Confessions of a thief.

 

I was a petty thief, but I am trying not to be anymore. 

Which is good, because apparently I suck at stealing things unless I'm not trying to. Then I am the Napoleon of Crime. 

When I was a boy, my mom would let me wander the aisles of the supermarket while she was shopping. (Yes, kids, it was a different world then.) On some occasions I pocketed a roll of Rolos, my favorite candy. No one ever caught me at it. I probably thought I was pretty clever.  

As I look back, I think even then they had security cameras, and they probably saw me. But they probably figured it was worth a little candy to keep my mother shopping there. We were regulars; she even had her favorite cashier. If they'd busted me, Mom would have been embarrassed (furious, but also embarrassed) and we would have gone to some other supermarket. And now I figure the managers knew that. 

Later in life I got caught stealing a comic book. One of -- but far from the most -- humiliating moments of my life. It was clear that I was no master criminal. And a stupid comic book, full of heroes that fought crime! Ironic and embarrassing. I genuinely wanted to walk out into traffic when they let me go. The manager had gotten my name and phone number and I figured he'd call my parents (can you believe I coughed up the real number?) but he never did. I confessed to my folks anyway. 

I did not grow up in the most morally upright household. My dad's advice following the comic book incident was not: Don't steal. It was: Never steal anything small. The penalty is the same for small and large thefts at felony size, so if you're going to steal, make it worthwhile. My father was a taciturn man, not given to advising -- the only other piece of advice I remember him telling me is "Don't weaken. It's a great life if you don't weaken."

Alas, I continued to steal small. While I was in college I stole books (I really am a dork) from a publishing distributor for whom I worked on Sundays. He had to have figured it out. He would call me on Fridays to check my availability. One Friday he didn't call. He never called again. I really didn't seem to care at the time.

After that, there was less thievery. I took the Xerox subsidy at work later on, and stole postage to mail out manuscripts, but I eventually I stopped taking things that were not mine. Over time I seemed to have had the slowest, stupidest, most reluctant, most half-assed, but eventually effective spiritual awakening possible, and thank God I lived long enough for it. So I didn't steal anything anymore.  

Then I stole a skid of toilet paper. 

Just a couple of weeks ago.

It was a total accident. I was on the self-checkout line at Home Depot, with several things in a cart, including a 24-roll package of Charmin ($25 on sale). I was sure I had scanned everything with the scanning gun, but when I got home and looked at the receipt, I discovered that I had walked out the door without paying for the TP.

I had pulled that heist right in front of an employee who was watching me scan. Master thief!

It bothered me. My wife thought it was funny. A friend me mine called it "No big shit!" (hyuk hyuk). But I don't want to steal anything anymore. 

So, on Friday I went back for another $25 skid -- not like it will go stale -- and charged myself for two. The ledger is corrected, the inventory proper. Order and balance are restored.

Maybe no one noticed, no one cared. But I care. Because if I steal, I am a man who steals, but if I refuse to let myself steal I am not. Not anymore. I much prefer that.

Anyway, I have a lot of TP around, so if you stop by I can slip you a couple of rolls. Be my guest. 

Don't worry; it's paid for. 

Is this thing on?

Hello, out there in Internet land! After a long absence I have returned! 

Don't all go crazy, now!

No? Not even a little crazy?

Fine, be that way. 

Anyway, yes, due mostly to work obligations, I have been unable to post for some time. I have come somewhat out from under the pile of said obligations, but my main reason for priortizing my online presence is this: 

Some of you may know that the fine folks at Raconteur Press have published my YA novel I've Got This, and it was put to me that my readers (who are all tasteful and good looking) might want to find a way to contact me. So here I am. Come at me, bro! 

The book is available from the typical sources (like Amazon, Books-a-Million, maybe the dumpster at Publishers Weekly) and my contact email remains the same:  frederick_key@yahoo.com. Someone has to give Yahoo something to do, after all. 

I hope to post regularly, but have not figured out a schedule yet. For those just peeking in for the first time, the general topics are books, comics, food, work, home ownership, what my dog did, the perils of modern living, and everything else. The last file, oddly, is the smallest. Maybe I should get out more. 

Thanks for stopping by, and I hope to see you again soon!

-Fred

Santobsessed.

 I think in America we have a kind of mental development of Santa that runs like this:

1. Clement Clarke Moore publishes his famous poem in 1823

2. Thomas Nast draws Santa in 1863

3. Coca-Cola gives us a common picture of Santa in 1930

4. Rankin and Bass do the rest, starting 1964 

But there's a lot that gets left out of that outline. We've been Santa obsessed for quite some time. A search for "Santa Claus" on Discogs returns 27,895 hits. A quick look at the priceless Gutenberg Project site reveals books about Santa Claus that I did not know existed, and maybe the same is true for you. Sixty-one titles pop up on the site if you search there for "Santa Claus." For example:

A Reversible Santa Claus by Meredith Nicholson (1917)

This is a curious book by a curious writer; Nicholson was, among other things, a US envoy to three different countries. But he had been an Indiana newsman and loved to write, apparently. Here's the Amazon description of this book: 

A reformed thief known as Billy “the Hopper” – named for the ease with which he’s always made his escapes - has retired with one last haul and settled down on a chicken farm with his wife, Mary, and another former thief, Humpy. Mary used to be a pickpocket. Humpy used to raise chickens in jail, so he’s got valuable experience. All three of them are glad to be living a quiet life within the law, but one day the Hopper sees a wallet sticking out of someone’s jacket on the train and is unable to resist pocketing it. This sets in motion a chain of events that results in the Hopper inadvertently kidnapping a toddler.

Not sure how much actual Santa Claus is in this one, but it's the book on this list I'm most interested in reading. I'm wondering how "reversible" works into the "Santa Claus" too. Does that mean Hopper comes down the chimney and takes stuff away, like a proto Grinch?

🎅🎅🎅

A Kidnapped Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum (1904)

Some of you may recall that Oz creator Baum had written a biography of Santa, The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, in 1902, which was adapted for TV by Rankin-Bass in 1985. This one is really a short story, but one of the first in the Evildoers Threaten Christmas subgenre that has proved so durable. In it, the Daemons who live in the caves near Happy Valley and hate Santa all the time decide to kidnap him so he can't bring happiness to the children. But the various magical creatures that help Santa (not elves -- ryls, knooks, pixies, and fairies) manage to get Santa's presents delivered. Santa is released on Christmas Day by the frustrated bad guys. (Sorry; spoiler alert!) Well done, knooks & co. 

