Author: Sarah A. Hoyt

I’m not going to pound on the fiasco that is the “socialist convention named” Affordable Care Act.  (There is no affordable in the care act, just like there was no Democratic in the Deutshe Republic and there certainly is very little input from the people in China’s People Republic.)

I’m not going to pound on it, only examine why our reaction to the fiasco it is (and likely will continue being) is so immediate and in your face, when it is true that in most countries with centralized health care, people are fond/proud of it in some way.

Honestly, I think the left had convinced itself that even if it were a very rough start, as this is proving, we would swallow and go along, because other countries have/had.  They thought we would grumble, and moan, but eventually we’d be happy to have that government-provided-health care and not mind too much that it’s not the best it could be, that innovation is stagnant or that it turns out to be very expensive indeed, and have strangers dictating what we could and could not have.

It might still turn out that way, but I don’t think so.

Remember the nineties, when HMOs were the worst thing evah, because some anonymous bureaucrat decided some treatment you thought you needed was too expensive/risky for you?  Yeah, part of this was driven by the media-industrial complex and their continuous pounding on HMOs in service of promoting (then) Hilarycare.  But part of it was that people also felt a certain amount of resentment towards the more restrictive portions of the service and the fact that someone else decided on the treatment.  I think that they’re not going to feel any better towards something that is in essence a centralized HMO writ large and with the force of the government behind it.

It’s not just that it will have some problems, or whether those problems are massive or not…

I think it’s a matter of timing.

Look, over here we look at the problems of the NHS and other bureaucratized, centralized medical systems, and we shake our heads and go “Oh, that’s terrible” while over there (and occasionally on this blog) they go “yes, it has problems, but it’s good.”

But what I want you to keep in mind is what they have to compare it to.  NHS was introduced just after WWII.  If the books of the period are right, what existed before was patchy, not particularly good, and rural areas might have not particularly competent doctors.  It wasn’t modern medicine.  Modern medicine – and antibiotics – came in with the NHS.  So what people retained was the idea of how much better it got.

It’s kind of like Communism in the USSR.  It was awful and clamped down on society and took it on a poverty spiral, but what they compare it and contrast it to is not a free Western society but… feudalism.  In comparison to THAT, communism, at least while its predatory empire could assimilate resource rich places like Cuba and Africa was an improvement.

In most other countries, socialized medicine in a form or another, was introduced around that time.  Later in Africa and Australia, but then Australia has a massive interior which was probably as patchily served before as some parts of Africa.

What I’m trying to say is: what the people pushing for socialized medicine failed to comprehend is that it’s not the way of the future NOW.  It was the way of the future fifty years ago.  And if it had been introduced fifty years ago, it would probably have represented an improvement.  If nothing else, the very fact that antibiotics were introduced then would have made a difference towards better outcomes.

While people aren’t blind to the bad outcomes, they also compare them, not to what free-market medicine would be now, but to what it was when socialized medicine came into being in their country.  They compare it to patchy medical services and results, and they go “Well, it’s not wonderful, but—”

The problem from its advocates point of view is that, flawed and odd as the insurance market and therefore the medical market it distorts, is in the US, we have a system that’s better (or at least has more choice) than most socialized systems.

Oh, sure, if you don’t have insurance you can hesitate to go to the doctor sometimes with awful results.  And if you don’t have insurance, you might use the emergency room as your physician (but not, most of the people who do this live at the margins of society.  Most of the middle class who doesn’t have insurance goes to equivalents of emergicare, or as my friend Amanda calls them “doc in a box.”  We did, for the most part, till our mid thirties, and we still go there if our regular doctor is closed.)

Again, the problem is that we’ve experienced this.  All of us have some relatively bad experiences, but when it’s something really serious and really bad, we can usually get medical care.  Yeah, it might be expensive, but it’s there, and you don’t have to wait for months and get approved, and have the opinion of some total stranger on whether you CAN have it or not.  You can have the opinion of a stranger (insurance bureaucrat) on whether you have to pay for it or not, but that’s different from telling you you can’t have it.

All centralized systems end up restricting access to care, and the (UN)Affordable Care Act is not different, and I bet even if they can patch it (And frankly, they’d have stood a better chance of this if they’d introduced it in a time of great prosperity and money.  Right now most of the people simply can’t afford the extra fees) Americans aren’t going to take any too well to being told their cancer has too little of a chance of remission.  Go home and take pain killers.  I don’t think we’ll take at all well to that.  Because we won’t be comparing it to pre-WWII medicine.  We’ll be comparing it to two years ago.  And we’ll get mad.  This whole idea that you’re helping the unfortunate have care is all very warm and fuzzy, but not when it’s your life on the line.

So, how can they have made such a miscalculation?  Very easily.  If you realize they are going from the idea that centralized statism is “progress” and that everything moves towards it.  In other words, they’ve internalized this time table, where the state holds primacy and extends its power and hold over the individuals.  The only difference between their vision and that of fascists and communists is that in their imagined future, the government is always benevolent.

But the time line is there in their heads.  And when you measure progress not by better outcomes but by “is it being done by government with good intentions” the (U)ACA sounds like wild progress.

Only in real life people don’t judge you on your intentions or the time line in your head.  And just like they couldn’t have imposed soviet-style communism in England, with its Free, Western society, but they could impose it in Russia where it involved the transition of one feudalism to another – in the same way imposing centralized medicine on a country that has had the experience of (however flawed) choice in medical care is going to be tough.

More importantly, it’s a challenge they never anticipated.

Which makes this moment so uniquely interesting in history.

Will people see the flaw in the statist version, and realize it’s a dream whose time has passed?  Or will they forge ahead towards the future of the past – and the abyss?

The thing is, people don’t revolt against confiscatory tax systems even if you show them that — hypothetically — it has cost them colonies on Mars and vacations on the moon.  But if they had all that, and you took it all away and shuttered it, in favor of a confiscatory tax system, I think the reaction would be completely different.

And, metaphorically speaking, that’s what we’re facing.

I was moaning to my husband about how no matter what I do or how I smack them, we have some trolls who keep coming here.  There are the ones that are activated by any mention of Marx.  Mention Marx, and they pop up like a jack in the box, to issue their ukases and diktats, either condemning us to the hell of capitalists for you know, disagreeing with the great man, or trying to shame us for not following our supposed religion.

Their arguments are often incoherent and only marginally related to the post, and the huns always beat them up one side of the street and down the other, and yet… they come back.

Then there’s the misogynists, misandrists and assorted racists, who come in to make supposed “points.”  Some of these – I know, I look at the IPs – are actually the same as the Marxists and are, I presume, just making sure my blog shows up on lists of racist, misogynist, double plus ungood blogs.  This used to be their game back in the day at the blog that shall not be named.

I usually tolerate them, at least for a little while, so the huns have something to chew on, but then I ban them.  Only thanks to IP changing software (no, if you’re on dial up it doesn’t do that, so stop trying to convince me.  I was on dial up for years) they come back.  And back.  And back.  And no matter how much I pound on them, or you pound on them, they will return having learned nothing.

I’ve come to the conclusion they’re either being paid or this is some form of weird fetish where they like being beaten by free-market, non racist people.

As I said I was bemoaning this state of affairs, when my husband said, “you know, you had a similar problem getting the kids to help you clean.  How did you solve it?”

Well, in that case, I solved it by paying for the cleaning piece meal and allowing them to compete for chores.

So, Dan said, “What is the libertarian solution to the trolls getting their rocks off by being beat up on?”

