Big Ed's Place

Recently, erotica author Mike Kimera hung up his pen. More precisely, he hung up his erotica pen, as he plans to fiction in other genres under another name.

Now Mike’s been around and is pretty popular at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association (ERWA). I happen to consider his story, The Last Taboo, to be a masterpiece. He’s written many others–some very dark, some completely ridiculous (The King’s Cocksucker is ridiculously silly). As a rule, they’re very good. And I add that qualifier “as a rule” simply because I haven’t read them all.

Now Mike’s stated reason (and I’m paraphrasing here) for retiring his erotica persona is that he awoke to how much separation it was creating between him and his wife. She wasn’t comfortable with the fact that he wrote erotica and he “came to realise that the more time I spend being Mike Kimera, the less time I spend being someone that she feels close to.”

Sadly, I understand. “Mike Kimera” was just as real a “self” for him as his given name. For me, “Big Ed” is just as real as the name on my driver’s license (the DMV won’t put “Big” on it for some reason). It’s hard to say it’s a persona when it’s really just another facet of myself. Not separate per se, but not the sides that shine in polite company.

Which is where the challenge of being an erotica author comes in. I get the separation. Not because of any separation with my wife (she reads most of my stories anyway) but because of the societal one. I can’t tell my Born Again boss why I’m taking longer lunch hours these days. I can’t share my triumphs with some of my friends. And I certainly can’t whip out the laptop and write when we’re visiting my in-laws. The fact that I write about sex forces a separation between the self they see and the one y’all here do.

Now I know there are some who believe the maxim of being true to yourself and being “out” no matter what. I can appreciate the philosophy, but like most pure points of view, practicalities too often interfere. I mean, it’s easy to be “out” when your livelihood and peace in your family relations doesn’t depend on it. It’s even easy to say that being out helps to educate, which is clearly the case with homosexuality. The prejudices started to lift over the past two decades in part because so many people realized that they knew gays and that the people they knew were normal and wonderful people.

But, honestly, do I want my son to endure a frosty atmosphere when we visit my in-laws? Because even if they could accept my writing in toto, there would be no way to avoid an adaptation period where they assimilated the new facets with what they’ve already seen. Similarly, do I really want to trust that the guy who determines whether I get laid off or not won’t take into consideration that my, ahem, personal values are rather different than his?

The separation exists because the alternative is worse.

Obviously, one could argue that in a marriage, it’s different. I don’t know Mike nor his wife and I don’t know if there was any attempt to bridge the gap. I do know that giving up parts of ourselves is the process of being in love. We say, “this person is more important than this aspect of myself, and so I will change.” If we don’t, we’re not building a “we”. (and, as an aside, one of the hardest challenges is figuring out when “I will change” is the right answer and when it’s the worst possible answer. It’s never obvious). I had to give up much of my neatnik ways to make things work with my wife. We both had to give up the concept of sleep when we had a child. It was worth it.

But even if Mike’s wife hadn’t had a distaste for his writing, there likely would’ve been some separation. It’s simply from the time and energy to maintain the persona. Every minute I spend at my computer, be it writing or musing or doing website maintenance or participating in chatroom discussions, is a minute I’m not spending elsewhere. There’s a strong argument that that time could be spent increasing the closeness with my wife. That’s part of the choice Mike’s made, I’m sure.

For me, though, that’s not as clear of a trade. I need a lot of alone time to stay sane. I can steal “Big Ed” time from that, and from lunch hours, and from a variety of windows where time with my wife is not an option. I also draw a lot of personal emotional sustenance from my “Big Ed” time. My wife has noticed I’m more pleasant to be around if I’ve been writing recently, so in some ways it actually helps.

Furthermore, I truly believe in the his-hers-ours relationship model (insert gender pronouns of your choice here). Relationships thrive when each person has some aspects of their lives that are separate from the other. It gives them something to bring to the table when they’re together. I allows them to be full independent individuals. It results in a partnership, rather than a single entity with two heads. Watch any cop show to see how partnership trumps a single entity every time.