🎅🎅🎅

A Defective Santa Claus by James Whitcomb Riley (1904)

Although not so well remembered today, Riley was another Indiana writer, exceptionally popular in his time for poems and stories for and about children. The book is actually a poem in dialect that, like so much of his work, harks back to simpler times in the 1800s. 

🎅🎅🎅

Christmas in Storyland, edited by Maud Van Buren and Katharine Isabel Bemis (1927)

I don't know anything about the editors of this volume, but it's exactly what you'd expect -- a book of Christmas stories for children. Santa plays a part in many of them, naturally. That same year the editors also released Christmas in Modern Story: An Anthology for Adults. Back when "adult audiences" just meant "the kids won't like it."

🎅🎅🎅

Lill's Travels in Santa Claus Land, and Other Stories by Ellis Towne, Sophie May, and Ella Farman (1878)

Lill with The Man Himself. Moore's reindeer names 
are used in the book (Dasher, Dancer, et al.) 

The book doesn't say which author wrote which story (there are four in the book), but the star is definitely Lill, who in the first tale explains how she happened to come upon Santa Claus Land while walking and met the big guy. At the end she tells us that Santa Claus Land is not in a fixed place, and she has been unable to find it again. 

🎅🎅🎅

Tommy Trot's Visit to Santa Claus by Thomas Nelson Page (1908)

Tommy Trot looks like what is now a pretty standard Christmas story for kids. One summary says, "The story follows a young boy named Tommy Trot who goes on a magical adventure to visit Santa Claus at the North Pole. Along the way, he meets a variety of friendly creatures, including a talking reindeer and a group of mischievous elves. As Tommy explores the enchanting world of Santa's workshop, he learns valuable lessons about kindness, generosity, and the true meaning of Christmas." Which sounds like movie adaptation of The Polar Express, although a non-psychotic version. 

Page also wrote A Captured Santa Claus (1902) (very different from the Baum Kidnapped story, featuring Civil War veterans) and Santa Claus's Partner (1899), so he knew from Santa stories. He also had a very romanticized view of the Old South that pretty much guarantees his books for adults will be painful to modern eyes. 

🎅🎅🎅

Santa Claus' Sweetheart by Imogen Clark (1906)

In case you wondered where Hallmark got the idea to do Christmas movies:

The story follows Jessica, a young bakery owner who finds herself falling for a mysterious man named Nick who bears an uncanny resemblance to Santa Claus. As their romance blossoms, Jessica discovers that Nick has a special connection to Christmas that transcends the ordinary. Clark's delightful narrative captures the spirit of the season with its themes of love, hope, and second chances. Through vivid descriptions and endearing characters, she transports readers to a charming world where miracles can happen and love is always in the air. "Santa Claus' Sweetheart" is a perfect read for anyone looking to experience the joy and wonder of Christmas all year round.

A short novel, looks pretty sweet. 

🎅🎅🎅

Santa Claus' Message: A Christmas Story by E. Franklin Tregaskis (1921)

I have found almost nothing about E. Franklin Tregaskis beyond this Australian story, a short one that takes place in a crapped-out gold mining settlement called Twenty-Foot, where only two men are still trying to get something of value out of the ground as Christmas approaches. One is an old-timer, the other a man with a family, and there's been no rain to sluice out what thin pickings might be had. Then a mysterious message appears... Anyway, this shows that Australia's been Santobsessed just as we have.

🎅🎅🎅

I haven't even mentioned all the storybooks on Gutenberg that have some Santa Claus in passing, or the plays for children that are up at the site (because parents always want to see the kiddies put on a performance). And who knows how many other Santa stories are out there that Gutenberg hasn't gotten to yet? 

All of this is to say that our love of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas is not new; it is a very sturdy part of the American culture, and God bless Santa Claus. May his stories always point the way to the One whose great story among us we celebrate on Christmas Day. 

Librarians eaten.

I hate this stuff.

What they think they're doing: Showing that "different" things aren't scary.

What they're actually doing: Showing that heroic men are idiots.

Here's the deal: Dragons are mythical creatures intended to be scary, even if they are good, as in Chinese mythology. A cuddly dragon is a non-dragon creature of some other kind. That's the point of dragons. 

I'm sick to death of dragons being the good guys. Dragons want to eat us. Dragons are no good for human companionship. Dragons suck. Boo dragons. Leave them alone.

Where did it start? Ogden Nash's "The Tale of Custard the Dragon," about a cowardly dragon (who does in fact eat a human)? Anne McCafferty's Dragonriders of Pern series? Wherever it did, we find now that the world is on its head, that the dragons are always (surprise!) good and the guys who want to take them out bad. Whether it's Dragonslayer, Dragonheart, How to Train Your Dragon, it's hard to find a dragon in fiction that's not the good guy. It's like finding a police office or priest in fiction who is the good guy, especially if he's white and male -- like finding hen's teeth.

It's all part of the crap that gave us Wicked and all the new Disney pictures that root for the bad guy. (As long as the bad guy is, you know, a girl -- Captain Hook and Gaston remain bad.) The ladies are just misunderstood, you know. Men were mean to them, probably. That's why they're bad. 

Or maybe they're just power-hungry crapweasels. I don't care what made the green babe mad in Oz; if she sends a pack of wolves to rip up a little kid, kidnaps her with terrifying flying monkeys, and threatens to slaughter the little girl when the sand runs out of the hourglass, to hell with her. Drop a freaking house on her. SHE'S THE BADDIE. How she got that way is irrelevant; she chose her path. 

As Germán Saucedo wrote recently in First Things:

The clear images of true evil present in the best fairy tales, ballads, myths, and legends offer both a vision of what is to be avoided at all costs, as well as a vision of virtue. As such, the “sympathetic villain” genre is a symptom of a society that disagrees on what is good and what is evil, or that tries to explain evil away as trauma, psychopathy, or pathology. But to identify and avoid evil, we must first learn to recognize the good. The insistence on subverting villains is a sign we have lost confidence in our belief that we can know what heroism looks like, a heroism that displays the good that would oppose their unrighteousness. In a world without any moral certitude or any agreed upon system to define true virtue, what is wickedness anyhow? It would be just a matter of perspective.