And I thought… you know, there’s this old skit based on a story by Woody Allen, called The Whore of Mensa...

So I thought, if these people are coming here to get wildly turned on by watching Marx being flagellated, they should pay.  And if they’re leaving their scat so others can find it in obedience to some boss who is paying them by the line, yet they SHOULD pay me.

And thus, I’ve come up with the troll policy we shall call The Whore of Libertarianism.

Here’s the idea – whether you come here to get your yah yah’s off, or you come here because you think you’re enlightening the heathens, or you come here because you got this lousy job off craigslist, this blog is a libertarian blog and firmly rooted in capitalism.  If you want your comments to stand you shall most surely pay.*  Beneath is a fee simple schedule, going from highest to lowest.  Assuredly, it won’t cover everything, but in cases not covered, I’d go for the highest fee.

Troll Fee Charge List

Anti- Semitic Comment, particularly of the kind that believes in a Zionist conspiracy dominating the world – $1000

Racist comment, either proclaiming the superiority of your race – based on, of all things, your skin color – or the inferiority of others — $1000

Misogynistic comment/misandristic comment — $1000

One line comment calling me, the huns, or anyone on this blog a bad name — $500.  $200 to be added per non-pg=13 word used.

Link to your blog so you can tell us how stupid we are $500.

Comment lecturing us on the joys of communism – $500

Link directing us to wikipages on the joys of communism – $250  (Well, we don’t have to follow.)

Comment lecturing us on Marxism, particularly when applied to the soft sciences — $250.  (If you can successfully apply Marx to the hard sciences, no charge – it’s entertainment value.)

Comment lecturing us on the religious/historical/moral values you think we hold — $100 (because you have entertainment value!)

Insulting comment about my/ours moral intellect and beliefs, whether related to the post or not, but not using any profanity — $100  (With a $50 dollar surcharge for every 200 word increment.)

Random comment that leaves us wondering what the heck you think you’re talking about, $50 – with an extra $50 surcharge per 200 words.

Note that these fees are PER COMMENT, not per commenter.

Anyone failing to pay and repeatedly engaging in trolling behavior, will have his comments deleted and/or be banned from this blog.  Anyone paying will have a notice appended to his comment stating how much they paid.

The first idiot to complain that I’m violating his first amendment rights on a private blog, paid for and maintained from my own personal purse, shall owe me $1000 dollars, paid within ten minutes, or he’s banned.

Excluded from this “pay for me to keep the comment up” are obvious commercial trolls, of the sort that have links to various scams, comments written exclusively in Chinese and the ones touting naked anything including but not limited to mole rats.  The policy will be applied at the sole discretion of the blog owner.  Some non explicit restrictions may apply.  Void or invalid where prohibited.

*This doesn’t apply to merely stupid, misguided or otherwise ignorant souls, who engage in honest debate, but the moment I’ve determined you’re a troll, your comment being approved/staying visible depends on a donation hitting my paypal tout de suite.  I will then post a disclaimer saying that the comment stays up because you paid x amount.  Note this does not prevent the huns from pounding on you, since chances are that this is what you crave.

I first heard mention of Radical Losers when Gabby Giffords was shot.  I no longer remember where I heard it, and I have this feeling that there was an article/book by that title, but it’s late on Sunday and I’m too lazy to look for it.

Anyway, the original article was ranting about how when these shootings happen everyone looks for the least likely person (and for this, as a mystery writer, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa) but in fact, nine times out of ten, the culprit is a “radical loser” – someone so far out of touch with reality they couldn’t find it with a seeing eye dog and a cane, someone who has a Satanist temple with a real human skull in their backyard, someone who has fallen so far into a dream that “What’s the frequency Kenneth” has a meaning to them, someone who – in fact – would shock normal people and make them run away in terror.

They’re also usually people that have failed at everything, people who have trouble coping with the every day reality of being human and making human compromises.

I think the radical in the article referred to something else – to radicalization or “extreme” views.  It is of course very easy for people to get “radicalized” when they don’t fit in anywhere.  This accounts for why, if you polled the science fiction community Lenin might be too right wing.  (There is another effect there, the tendency of outcasts to form their own dogmatic communities that enforce weirdness, and also the pathetic attempt to out-cool the main stream, since left is perceived as cool they try to be “even more left.”)

But let’s leave that aside for a moment.

Every time I hear of one of these incidents, I cringe, and I think “One of ours, who went too far.”  “One of ours, who stepped out in the dark and lost his way.”

Here’s the thing with us – for lack of a better word – Odds: we don’t fit in even if we try to.

I don’t even quite know how to define us.  It’s not even a matter of intelligence.  Yes a lot of “odds” are intelligent or brilliant, but it’s also often in a rather specialized, narrow front, almost bordering on the idiot savant (myself, for instance, I write) but they could pose for the “absent minded genius” in most other fields.

I’m fairly functional, but I have friends who should get help to cross the street and who, really, really really (it’s on my list if I ever win the lottery) need a housekeeper.  As is, I could truly use a secretary/assistant.  (Stupid lottery, keeps drawing the wrong numbers.)

A lot of us, but not all – younger son and I don’t – have trouble reading people, and could if you squinted be considered to be on the autistic spectrum.  A lot of us are on the autistic spectrum.  And a lot of us have learned to cope with it so that no one would tell.

But it’s not true.  People can tell.  We can for instance.  Let’s go with Science Fiction, which is a good bet as a repository of “odds”.  I no longer remember when or where, but it was one of my first World Fantasy cons – we left out of a fairly large airport, and most of the flights headed any distance left a few hours after the con ended.  So we trickled in by ones, by twos, by masses, and mingled with large groups of “normal”.  There were, of course, some tells that didn’t need thinking about. A lot of us were wearing fannish t-shirts (me.  I never wear t-shirts for cons, except at liberty con or for the travel.  I try to be professional.  [Liberty is exempt because Liberty is family.]) or carrying sf/f books.  But there was the usual complement of editors who probably think they’re normal and certainly try to appear it in skirt suits and such.

We were in a relatively central area and this was pre-kindle.  I didn’t have anything to do but people-watch.

After a while I realized I could tell “our people” – and I would keep an eye on them till a “tell” emerged, like pulling out the latest sf/f novel, or talking to one of the con attendees and hailing him as an old acquaintance.

I was always right.  It wasn’t a 90% thing, which would already be impressive.  Even for the well-dressed and the aloof, I was always right.

Now if you asked me why I could not tell you.  I could tell you we hold ourselves differently, we walk differently and the way we pause to look at things is different too, but I couldn’t describe it.

I might be taking Dave Freer’s name in vain, but I have a vague memory that in one of our late night conversations years ago (we stopped them as we got old :-P  I actually think they were early morning conversations for him, they were very late night for me) we discussed social species and particularly the other great apes species.  If I’m remembering Dave right and not confusing him with something I read somewhere, he said that in all species that like ours are social, with a bit of learning and mimicry thrown in, most of the apes (eh) attune themselves to the group and “are like the group.”  There are ways of being fully integrated in the group, ways of following the leader, and most apes fall effortlessly into it.

But there is also a percentage – a tiny percentage to be sure – who are outliers.  Some radically out of step and out of norm.  Some subversively so.

I don’t think any of it is as bad as the pink monkey where its mates tore it limb from limb.  I think there is some aggression always towards outliers but outlier behavior is tolerated in some measure.  (The measure will vary with stress put on the group.)

I think that’s what we odds are.  We’re that minuscule percentage of outliers.  Yes, there are probably more of us than the usual ape – or hominid – band.  More on that later.

