George Bush is the sodomy president

I like Newt Gingrich’s reasoning Monday night, at the Republican Party’s Martin Luther King Junior Memorial Debate. His assertion is that a president is directly responsible for whatever happens during his (or someday her) term. Here’s my favorite quote from the evening:

“First of all, Juan, the fact is that more people have been put on food stamps by Barack Obama than any president in American history. I know among the politically correct you’re not supposed to use facts that are uncomfortable.”

That’s why he calls Obama the Food Stamp President, get it? The number of people on food stamps rose during his Presidency, so he must be putting them on the program. I don’t know how many people he personally signed up, but Newt seems to think it’s significant and a fact. It’s a fun kind of logic that people don’t seem to be enjoying yet, but I’m sure will catch on. By Newt’s reasoning:

Lawrence v. Texas made sodomy legal in 13 states, so George W. Bush is the Sodomy President.

Between 1993 and 1999 the Federal Government shed 377,000 jobs, making William Jefferson Clinton the Small Government President.

The U.S. deported a record 393,000 people in 2010 making Barack Obama the toughest anti-immigration president ever. The Hard Boarder President? The Homeland Defender President? I don’t know. Newt can pick one.

It’s a fun game. I hope more people start to play.

Jobs for Kids

My five-year-old Max doesn’t want to wash off his autograph from Buffalo Sabre Tyler Ennis. “What? You want to be a piece of memorabilia all your life?” I say. To which he answers yes. It’s not a bad line of work, really. I’m just not sure of growth potential.

All of which got me thinking about Newt Gingrich and his wish to have poor kids work an janitors in public schools in order to fashion a work ethic, while earning money. I’m assuming Newt grew up on London in the mid-1800s. I would have guessed as much from the Dickensian first name. While I applaud efforts to teach our children about the world, I’d like to get more value out of them. My kids are not, by nature, cleaners. Of anything. If you want to get some work out of them, we should play to their strengths. There are some jobs my kids could perform.

iPhone coach. To earn a little money after school, kids should hold seminars for people over 40 who use their iPhones for making calls. I’ve seen kids make backing tracks using voice memo, place reminders by location and Facetime homework assistance. They use technology in ways older people don’t immediately grasp.

Negotiator. If you’ve ever seen my two-year-old niece have ice cream for dinner, you know what I mean. I may never sit down with my publisher again. I’m going to send her. “More” “Now” You think the teacher’s union is powerful, wait ‘till they start employing their little guns.

Racketeer. You can try to organize children into a work force, but organizations, like guns and fire, can lean a lot of ways. Informing your local 711 that you can keep a roving band of six-year-olds out of their store for a small monthly fee could prove to be a lot more lucrative than sweeping floors.

It takes a hack

‘To Catch a Thief’ was on the other night and it occurred to me that I should be more like Carry Grant for all kinds of reasons. Stealing jewels isn’t my thing – due to high coffee consumption my hands are only steady when I sleep (and even then only in delta stage) – and I tend to hum when I’m nervous, which has got to be all the time if you’re a criminal, so the whole stealth thing is out. What I can do is write things, twisting words to my will. So, a la The Cat, in the spirit of “it takes one to know one” I’m going to start calling out other people who abuse language.

Today, it’s the pollster Frank Luntz. Frank is on my watch list for turning the estate tax into the “death tax.” The kind of cleverness one might expect from Lex Luthor or Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Frank spoke at the Republican governors’ conference on the last day of November, and showed off some new verbal judo moves.

According to Frank, raising taxes on the rich should be called “taking money from hard-working Americans.” The spirit of the phrase is disingenuous, but he means it. Franks feels that Warren Buffet and crab fishermen should be lumped together. (They’re not taxed the same now, but that’s a different diatribe.) The real problem is technical. Taxes don’t take money from you. They are imposed on a transaction yet to take place. They are a cost to doing business. If you made $22 million like the hard working Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz did last year no one is going to take it away from you. Taxes are on thing to come.

My other favorite quote from Franks’ speech is this:
“You should occupy the White House because it’s the policies over the past few years that have created this problem.”

He’s actually telling you he’s performing a trick. He’s taking your eyes from one focus to another, like a stage magician. Except, you expect illusions if you you’re watching an illusionist. The fact that the White House has been ineffectual in getting any of its economic policies passed in the last two years doesn’t matter. The real leaders of the economy are not in the White House, they’re not even in Washington, and Frank’s slight-of-word wants to keep from seeing them.

And that’s the saddest part of Frank’s misdirection to Republican governors. Legerdemain works. If you don’t believe me, watch ‘To Catch a Thief.’ Carry Grant’s character could sell derivatives to Occupy Wall Street. But, don’t forget, he was burglar.

429

I sold 429 copies of Cinco de Mayo last year. It's great, in a way, because I think I personally met everyone who purchased a copy. There's no way Dan Brown can make that claim, eh? E-books account for just 21 Cincos sold. Not the digital revolution I've been hearing about. Perhaps I don't attract early-adopters, which is a difficult position for a new author.