In this light, we see that stories like this tell us a lot more about the storyteller than they actually do about good or evil. 

One dragon story that takes a more serious approach to the topic was based on Fred Saberhagen's Swords books, which I discussed here last year. An Armory of Swords features stories by other writers about what happened to various normal people whose lives were touched by the mighty god-forged Swords that were circulating the world. In "Dragon Debt" by Robert E. Vardeman, my favorite story in the collection, a young man comes into possession of Dragonslicer, the Sword of Heroes... and also a small, helpless baby dragon. A moral dilemma ensues in which the stakes are not small. 

The point of dragons is that they're dangerous, and dealing with them requires valor, not tea and cookies. Pretending they are all nice and lovely is just pretending that there is nothing really dangerous in the world, which we know is false. As C.S. Lewis wrote in the essay "On Three Ways of Writing for Children," "Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker."

Meanwhile, the librarian type in the meme above are the sort who expect their native goodness to make everyone but the genuinely evil side with them -- and when people don't, they go on TikTok demanding the ruin of their lives. 

I've had it with dragons, but when the one pictured above turns on his bookworm buddies and eats them, I will offer him a mild nod. Not that I want the wicked dragon to win, but smugness and stupidity must be punished if we're to understand why these are bad things. 

Book thief!

Voltaire is supposed to have said, "Only your friends steal your books." I have not been able to find the quote to verify it, although it sounds like him. I have also heard a version as "Enemies steal your money; friends steal your books."

Nevertheless, there is truth to it. 

A friend of mine has recently found himself with time on his hands, and mentioned that for the first time in many years he is looking for books to read. I happily loaned a few from my library, most of which he enjoyed. 

Then he gave them away to other people. 

This is one reason why friends steal books -- if they are not true book lovers, they don't see the value in keeping a book at hand. Then they pass them along, figuring everyone should enjoy this nice book. I honestly had not anticipated this, but when he told me that he gave one of my books to his son and another to a friend, I knew I'd never see them again. 

"That's my book in your pocket, isn't it?"
“No, I’m just happy to see you. And
I have a rectangular schmeckele.”

I can sort of understand it, and yet at the same time I don't. No one does this with anything else. If I leant him a coat or my car or some tools, I know I'd get them back. He is very honest. I'm pretty sure if I'd leant him a DVD, he would not send it along downstream for someone else to watch. And yet hardcover books and many paperbacks are more expensive than CDs and DVDs. Maybe they expect you’ll watch a movie over and over, but no one ever rereads a book.

When I've stolen a book from a friend, I did it the old-fashioned way -- forgot to return it. Sometimes the book didn't grab me, or I had no time, and was determined to get back to it, only to find years later that it had been in my possession far longer than it ever had been in his. That's not larceny, which requires intent, but I still didn't give the book back.

Well, my pal still is looking for things to read, so you can figure what I have done -- I've bought him some as a Christmas present. I hope he enjoys them, and the same to whomever he sends them to next. I will not have to worry about those books. 

The word books are here!

This doesn't matter to anyone outside the publishing industry, and only to about half of them, but The Chicago Manual of Style has coughed up an 18th edition, and made the front cover a friendly-but-eye-hurting yellow rather than their previous trademark orange.  

For those who don't know (and certainly needn't care), the manual is a big book, a list price $75 book, that standardizes everything in the book publishing process from the smallest punctuation to the largest production demands. Newspapers don't use it; they follow the Associated Press style guide. Medical publishers generally follow the AMA's style guide, I believe. I own those, too. And then there's Words Into Type, a sort of rival of CMS, but not given to as many editions. It's often used as a supplement, because there's nothing a 1,200-page cinder block of a book needs more than a supplement. 

The University of Chicago Press began dispensing publishing wisdom in 1891, as a sheet that contained the information for the publisher's compositors and pressmen, who had to deal with scruffy manuscripts from scruffy professors (or so I imagine). 

Even at such an early stage, “the University Press style book and style sheet” was considered important enough to be preserved, along with other items from the Press’s early years, in the cornerstone of the new Press building in 1903.

That sheet grew into a pamphlet, and by 1906 the pamphlet had become a book: Manual of Style: Being a compilation of the typographical rules in force at the University of Chicago Press, to which are appended specimens of types in use—otherwise known as the 1st edition of the Manual. At 200 pages, the original Manual cost 50 cents, plus 6 cents for postage and handling.

It's the bible for most book publishers, as the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders is for the headshrinkers, or the Pocket Pal is for graphics and reproduction guys. (You may insert your Pocket Pal joke here.) 

The CMS doesn’t change much between editions. The 17th was published in 2017. The last few have been busy keeping up with technological changes. And yet it's important to have the most recent one so that we're all quite literally on the same page. If I get into a fight with an editor or writer over the capitalization of celestial objects, I want to refer them to 8.143 (the 143rd section of chapter 8) to show that aurora borealis is set in lowercase. As you can see, the CMS plays referee.  

Despite this, I used to work at a company where the copy chief absolutely refused to use the 15th edition, demanding that we galley slaves stay with the 14th. I do not know why he had it in for the 15th, but he was not kidding. Down with the 15th! was his cry. Soon after I was laid off from that job, the 16th edition came out. I am still afraid the shock may have killed him. 

I haven't looked at the 18th much yet. I worry that they've decided to stuff it with a bunch of politically correct stuff -- how to handle newly coined pronouns, how to address someone who identifies as a wallaby, that kind of thing. It can’t be helped. At least the book remains a noble defender of the serial comma.

Now that I've whipped you into a Chicago Manual of Style frenzy, you will be glad to know that you can buy merch.

The number on the back makes me laugh. Like you play third base for the Chicago Manuals of Style. Can’t tell the players without a scorecard.

Skunk, tables, books.

Three topics weighing heavily on me this morning: Skunks, Tables, and Books. 

Let's go.

The dog groomer sent this around, and I repost it here as a public service. I do not know if this is the best advice, but I sure would be willing to give it a try. As longtime readers will recall, the late Tralfaz had a couple of memorable tussles with skunks and lost both, because with a skunk, as with porcupines and wasps, even if you win, you lose. When we tried to de-skunk the boy we started by spraying him with water, and I can tell you it did not help. I think the water may have just spread the skunk juice around, or helped it penetrate his skin. 

