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Evil Exists

"Evil exists so that good may flourish."

"Yes."

"You face it in three ways." He waits. A prompt.

"You can fight it, you can tolerate it, you can emulate it," I recite.

"Those who tolerate it …"

"…do so primarily out of fear."

"Those who fight it …"

"…pay the highest price."

"Those who emulate it…"

I am silent. I do not have this answer. His expression never changes, pleasant, patient, but a drop of uncertainty dribbles down my spine. I search my brain; I know he will wait forever. Ah! "…must be prepared to face the consequences."

"Good. Very good."

He nods slightly toward his empty cup. I retrieve it, prepare the brew at the sideboard, and return it to the place beside him.

"This creature, this person who punished you for so many years."

"Von Claven. Maestro Vincent Von Claven."

"He has been dead …"

"About –" I counted. "About seven years."

"Yet he preys still on your soul."

"On my mind. Yes. On my psyche."

A smile. Rare. My frame relaxes.

"Your mind I'm not concerned about. Your soul is in distress."

I consider that. "Not very. Not that much. Some, I suppose. But not…" I try again. "Not really at all until he showed up in my kitchen. Now, yes, his presence is … distressing. He's dead, after all. I should be over it. I thought I was."

"You're not."

I breathe. "No."

He drinks, sets down his cup, gestures. "It's time for you to see Mother."

"Yes, sir."

"Eminently polite," I hear the other say as I leave.

"Always."

I move a long way through nothing. Mother stands, as ever, amidst a sea of color in all directions. Flowers. Vegetation. Plant life. Endless.

Vincent waits before her. Looking confused. I fight to not be happy.

"My child." She sweeps her fingers through my hair, down the back of my head.

"Mother."

"Evil exists …"

"… so that good may flourish."

"One can only face it in three ways."

"What are you two talking about?"

I do not flinch at the voice, but part of me wants to . Most of me does not. Some of me. I adjust my shoulders.

"You can fight it," I deliver, "you can tolerate it, you can emulate it. Those who tolerate it do so primarily out of fear. Those who fight it pay the highest price. Those who emulate it must be prepared to face the consequences."

"What is this, some kind of recital? What am I doing here?"

"What were you doing in my kitchen?" I show my face to him. "You scared my wife half to death."

"I came for my apology."

I blink, but this man, I know, is not patient. "I owe you no apology."

"Thanks to you, I spent the last forty years of my life in prison!"

Mother remains silent.

"No. I did nothing. I told no one. It was discovered. If you hadn't … If you hadn't, there would have been nothing to discover. But I told no one. Ever. I owe you no apology."

That look. I fight to not cringe at that look. I win. It is not easy.

"He emulated," Mother said. "He must be prepared to face the consequences."

I shake my head."He's dead. Seven years. He's safe from consequences."

A smile. Less rare. Still, I warm in it.

"There. Not here. Here, his soul must be disintegrated."

"What in the world are you talking about? Just what do you think you can do to me? I have rights. Listen, I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I gave him his career. Without me, he'd have nothing, be nothing. He owes me."

I cannot make my voice big. "Still, I do not wish him harm."

"Of course not, my child." Mother lays her hand on my cheek. Nirvana. "He will come to no harm. He will be planted." She takes in the wafting fields with a single broad motion. "He will grow. He will be harvested. He will be recycled. He will intermingle and separate, disperse and combine. He will … dissipate."

"You can't do that to me!"

A violent move, a blue glow, a single seed in Mother's hand. "You see? He is unharmed. It is time to go see Father."

"Yes, ma'am."

I turn and step inside. He puts down his cup.

"Your wife is well."

"Yes."

"You still plan to remove yourself on her death?"

"I won't live without her."

A twitching around his lips. Not a full smile. But comfortable. "She has many years ahead of her."

"Yes, sir."

"Always eminently polite," says the other.

"Yes."

I lift my head. I am in my kitchen. My wife sets plates on the table. "Careful, it's hot."

"We have many years ahead of us."

"Good to know." She sits. "By the way, strangest thing; I found chard growing in my flowerbed. Don't know how it got there. It's kind of bitter, isn't it?"

I smile. "We'll learn to like it."





© 2009

Musings on Bi-Polarity

I have family with bipolar disorder. I have friends who struggle with the condition and clients who have had to deal with bi-polar parents, siblings, and mates. I'm not a doctor or psychiatrist, but after ghosting a couple dozen psych books and doing what writers do naturally--watching and recording--I've come to some observations, which I offer here as just that: my observations.