I realize not everyone will share this philosophy. My response is, “that’s fine. But show me what you really do in your life–not what you say you do or what you believe you do. The philosophy is fine, but what’s the reality?” I’ve had some interesting conversations as a result.

And in the end, there may be some folks for whom it is truly different. Mike’s clearly different than me and I wish him luck. At the same time, I can only say, I’m glad I’m me and not him. The separation of selves serves me well.

One of the challenges the arts, be they visual, performing, musical, or literary, regularly face is “how the heck to we pay for it?” Good art requires time to develop talent, time to produce, and time to perform or otherwise get in front of an audience.

Now I don’t know much about the history of art, but I suspect that over most of human history, “paying for it” was done by patrons. The poor were too busy scrambling for survival. The rich, on the other hand, could afford to spend money on aesthetic pleasures. Similarly, ruling bodies such as governments and churches could commission work to glorify their chosen objectives, using the wealth extracted from their citizens.

I also suspect “paying for it” became easier with the rise of the middle class. Instead of one patron paying for the entire cost, it could be spread among multiple individuals. Obviously, this is less true for some art forms, such as sculpture, where it’s hard for multiple individuals to share a single work of art. However, a good theater run spreads the cost of a play among many non-rich individuals. So does a long concert series. A musician can make a living if enough people pay to see them every night and they don’t have to be the same people every night.

It also became easier for those art forms that worked well with commerce. Notably, anything that could be copied and distributed to “the masses” could have the entire “paying for it” cost spread out among the entire audience. If it cost X to make a record album, and it could be sold at Y, then obviously X/Y determined the number of copies that had to be sold. True, there was often a cash flow issue still since the cost had to be paid before the sales were complete. But there was little need for a true patron.

Enter the digital age. It’s become much harder to predict how many copies of a digital art form could sell. Most of this is simply the newness of the process. There are substantial debates on how much ebooks should cost. The only answer seems to be “less than print books.” Well, that leaves a wide range.

We’ve already seen this impact of uncertainty in the recording, movie, and publishing industries. The big industry giants are largely chasing the blockbusters these days and letting the midlist and minor talent wither. I believe the major reason is simple–they can predict the blockbuster payoffs better. Is another James Patterson novel going to sell? Yep. Is this unknown author writing a fantasy young adult series going to sell? That’s a gamble (which they’ve lost more than once).

However, we shouldn’t entirely discount the problems of digital transmission. The artist can’t control what happens with copies of their work or how many copies get made by others. The copies are de facto free.

Which means that the cost for these art forms is more reflective of the cost of sculpture and much of history. The true costs all reside in the first production. How does that get funded?

I can’t help wondering if we’re headed to a realm with more traditional patrons. I’ve recently participated in a Kickstarter campaign (for Nobilis Reed, here) and I may end up going that route for Deep Dish, if I can’t get a publisher interested.

I also wouldn’t be surprised at more ‘garage shop’ operations where artists bootstrap their way into sustainability. It’s a harder, longer road, but it might end up being just as valid.

No answers–just musings.

Recently, a business trip took me to DC, where much of Friends and Benefits is set. Besides passing familiar common landmarks like streets and grocery stores, I had an opportunity to drive by the condo I used to live in. I even stopped and bought a lottery ticket at the 7-Eleven that shows up in that story. I didn’t win, alas.

The experience brought back a lot of memories and I have to say, they were decidedly mixed. But then I realized, that almost all of my memories are. I don’t do nostalgia particularly well. My memory is too sharp for me to remember only the good things about the past and instead insists on hauling out the no-so-good things as well. I’m reminded that any stage of my life was a package deal and like vinegar and oil, extremely difficult to mix after life got done shaking me.

For example, I can certainly recall my greater energy and near boundless optimism from my mid-twenties, when I was the age as Joe, from Friends and Benefits. I had audacity born out of ignorance that just isn’t possible today. Now, I usually lament all the free time I had then. I recall reading novels for the sixth and seventh time and long evenings spent watching television. I miss having that free time. But I can’t help recalling the loneliness of those evenings too, which scrambles the nostalgia something fierce.

