database that I have now used for an astonishing 25 years and which functioned for all that time as an extension to my memory. In fact, I still use it although now in conjunction with other tools like Evernote and Google Notes.

Back in June 2010, I made the decision to go Google as far as possible and then in mid July started an intensive investigation of the Internet (what I call the Digisphere) to try and ascertain where the book business was likely to go and how I needed to adapt. Little did I know what I was getting into. I knew and used the Internet, of course, but up to then I had failed to appreciate the sheer scale of the transformation taking place and, in particular, the evolution at high speed of software tools, most available to rent for a surprisingly low monthly charge. In effect we are being given access to the greatest increase in cognitive leverage since the Dawn of Man; and it’s only beginning.

I wouldn’t have come to this conclusion if I had continued my traditional approach towards – to learn only enough to enable me to write and keep track of my research material. Instead, this time I set off on a much more open minded voyage of exploration and put much more time into learning as I progressed. And I worked fourteen hour days and didn’t try and write while this was going on. It was a fortunate strategy because it yielded a much broader perspective than might otherwise have been the case.

It now seems to me that we need to rethink how we do pretty much everything; and that our traditional organizational models – whether they be government, religious, academic, social or religious - need overhauling drastically.

And yet our politics and very culture seem to be mired in greed, bigotry, partisanship, an indifference to the plight of the less well off – and something remarkably akin to business as usual.

Does that remind you of anything? Mubakek’s mindset comes to mind.

If those who run these United States of ours don’t begin to appreciate what is happening – and adapt accordingly – we’re going to see the fire that was lit in Tunisia and Egypt making a sea journey and coming here.

IN PRAISE OF THE APPROPRIATE LENGTH & THE REASONED ARGUMENT

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Department of Adequate Length.

One of the many good things about the current digital revolution that is sweeping the media world is that it seems is if long form journalism is making a come-back.

Personally, I have long believed in the notion that issues are worth exploring at adequate length, and that brevity, for its own sake, tends to be destructive; but traditional publishers were concerned about the cost of paper (and believed it should primarily be used for ads) and were decidedly unconcerned about informing their readers adequately; so short became categorized as ‘good,’ and long as ‘bad,’ virtually regardless of the complexity of the matter at hand.

Enter the decline in the quality of American life which has been such a feature since the Seventies; insidious and largely hidden at first, but recently glaringly obvious.

Is there a relationship between a sound bite approach by the media to a public that seems incapable of discussing and resolving most issues more complex than American Idol? I advance that proposition. Clearly it is not the only factor – blatant commercial manipulation, outright propaganda, ingrained prejudices, and the nature of our educational system play no small role, but the absence of adequate homes for pieces which could really get to grips with a subject has, in my opinion, long been a matter of serious concern.

Department of Good News: Kindle Single Store and The Atavist.

Apart from the intrinsic flexibility of digital content (such files cost virtually nothing to store and reproduce) two recent developments give grounds for optimism. First is the introduction of the Kindle Single Store which is publishing pieces between 10,000 and 30,000 words in length. Second is the launch of The Atavist Let me quote their own words:

“The Atavist is a boutique publishing house producing original nonfiction stories for digital, mobile reading devices. We like to think of Atavist pieces as a new genre of nonfiction, a digital form that lies in the space between long narrative magazine articles and traditional books and e-books. Publishing them digitally and offering them individually — a bit like music singles in iTunes — allows us to present stories longer and in more depth than typical magazines, less expensive and more dynamic than traditional books.

Most importantly, it gives us new ways to tell some inventive, captivating, cinematic journalism — and new ways for you to experience it.”

DEATH IS UN-AMERICAN

Image by eqqman via Flickr
The Real World Again
It’s been over a month since Jo died – the actual date was December 22 2010 and the Memorials were on January 9 2011 – and I’ve been trying to adjust to the real world again. Mind you, death is as real as it gets though I’m not sure we accept that in the U.S. It is seen as somehow un-American and I have noticed that the general reaction to mentioning it is to change the subject and/or use euphemisms like “passed.”

The Blood Oaths Of Porsche Drivers
I can’t say I think much of that. I like words that that are clear and as free of hypocrisy as is humanly possible (a notable qualification). “Passed” doesn’t really convey the extraordinary transition which takes place when life leaves a body. Instead it reminds me of driving on German autobahns at 120 mph – something of a local custom - and being passed effortlessly by Porsche after Porsche. Rumor has it that Porsche drivers swear a blood oath to be the firstest and the fastest. My charming ex-wife, Liz, drives one now I think of it.