People who struggle with bipolar disorder, or manic depression as they used to call it, not only have to deal with alternating episodes of feeling manic/euphoric and depressed/despondent, they must also battle fluctuating perspectives as well. They swing between feeling strong, in the right, and authoritative and a fear of being put to the test, which might betray them as normal, weak, or in the wrong. This leapfrog perspective keeps them in a constant state of anxiety, even when they feel good, and prevents them from taking chances. Better the devil they know than the possibility they might fail--or possibly even worse, succeed and therefore have to perform up to yet a higher standard. Hence, they tend to stand still, or clinging to the safety of known circumstances over the danger of disconnection. Disconnection might lead to new, better connections, but the very possibility of that radical double change presents as terrifying, and thus reinforces the cycle of arrogant self-assurance coupled with intense or deep self-doubt. Their inability to break this brain-chemistry induced cycle leads naturally to self-loathing and its auto-defense mechanism, self-aggrandizement.

None of this is conscious; I'm not sure it's even sub-conscious. I suspect it's all chemical and therefore quite beyond the control of rational discussion or standard anger-management techniques. When in a "neutral" state, a person with bipolar disorder can be extremely logical, even practical. But during a critical flare-up, that same person presents to those around him as abusive, resistant, and uncooperative in the extreme.

These reactions to chemical swings can be modified if not ameliorated by learning behavior-modification techniques and exploring true self-awareness that punctures the fantasy world of the "greater than" as well as the "worst ever" perspectives. Neither is true, but both seem to be typical of the chemically unbalanced individual. Common self-medications used to escape the pain--drugs, alcohol, food, television, video/computer games, etc. (anything that a] provides a comforting alpha state of consciousness and b] focuses attention on them) tend to backfire for relieving symptoms and thereby add to the person's feelings of persecution, thus stimulating the worst-case perspective and its auto-rebound best-ever frame of mind.

While the person struggles with the terrors and internal discomfort of chemical balance, they must also deal with the consequences of their perspective swings from family, friends, and society in general. Most of the people I know with bipolar disorder are sufficiently charming in their manic state that people gravitate to them--and then are confused, hurt, or rebuffed when confronted with the person's other side.

It's an unhappy state, not easily medicated, and very hard to control even with the best of therapists. And since bipolarity often seems attached to great creative gift, the world has a tendency to ignore, condone, and forgive many of the less admirable personality traits of the afflicted.

As I said at the top of this, these are my observations. I draw no conclusions. Perhaps in another 30 years or so, one will occur to me, or to someone of greater sensitivity and capacity than me. Meanwhile, I invite your own observations and comments.

Prosperity is my divine right

I'd forgotten about this blog. It is, in fact, the second of three blogs I have, two of which I almost never post to. But I've decided to separate those other two blogs from this one because this one is NOT about ghostwriting or editing or writing. It's about God. The universe. Quantum physic's zero point field.

Connection.

With clients? Sure. With other writers? Definitely. With students? Yup. With stray people and animals? No question. With God? Absolutely.

With the abundance of the universe?

*sigh*

We'll talk.

God Undefined #1

Can someone please explain the mutual exclusivity of Intelligent Design and Evolution? How is it possible to NOT see God's hand in the Big Bang theory?

If one could possibly manage to emotionally disassociate from one's dogma, be it religion or science, would it not make more sense (and perhaps even provide more comfort) to consider that time is not for God as it is for humans; that scriptures, whether or not dictated by the Almighty, were nonetheless transcribed by man; and that the very ongoing miracles and mysteries of every day life surely demonstrate the extent to which no mortal has full knowledge of anything?

Religion, created by man to explain, mollify, control, and comfort man, cannot countermand the reality of science. And science, discovered by man to explain, mollify, control, and create comfort for man, cannot possibly countermand the existence of a Higher Power.

What benefit a man who finds peace within a set of principles if those same concepts deny the legitimacy, nay the very existence, of all others.

Question #1 in Life's Exit Exam: What religion does God practice?

Do You Want to Write a Book?

It's high-horse time again, and yes, I'm going to be bluntly honest. By now just about everybody knows that 81% of the American public, or some 179,000,000 people, feel they have a book in them. As a ghostwriter who has worked with literally hundreds of aspiring authors, I have no doubt this country has at least that many storytelling and/or information-heavy folks.

But most don't know how to write a book. And, sadly, neither does the typical business, advertising, article, or web-content writer.

Books are special. Books are long and intricate, not short and chunky. Those of us who write books tend to be lousy at writing short and chunky; why is it so hard to believe the reverse is not also true? Ask any acquisition editor and he/she will tell you: book editing is not the same as editing academic papers, print or web articles, or business documents. The "rules" of book editing are different than those in other editing arenas. The "rules" of book writing are definitely different than for other types of writing, and the "rules" of ghostwriting are so vastly different that only a small handful of ghosts know what they are!

I love writing and editing books. I've written and edited dozens of them and hope to write and edit dozens more. I especially love ghostwriting books and, yes, I know the rules of ghostwriting because, frankly, I'm the one who not only came up with them, but put them into my editorial-service provider instructional method (patent pending). They're very simple, and they start with the most important rule for any freelance writer, editor, or ghostwriter:

Make the client happy.