I think the method from the groomer -- who has probably de-skunked dozens of dogs -- is worth a try. If you are a dog owner, I hope you will not need it. Still, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. 

I did see a skunk waddle into the road the other morning while walking Izzy. Fortunately we were not crossing his path nor vice-versa, and he still had the good sense to go back the way he came.  

As for tables: You know also if you read this site that I am grateful for our trashmen, who make life much cleaner for the rest of us. Our local service is willing to pick up one (1) large item a week from each household, and in past years that has meant a mattress or an old easy chair. Last week it meant the kitchen table that my mother gave my wife and me as a wedding gift. 

We have had this set a long time. My wife never much liked it. We tried to replace it with another set more than ten years ago when elevated pub-type tables were in vogue, and she wound up liking that one less -- so that was relegated to the dining room and the old set came out again. A new new set has finally landed, and so the old table's time was up. 

That table lasted as long as it did because it was solid. It weighed a ton. I only got it to the street last Friday because it was circular and, with the legs off, I could roll it. Took out the legs and the leaf too. I was not sure the boys would carry it away, but they did, God bless ‘em. 

We still have the six chairs, which can go out in installments. No big rush. After all, a chair without a table is still a chair, but a table without a chair is a sideboard.

Finally, books. 

Just a quick announcement that Hans G. Schantz has rounded up a bunch of authors again to submit ebooks to the Based Book Sale. All books are 99 cents or less until September 11! Stock up on your reading to help you get through the anxiety of the election season and the stress of the holidays. I've got two books involved. Which ones? You'll have to look at the list and find out! 

Twisted!

A lot of writers don't plot out their books. They just go with the flow. Whatever feels right at the moment in the story, go with it. 

There's definitely a plus to that kind of thinking -- you never worry if your book is getting bogged down in the dull part, because you can always just throw in a 'splosion or reveal a character thought dead or, as Raymond Chandler said, "When in doubt have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand." Thus the Rule of Cool maintains -- it doesn't have to make sense, it just has to grab the audience. 

But let's look at this more closely, especially at the Chandler quote. Thanks to the invaluable Quote Investigator, we have context for that line: 

In April 1950 Raymond Chandler published an essay titled “The Simple Art of Murder” in a magazine called the “Saturday Review of Literature”, and he reflected on his background as an author in pulp magazines of the 1920s and 1930s. The tales about police officers, journalists, and detectives sometimes lacked realism Chandler said because they occurred during a compressed time-frame and involved an artificially close-knit group of people.

And the Chandler excerpt that contains the famous quote: 

...the demand was for constant action and if you stopped to think you were lost. When in doubt have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand. This could get to be pretty silly but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. A writer who is afraid to over-reach himself is as useless as a general who is afraid to be wrong.

So it's very tempting to throw in a plot twist just to liven things up, catch the reader unaware. It unquestionably generates interest. Unfortunately, it also can generate a huge plot problem. 

Fans of the original Dallas were stunned with the dead Bobby Ewing turned up at the end of season eight, quite alive... But how? When viewers found out the past season had been all a dream, and how it messed with continuity going forward, well, let's say that for the show's sake it was good that the Internet had not been invented yet. Still, the show, which had been in decline, managed to continue on for a total of fourteen seasons, so maybe the cool plot twist worked, even though it never made any sense. 

Personally, I like stories that make sense. Sure, I read a lot of nonsensical stuff, but that's different -- you don't expect sense from wacky comedy. But from crime stories, I think the reader definitely wants reason. Part of the appeal, even for books that are very dark, is that the reader can understand what and why. Throwing in crazy twists that cause the plot to fall apart ultimately annoys the reader. 

And that's the thing -- the reader trusts the writer with his time and interest, and he expects the plot to be coherent even if dislikes how it plays out. Most people would rather hear a song or a concerto that was written and rehearsed, not an open-ended guitar or sax solo that wanders around for half an hour and just ends when the cocaine wears off. 

I do plot my stuff out in advance, but I often find that things don't work as I planned when I get into the meat of the thing. For example, seeing everything play out, I can find that what looked like a secret to the characters in the outline would look completely obvious to the characters when enacted on the stage. Then it's back to the ol' drawing board. 

And this is one writer working on one project. You see movies that seem to have more screenwriters and script doctors than cast members -- how can they not screw up the plot? All those cooks throwing lasagna noodles and herring and chocolate icing into the project? Too many cooks spoil the plot, no question. 

Be good.

It's been a while since I did a book post on a Wednesday, but don't get all happy -- I am not prepared with time or commitment to bring back the Humpback Writers feature. That, of course, never involved writers with hunched backs, but ran on Hump Day, and was and remains the worst name for a book feature online. So no, I'm not doing that right now.

Nevertheless, it is Wednesday, and here's a book. 

The Good Citizen's Handbook: A Guide to Proper Behavior, compiled by Jennifer McKnight-Trontz and published in 2001, is a look back at handbooks from the 1930s to the 1960s, designed to help Americans live healthy, worthy, happy lives. 

The pages inside are not altered from the original handbooks, except for the addition of headers ("A Good Citizen..."). To the credit of the writer and publisher, the book's endnotes have citations for all of the originals, printed in the smallest type you ever saw in your life. 

So let's get to it: What ought a citizen do in order to be a Good Citizen? 

All right! But surely there's more to it than that?

Hmm. Seems a bit familiar, yes? Like everything being shouted at the citizenry in 2020? Not that it's bad advice for avoiding being sick, but it was also our Civic Duty to ruin our lives to save them in 2020. So is this old pamphlet really goofy and out of touch, when it was exactly what we saw four years ago, just with updated clothing on the models?

In fact, while the book looks like it's intended to poke fun at the earnestness and innocence of the past (à la Nick and Nite's "How to Be Swell"), it can't help but shine a light on the aspirations of an America that wanted to be better and safer for all its citizens. 

Better dressed, too. 

I like the "Clean Play" page. The rules of good sportsmanship are the same as they always were. But the last professional sportsman to follow them that I know of was Barry Sanders, who didn't show off or brag when he scored his many touchdowns and show up the other team. These days we tell kids in school not to be dickweeds, but then we behave like dickweeds ourselves everywhere else. More is caught than taught.

Happiness through purpose, friendship, communication, exercise, and faith. This is the precise advice we still from mental health professionals, except that now the “spiritual values” one is always (and I mean always, 100% of the time) illustrated by photo of a young woman meditating in the lotus position.