We can tell each other without being sure how, and other people sure can tell we’re odds.  Children are always better at discovering this, and most of us were probably more unguarded as children too.

Most of us had no idea we were odd or we stuck out until we hit elementary.  I know I didn’t. It was a combination, I think, of the family itself being on the odd spectrum and of my assuming my family members were a little weird.  So, no one out there would find anything strange about me, right?

Wrong.  In my case, I seem to elicit reactions of the love/hate type.  People either love me or they hate me, with nothing in between.  In elementary this often took the form of trying to bully me.  I have no idea what would have happened if I were bully-able.  I wasn’t.  So the result is that often hate turned to love, and I became a leader of sorts.  (As I said, unable to play sports – my coordination took a while to kick in, a result, probably of being very premature at birth – or the stupid elastic jumping game, I invented games for the school to play at recess.  In retrospect, I “invented” LARP games: Robin Hood, The Three Musketeers, WWII spies [ don’t even ask.  That one I wrote characters for.])  By fourth grade, everyone in that school played my games, and the lower classes missed us horribly when we moved on.

But in middle school, in a larger area and with no recess long enough to allow me to influence others, I just became a loner.  I had this game of walking around and around the playground on this little ledge.  Later, I’d just stay in the classroom and read or write stories.

I have talked with enough of my friends – and my husband – to find most of us had that reaction.  It was strange to find ourselves the butt of antagonism, to find that the rest of people weren’t in fact like us.

Those little shocks sometimes hit even today.  (“What do you mean you haven’t read a book since high school?  How is that even possible?”)

By high school I’d learned to masquerade well enough.  I wasn’t popular, exactly, but I had tons of acquaintances and a few really close friends.  And by college I’d learned to go totally submarine, and I was one of the glitzy and glamorous.

But I never forgot.  Somewhere, deep inside me, there’s still that little girl who walked round and round the playground, feeling excluded from everything and everyone else.

I don’t say this to elicit pity.  And I don’t think there’s much you can do about it, certainly not officially.

I say this because that little girl deep inside me still influences the things I do and the things I choose.  We all know about the nature and nurture thing, right?

Someone here – I think he’s the new incarnation of someone whose IP changes a lot – was trying to bait me (eh – I’d rise to the bait quicker if I weren’t feeling so out of it due to the flu)  — by asking me to write about how women shouldn’t work.  I think he miss typed.  I think he meant why women shouldn’t vote, because immediately after he went on this tirade on how all women are collectivists…

He’s wrong of course.  Women right now are collectivists, because they’re told that’s what they should be.  And most humans are really good at following those cues, except for the few radical outliers.  Women have had it dinged into their heads that they’re a discriminated against class.  Their entire learning of history from day one has been on how women were treated badly throughout history.  And of course, they’re told men did this and would do it again given a choice (and not that men and women are both captive of biology and before the pill neither had a choice.)  So most women believe that they need the state to protect them from the evil men.  It’s what they were taught.

The little lonely girl inside never believed this – partly because if they tell you, it’s probably bs.  These rules, these ideas are for normals.  They miss us like so many other things do.

Of course, the way to correct that is not to take women’s vote away, but to stop teaching women (and men too, while we’re at it) Bog STUPID Marxist Crap.

Because the state can’t protect women and will in fact happily collaborate in their enslavement – see, most Muslim states.

Odds should have the advantage there.  As I said, most of us realize that most of what we’re fed is pablum.  But not all of us.  There is the other force that acts on Odds – the desperate need to fit in, to be “cool.”

This leads into the extreme left odds.  At some internal, aching level, they want the state to make everyone love them.

Perhaps I was blessed with teachers who tended to pile on with the other kids rather than intervene.  Blessed?  Yes, because it’s always what a powerful state will do.

The business of the state is to enforce order.  Order and power over the masses are in the best interests of any state.  The more powerful the state, the less it will have a warm place for odds.  You might think, if you’re a radical, oh, Stalinist, that since every one of them you know is an odd, then if you were in power, Odds would be in power.

It’s never like that.  Even those odds who achieve power tend to enforce the “normal”.  The normal might be twisty and ridiculous, but it’s still herd behavior.

Take for instance the French revolution.  I was recently reading the biographies of the principals and all of them, from Robespierre to Danton, were clearly radical odds.  So once they took hold, the revolution came up with some spectacularly ODD ideas (changing month names, for instance.)  But in the end, at the heart of it, what they were trying to enforce was conformity.

Do I know what to do about it?  Oh, hell no.  I know how I dealt with my odd children, fortifying them before they entered school, explaining the low-value of social conformity and how it’s possible to fake it better when you’re old, and that being an outcast in elementary doesn’t blight anyone’s life (unless you let it.)  It seems to have worked.

And it’s all we have.  That and explaining that the “cool cult of the week” if it achieved power would turn on them as much as the current status quo, if not more.  And explaining that bringing society down would be worse, because societies under stress are less tolerant of us outliers.

And then you have to work the fine line between explaining they’re different and getting them to understand other people are still human, just differently wired – if you don’t want to create misanthropes.

This is all I’ve come up with and all I’ve managed.  It might have been/be easier to be an odd in a time with no strict normality-enforcing schools – and as such we can hope to be headed there.

Because here’s the thing – what the internet has already done is allow more of us odds to find each other.  To the extent this is a genetic component – and I think it is.  It tends to run in families, like other genetically-undefinable characteristics – it means more of us outliers will marry each other and produce uber-outliers.  To the extent it is an environmental component, it allows us to meet – in the science fiction community, among others – and reduce the tight control on ourselves, and be odder.

So there will be more of us in the future.  We’re not in the old society where an odd might find MAYBE another one in the entirety of his life and probably not of an age to marry/be friends.

And odds can get very odd.  They can become “radical losers” – rejected by school and family and their community, if they never stumble onto a reasonable enough and accepting enough community – they can, singly or in groups come up with totally twisty ideas of reality and fall off the edge, becoming mass murderers or worse (yes, Karl Marx was probably a radical loser.)

Since this community tends to be odd enough all I can say is ‘teach your children well’ and hope for a less conformist upbringing for your grandchildren – which of course means making sure we don’t lose the prosperity and security we enjoy.  Societies under stress are always more conformists.

The odds are quite literally the salt of the earth – not in the sense it’s used normally, but in the sense of a small minority that makes the whole thing work.  We’re the innovators, the ones who strike out in different directions.  We’re also the ones who point and say the emperor is naked.  There is a reason that the ape bands tolerate some odds.  We are the brakes, the valve, the safety mechanism.

Will there being more of us cause a problem?  Maybe.  I think not.  I think as a whole we’ll leaven society towards more individualistic, but we’ll still be a social species, and it’s impossible for the majority not to want to fit in.

But – absent guidance and comfort – that means we’ll also have more of those that fall off the ledge and become killers or bizarre philosophers.  And that we don’t need.

Work to keep us prosperous, safe and tolerant.  And teach your odd children well.

Ex libris — okay, I’m definitely going to have to go back and clean this up, as I’m sure I’m contradicting older parts of the story.  The problem is that Ginevra is such an incredibly unreliable narrator and an element of chaos.  That’s meant, but it ends up confusing.  So I need to go back, clean what I have and add more.

Also, as part of this explanation — I now have everything but the cover for Witchfinder.  Sometime in the next week I shall go over the copyedits and edits and supposing there’s no big structural thing, if I still haven’t a cover, I shall improvise something.  It’s being delayed by my getting sick way too much this year.  This too shall pass.