Similarly, I can remember back to some relationships where my fondest memories are of incredibly hot sex. But then I recall why the relationships fell apart and find myself once again being glad I’m not at that stage in my life anymore.

I have few memories where I can point to a moment and say, “that was pure joy” or “that was pure happiness” or “that is a moment worthy of the deep nostalgic sigh.” When such memories occur, they’re usually no longer than several hours. Certainly not days, or months, or years.

For example, the day I proposed to my wife is a near-perfect one in my mind. I remember all the details of the actual proposal, our celebratory dinner after, and much of that day as a whole. But I can’t edit out being sick as a dog five days later on the same trip, huddled over a toilet in a strange hotel in a country where I didn’t speak the language.

Again, mixed nostalgia.

Of course, the flip side is that, even looking back at my worst moments, I can’t claim they were all bad. For example, the worst night of my life involved me curled into a fetal ball in a hotel room in San Francisco, sobbing and all alone. Yet the next morning, on the same trip, I had breakfast in a restaurant overlooking the bay and felt a sense of peace and calmness that has rarely been duplicated. When I described it to a friend, she said that I was describing ‘grace’ as the saints do. Would I give up that breakfast to avoid the night before? Not on your life.

So, I stood in the 7-Eleven, buying a lottery ticket. Memories of all the walks to that same store flooded my mind. I remembered the pain and the confusion of many of them. But I also remembered the fireflies and the glimmer of hope that maybe, some day, it’d be better.

Eventually it was. And perhaps that’s where I stand today. Nostalgia is at best mixed, because in the grand scheme, “this too will pass.” Both good and bad. And right now, it’s pretty damn good. Even if my lottery ticket didn’t win.

I’ve heard that Buddhism claims that desire is the root of all suffering. I’ve never been quite sure I agree, because desire can certainly bring a lot of pleasure as well. I do write erotica, after all. Instead, I’ve come to believe that expectations are the root of all suffering. If we just take life at it comes, then it can’t be going wrong, correct? But when we want it to go a certain way and it doesn’t… ouch.

That was my experience this past week. I took Thursday off as a vacation day, with the intent to do chores around the house alternated with writing. Then a last minute ‘must be done now’ chore showed up and completely wiped out the day. I managed to get a little bit of chores done, but no writing.

I was very very frustrated.

Now it wasn’t a bad week overall. I finished editing A Smile on my Face, reducing it to just under 5000 words, and got it sent off to my team. I also managed 444 words on my science fiction story, bringing it to 3,477. Finally, I added 472 words to Oral Histories, bringing it to 2203 words.

So 900 words plus editing in a week when I didn’t get my ‘day off’ to write? It’s kind of hard to bitch. It’s particularly hard to bitch because I can look back and see ‘writing status’ entries where I would have been ecstatic with 900 words in a week.

Which is why this is really an expectations problem. It was a *great* week, unless I had hopes for more. So it’s yet more proof that not having expectations is the key to happiness.

So in last week’s musing, I wondered what elevated a well done photograph or a story to Art. Specifically, I wondered if I was creating Art or promoting it when I found it. Those aren’t easy questions to answer.

The first problem is, of course, defining Art. I’ve already defined it (here) as “a way of connecting to others. It’s a short cut to the heart and mind.”

Well, that’s certainly nice and ambiguous. After all, Porn is a way of connecting to others. It’s a short cut to the genitals. And when we get more involved than just the genitals, we start arguing whether the work is erotica or porn, which is a perpetual argument in writing circles. I happen to like Poison Ivan’s (from Ruthie’s Club) definition, which is that one term is pejorative and the other isn’t and that’s their primary distinction.

