Story Time

Hi kids. I'm an author from the neighborhood. Can anyone tell me what an author does?

An author writes stories, right?

And, if an author writes stories, that means a good author writes good stories, right?

Now, can anyone tell me what makes a story good?

Colorful, entertaining, fun, crazy, silly, funny? Yes, all those things. But, is that all that makes a story good?

What else could make a good story?

You can learn something from it, right?

After all, learning is why you're here at school, and learning is something we all do throughout our whole lives. We know that learning is very, very important. So, learning is definitely something that we should make very colorful, silly, and funny, and that's one reason I decided to become an author...because I like to have a lot of fun, and I like to learn, and I like writing stories.

I try my hardest to write good stories, and that means I try to write stories that make learning fun.

Now, real life is not always fun, is it?

Sometimes, real life doesn't seem like much fun at all, right?

And, one reason life sometimes isn't fun is because things happen accidentally.

Have any of you spilled milk before? Raise your hand if you've spilled milk. I did when I was your age.

Were you sad when you spilled the milk? I remember being sad when I did that.

Maybe not everyone in this room has spilled milk, but we've spilled maybe juice, or water, or lemonade, or maybe it was something else you spilled. Or maybe it was another accident altogether.

Well, for now, if you haven't spilled milk, I want you to pretend that you accidentally spilled milk instead of the other mistake you made.

It can be anything at all, even if it is embarrassing. You don't need to tell me what is is. It can be your secret.

You see, as an author, I can use "spilled milk" to resemble any small mistake you have made, because I know that you can use your imagination to understand that what you did that was a lot like spilling milk. This is called a "metaphor." A metaphor is a symbol, so for you, "spilled milk" might be the same as a toy you broke, or a time when you hurt someone's feelings accidentally. All of these are mistakes a lot like spilling milk. Metaphors, or symbols, help authors tell good stories.

Why were you sad when you spilled the milk?

You were sad because you didn't want to be a "milk spiller."

You already know that good authors must write good stories.

You also know that good children drink their milk...they don't spill it, right?

Nobody wants to be a "milk spiller!" (At least anyone who didn't try to spill milk!)

Well, I have a very special secret for you...

Your mom and your dad...

Your grandpa and grandpa...

Your brothers and your sisters...

and every single one of us has spilled milk.

And everyone felt bad about it, just like you did. They didn't want to be a "milk spiller" either. And, those of you that are using your imagination, you know what you were afraid of being called.

Maybe a "toy breaker."

Maybe a "feelings hurter."

I have been those things. Yes, I have hurt my friend's feelings by mistake...

Well, everyone in the world has made mistakes like that too.

But, let's continue to use our metaphor, and pretend that your particular thing is the same as spilling milk. Because, after you do something by mistake, whatever it is, something usually must be done to fix it.

The milk cannot be un-spilled.

Even if we cry and scream and pound our arms, there is nothing that will change the fact that milk has been spilled.

We cannot undo what has already happened.

But, we do have a choice...

After we spill milk, we can either help to make things better, or we can make things worse.

How do you make things better once you spill the milk?

Does crying make things better?

Does screaming make things better?

Does pounding your arms make things better?

No, it doesn't, does it?

What can help make it better?

Well, first, choosing not to cry. Does that make things better?

Choosing not scream?

Choosing not to pound?

Just being calm and thinking about what has happened is already helping, right?

But, there is still milk all over the place, isn't there?

You have already begun to help by not screaming, pounding, or crying. But, if you really want to help more, you can even clean up the milk you have spilled.

That is the best way to make it better.

But, it's not only the best way for you...

It's the best way for the person sitting next to you, too.

It's the best way for me, and for everybody in the world, to clean up the milk they have spilled instead of crying, screaming, or pounding. This was true thousands of years ago, and it will be true thousands of years from now. Does everybody agree that this is true?

It is. And we know that because we all have reason. Reason is another requirement for an author.

While we need to use our imagination sometimes to pretend "spilled milk" is actually another thing that we did by mistake, reason tells us, without needing any imagination, that it is best to help clean up our messes and fix what we have broken when we are able.

Authors must use reason, because everyone who likes stories has reason.

So, reason is definitely a requirement for a good author.

How do I know that cleaning up spilled milk is always the best thing to do in every case?