This book may have been compiled to chuckle at the innocence of the past, but what sane person would not prefer to live in a society where people really do want to strengthen the republic, help one another, and bolster goodwill? "Today good citizenship means less to us," writes McKnight-Trontz in the introduction. "We worry far more about our demons than our duties.... We belong to fewer civic groups, vote less, and spend far more time doing things ourselves, for ourselves. No wonder it feels like everything is going to Hell." And that was written before the invention of the smartphone! 

Of course, the America of the 1930s through the 1960s had all the problems we can imagine -- tragic family trauma, addiction, racism, poverty, corruption, misogyny, war, whatever else you want to add. Despite that it was a high-trust society, especially compared to the current moment. Two-tiered justice systems, handwave treatment of violent criminals, election theft, tribalism, stores locking up goods, institutions run by fools chosen for the shallowest reasons, children being miseducated if educated at all -- this is all part of our new low-trust society. The Good Citizen's Handbook is a window to the past, not as it was but as those living then wished it could be. We don't even have that now. Whenever I see art depicting a hopeful future now it shows a multiculti group of young people, no children or oldsters, dressed like bums, doing no work, and if a white male is in it, he's probably dressed like a woman or a unicorn. The future is dumb.

Sadly, the handbook is out of print, although as I write this McKnight-Trontz has another Chronicle Books title out: How to Be Popular. Which I know I could use. Perhaps then I could learn How to Be Swell. Nick at Nite didn't really help that much. 

Top-down stupidity.

Note: I wrote a draft of this post on Sunday, planning to put it up Monday, but got to wondering if I was too harsh. So I held off and looked at it again Monday. 

No, events of the last week convince me I was probably not harsh enough, if anything. 

So, here we go:

😛😛😛

The irreplaceable Instapundit often notes that we have the dumbest elites in the history of our nation. I actually am starting to think he's understating the problem. 

I take my impressions from the section of the culture in which I toil the most -- books. As a youth I would have found it difficult to believe that people could be both smart and stupid at the same time, but modern books have me convinced this is not only possible, but exactly what is going on now. 

duh.

Don't get me wrong -- a lot of the books I'm thinking of are well written, with great command of the language, deft use of literary themes, and great craft in metaphor, character, and sometimes even plot. But there is a willful stupidity that contaminates many of them, and I hope to make the case for some of the reasons why.

1) Gullibility. 

I probably do not need to say that these writers believe every single solitary word printed in the New York Times, which is why apostates like Senator Cotton must not be allowed to appear in that holy writ. I'm not kidding -- Biblical scholars are much more aware of and understanding of contradictions and conflicts in the Holy Book than Times fans are of their word of god. Times true believers are willing to argue that the Times is always right, even when the paper itself reports that it was wrong (as in Walter Duranty's famous coverage of the Holodomor, let alone more recent scandals -- the Hunter Biden laptop, or so-called Russian collusion, or Fauci and Cuomo as heroes of the pandemic, just to name a few). Not that the paper ever admits error; it just runs the new information as if it was never their fault for screwing up. 

Being wrong when you're Times means never having to give back your Pulitzer.  

2) Obsession with factoids. 

Another side of this gullibility is a love of factoids. Not that there's anything wrong with enjoying and amassing information, but the "facts" must be entirely Times approved. Mostly, though, the facts must contain some supposed insight that makes the intellectual look smarter, more worldly, and that will be the golden ticket to success. This is how we get lying books like Three Cups of Tea, which supposedly held the magic to dealing successfully with the intractable Taliban and became a huge seller. Our stupid Department of State could not buy enough copies, the morons. 

Remove all the garbage books like that from our publishing houses and there'd be a lot fewer trees giving their lives for book paper. 

3) Dead hearts.

Modern celebrated writers hate everyone, especially their own Western countries. The hate for them is pristine. There's never an understanding or excuse for why this or that Western nation did something in the past. Pure evil is the only explanation. Every statement must be phrased in a way that makes the people involved look as selfish, craven, and cruel as possible, even if the historical evidence actually shows beneficence. Such kneejerk hatred, for persons and populations, is the sign of a dead heart.

On that note, every character in their novels is dead inside as well; some may put on a good face, but they really love no one. It reflects the feelings of the loveless readers. If you found yourself transported into one of these novels, you'd think you'd gone into some kind of hell. Because dead hearts lead to... 

4) Empty souls. 

They believe nothing but the worst. They cannot write a genuine book about a character of faith, because they don't know what that's like. They think it's a kind of mental failing. And I don't mean religion so much as real ideals, the kind people will willingly die for. 

I've found no heroes of genuine selfless nobility in any novel celebrated by the intelligentsia written this century. I haven't read them all, of course. Prove me wrong!  

5) Racism, sexism, and all the other -isms.

Advancing the wrong people for the right reasons, the right people for the wrong reasons, and of course, the wrong people for the wrong reasons. The "right people for the wrong reasons" suffer for being stuck with the same affirmative action label. 

Is this payback for discrimination of the past? Fair point. Do two wrongs make a right? Try reading some of this stuff and tell me what you think. 

6) Lack of focus. 

No one can just do the job anymore; they have to do the messaging about the thing. In fact, that's what they truly want to do. They want to talk it all to death. Life as an endless undergrad bull session.

This is way beyond just books. If your company has to release an operations manual, for example, and hires some former English majors to do the job, watch for the opening sections to be about diversity, equity, and inclusion, before suddenly turning into serious data and instructions. The English majors really just want to do the DEI stuff. It'd be like buying a coffeemaker and finding the first three pages dedicated to the company's policies of inclusion. WHO CARES? I JUST WANT COFFEE. 

But the folly is not limited to virtue signaling. Companies that ought to be run by people who know how to do the things (cough, Boeing) are instead run by stock market weasels who sacrifice quality and even lives to increase stock value. Anyone could see that it's a short-sighted policy -- anyone but our crop of intellectual morons. Companies are unfocused; workers are self-indulgent; fortunes are being squandered because no one is really working on the actual job. 

7) Inadequate punishments for stupidity.

Only dissent gets punished in this universe, not stupid actions centered in foolish criteria. There seems to be no comeuppance for the dumdums ruining our society. They just fail upward.