Forgotten Dead Bodies
As part of trying to trying to come to terms with Jo’s death – in particular of witnessing her drink the lethal dose and gazing at her for nearly thirty minutes until death was pronounced – subsequently I tried to recall all the violent deaths I had witnessed and/or bodies I had found, together with how I had felt at the time. It wasn’t a long list – it included a motorcyclist who had crashed into a wall in front of me who had broken his neck and a policeman shot close to me in Northern Ireland – but the odd thing was I completely forgot to include the hanging body I had found in a wood in Wales which had led to my writing GAMES OF THE HANGMAN.

The corpse was pretty damn gruesome and freshly dead; and the word “passed” did not come to mind.  The word "executed" did.

Go read the book.

DEATH WITH DIGNITY - THE PASSING OF JO CURRAN

JO CURRAN - Soldier, Adventurer, Mother, World Traveller, Mentor to the Fortunate, Friend to the Privileged. Married three times. Secretary of the INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF TOUR MANAGERS (U.S. Branch). Founder of WAYWARD WOMEN. A remarkable woman of true courage, who truly understood  the meaning and the wonder of life; and lived it at full throttle, on her own terms - right to the end.

Jo died on December 22 2010. She was 68. I haven’t felt much like posting since the occasion - nearly three weeks ago now – not that it feels that way. But yesterday two Memorial receptions were held to mark Jo’s passing, so it’s time to move forward; or it will be after I have described her actual death, and its aftermath, in more detail.

It may seem strange to say this, but Jo had a very good death; and its manner enriched us all. Indeed, her passing personified the good sense and humanity behind the DEATH WITH DIGNITY ACT.

Nonetheless, I will freely admit that I was, and remain, much affected by it. 

Jo’s Death

The following is the text of an email I wrote to a close friend of Jo’s who was away in Italy.

"Hi Sara--

"Jo remained cheerful, feisty and very, very funny until right to the end. She even stipulated that (her daughter) Penny buy Kool-Aid to mix her barbiturates in. We then all gathered just before 11.00 am, stood in a semi circle around Jo's bed and she joked and chatted with us until 11.30. I had initially arrived dressed a little more formally than was my custom around Jo; and she sent me back to change into the clothes she was used to seeing me in. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry - but I did as ordered.   

"At 11.30, she asked Penny and me to move her into a sitting position - as we had been doing every morning for the past weeks - normally prior to moving her to her chair (a truly horrendous ordeal for Jo which took considerable time - but which she insisted on doing). On this occasion we merely had to keep her supported while she drank. We then lowered her down when she requested it, and she started saying a few words to each of us while the drug took effect. She then said something like she was sorry I had lost my chance to get her into bed! She was incorrigible to the end.

"She didn't manage to speak to us all. The drug took effect within a couple of minutes. We then all stood there for nearly half an hour while her breathing grew more and more ragged until finally she was silent. Pat Downs. a hospice nurse for many years, then pronounced her dead. Penny, crying, had stroked her mother's hand the entire time and looked bereft but in control. She had been magnificent throughout.

"People have decidedly mixed views about DEATH WITH DIGNITY but Jo's medical condition was fatal, the timing imminent and she was in terrible pain despite all the medication. Further, her condition was visibly deteriorating. Indeed on Monday, for the first time she screamed when we were moving her. The error had been mine. I had failed to lower my hand exactly in sync with hers when she started to sit down. I was focused on trying to keep her chair steady. I gather I went as white as a sheet. Pain wracked though she was, Jo then apologized for scaring me.   

"Jo hated the bathroom aspects of her condition - though it mattered not a whit to either Penny or myself - but though she thought adult diapers and the like were humiliating, in truth she never lost her dignity for a second.

"A truly magnificent rainbow appeared shortly after she died. It wasn't shaped in the normal curve but was shorter and pretty much pointed straight up into the sky.

"I suspect that one way or another Jo will be with us all until we too, embark on the same journey. It would be a fine thing if we could do it with as much grace, dignity and humor.

"Jo told me directly that you were very special to her - and I know you felt exactly the same way. But we shouldn't feel sorrow at her passing. She did the right thing, in the right way and at the right time - and she was in control until right to the end; which is exactly what she wanted. She died surrounded by friends in her own bed and there was much laughter in that last half hour.