This weekend I’m making a big push to finish Through Fire.  We’ll see.  The flu is finally — I think — on its way out.  So I won’t threaten to ban people because they make me even more nauseated than the flu is doing. :P Oh, yeah, this week I learned to use Create Space, so there will soon be paper versions of the books I’m bringing out that have reverted.  And of the new ones too, soon enough– end ex libris

*This is the new free novel I’m posting here a chapter at a time.  This is pre-first-draft, as it comes out.  It is a sequel to Witchfinder which will soon be taken down (once edited) and put for sale on Amazon (It’s now done and with editor and we’re getting the cover done.  My wretched health this year delayed everything.  (Meanwhile, if you donate $6 or more, I’ll get you a copy of Rogue Magic, once finished and edited, in your favored ebook format when it’s done.  Of course, if you’re already subscribing to the blog at a level at which you get whichever books come out that year, you don’t need to worry. )*

NOTICE: For those unsure about copyright law and because there was a particularly weird case, just because I’m making the pre-first draft of my novel available to blog readers, it doesn’t mean that this isn’t copyrighted to me.  Rogue Magic as all the contents of this blog is © Sarah A. Hoyt 2013.  Do not copy, alter, distribute or resell without permission.  Exceptions made for ATTRIBUTED quotes as critique or linking to this blog. Credit for the cover image is © Ateliersommerland | Dreamstime.com

For previous chapters, read here

A Strange Spell

Miss Ginevra Mythborn

Jonathan Blythe, Earl of Savage, raised his eyebrow at me.  “What I think, my charmer,” he said, as I half-sat on that brothel’s bed, trying to look as prim and proper as my kind ever could.  “Is that you’ve been telling me a great deal of fairytales.”  And before I could open my mouth to protest, his own lips curled upward, in a wry expression, and he said, “Or whatever you wish to call them.  What I mean, my dear, is… what a great deal of lies you tell me.  Much worse, I’m sure, than the ones I told papa’s chaplain when he caught me with the faun in the rectory.”

I didn’t know what to make of that, and I was almost sure the faun was a red herring.  Or – I looked up at the man’s eyes, alight with mischief – perhaps not.  Maybe he had some satyr in him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I said, in my primmest voice.

“Oh, I think you do,” he said.

He advanced towards me and for a moment I thought he was about to take me in his arms.  That would be good, since mortal hasn’t been born who can resist the sort of spell I can cast in those circumstances.  Doubt me, would he?

But instead he grabbed at the bell pull.
As though called by it, there were very odd sounds from the room next door. It sounded like a giant chicken flapping wings and braying like a donkey.  Yes, I’m aware how idiotic that sounds, but I swear this is an accurate description.  It was all made worse by the sound of a male voice murmuring what I was sure would be found to be endearments.

Jonathan’s eyebrow went up at it, and he smiled at what must be my very shocked face.  “I told you this place caters to the exotic,” he said.

I sat up straighter and made very sure my skirt was covering my ankles.

Someone came to the door and moments later Jonathan came back into the room carrying  a tray with a bottle and a couple of glasses.  I wondered if he had an arranged signal, then stopped wondering.  He set the tray down and poured himself a glass of something amber that smelled alcoholic even at this distance and tossed it back.

“Why do you think I have been telling you tales?”I asked.

He grinned at me, and I realized what he was doing.  His intake of alcohol blurred my ability to spin anything on his magic, to attach any spell to him.

“I see,” I said.  “Are you sure Hermes—”

“If you mean am I sure I’m not one of the old gods?  Quite sure m’dear.  But I can feel you trying to attach spells to my magic, which you wouldn’t do if you weren’t telling me lies.”

I sighed.  “It’s just…” I said.  “It’s very complex.”

“Let’s start with Gabriel.  Even if he thought that this world must be destroyed to save fairyland, I don’t think he’d consider destroying this world while his whole family is in it.”

“Elves have a different view of family.”

“Elves, perhaps,” he said.  “But Gabriel isn’t an elf.  Not a proper elf.”

I took a deep breath.  When all else fails, one has to tell the truth.  It’s something the All Father never fully understood, and something he might not forgive me, but it must be done, anyway.  I doubted I could continue to fool Jonathan, with or without liquor and besides…

And besides there was that oddness about his magical pattern, that feeling that he shared more with me than with those other mortals who were, supposedly, his kin.  I took another deep breath and then I said, “Can’t you see that’s the problem, you stupid man,” the words came out before I could hold them in.  One thing is to tell the unvarnished truth, which is bad enough, and another and totally different to tell the truth and let my annoyance show.  The mortals, as the Pater reminds us, are but mice to our cat.  If we let the mouse know he’s got the cat annoyed, we’ve conceded part of our superiority and ability if we let the mice know they can frustrate us.

“What that Gabriel is an unconventional elf-king?” Jonathan said.  “Would do fairyland good if you ask me.  It would—”

“It might.  If he’d set about changing it, instead of…”  I’d said to much.  Or not enough.

“Instead of?”

“Instead of splitting.”

“What do you mean splitting?”

“I mean neither of his halves can abide the other.  He tried to subsume his human self in the elf self, but it wouldn’t work, because one hates the other and hates fairyland.”

“What do you mean splitting?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.  He’s become two people.  One is the sovereign of elf land, whom you met.  The other—“

“The other?”

“Is missing.  No one can find him.”

Jonathan looked at me a long time, his eyes hard.  “That’s not all is it?  Or perhaps it is.  I’m aware of how much myths dwell on twins.  Did you make him split?  And what have you done with the all-human Gabriel?  Surely he can’t survive like that.”

I’ll do the free chapter tomorrow.  I might move it to Saturday permanently because my Fridays are turning into a “thing”.

I was thinking about Autumn.  It was always my favorite season, partly because of my birthday, partly because in Portugal it’s the best season (in the area I was in) neither boiling nor cold — yet.

It was a sort of golden time, too, both light and the trees turning, often warm enough to spend the middle of the day at the beach, but you needed a coat in the evening.

I think at fifty this is the best image for the time of life I’m in.  There’s warmth still, but you feel the chills of winter.

For my parents’ generation — I know, they told me — this was the golden autumn of their lives, or as dad puts it “when we were financially stable enough not to make and scrape, and our health still held.”  They traveled the world, and got to do things like go out to eat if they didn’t feel like cooking. They’d worked and saved very very hard for thirty five years, and now they could relax a bit, once my brother and I were out of the house.

Some vague thoughts — and they’re vague, I have the flu — on this:

It was of course a luxury that most societies never had.  My parents worked insanely hard, often more than one job, for very long, and the savings included things like turning off the hot water in summer.  (I hated that one.)  They didn’t have a car till their forties (of course this is possible in Europe.)  First time we went out to a restaurant, I was fourteen — so they had to be also in their forties.  What I’m saying is that they deserved their golden autumn, but it was still a luxury compared to most history and most societies.

And at some level I always knew this wouldn’t apply to me: the boomer bulge before me, the blue model of paying for others, the lack of opportunities because of what the left had done to what used to be capitalism.  I always knew that I would have neither social security nor enough retirement.  Working till I drop was always the only option.  I don’t even resent it that much.  If my gamble with writing pays off, at least I’ll be working at what I love.

But there is more to that golden autumn.  There is the kids moving out and moving on, getting jobs, creating their own lives.  There is knowing your work is done and your all-too-brief time upon the earth will be followed by those you helped raise, by the generation who comes after.