😛😛😛

The only corrective that works in these cases is one that comes from those the perpetrators fear. It doesn't matter how much value the company loses, how disastrous the policy is, how lousy the books are; unless people who can make a difference get angry and start throwing bums out, nothing will change. Certainly I can be of no help. Nobody is afraid of me. 

The Big Swim.

 

Book sale!

Hans G. Schantz has once again organized a non-woke book sale for writers selling through Amazon. If you're looking to load your Kindle or Kindle software with books that are cheap in price but valuable in PC-free content, this is the time! 

I am but a measly part of the whole shebang, an event in which every book costs ninety-nine cents. Can you believe it? Such a bargain! But it only lasts through Tuesday the 25th.

Are you tired of those books that start off agreeably, only to whale you with the old Left-Wing Sucker Punch? ("The bomber was the nice little old lady all the time! She had a MAGA hat in her luggage!") Then I'm sure you'll enjoy the opportunity to read a book that, while it may have many plot twists and mysterious characters, was not written to insult you.

After all, any liberal reading any novel on the New York Times best-seller list knows that he, she, or it will not be challenged in any of his, her, or its orthodoxy and can relax and enjoy the story. People right-of-center, or even centrist (which today makes them Nazis too) do not have that opportunity. 

You don't have to buy my book, of course, but I thought you might like to know about the sale. Happy reading! 

J.R.R. meets E.B.

Would have been a very different book either way. 

The hungry I.

"AI development could be slowed by a huge demand for electricity," reports WSHU in Connecticut, and it's an interesting development in this weird new world of artificial intelligence. 

Connecticut and other states would have to significantly improve their energy infrastructure to keep up with the electricity needed for AI computing, said Chetan Jaiswal, a computer science professor at Quinnipiac University and an AI researcher.

“For example, a single chip running for nine days uses more than 27,000 kilowatt hours. An average household uses approximately 10,000 kilowatt hours annually,” Jaiswal said.

And that's a report from tiny Connecticut, far from the fantasy land that is California, where so many high-tech companies dwell, and where the government thinks that medieval tech like sun and wind will somehow cough up enough power for all of this. 

I have done some work in the last year looking at business startups, and many of them are pasting AI on their business plans the way Dot Com was bandied about in the nineties. It was the special sauce necessary to bring in the investor lettuce; then on to the IPO; then on to the giant bubble. Will that happen again? Yeah, probably. 

I don't even know that most of us are that impressed with artificial intelligence to date -- it seems to be a little crazy and even stupid. Is it worth all the hullabaloo? It's already helping lazy students get by, but worse, it's literally destroying science publishing. Science publisher Wiley is closing nineteen journals in its Hindawi subsidiary because of manuscript fabrication by so-called paper mills using AI. This is a terrifying development in the field. 

At least in the Dot Com revolution, when things shook out we had the Internet -- not an unmixed blessing, no, but for most people something of value. What will the AI revolution yield? Garbage research and a bottomless hunger for energy seem to be the whole of its useful product to date. 

What first popped to my mind with that energy-hungry-AI story was this unnerving quote from the third book of C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy, which takes place in England: 

"It is the beginning of what is really a new species--the Chosen Heads who never die. They will call it the next step in evolution. And henceforward, all the creatures that you and I call human are mere candidates for admission to the new species or else its slaves--perhaps its food."

--The Director, That Hideous Strength 

In Lewis's 1945 novel, the monsters are organic; in our time, the "new species" is electronic. But what are we to be, but its slaves? Either by maintaining it technically where it can't maintain itself, or by providing its energy. It won't eat us, but it doesn't have to -- it will eat our energy, which we also need for food and homes and transportation. The more idiot humans cut back on our means of generating power by fossil fuels and nuclear energy, the less there is all around, and AI will need a bigger cut every year. Our energy costs will skyrocket yet more, because the wealthy investors will demand that AI get all the power it needs. 

It's a sneaky path to Doomsday that I wouldn't have expected, although in a way C.S. Lewis did. He was well aware of the kind of scientists who revile humanity and see it as an impediment to a better world. He knew that these were the very modern geniuses who could lead to our destruction, congratulating themselves as they too were fed to the fire. 

Mutton-headed princesses.

I've worked on a few books for young readers over the years, most of which are targeted toward girls. Publishers will tell you that they barely bother with books for boys above grammar school age because boys don't read for fun. So they neglect boys' books and the spiral continues. 

I mention this because I don't want someone to think I'm just picking on fictional princesses today. No doubt there'd be plenty of fictional princes to pick on too, if boys were reading, and if boys were encouraged to believe in themselves beyond all reason the way girls are. 

That's the rub, right there. In almost every girls' book these days, there comes a time when the girl hero (we don't call them heroines anymore because that's a diminutive), who has been shoved aside by her oppressors, has a chance to sound off and show everyone how wrong they are. She doesn't have to know anything, as long as she believes in herself. Of course, the young lady's brilliance and goodness and courage dazzles everyone, and the bad guys are eschewed while the princess is tiara-cized. 

you go girl

We call this the Greta move, after Greta Thunberg, who may not be aware that the only reason she was able to tell off the UN when she was a child was because she was doing the bidding of the very adults she was telling off. But that's a longer, larger, more lousy story. 

What really bothers me, though, is that as bright as the young princess is, she can't be any smarter than the writer, and that's a problem. I remember one book where the princess discovers how poor the peasantry in town is, and resolves to fix this by looting the royal treasury and throwing gold out to everyone higgledy piggledy. 

No one in the book is smart enough to explain the concept of devaluation, how if you give every peasant five pounds of gold, two gold coins will no longer be enough to buy a fine horse. Sure, the princessdom will look nicer, with everyone making gold utensils and things, but the value of gold will plummet. Whatever's left in the treasury will lose value as well. Of course, brigands from elsewhere will be happy to come rob from the easy-pickin' peasants and take the loot back home where gold still has value. 

These things are simple economics, not hard to understand, but they are not as obvious as knowing that if you let go of an object it will drop. Many things in life are like that. If you're in a sealed room and you turn off the light, why does it get dark? The room is sealed; where did the light go? Guess what: It won't stay bright just because you think it should and really want it to. Neither will the peasants be prosperous because you give away the store.

Sadly, the princesses in these books are also a model for political figures who cannot understand why people stay poor when you print so much money for them. 

It makes me sad, it truly does, that the basics of economics are not taught in schools, or at least not taught well enough to act as a counter to this kind of magical thinking. Prosperity is difficult. Poverty is easy. How people get through high school without understanding even that is beyond me.