I don't.

No one can really know that.

But I do know that...

1. When I see someone spill milk, it isn't fair that another person has to clean it up. And...
2. Because I know that, I know that I should clean up the milk I spilled.

Do you clean up milk you spill yourself because I tell you? No.

Because your teacher tells you? No.

Because your parent's tell you? No.

Because anyone says so? No.

You do it because you have reason, just like everybody else in this room. And if you didn't before, now you do. You do it because you know you ought to do it.

When I was little I spilled milk, and then I cried instead of cleaning it up. Then I learned why we clean up our own spilled milk, and have tried to do this ever since...for spilled milk or any other mistake I have made. (And as I grew up, and make more mistakes, and did my best to fix them, I saw how important this habit was.)

Now, imagine your brother, sister or friend spills milk. Then, they don't clean it up.

Now, they may be too young to have reason, and in that case they may need your help. You may need to teach them reason yourself, because the earlier someone learns it, the better.

But, if they are older, and they have reason, sometimes they may not clean up the milk they have spilled.

Why is that?

Why wouldn't someone clean up their own spilled milk, or fix something they broke, when they have reason?

There can be only one reason.

Because they need your help.

Maybe the glass was so big, and there was soooo much milk, that just one person could never clean it up. Or, maybe this person got hurt when they spilled the milk, and are unable to clean it up. In that case, they may need a lot of help. And, there may be other reasons too...

Every author, including me, has made many mistakes...has spilled milk. And, that makes me a lot like each one of you. Sometimes an author like me writes stories as a way to clean up the milk he has spilled. Other times, an author writes stories to help somebody else clean up milk they have spilled. And other times, an author writes stories just for fun.

I write stories because I learned that crying, screaming, or pounding will not help clean up spilled milk. But, there is another secret that authors know...

And that is...

Cleaning up spilled milk is actually more fun than anything else.

And now, it's time for our story...

Drunk Monk

Most religions of the world consider some form of fasting a necessary part of their spiritual health. Catholics avoid meat for lent for the commemoration of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Hindus consider fasting a part of regular prayer and worship, and a way to be near to God. Muslims abstain from food over Ramadan to practice patience, modesty and spirituality for the sake of God. As something ancient and religious born of caves and camels, my first inclination is to assume there is absolutely no merit to any fasting activity at all other than its effect of humbling the subjects of priests and clerics so they can be managed more easily. But, before we attempt to salvage some reasoning for this sacred behavior, let's consider the other reasons a modern person might deprive themselves, and explain why they are all absurd and useless.

1. I want to go to heaven.
In a world afflicted by the obstinate, infantile and superstitious stupor of the feelgood mega church phenomenon, this is an acceptable excuse for doing pretty much anything; baking cakes, holding the door, or, if you're in the Manson family, brutally murdering anyone Charlie tells you to and writing creepy things on their walls in blood. Yes, the slight possibility of escaping eternal physical agony is enough to convince some folks to flirt with atrocities that approach the limits of human comprehension. Fasting does prevent one from committing them with quite the energy they would have otherwise, but only to a marginal degree. Fasting will not get you to heaven. It will only make your frenzied stab wounds less lethal. You are still a bad person and you will still probably go to hell if there is such a place.

2. I am holier. HAH!
You fast in order to assert a reputation of holiness and moral superiority. You are David Blaine in a box hovering over London proving to the world that asceticism is the key to fame and fortune. You are a dumb ass.

3. I'm angry as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.
Ah, yes, you have something very important to say, but you don't have the words to say it. You fast as a way to communicate to your significant other that you are not getting enough sex. Subsequently, you become irritable and obnoxious, and acquire nothing for your efforts besides lonely evenings on the couch. You protest in vain, using the diplomatic sensibilities of a 4 year old threatening to hold his breath. You are also a dumb ass.

Well, that about sums it up. There is no reason to fast that pertains to our worldly existence other than some internal inclination that could not be prescribed by anyone else. That is all.

(Why all this? Because I dressed up as a monk and drank beer for three days at the Renaissance Festival and don't feel guilty about it at all).

Gravity

Gravity is a strange thing.

You can't see it, or hear it, or smell it, or touch it...but it is everywhere.