"That said, though I'm sure there is more that I could tell you, I can't write further without crying.

"Have a marvelous Christmas with Riccardo. Raise a glass to Jo. She'll be watching over you." 

"Send me a sign when you cross over to the other side?"
"I will, though I'm not sure you'll recognize it."
The rainbow that appeared shortly after Jo died.

The Memorial for Jo at Spinnaker Bay

Spinnaker Bay in Rainier Beach is the 72 apartment condominium complex where Jo lived in a book-lined two bedroom apartment overlooking Lake Washington since 1994. She loved the place, had many friends there and reveled in the sense of community the condo offers. The memorial was organized by my friend, Chris Carrdus, who manages the site together with the president of the complex, Barbara Chamberlain. It was well attended.

A feature of Jo’s passing – despite the sadness we all feel – has been a sense of ‘rightness’ about the whole affair. One of Jo’s friends, the retired hospice nurse, Pat Downs - and a fellow member of Jo's Honor Guard, remarked that although Jo was a meticulous researcher and planner, she also had that invaluable quality of being able to get the most out of every day, and to improvise if necessary on the spot. Accordingly, if Jo was involved, things tended to just fall into place regardless of the unexpected. Jo could just get things to work – an invaluable talent given that she made her living as a tour director and travelled to many parts of the globe where the kind of services the West takes for granted just don’t exist. In fact, Jo had visited 358 degrees of the Earth’s 360 degrees of longtitude and has delegated her granddaughter, equipped with half of her ashes to visit the last two degrees on her behalf. As to where the balance of her ashes will go, suffice to say that, yet again, Jo’s sense of humor, has prevailed.

The non-denominational Memorial took place in the condo’s club house. Though unscripted, virtually all her friends spoke – most telling humorous anecdotes (items in virtually endless supply where Jo was concerned). The atmosphere then became decidedly more electric when those of us at the memorial, who were present at her death – her ‘honor guard,’ as she put it - were asked to describe it. What struck me forcibly during that process was how much our recollections differed despite the fact we were all in the same room at the same time and the entire process lasted little more than an hour. We didn’t differ on the fundamentals of course, but had decided differences in terms of timing and detail. This is a well known phenomenom which makes one wonder if there is a definitive history of anything. I rather think not; and these few words are no more than impressions.

Perhaps the most striking words were spoken by one of Jo’s doctor’s, Dr. Monica Campo. She articulated the reality that despite modern drugs and surgery, all too often she and her colleagues cannot do much other than stand by while patient after patient dies in pain and uncertainty; and then she contrasted Jo’s determination to take charge of her own end and the vivid impression it had made on her – to the point of changing her mind about how the manner of our dying should be approached. In truth I’m not conveying the spirit of Dr. Campo’s words adequately. What I can say is that they were expressed with great clarity and compassion – and we were all much affected by what we heard.

Being neither wayward (perhaps a debatable point) nor a woman, I didn’t attend the second memorial which was held in her friend artist Sondra Shira’s remarkable house for the members of the organization she, Jo, had founded, Wayward Women – but I heard it went equally well. The name can be interpreted several ways, as befits Jo’s sense of humor, but essentially it refers, not to sexual behavior, but to women who travel widely and alone. Some of their journeys are truly extraordinary. Without doubt, in addition to living life to the full, and having had enough adventures to put Indiana Jones to shame, the woman had impressive friends. One of them, Nicki Riley, a fellow tour director, said that when Jo had been asked to send a sign after she made it over to “the other side;” she had replied. “I will, but I’m not sure you’ll recognize it.” As it happened a truly beautiful rainbow appeared shortly after Jo’s death – and, as you can see from the photo, appears to point skyward. A coincidence or Jo’s message? That is for you to decide.

One wild and previous life?

Jo had a couple of favorite quotes which are very typical of her:

“The most important kind of freedom is to be who you really are.”  Jim Morrison

"Tell me what it is you that you plan to do with your one wild and previous life? A ship is safe in port, but that is not what ships are for?"  Mary Oliver.

THE DYING OF A FRIEND; THE PASSING OF A SINGULAR MIND

I have done a lot of good things over the last ten days but apparently blogging hasn’t been one of them.