It's up, and it's good!

As I promised the other day, the book has landed! Now available on Amazon Kindle, McMann and Wife is live!

What's it about? It's about 300 pages. No, you want to know what the story is about. Here you go:

It’s April 1959, and McMann has landed in Southern California, in the bustling town of Dovlin. With his wife, his apartment, and his steady job as a night watchman, it seems like he’s left behind his former life. But he still works as a private investigator on the side, and that’s how the trouble starts.

A family is looking for its missing teenage daughter, and the mother calls McMann for help. The girl does not seem to fit the picture of a runaway—she has a quiet home life and does well in school. As he investigates further, more questions arise. These questions begin to point to a conspiracy within the town—one in which his missing person doesn’t even rate as a pawn.

Or is McMann just becoming paranoid?

In a world of high hopes but atomic fears, a land of dreams and nightmares, McMann will have to think fast to find his missing person—or he might just go missing as well.

This is the sequel to McMann and Duck: Private Investigators, but it isn't necessary to read book 1 if you're only interested in this one. 

Thanks for your kind patience in reading through this post, and I sure hope you'll also have the patience to read through the book. My usual policy stands: I can't refund your money if you buy the book and don't like it, but I will write you a personal apology if you read the whole thing and are disappointed. Let me know. And if you love it, let everyone know! 

Cover reveal!

 Okay, I don't want to give away too much here, but the cover of the new book is here!

I always feel like Navin Johnson when the new phone book arrives. Of course, I hope no one starts shooting. We'll revisit this soon, when the cover copy is ready and the damn thing is available, but here you go! And as you might guess, it's the sequel to McMann and Duck. and it takes place in 1959.  

As Mark Twain said when he first saw the cover of Huckleberry Finn, "I'm so verklempt I could just plotz!" 

Maybe that was Saul Bellow. Although why he'd be plotzing at Huckleberry Finn, I cannot say. 

Racism and MSG.

I’m not sure why the late Anthony Bourdain is regarded as such a hero. He was an opinionated loudmouth, for one thing, yet the people who hate Trump for that loved Bourdain for it. He always seemed pissed off. Like we'd all failed to meet his precious standards.

Tony was satisfied to buy whatever protein was cheap, sear it in a hot pan, baste it with a lot of butter, and then serve it up, presuming that the customers didn’t care and would never know the difference. He was smugly dismissive: Everything and everybody was expendable. I was right there with him and angrily dismissed him. This wasn’t a near miss, this was a story of roads diverged. My anger was further fueled by what I found to be his pretentious demeanor. One expression of that was he no longer went by Tony. He was now only Anthony—Anthony Bourdain.

That quote comes from chef Peter Hoffman, who came up in the business with Bourdain. In his book What's Good? A Memoir in Fourteen Ingredients, Hoffman spares no horses in lambasting the man in his youth, as above, but does express sorrow that they never reconciled later in life, when they saw eye-to-eye on a lot of issues.  

I never watched Bourdain on TV (I prefer Andrew Zimmern if I want to see a guy travel the world and eat bugs), but I get the feeling he was often talking through his hat. For example, he went on a rant during his 2016 show about MSG: 

Bourdain, who traveled the world and showcased an extraordinary diversity of cultures and cuisines, was more explicit. “I think (MSG) is good stuff,” he said in a 2016 episode of “Parts Unknown” filmed in China. “I don’t react to it – nobody does. It’s a lie.”

“You know what causes Chinese restaurant syndrome?” he added as he walked through the streets of Sichuan. “Racism.”

Thanks for adding to the paranoia in the world, Tony.  

As far back as 1971, a study in Biochemical Medicine stated that "The signs and symptoms following the ingestion of monosodium glutamate (MSG) were found strikingly similar to those induced by acetylcholine (ACh). The effects of anticholinergic and cholinesterase (ChE) inhibitor support the hypothesis that Chinese restaurant syndrome is a 'transient acetylcholinosis'." 

And what does ACh do to you? According to the CDC, "Excess acetylcholine produces a predictable cholinergic syndrome consisting of copious respiratory and oral secretions, diarrhea and vomiting, sweating, altered mental status, autonomic instability, and generalized weakness that can progress to paralysis and respiratory arrest." 

I guess Drs. Ghadimi, Kumar, and Abaci of the Department of Pediatrics, Methodist Hospital of Brooklyn, who did the Biochemical Medicine study, were all Chinese-hating racists. Probably the CDC too.  

It's racist because only Asians use MSG.

I remember the eighties, when the fear of MSG was a real thing, and everyone or her cousin got sick after getting takeout from the Chinese place. Was it overblown? Almost certainly, but no more than the current health scares that show up every week. My theory is that fear of bisphenol A will be racist next, because so many things made in China contain it. 

Worries about MSG were not just from people seething with racism and making themselves sick; there were legitimate studies done and results indicated there was cause for concern. In 1986, the FDA said that MSG was "generally recognized as safe" but noted that some people seemed to be sensitive to it. In 2012 they backtracked, saying that studies did not find any consistency among people who reported sensitivity, which would seem to contradict the 1971 findings. Who knows? In 2025 they may find something in support of MSG sensitivity again, and then I guess the FDA will be racist. 

My ear doctor notes that monosodium means sodium. Sodium can cause a flareup of Meniere's syndrome, so it's a concern in his practice. Considering that we're all eating too much sodium, does that make us racist for wanting to cut down? He cautions that Chinese takeout is known for having high sodium content; he even singles out P.F. Chang's frozen dinners. And indeed, Chang's Chicken Fried Rice Bowl (a lunch-size portion) contains 1,040 milligrams of sodium -- almost half the 2,300 mg or less of the daily intake recommended by the health pushers. Eating Well magazine notes that too much salt can cause headaches, nausea, dizziness, and vomiting -- which sounds like a lot of the so-called Chinese Restaurant Syndrome symptoms. Maybe it was not the Chinese in the Chinese food that was causing the problem for all those racists; it was the overload of sodium. I think it's a plausible explanation anyway. 

The damage is done, though. Hating on MSG is racist. In his book Damn Good Chinese Food, chef Chris Cheung writes, 

My friend, the late great Anthony Bourdain, called racism on this and I have to agree with him. I have professionally cooked Japanese food, Thai food, and American food, and MSG was used in all of these kitchens, but I have only ever seen the request, “please, no MSG” when cooking at a Chinese restaurant. I feel the message they are trying to send is that Chinese people are trying to make you sick through their food. 