It surrounds us always, afflicting our every move, and there is nothing we can do to escape it. Here we are, living amongst this slurry of space-time, perpetually subject to its power as it grabs us and drags us toward some giant rock spinning in space. It doesn't compromise or change in shape or attributes. It is static and reliable, without shame or pride. It usually prevents us from floating, which is probably why we enjoy floating so much. And, even humanity's most intelligent physicists don't know exactly what it is.

One might find it amazing we have learned to live amongst this immutable, morpheus manifestation if it didn't define the movement of every physical object in the universe. Perhaps it is actually far from amazing that we can tolerate it. In fact, I suspect our lives would be much more intolerable without it...

Consider the following example. Without gravity you cannot pour yourself a beer. How tragic is that? Consider beer floating in blobs of liquid deliciousness inches out of reach. You are thirsty, and can even smell the floral hop aroma, yet, you are hopelessly doomed to die of thirst floating in some crazy twirling axis near your objective.

Thankfully, we have gravity. Actually, everything that has mass has gravity. This is good, not just on earth, but also in the vacuum of interstellar space, which I frequent when Earth's gravitational pull gets in the way...

For example, if I am drifting toward the Andromeda galaxy and a rogue asteroid of a similar mass to myself is floating from Andromeda toward me...and, say this is the most awesome asteroid in the universe with a keg of Surly Darkness and an attractive bar with a tap...it will tend to gravitate in my direction without any encouragement whatsoever. Now, it won't fall towards me from light years away, but only as its delicious cosmic maltyness approaches my gravitational sphere. If we are on a direct collision course we are both dangerous projectiles which may shatter one another upon impact like unfortunate Hadron particles...even if we were only traveling a few thousand meters per second. Most likely, this delicious spectacle will approach and drift just close enough for me to gaze upon its sparkling, polished draft mechanism and pint glass perched upon an oak bar with a bronze rail. I will watch it pass harmlessly by.

Though it passes I do not despair, for I estimate our speed is not great enough to escape one another's gravitational field. Like a comet around the sun, the last bead on the chilled pint glass will not have evaporated before it makes a return visit. And, it will always drift by again, likely a bit closer and brighter, even close enough to see the silly logo of a disgruntled beer drinker on the side of the keg. (Naturally, refrigeration is not required due to the already low temperature of interstellar space.) And, as it passes, I watch it depart from view again, knowing its path and calculating my own trajectory.

Of course, the asteroid is not only captured in my gravity, but I also in its, and we will continue to revolve around one another like a binary star, increasing in velocity, until my hand can approach the tap handle at which time I will savor 5 ounces of the world's most delicious Russian Imperial Stout. Yum.

Of course, by this time both me and the bar will be spinning around one another at several thousand revolutions per minute, as the effect is much like a spinning figure skater retracting into a spindly blur. But, in fact, we will be stationary and the universe will be spinning violently around me and my sweet malt beverage, which I will enjoy in complete peace somewhere between the Milky Way and Andromeda until the two themselves collide, which is estimated to occur roughly 3 billion years from now.

When on Earth I sometimes revel silently of my voyages trouncing about the cosmos. Although I cannot always plot my own course, nor that of my objective, I can take comfort in the fact that, of cosmic-like things, there is no escaping the inevitable. Some things fly by never to be seen again, others strike us directly, causing giant red raspberries, and still others subtly cross our event horizon from the most remote of places, occasionally without our knowledge.

One thing is certain: Beyond that indiscriminate point in time and space the laws of physics cannot be changed, as wily and unpredictable as they are. I may hope for the impossible beery asteroid or curse the inevitable direct hit. But, the law does not hear my pleads or my screams. I might even listen closely to hear it chuckle at the insanity of my presumptions and remember that some things are not mine to release or to restrain...or rather, nothing is. Instead, celestial bodies simply are, and frequently have no choice in the matter but to accept what they must, enduring all with whatever minuscule capabilities are available to them.

But, I consider the possibility that if we accept our fate, and welcome that which we know we must, there just may be a moment or two available to us, in our lifetimes, when those eternal laws may be suspended in favor of our own (adhering to the most rigorous standards of plausibility and only when absolutely necessary).

Late Term Abortion

With the recent slaughter of a man who assists women safely kill babies/parasites (whichever you like) weeks before they would otherwise be born, I am moved to voice my thoughts of the matter here, as I consider his life choice and profession a courageous exercise in human justice...