Life at present is dominated by the fact that my friend Jo is dying. Her cancer is progressing at any alarming rate so it’s now not a matter of weeks or months, as we thought until recently, but of days. For all that, and despite being in great pain, heavily drugged and physically very constrained, her mind, and her sense of humor, seem to be as sharp as ever.

Remarkable people tend to have remarkable friends. so through Jo I have met some terrific people recently. Strange to think of the business of dying being a social occasion but there it is. And from the beginning, we all share one common interest: To do the best for Jo. The star in that respect is her daughter Penny who is proving to be about as devoted a care-giver as one is likely to find.

This whole business has made me think a great deal about death and the manner of it and it’s something I hope to write about in the months ahead. And it’s destination we all have in common. If we all handle the manner of it as well as Jo, it will be a fine thing.

Jo, who has essentially been a world class traveler and tour guide for most of her life has managed to explore all of the nearly all 360 degrees of the this Earth of ours in the course of a fascinating life, but has missed out on two. If that puts you in mind of a female version of Indiana Jones, you should know that even before her illness she was a slight little thing; attractive too, both physically and intellectually – and with a compelling personality.

The French have a word for such a package: Formidable!

MEMO TO CHARLIE

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"I've got to get back to feed my cat."

Department of Adequate Angst

I normally try and work out what I’m going to write about before opening my eyes in the morning so that after I have commuted to the computer, I can go straight to work.

It’s also a neat way of avoiding writer’s block – if that is something you suffer from. I’m largely spared that particular form of angst although I have adequate supplies of angst about other issues so still qualify as a real author. 

Angst is de rigeur as far as we creative types are concerned. It is as adrenaline. Or so they say.

Currently my angst is being dissipated by Charlie (Charlotte to strangers) a three legged white cat of singular personality and an ulta-loud purr, whose presence is so calming that I’m wondering what history would have been like if Hitler had had a cat.

But I’m glad to report that even with my angst meter temporarily set at low, I still seem able to write.

This morning I woke up with a new and better beginning to THE BOOK-LOVER’S MOVE in my mind. The story has been gestating since I drove across the U.S. back in April but now it seems determined to emerge regardless of my personal priorities.

Writing is less a vocation than a compulsion; and, for many of us, it is even more soothing than a cat.

Hitler, of course, was a writer too - so maybe Charlie wouldn’t have succeeded with him after all.

But I wouldn’t bet on it.


MEMO TO CHARLIE: 

You’re going to be in a book.

OF CREAKING BRAINS & CHARMING BULGARIANS

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It's amazing who one can find on the front covers
of one's books.
Clint Eastwood made one of the Russian editions.

Department of Inadequate Brainpower
It’s interesting to write against one’s own strengths. I have spent much of my life trying to develop the skills required to write what used to be known as Big Thrillers (satisfying reads of over 400 pages in length – perhaps 150,000 words) and now I’m battling to write short pieces of perhaps 500 words in length.

My brain is creaking at the strain.  

I seem to be able to do it though I’m still too slow. However, my respect for the masters of the art of blogging grows by the day. My favorites are Jim Fallows' blog in The Atlantic Monthly and The Big Picture which is awesomely good.  

Ministry of Culture & Movie Stars

On Saturday, I attended a highly enjoyable dinner party but didn’t get to bed until 3.00 am. Among those attending were a delightful pair of Bulgarians, a physicist and chemist respectively, who are effortlessly familiar with half a dozen languages, have travelled much of the world, and manage to personify both the strengths of European culture and the American Dream; and are charming into the bargain.

As if to rub salt into my sense of inferiority – I only have school French and speak virtually no Irish – Stan, the physicist, had read one of my books, GAMES OF THE HANGMAN, in both Bulgarian and English.

The whole experience was a reminder to think more globally.

It’s fun being translated into foreign languages but mildly frustrating when one is unable to read the translation to see how faithful the translator was. According to Stan, my Bulgarian counterpart did an impeccable job so now I am minded to track him down.

The Russians put Clint Eastwood on one of my covers. I’m far from sure they asked him first.

Anyway, now you know why the post I wrote yesterday that was destined for my TITANIC NATION blog – the site devoted primarily to U.S. economic issues – ended up on this blog. It had to do with what I shall discretely call “a heavy head.”

But the evening was a great success.

I am reminded that one of the attributes of being a cultured human being is having a reasonable working knowledge of the world, and, in particular, the nations that one’s friends come from; and the fact that I know remarkably about Bulgaria.

Time to remedy that situation.