Can't get much simpler than that. What does all this have to do with the book YOU want to write? Also simple: unless you have been blessed with a felicity of expression and a flair for structure and composition, you're probably going to need help translating the "book in you" into a viable manuscript that will resonate, not to mention communicate, with readers beyond than your friends and family.

You're going to need a writer, a ghostwriter, or an editor.

All I ask is that you look for someone who specifically writes, ghostwriters, or edits BOOKS. It will save you time, it will save you money, and it could possibly even save your sanity.

Scattered thoughts

I guess it's not unusual for someone in their mid-fifties to have a love/hate relationship with the Internet. I adore the swiftness of the myth-busting research and the fantastic connections I make through the various online networks, such as mywomanownedbusiness.com and linkedin.com, for example. But the time! It takes so much time to fill out yet another form, provide the same bits of info here, there, and everywhere. And when it comes to revamping my own website .... oy, the very thought makes me tired all over.

And yet I did it. Just this last week, I revamped my personal website in anticipation of our company putting up its new, tech-oriented website.

I'm glad I'm not a web designer. No matter what the thing looks like, somebody always thinks it should look better, or at least different. Bad enough I have to come up with the content -- which someone always thinks should read better, or at least different. And the meta tags! And the keyword stuffing! What comes naturally to twentysomethings is a real p.i.t.a. to fiftysomethings -- even someone like me, who started using computers back in the 1970s.

My first introduction to computers was back in 1971 at the Orange City News, where I used a photon computer to create the type that was then cut and pasted into print columns. Hmmm ... guess I've been in the word business longer than I realized.

My next foray into computers was on a temp job, where the boss needed someone who understood basic word processing. I lied and said I could, then figured it out OJT. Who was going to contradict me? Nobody else knew what they were doing, either! I forget the name of that original program, but I think it started with a D.

I've been word processing through one program or another ever since. Thought Word Perfect would conquer the business community, but Bill Gates had a much better sales force.

It wasn't until I'd written my first book, For Musicians Only, on an electric typewriter that I got a personal computer, a gift from my dad who worked for AT&T and had an "extra" that fell off the back of the office truck. Dad kept me supplied with computers over the years until the price and my income figured out a way to meet each other. Then again, the machine I have now was generously provided by my mom. I've never managed to get ahead of the curve on some things.

All of which brings us back to today's computing environment, in which I find myself dabbling in graphics and formats and bookkeeping and forms and computer languages and myriad other matters that never even existed back when I was in my mid-twenties. In fact, they probably didn't, then. And like a good Marine, I've adapted. I've improvised, I've overcome. But when the time comes to recreate my website, I still go slightly nuts.

Make it chunky. Not too chunky. Be personal. But stay business professional. Include your fees, don't include your fees. Give them something to read; make them pay to read what you've got. Make it a loooonnnng, keyword-repetitive page. Keep it short and pithy. Multiple pages. One page. Use pdf. Don't use pdf. (PDF. Half a decade ago, it was mysterious, intricate, and expensive. Now, heck, you can convert anything into a pdf format online for pittance.) Throw in audio. Naw; audio garbages up the site. Include a PowerPoint presentation (don't you love PowerPoint? The best thing anyone's ever invented!). Nope -- takes too long to load. Use big fonts, lots of color. No, no, no, keep the fonts small and clean. Just get it done, it's so simple!

And so, it's done. It was deceptively simple in a complex, head-meets-wall kind of way. Unless I go back and fiddle with it some more -- which I cannot guarantee I won't since WS_FTP makes it so easy -- my new site is up and ready for demolishing.

That's right. As soon as the twentysomething WambGeeks put up the new Wambtac site, my little personal URL will merely point there, and all my efforts will have been for naught.

But it made me feel good. I may be fiftysomething, but I can still be taught, as Aladdin's genie would say. Okay, so I used a couple pdfs. And I kept it tight and pithy, not looonnng and keyword repetitive because, well, I'm fiftysomething and those long, say-nothing-over-and-over sites just bore me to tears. Yet I know they're effective! Why? Good grief, because they're keyword repetitive! And if I were twentysomething or, even better, thirtysomething, I'd punt my discomfort and just go with the trend. But I'm fiftysomething and old school (can there be "old school" on the web? What does that mean: ideas that are from, wow, over four weeks ago?), not to mention stubborn.

So okay, I guess I need feedback. Should I go with what I have now, or should I write something looonnng and keyword repetitive? Your call. But I need your answer quickly, before it becomes a moot issue. Before my individuality gets blended into the common pot, before I become "one of" instead of "me, alone." The good of the many outweighs the good of the one, blah, blah, blah. Before the business-speak/consistency experts denude my public persona of all Claudia Suzanne quirkiness.

That'll be a good thing, right?