To those who attack abortion doctors:
You have cast the first stone, if I may speak biblically. It seems the pro-life crowd responds to this type of language. Your love for another's baby is admirable, and even unavoidable. Your ignorance of the sanctity and responsibility of motherhood is unfortunate. One thousand women might one day choose to volunteer to impregnate themselves and then tear the ripe fetuses from their own bodies in the most graphic statement imaginable to prove that their baby is not yours; not even if your covetous emotional stability (often mistook for conscience) is dependent on adopting them all. Unless you can personally restrain her in your maternity ward/dungeon, of which the likes any free and civil society is instituted to prevent, you have no right to prevent her violation of that very clear commandment (with, through implication, I reserve for humans and fetuses), that 'Thou shalt not kill.' This is not Minority Report, you are not a Precog, and there is no such thing as a pre-crime. A woman's reign over her unborn child is a bond more secure than any legal or social abstraction and welded by that most perfect and unchangeable force in the universe; that of natural law. If God ever did grant a human the authority to rule over another it is the mother over her unborn fetus, and if you do not grant that, then you certainly cannot argue that God granted you the power to force her, against her will, to relinquish that authority. If she does not know it herself, empathy may move you to remind her that God will be the judge, which I consider the limit of your rightful interference.

To the dead children:
If you had not been relieved of your worldly duties so soon, your barbaric mother would have likely extended your suffering in ways so dramatically more horrific, physically and/or emotionally, that the world secretly pities you less for having suffered so quick a death.

To the abortion doctors:
They say women must have access to safe abortions lest they harm themselves with unsanitary and dangerous procedures in secret. This is the argument I have heard, which is weak and irrelevant. Even if no woman has harmed herself in want of the procedure, access to it, if a willing doctor exists, is inherently justified. The unreasonable and aggressive attack upon the unchangeable principle defined above is now raging. While it may seem an attack against a fact of nature is harmless and futile, like draining one ocean into another, it is not. We must consider how such efforts would otherwise have been directed. The army dedicated to draining the Atlantic into the Pacific not only exerts its own time and labor at the expense of what good they might otherwise do, but also, they divert all the resources procured from other sources for this completely irrelevant purpose. What expecting mother is moved to swear-off her abortion appointment upon seeing a cutesy "pro-life" billboard along the highway - the one between two other corporate advertisements encouraging her to ingest a particular brand of fast food. Such tasteless propaganda directed in this way, in my estimation, is offensive and dehumanizing to any expecting mother, and can only serve to encourage the exact opposite of the intended result. (What baby deserves to suffer a prison bemired and so heavily influenced by such malfeasance). Moving beyond billboards and other wasted resources, the deadly recent example was far from harmless. The killing of a defender of (what I call) the principal of feminine liberty is a tragic loss, not only of a human life, but of one dedicated to this evasive and unpopular truth; that a fetus is not property of the state, and invisible to it for all intents and purposes.

To further illustrate the necessity for this understanding, consider the nurturing way a 'mother state' already treats its youth, targeting them to ruthlessly kill in their belligerent nation's war for reasons they couldn't possibly begin to understand? Certainly if they could they might reconsider (e.g. to protect Stalin, to defend Mao, etc.). The young man's country assures him he is relieved of his moral responsibility and made a champion for obediently killing people, while left little choice with the sharp bayonet against his back. How much more justified is the defense of a principal that is understood, by a doctor with the courage and ability to defend it while at the same time jeopardizing his own life?

George Tiller was martyred in defense of the sacred principal that a woman's authority over her body and unborn child is complete, and that no other person, state, or organization may wield the power to compel the fruition of a pregnancy against the mother's will. Any person, state, or organization that wields this power also wields the power to compel an abortion, the most egregious abuse of authority imaginable, and one that would mark the end of any population's rank among the word's civilized communities.

What nation is worth instituting and defending if not to protect the lives and to respect the decisions of those expectant mothers solely responsible for nurturing the newest members of our culture and fostering the continuation of its principals. What culture or population is worth propagating if its mothers are so fearful and disrespected that they only accept motherhood against their will? What future can we expect for such a society, and who do we expect to defend it?