I resent — like poison — that between educational loans and extortionate tuition that makes them required even for people like us, we’re stealing the next generation’s future.  I resent that the economic boondoogles to keep the older generations “prosperous” are killing job opportunities for the young.  I resent that now they want to fleece them for elderly health care.

I’ve given up on my golden autumn, but what is this blight that extends to the future to rob the young of their spring, and their chance at a future?

The winter comes soon.  And it’s a blighting one.

It is the duty of us who are aware of it to work and prepare so that one day, maybe, there will be a flowering.  To reverse the damage; to protect the hopeful seeds; to find shelter for those young we care about.

Before the winter comes.

We’ve had the normal (!) eruption of the Karl Marx groupie in the comments, as always when that great inkstained evil man is mentioned, (“If I invite/A girl some night/To dine and exchange sparks/I just adore/Her asking for more/But my heart belongs to Marx).

His whole thing is about caring/not caring for the poor, and how caring for the poor is your Christian duty (All you Jewish and Buddhist believers who read this blog, not counting the pagans and the Atheists, shut up and do your Christian Duty.  Yes, this entire thing will be revisited later.) Nothing says “Christian Duty” like robing from Peter to give to Paul.  I mean, if it’s not Christian why do they use apostle names?  (Forgive me.  The flu-thing is much milder than in other people, but it has right now all gathered in my head.  This makes writing fiction easier – don’t ask – but non fiction harder.  So there will be snark.)

This is an old discussion, the fact that government is force; and at what point is it moral to use force to achieve even what is perceived as a great social good.  We all agree – and more on this later – that the poor and helpless should be helped.  Heck, I even help hopeless (non deserving poor in the Pygmalion/My Fair Lady mold) far more than I should, though eventually I cut off to preserve myself/my sanity/their lives.

But at which point does it become immoral to take from “the better off” to give to the worse off?  At what point do these words lack meaning?

One of our closer friends has made far less money than we have over most of our working lives (well, than Dan has.  My income is at best odd and irregular.)  However, since he’s single and rents a relatively “cheap” – he probably could get cheaper, it was rented when rents were double here in town – place, while we have kids, mortgage, more than one car, two boys to feed, clothe and pay medical expenses and educational expenses for (they were in advanced programs and using college text books, even in high school and, man, is that a racket) – he’s often had more disposable income than we did.  (Not right now.  Right now, I think we’re both all out.)  At least when it came to “I can go out and have a meal out” – which for us has descended to the vanishingly rare and grand occasion.  (Not to mention a meal out for us is four people.)

Yes, I know all these tables are adjusted for number of people – but not really.  There are other choices too.  We’ve been well-night broke, but you’d never tell from the house we lived in, and our lifestyle.  The house was consuming (still is…) all our disposable income, the clothes were from the thrift store, the furniture was bought often so bad that it was multiple pieces, and then I fixed it, and the elaborate gourmet meals were mostly composed of flour that I’d made interesting things from.  (My pocket book resents that carbs make my eczema erupt.  I could use cheap.)

If you looked from the outside, and ignored my worried/tired expression, you’d think we had the same income as our dual-income friends and way above the people who had the same income we had.

Were we poor?  Heck, on paper yeah.  Like, right after Robert was born and then again a dozen years ago, there were a few years we’d have qualified for assistance – but no one in their right mind would call us that.  Meanwhile there are people with far more than us, who clearly needed help.

What I’m trying to say is that when you’re a human being who knows other human beings, you can account for that.  I’m not saying the people who needed help while making more money than we did, didn’t need help, or sneering at them.

Poor is a combination of lack of money and lack of skills to make the most of the money you have.  We never had a lot of money, but we’re rich in skills, and in fact only twice in my life have I come close to worrying on the “house losing” scale – and both times Baen came to the rescue like a white knight.  And you guys wonder why I love that publisher – and even then we weren’t THAT close, but I could sort of see it from where I was.

But we’ve acquaintances and we’ve heard of people who’ve run into trouble on FAR MORE money and far more leeway.  They don’t have the skills, see.  And arguably money is easier to acquire.

All of which comes down to “the government is an awful implement to help the poor” – the government is very bad at evaluating poverty, and though there is often talk of helping the poor acquire skills – this is where Marx comes in – these skills inevitably end up being stuff like “being assertive” and not “how to dress for an interview” and “know your rights” not “show up to work on time and do the unpalatable till you become indispensable.

Even when it’s help of the “finding a job” and “training for new tech” kind, the government is very hapless at giving it.  Take my friend who is a QA in software.  When she became unemployed, her state required she attend classes on tooling up for new tech… for line QA in factories.  You see, that state is losing a lot of factory jobs, and QA is QA, right?  (Rolls eyes.)

This is because government is a large and blunt instrument.  It’s quite good at doing big things.

The eternal “we could put a man on the moon, how can we not make sure every child is fed” should give people a clue of the problem. For large, visible, group projects, the government is good (I didn’t say the best.  I know some of you are going to talk about million dollar hammers.  Let it go. It’s still relatively good.  All large institutions, corporations included, are clumsy.)

But when it comes to things like helping people with what they actually need, and not with what vast numbers of their neighbors need, the government sucks big hairy dust bunnies.  Because you can’t actuarize the human character or make tables for individual skills, hopes and aspirations.

When the government tries to give health care to the poor, you end up with everyone working part time, with no benefits, and doctors dropping out because they can’t work for that little and pay their student loans, and afford the malpractice insurance and—

Which brings us to “is caring for the poor a partisan issue”?  Well… only if caring for the poor is interpreted in terms of having the government do big programs.  But does that really care for the poor?  We have plenty of evidence it creates poor (see devaluation of money to pay for the various governmental boondoogles despoiling the middle class; see lost opportunities for investment and improvement due to tax rate; see fact that it takes two incomes to pay taxes AND have a middle class life) but not that it helps any.

What if we gave a governmental war on poverty and it only got worse?

There is – probably – a function for government – at the regional and local level – in helping the poor who have nowhere else to go.  As local, as close, as personal as possible, so that people aren’t getting their “skills” (which is not the skill they have) upgraded into useless skills, and so there is less room for the sort of stupid Marxism that seeks to “empower” – i.e. teach to talk back and refuse to do the boring parts of the tasks – the poor over teaching them to support themselves.  (Yes, a lot of tasks people have to do for money are unpleasant.  Look, guys, I’m living my dream job.  I’m literally the only one of my friend group growing up who is doing what she wanted to do when she grew up.  But today I could really use being in bed with chicken soup – but I’m doing this blog, the blog for PJM and then I’ll work on Through Fire.  I sometimes take a day off a month, if I can. Do I like that part of it?  Oh, heck, no.  I’d rather be out with the guys at the zoo or the art museum.  But I do what I have to do to pay the bills.

Socialists are fond of saying no one should do that “for money” as though people were entitled to money without doing anything.  The truth is that the birds and the animals all work for a living, and humans have to also, even if work is convincing a bureaucrat to finance them.  It’s a law of nature.)

But none of this is about “caring for the poor.”  I suspect in real terms, of putting my money on the line – and my time, and my emotional well being – I’ve helped a ton more poor than any ten socialists who are supposedly “bleeding hearts.”

This is about letting the other side define you.

I totally understand why people think we can create our opposition, because our opposition is in fact creating THEIR opposition: these hard core Christian fundamentalists (which is why my Marxist commenter tends to try to bring Jesus into things – because that will sure show us!) who don’t care for the poor, are ignorant and live in trailer parks, sleep with their sisters, in their big mansions, while twirling their moustaches, and refusing to help the poor.