Feelings aren't facts, Mr. Cheung. When the MSG scare began, the only Asian cuisine most Americans were only familiar with was Chinese food; Japanese food was almost entirely confined to the West Coast. Otherwise, Japanese and Thais would have gotten blamed too. Would that make you feel better? If you really want to find a hotbed of anti-Asian hate, I suggest you focus on Ivy League university admissions offices.

Racism is stupid, vile, ignorant, and lazy. You know what else is? Slapping the "racist" label on things because they annoy you, without knowing anything about why things are the way they are. Our main cultural problem is probably ignorance, and the overweening pride that makes it impenetrable. 

The other Goldilocks.

One of the joys of ambling through used-book stores, back when such things existed, was the fortuitous find of books long out of print, forgotten perhaps but still worth reading. I discovered quite a few authors that way in my younger days. 

Most of those stores are gone now, but at least we still have Project Gutenberg, which is quickly becoming the repository of the literary past. In Bradbury's classic Fahrenheit 451, there is a group dedicated to committing books to memory so that civilization can be restored when the dystopic government falls. Project Gutenberg is certainly doing its bit to help. 

Looking through old books is quite educational. For example, I happened to discover the story of Goldilocks in an old kids' book on Gutenberg while looking for something else. 

What's that, Fred? You don't know the story of Goldilocks, the food thief, vandal, and squatter?      

No, not that Goldilocks; the other one. 

Her, I know.

This other Goldilocks is a princess! Her story can be found in two books on Gutenberg: The Blue Fairy Book edited by Andrew Lang (1889) and Fairy Tales (vol. 1) by M. F. Lansing (1907). She is called either Pretty Goldilocks or Fair Goldilocks; she is a princess and has no need of raiding bears' houses. The only thing she has in common with the more famous O.G. is the color of her hair. 

Royal Goldy, the Hot Tomato

This Goldy is such a stunner ("the prettiest creature in the world") that a foreign king sends a massive retinue to her place, with a pile of loot that Musk and Bezos would envy, to ask for her hand in marriage. She says no thanks, and politely returns the presents, only keeping a box of pins (either because she liked them or to show the king that she appreciated the gesture, depending on your story source). The king is miserable at this rejection. One of his courtiers, a fellow named Charming, says that he thinks he could have gotten Goldilocks to come back with him. So you know what comes next. The king says Go get her, then! No, these are medieval types; the king, feeling mocked, orders Charming to be locked in the tower and starved to death. 

Of course, all-around good guy Charming had not intended to mock the king; he is hurt by this injustice. The king later has a change of heart and speaks with Charming, who explains that he meant he could bring back Goldilocks for the king. Oy! After seeing to Charming's needs, the king wants to send the boy off with a bunch of court suck-ups to get the girl for him. Charming says nay nay -- just a horse and the king's letters to the girl will suffice. 

On his way to see the princess, Charming has some minor adventures that demonstrate his kind heart (you can read them yourself; trust me, he's a nice kid), and word gets to Goldilocks that he's a great guy and one fine figure of a man, too. Nevertheless, Goldy gives him some quests. He must find a ring that she lost in the river a month ago, kill a murderous giant, and fetch a potion from the terrible Gloomy Cavern. Easy-peasy! Fortunately, Charming has a dog named Frisk (or maybe Frolic) who talks to him, and the help of the animals he was kind to on his journeys, so it all works out.    

Satisfied, Goldilocks agrees to go to the king's city and marry the guy, although she says Charming and she could have stayed at her place and she would have married him. Of course, Charming is an honorable man of his word, and would not backstab the king that way. 

The king marries Goldilocks and does what you'd expect -- get jealous and have Charming arrested and thrown in the tower to starve to death. You might think that we're dealing with one of the more soft-headed variety of fairy-tale kings. All this chucking people into towers to starve -- where does that get you in the end? You think the mournful cries of the victim will warn everyone that the king will tolerate no disobedience, but it just brings the mood of the place down. 

It all works out, of course. The king accidentally poisons himself with the potion from the Gloomy Cavern, Goldy sets Charming free and marries him, and Frolic (or Frisk) lives with them happily ever after. 

This is such an interesting story, where kindness is rewarded and duplicity (and stupidity) are punished, and a nice cautionary tale about the problems of absolute monarchy. It doesn't really have the homespun charm of our better-known porridge stealer, and it's got some noble quest/bad monarch/talking animal stuff that could be added to and taken from other fairy tales like so many software plugins. But it's pretty good, and the fact that the princess proposes to and saves the hero is different, so it definitely does have its merits. 

Like I said, you never know what you might find when you start poking around old books. There's all kinds of gold in there. 

A plea for reviews.

Well, artificial intelligence and the idiots who use it are certainly trying to make things worse for everybody already. 

Apparently the weenies are cranking out AI-generated books and "flooding" Amazon's publishing platform, among others. They are using it in some cases to take bread out of the mouths of specific writers, as Wired noted, publishing "books" that are just summaries of the actual authors' works but keeping the dough for themselves. 

Even if the work posted is original (meaning, generated by AI as its own piece of garbage, not a piece of garbage piggybacking on an existing work), these "authors" are unleashing a tsunami of computer-generated crap among the actual books, making it harder to find anything worth reading.

Amazon's efforts to combat this so far have been surprisingly low-tech -- asking "Is this AI-generated content?" (Oh, no, I wouldn't do that, Mr. Amazon!) and restricting book uploads to three a day, which for a single account is almost a hundred a month. The bits-and-giggles crowd doesn't care; they just hope to fool enough people to make a few bucks by doing next to nothing. 

My plea today is simple, for all authors, not just me, not just self-published ones: If you've read a book, please leave a review. It's a way to separate a real book from the fake ones, maybe the only way a searcher can find something that's real. Without a number of reviews, search engines tend to ignore books when compiling results. Sure, the weenies can make fake reviews, but that starts to sound like work.  

Seriously, even if you didn't much like the book, leave a review. I think it's fair to say most writers would rather fail on their own merits than because no one knew they were even there. If no one ever finds you, no one can ever read you.  

Thank you very much for hearing my plea. Skynet may not take over the world, but it sure is making it even harder for writers and artists to find an audience.