A cheery person by nature, there really isn't a great way to spin 429 unless . . . unless it's the size of the engine you're dropping into your '69 Mustang. Now that's a different story. The story I should've written. Hitting the open road, burning a gallon of dead dinosaurs every 8 miles, to make thunder and speed. The roar of a 429, not the whimper. If only I could adjust my vocation to meet my numbers. Ha. Then I'd go for batting average. Even better.

Originality

I bought an unusual car. Not Jowett Jupiter unusual, but a Saab in an odd shade of gray. A friend of mine bought the same car at the same time and now parks next to me daily. Originality is not a constant.

A seemingly simple concept, originality. Be new, be different. One might think writers would be rewarded for being such. And one would be wrong. Originality, like ouzo and Oxycodone, works best in moderation.

Editors, movie producers and a good portion of the public want something new. Not everything new. They want evolution, variations on a theme. Too new is frequently too much. Titrating the amount of originality that goes into a piece of fiction is tricky and, I think, an overlooked key to wide success. Novels in particular must avoid cliché and boredom while remaining accessible to humans in the 21st century.

Originality is also as relative as time or motion or most other things besides the speed of light. A work's degree of originality depends on your experience. I tell my five-year-old knock-knock jokes all the time. He thinks they’re great. Because, obviously, he hasn’t heard then a zillion times before. There’s a lot of popular literature that falls into the same dynamic. At any given time, everything up on the big screens is trite to movie-goer over the age of 25.

If you go too far – bend time, twist language, use characters that are completely alien – and you can lose your readers. They need access into a work of fiction. The farther you stray from the norm, the fewer people you take with you.

There are also readers-viewers-aficionados who appreciate the effort. They'll come along for the ride. Eventually, no matter how unusual your car, another just like it will pull up next to you.

Fantasy Fantasy League 2011

The term Fantasy League almost always means contests surrounding baseball, football or some other sphere-based game. While I don’t disagree that there is a huge fantasy content in professional sports (Psst, none of the Bills are really from Buffalo) I’m outraged that the fantasy community has left the field unchallenged. So, now in its second year, I throw down my own, tiny gauntlet. The Fantasy Fantasy League.

Fill in the ballot bellow. Make your picks before midnight Oct. 29. If you figure them all correctly - based on the winners, as decided Oct. 30 at the World Fantasy Award Banquet - I'll send you a signed copy of my novel Cinco de Mayo AND a vintage signed copy of The Misspellers. Ties will be settled by . . . song. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. (If it doesn’t work, I'll randomize.)

Enter once and now.

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The Way of the Writer

In feudal Japan, samurais were taught how to write poetry along with how to slice people in two and put an arrow through a neck. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying (and trying and trying) to hone my writing skills. I can’t help wondering if I shouldn’t have tried to pick up a little kendo on the side. Maybe it works both ways. Writing makes you a better warrior, warring makes you a better writer. I certainly think the way of the samurai might make a writer more mercenary. That could be helpful.

Ending my year-long book tour in Erie, Pennsylvania (the perfect choice. Everyone should finish his or her tour of anything in Erie. The place embodies the concept of ending.) I had the honor of sitting with acclaimed artist Charles Urbach and his wife for several hours at ErieCon. We ate pizza and drank Bawls energy drink (proud and appropriate sponsor) and couldn’t help but chat. We ripped through a number of interesting topics. Charles has had a splendid career doing illustrations for games like Magic, The Gathering and Star Wards Galaxies. He’s insightful, talented and making a living. That last part proved the most interesting to me.

Charles asked me how much the market directed my writing. In his business, artists are frequently asked to create something along the lines of someone else. In a particular style or with a certain feel. It is not art for art’s sake. It’s for a card or a box or a poster printed to lure buyers. It’s still art, though. He couldn’t really do it otherwise. He needs to find an angle of approach in each piece he’s asked to do, that intrigues him as an artist.

I, and I think a lot of writers, work the opposite way. I write what comes to me and hope I can find an audience for it. More or less. I’m not totally ignorant of market forces. I’m not enthralled by them, either. Nor can I make a living writing fiction, like Charles can. We all trade in frustration. Artists deal with clients who want the last big thing. Writers face audiences who fear new writers like the dark. Accountants face rules. Astronauts face gravity. Doctors face insurance companies. Insurance companies do whatever they want, they’re the exception.

Whether we’re dealing out frustration or sucking it up, our capacities determine our successes. I can’t help thinking, if I’d learned to attack, retreat, parry, thrust, riposte, I might have gained a little more control along the way. Control beats frustration. (Life beats control and frustration beats life, just so you know all the rules.)

And the bonus of bushido: You get to kick ass. Writers don’t get much of that from under the laptop.