The image is contradictory and fits absolutely no one, but they make the image stick to the point that people see – not themselves but – others on their side that way.  And then we get compassionate conservatism where “We need to care more for the poor.”

I care a great deal for the poor.  The poor we shall always have with us, because it’s a comparative measure, but I grew up middle class (and for the village maybe UPPER middle class) with no indoor bathroom and maybe half a dozen pieces of clothing, not counting underwear, and eating fish and vegetables because meat was for Sundays and sweets for VERY special occasions, so I’m here to tell you poverty is relative.

For me, at a governmental level, caring for the poor means creating a society so frigging wealthy that even the more “disadvantaged” are still richer than our middle class is now.  Which necessitates unleashing individual innovation and using individual “greed” to create more wealth – not shackling the producers and the innovators into giving their money to the government who mostly uses it to make more government.

On the personal level, things are different.  Helping the poor might be finding someone a job or having a “come to Jesus” (See!  See!  Fundamentalist fanatic, me!) talk with them, where you explain that sometimes you have to do unpalatable things in jobs, and you have to show up even if you don’t feel like it, and–  But those are things you can do only with people you know.   If the government does that, you get one size fits all. And the thing is one size fits all means one size fits none.

(And please don’t come to me about the capitalist dehumanization that requires people to show up at the same time every day regardless, and which treats humans as cogs in a machine.  Yes, yes, in heaven, in a perfect state, we all express ourselves all day long and get paid for that.  BUT – nota bene – whatever dehumanization the capitalists engage in is not half as bad as socialist dehumanization where you’re a cypher in a column and you have to obey the state’s every dictate and smile while the boot stomps on your face forever.  At least in capitalism, you get a better life for the surrender of a little of your individuality, and that surrender is limited.  The boss doesn’t really care if you guzzle slurpies on your time off, unless you are well… a swimsuit model.  And being a swimsuit model is YOUR choice.)

So, is it only one side that “cares for the poor” – well, no, it’s only one side uses the rhetoric that has worked so well for them since the French revolution, of weaponizing the poor to the get their – bourgeois – way.

Can we do better than that?  Probably.  If the Federal government stays out of it.  If we don’t accept the left’s definition of us.  If we stop thinking “well, I’m not like that, but other people on my side must be, otherwise why would they say that?”

They say that because it helps keeps their troops in line.  And because a preening “care about others” is part of what they get for voting “right” (Which means left.)

NOT because it touches on reality at any point.

It’s just they have the echo chamber of the media to show it, in entertainment and news and everything.  BUT that doesn’t make it true.  It just means they drink their own ink and spin further and further away from reality.  As this (UN)affordable care act thing is showing.

They can’t even see reality anymore.

Don’t be like them.  Don’t buy the lie.  Strive as much as you can to believe your lying eyes, and not the opposition’s pretty spin.

Their model has spun so far out it’s about to crash.  In the end, we win, they lose, because reality is hard and has sharp corners, and we’ve been getting hit with it for years.

And when the time comes, rebuild a society as individually free and as lacking in perverse incentives as you can; a society of equality under the law and rewards for work and innovation.

It’s the least we can do.  For the children.  Even the poor children.  PARTICULARLY the poor children.  The wealthier we can make the entire society, the less deprived they’ll be.  And the more universal our laws, the clearer their path to success.

Justice is not one size fits all, but laws should be.  And their function is to preserve our life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.

First of all, I’m sorry to be so late in posting. The bug from yesterday has now added nausea, which makes writing (and anything else) way too much fun.

I would like to talk about the whole concept of “we need a new left” and our chances of getting anything that considers itself left that isn’t Marxist.

Look, we tend to forget this, we people who play with thoughts and concepts, but people in general are creatures of their time.  Right now anyone who thinks they’re left or is “concerned about the poor” no matter how pure his motives is likely to have his thoughts informed by Marx.  It’s almost impossible not to.  If you’re like me, even, and vaccinated early against Marxism by seeing it in action, you develop sort of an anti-body reaction to it, where you have a reflex repulsion at even trace amounts of it exhibited by others, but even then you find yourself having it taint your thoughts when you least expect it, usually via the dread bug “it isn’t fair.”

And before anyone says anything, yes, I am aware that the world isn’t fair.  It’s never been.  It starts with when we live.  Each of us gets a snip of time, maybe if we’re lucky 80 years, give or take 20, and in that time, we take the world as we find it.  Yes, some of us might have been much happier or successful 100 years ago or a 100 years from now, but this is how the world is, and the world we live in imposes certain limitations on us.

It isn’t fair.  Pretty much none of life is fair.  All of us, looked at under the microscope, could have had better parents, better childhood, more opportunities.

In other countries the level of unfairness can be crazy high. You can meet with laws that keep entire classes down, or with people who are discriminated against based on their ancestry.  (Don’t say here too, or you’re just proving you’ve never lived anywhere else.)

Things like, in my time in Portugal, I couldn’t really be out of doors after 8 pm alone, while my brother could go out and meet with friends and go pub crawling and all that drove me nuts.  It wasn’t fair.

Then I got over it.  I still can’t be out of doors alone after eight, now I think about it, except some summer days when it’s still light.  It’s not safe.  I could drive, but I’m night blind. Raging against it does nothing much.

If you guys say “but Sarah, doesn’t aren’t economic issues” I’ll say “really?” because mobility after a certain hour affects my ability to attend lectures, go to meetings, etc, all of which redound to economic issues.

In the same way, each of us is born with certain financial resources, either ours or inherited.  And those aren’t fair either.  I could have done with inheriting a million in my twenties.  Heck, I’d settle for a hundred thousand.  Ten thousand would have helped.

Tons of people get that, I didn’t, and “it isn’t fair.”  Of course tons of people get less than I did, so… it really isn’t fair.

Which is where Marxism comes in, of course.  Marxism is envy given a really cool package.  (Well, not really, but when spouted by bearded hotties, (particularly the girls) people get confused.)

So, do we need “a new, non Marxist left?” “Someone who cares for the poor”?

First let’s discuss what “left” is – and whether they have any special claim to care for the poor.  They do certainly have a claim to having used/using the angry poor as shock troops, but their regimes, since revolutionary France seem to make the poor worse off.  While the regimes that emphasize greater individual freedom for all seem to make the poor richer.  They might make other people even richer, which is why the poor we shall always have with us (it’s a relative thing) and some of them will be very angry indeed.

Problems of intractable poverty seem to add other things to the pot: lack of motivation, for instance, or a culture that doesn’t respect the property of others.

This is not to say that the laws of many countries aren’t unfair.  In fact, you could pretty much bet that the more laws a country has the more unfair it is.  Unintended consequences kick in.  Take our divorce laws, for instance (please.)  While they have barbs that are massively unfair to men, every woman I know who tries to give her ex a fair shake ends up in very bad straights re: custody/support.  Which seems to be inherent in the system “If you’re decent, you’ll suffer, while if you’re a scammer you’ll make out like a bandit.”

In the same way, yeah, a lot of property – and other laws – in a lot of other countries are very bad indeed, though having grown up in one of those countries, I’d like to point out layering yet another law on top of laws only makes things even worse.  Also that – from my growing up in Portugal – the laws are secondary.  First you need to change the culture.  As long as air cleanliness stations need to be bolted to concrete to keep them from being stolen (even though they have no logical use) all the laws in the world will fix nothing.

And don’t tell me it’s a measure of deprivation.  NO ONE in Portugal is poor enough (at least until they finally collapse) that they need an air cleanliness measurement station.  Even the shell makes inconvenient chicken coops.  No one is poor enough either that they need holiday lights, but no one would put them outside, as they do here, unless they had high walls to defend them.

It’s the culture.  Theft is illegal there, as it is everywhere, but the culture says if it’s not nailed down you take it.  This has ripples through the laws no matter how fair the laws try to be.

So when people are very concerned for the property laws in other countries, it always makes me wonder a) what in heck they’d do about it – go to war to change these people’s laws?  Are you ready to occupy and change the culture, too?  b) Why do you think new property laws would benefit the poor if the culture isn’t changed?

It always ends up with arming the angry underclass and letting them gratify their envy, and then you don’t have paradise, you have Venezuela.  And meanwhile the culture goes on, except more so, because if you can dispossess people once, it might happen again, and then why improve your rental houses and not let them devolve to slum conditions?  Someone could lay claim to them tomorrow.  Why bother to put improvement into the soil the tenant farmer could claim tomorrow?

For instance, my great grandfather who died very young, bought – before he died – several rental properties, as a way to provide for his widow and orphans (he died of consumption, so I don’t think it was unexpected.)  But then various governments made it impossible to sell the houses without consent of the renters, made it possible to inherit a rental contract, and then froze the rents.  This means my grandmother I her old age nominally owned several houses and was obligated by law to do the maintenance on them or she could be taken to court.  But the rents had frozen before the massive inflation in the seventies (I don’t know what it was in reality, I know I could buy a book, at the beginning, for the equivalent of 50c, and by the end the same book cost 20 escudos.)  So she was getting the equivalent of enough money for a pizza per month, per house.  Multiply that by ten and it might have paid her electricity bill.  (No heating, and most lightbulbs one per room.)  But she owned property, so it was impossible to get public assistance.

These laws were doubtless formed to ease the lot of the tenants who often lived in a house their whole lives (my other grandparents) and made extensive improvements (ditto) but who never had any property rights on the house.

But in doing so, they destroyed not just the investments of earlier, frugal persons, but the sense of property, the sense of planning ahead, the sense of investment.

The idea that one of those cases is more “unfair” than other and more worthy of remedy is a Marxist one.

My great grandfather spent the whole of a very short life working his behind off to make sure his family was looked after and before you ask, my grandmother did work all her life too, and would have been fine except for two massive surges of inflation in her life time and the aforementioned lack of ability to have investments pay off.  But they were contravened by people “looking out for the poor.”

So – do we need a left who cares for the poor?  Even nominally?

In heaven’s name why?  The best way of dealing with the poor is one on one, with people who know the poor and can help.

Yes, indeed, there should be some sort of ultimate safety net in place and there should be incentives to be provident, to save ahead, to invest.  The emphasis should be on “minimal” and on help to get out of the condition.  Right now both of those are backward and sideways.

People talk a lot about cultural/racial ideas of how to save/invest and deferring gratification and how this correlates with melanin or date of colonization by Rome or what have you.  What they don’t get is that this is not necessarily racial or even cultural.  It is a matter of some cultures having been taught not to save/plan for the future.

Building a new left sounds cool – but let me say two things:

1-That’s not our job.  You – presuming you’re for personal liberty, which has become congruent with “right” in the States (not in the rest of the world, though.  In the rest of the world right is “as things were done in the past”) – don’t get to build your opponents (and I’m presuming the opponents are in general for the collective not the personal freedom) much less do you get to tell them they don’t get to have Marxism in their beliefs.  I wish it were that simple.  It’s not.

While Marxism is a bankrupt philosophy it’s also attractive, because life ISN’T fair, and anyone who was raised in the twentieth century is tainted by it.  Anyone who was raised in the twentieth century and is a person of left is particularly tainted by it.  Marxism is the only philosophical framework they can reach for.

2- a new “left” will form and change in time.  If we’re very lucky, eventually the two adversarial positions in the American system will be taken up by the Republicans and the Libertarians (whatever they call themselves, I don’t think in their present form) and I – if this happens in my life time – will harass both sides, and be truly independent (if leaning more libertarian.)  Which will be left and which will be right?  If you consider a pretense to using government to improve the lot of the poor left, the Republicans would be left – but that’s nonsense.  It’s not written anywhere that one party must use the poor to bolster their power, or in what way.

Do we need a “left?” – I don’t know.  Systems can be built on other things than the angry poor and have been, throughout history.

Will we get a new left? – we’ll get something.

But my guess is that the taint of Marxism will not pass from the culture unless it is soundly and visibly discredited (we should have done that when the USSR fell.  Our fault.)  And that, like the Israelites in the desert, no one alive today will live to see that philosophical promised land.  We can’t be.  We all, even the ones of us most against the d*mn thing, have had our mind corrupted by it.  We’ve bent our knee to the golden calf.  We will not see the promised land.

And I’ll admit it’s a long shot that we’ll get rid of the thing, even in the US, much less worldwide.  But I have hopes my grandchildren or great grandchildren will get to see it.

Will it be perfect?  If it were perfect there would be no need to govern.

Freedom – yes, and justice too – must be earned by each of us, one on one, day by day.  World without end.

This is a non-scheduled silence.  No, it’s not that the silence is continuing.  It’s really a partial explanation of the silence.  I have been feeling the “something viral about to land” signals, but discounted them as a source of the silence, because it took so long to fall – slowly worsening over a week or so.  Now it’s here, and it’s some sinusy thingy, which means I slept late.  Weirdly, I feel fine as to words today.  Just clogged up and a bit sleepy.  But not wondering over what exactly is causing me to feel ick helps.

And now, before fall into the my description of my ills which doesn’t interest anyone, not even me, just a quick post about baffling stuff.

What do I mean by baffling stuff?

Oh, I don’t know.  Things that change in the surrounding reality that can’t have changed in the surrounding reality.  Like… like the world changed while you were asleep.

No, I’m not talking about politics, or economics (though for the love of Bob (Heinlein), if that’s a world change, change it back!)

I’m explaining this very badly.

Let’s start by saying that we science fiction and fantasy writers and readers can make up truly twisted stories about the world, while other people shrug and say “well, I guess I’m misremembering.” Or “I’m imagining things” or… whatever.

Only sometimes you KNOW you’re not seeing things, and you’re not misremembering, or else the rest of your family is misremembering along with you, and the SF geek in you steps back and goes “What if I (and the family) stepped overnight unawares into a parallel universe where this, this and this is different?”

Or of course, what if the dreamer dreaming reality missed a step or two, as an author does, sometimes, calling the character Helen in one chapter and Elene in the next.

What on Earth am I talking about?  This: have you never known – know for absolute sure – that you’d put something in one place, only to find it in another, when no kids/cats/husbands could have changed it?  Too often for simple memory failure?  Or when someone else remembered it too?

Take when we moved from our first joint apartment to a home we were renting in a city 30 or so miles away.  We were twenty three and tired, and besides we’d been moving all day.  The last thing I remember, with startling clarity, was my purse sitting on the arm of the sofa we were abandoning (in retrospect I wish we hadn’t, but that’s something else) in the apartment.  Halfway on the road to the new place, Dan remembered it too and said “We’ll have to go back and get it tomorrow morning, before the landlord comes in.”  Only when we got to the new place, my purse was there – on the arm of the sofa we’d taken there.  “Okay,” you say.  “Memory tricks.”  Except impossible, because in that trip to the old place, to get the final stuff and do the final cleaning, we’d stopped at Food Lion for me to get cleaners, and I went in with my purse.  If I’d left it in the new place, I couldn’t have paid, or Dan would have needed to go in with me.

What’s the explanation?  I don’t know.

The ones that creep me out are stories I KNOW were half finished, but that I find in my drive completely written out.  Sometimes stories I JUST planned to write.  Okay, maybe I sleep write.  That’s an explanation.  If so, d*mn I’m good, and can I do it more?  But you’d think Dan would wake up, right?  Since my office is half the bedroom.

Then there’s … what prompts this post – well that and the fact I’m feeling exceptionally silly.

My cats have always hated three types of food: Science Diet (which every vet tries to push at them); “chunks” food – the one that’s tasty slices or tasty lumps or whatever.  They like decently can-shaped food – and anything poultry flavored.

So, in the name of Ned, how did they suddenly switch to eating science diet, chunks and poultry like it’s going out of style.

We bought some science diet because it was very cheap, and I thought, well, even if they don’t eat it all, it will pad out the rest.  Instead, they  devoured it and asked for more.

Okay, my first thought was that SD must have changed their formula, right?  Right.  But the last time at the pet store, Iams slices was on sale very cheap too, so I grabbed a few just to try, and a few of both SD and Iams in poultry flavor.

And they’re eating all of it.  In fact, they’ve doubled their food consumption and eat these once-despised foods, just fine.

What is going on?  Yes, yes, cats mess with your head, but this is too much of a switch, and besides the four of them would never coordinate.

So – what is going on?  Did we step into a parallel world unawares?  Did the dreamer who spins reality forget that detail?

Or are they REALLY just very small spies in fur suits who have replaced my cats?  And if so, what are they spying on?  The word deposition rate of the not-so-sane writer?

What is so fascinating about that?

What do you guys think?  Should I blindfold the cats?

This is not (just) a post about writing, but it will seem to be at the beginning.  Bear with me.

I tend to get a little nettled when people tell me how fast John Ringo writes.  No, it’s not that I don’t like John or his writing – so put your heckles down, Ringo fans – it’s that I keep thinking “Hey, I once wrote a novel in three days” (Not an experience I wish to repeat, no.)   I have finished two novels in a month.  I have—

I have fallen into six months of silence and this year the silences have overwhelmed the productive types.  These are weird silences.  They’re not, as you’d expect, “I’m sitting here and not writing.”  They’re not even exactly block – block in me more often than not is writing hundreds of the same page, with two commas changing back and forth and a couple of adjustments to wording.

What I mean is block in me is active.

These silences – and this year has been the worst for it – tend to be I’m sitting at the computer, and time seems to woosh past me, and nothing gets done.  It’s like the monks of time are playing with the procrastinators and borrowing all my time away.

There are other symptoms: a reluctance to write/think/speak in words.  This is very weird because I remember thinking in words from about two.  I don’t really have a brain mode beyond verbal.  My younger son tells me he thinks in images.  Whatever.  I can’t. So what you get if there are no words, if the words somehow “hurt” is this dumb, reflexive reaction that would make the behaviorists happy. I have been spending weeks in this state.  Even reading “hurts.”

I don’t think it’s block, not as such.  As I said my block is different.

When I’ve complained of this state before, I get well-intentioned people – mostly on FB – either “giving” me ideas or telling me how to figure out where the book is going next.

That is not the problem at all.  I know exactly where both Through Fire and Darkship Revenge go.  At this point I know all the movements.  What seems to be lacking…  If you visualize words as stones, I’m rolling these stones upslope, one by one.  And even though they don’t roll back, it takes very few to tire me out.

No, this is not a long sustained whine.  I’ve been trying to figure the mechanics of the silences and what they are for some years.

Because look – and this is the part that applies to everyone, not just writers – we live highly unnatural WORK lives.  Oh, everyone has, yes, since the agricultural revolution.  We’re designed for short bursts of activity and then days of semi-hibernation till the next burst.  That’s what humans used to do for much longer than we’ve had this “workaday” world.

But even if you go back to agricultural days – fact is you don’t need an awful lot of mental acuity to work the land, or to work the line, or anything until you get to these jobs most of us here do, where the main instrument of our work is the brain.  Even in the depths of the silent, I can do things like non-fiction articles about things I know really well.  Because that’s more or less by rote.  The words still hurt, but not as much.

And I can clean, and I can organize, and I can even sew.

But create?  The strength (why should strength be needed to write imaginary events?  I don’t know, but it is) just isn’t there.

And here’s there thing – I’ve always had silences (though the “can’t think in words” is new) that lasted a month or two.  This is what accounts for my house not looking like something out of hoarders. I used to work full tilt for three months or so, and then crash mentally for a month, which I used to disturb all the spiders and hunt the dust bunnies in their preserves behind the furniture.

I’ve always worried about their nature too.  Are they a form of block?  Or are they like my younger kid’s computer which was shutting down because one of the fans wasn’t working, and when it hit 95 degrees it shut in self-preservation?

Because if it’s just a form of block, I can power through.  But what if it isn’t.  Every time this year I pushed through, I got ill.  Really ill.

There’s no denying we drive our minds into highly unnatural acts, month after month, year after year, and perhaps the shut down trigger gets sensitive.  Maybe it shuts down earlier/longer.

This is important, because, of course, Atlas is juggling and it’s entirely possible that us few – we few, we lucky few, we band of strivers – who are still over 100% employed are keeping the entire thing going.  And we’re taking more duties.

But if that causes us to shut down, then what do we do?

I don’t know.  I know I wish this entire situation had come about oh, twenty years ago, when I had more energy.  But did I really, or was it an artifact of not having this much to do?

I know part of the way I feel is just stress, because the only thing these silences resemble is the silence when my publications-not-Baen were spiraling down the drain and I didn’t know about indie.

This time the stress is not just the work – I know, I know, between editing, publishing and new writing I’m full up – but other stuff.  Personal stuff, family stuff, family health stuff, extended family stuff, and the continuous break down of house stuff this year has visited upon us (which in turn does what it does for financial stuff.)

And I’m a worrier, of course.  I always worry three steps ahead, which of course has kept me alive many times, but is a pain.

And I know the stress is counterproductive, but how do you deal with it?  I need to find a way to stop spinning in place through the silences.  I need to work, if not at my peak capacity, at least at a book a month.  The stories are there, mind, stacked ten deep, waiting.  Because even through the silence new ideas and new novels form.

We, all of us, need to find a way to keep the top spinning, if we are to survive what’s headed for us.  (If you haven’t read Vodka Pundit’s Monday morning dose of doom and gloom, all you need to know is that I agree with him when he recommends bourbon for breakfast.  Only I can’t.  I have work to do.)

Right now, what I’m trying to do is power through Through Fire – and it would help, truly, if it were a SLIGHTLY less intense book, yes – and then Darkship Revenge – which unfortunately is also an extremely intense book – before the end of the month.

This  means… I don’t know.  I’ll probably be running guests on the weekend, so if you ever dreamed of your very own star slot on ATH, this is your chance :-P

And I shall be twisting the boys arms to help.  And if you’re trying to get something out of me that’s not related to those two novels, you have to keep poking, because it WILL fall out of my head.

… and I’ll report my wordage here, at the end of each post, but only wordage on the novels.

And I’ll report if this breaks me.  I guess if I get really ill, the silence was real.

I just wish I had some way to tell in advance.  And I wish I knew how to keep Atlas Juggling.