But the pejorative implications do tell us something about Art vs. Porn. “Art” is supposed to be something… better. Better in quality or in connection or in craftsmanship. I think there’s also a snob/cost cultural element as well, where once again I call on an analogy to cuisine. Artistry in cooking does not need to be confined to the $200/person restaurants. There are plenty of diners and taco stands and neighborhood restaurants that are “better.” They’ve managed to infuse their food with something that connects with a person’s pleasure centers in the mouth, nose, and belly. There’s plenty of art in those environments.

Aside–the flip side of “90% of everything is crap” is that 10% of everything is likely to be good. Anyone who makes a broad generalization (“disco sucks,” “French films are stupid,” etc.) about a category is demonstrating their prejudices and lack of an open mind to possibility. At least for me, the quest for the 10% makes my life more enjoyable.

Going one step further with the diner anthology, there’s even the possibility of quality at an artistic level in the every day. Malcolm Gladwell makes the case for Heinz Ketchup as being as good as ketchup gets. I imagine that there are times a places it makes that shortcut and becomes an epiphany to the taster. Why not call it Art then?

Of course, that makes me wonder–why not have the perfect cum shot? Or the perfect sentence describing a blowjob?

So the definitions are problematic. So are the tastes of the audience. Roger Ebert makes that point when he declares there’s no such thing as a perfect movie (here). Even the films generally proclaimed as the greatest have their detractors. I think that’s true of all art forms. There’s someone who is blown away, and there’s someone else who just doesn’t get it.

Ebert also makes another point, too, which is that good criticism needs to explain why. That’s what I’ve tried to do with my reviews on this site–give you more than the “loved it!” or “hated it!” so that you can draw our own evaluations.

But that doesn’t answer the original questions. Am I creating Art? Am I promoting it when I find it?

I don’t think I can honestly answer the first question. Authors are their own worst critics because they know what they intended to put on the page, making it hard to see what actually is on the page. At best I can tell when I’ve poured my heart and soul into a work (which isn’t every story) and only hope that the craftsmanship kept pace. In some cases, such as The Ugly One, I think that’s come across, based on readers’ comments. In others, it’s hard to tell.

As for promoting it, I think I could do a better job. I’ve slowed down on reviews for a myriad of reasons and one of which is that I’m finding little that just zings me the way Art should. That won’t prevent me from doing some negative reviews or mediocre reviews, but I hope I can pick it up some. That said, the number one reason I’ve slowed down is available time. Nonetheless, we’ll see what I can pull together. Maybe pointing to stuff I find that rises above the crass will help.

Unfortunately, the reviews will still be “I know it when I see it.” I haven’t adequately answered the question of what elevates porn to art. So here’s my current thinking:

a) If Art is a shortcut to the heart and soul, there has to be something with heart and soul in the original work. That doesn’t mean shock and surprise don’t have their place, or pure arousal, but they’re not sufficient. They’re just carriers for something deeper. So Goatse and Two Girls One Cup type stuff don’t qualify, nor their lesser counterparts. Neither does stroke fiction, regardless of the story codes.

b) There has to be attention to detail. If someone’s pouring their soul into a work, they have to care enough to get the little things right. Typos, basic grammar, and so on for a written work. Simple elements of composition like lighting for photos. I’ve found that it’s usually the attention to detail that defines quality.

c) It has to have some persistence. By this I mean that I think about it or remember it later, when it’s not in front of me. That’s a good sign that it got through to me.

There are probably more criteria, but that’s what comes to the mind immediately. Any thoughts on what else is required, readers?

Recently, I attended a technical conference that I first attended 15 years ago. A lot of ghosts came flowing back, and not all of them were pleasant.

The first time I attended this conference, I happened to call the up-until-then-love-of-my-life, who I will call “Alicia” for simplicity. We’d broken up 2 years earlier, she’d move to Europe to pursue another romantic relationship, but that had ended badly and she was back at her parents’ house. That was about a 3 hour drive from the conference.

We had a very pleasant phone conversation and tried to figure out how we could meet in person. Unfortunately, we couldn’t figure out the logistics. It was clear then that we were both entertaining ideas of getting back together. Six months later when we did meet, though, the window for reconciliation had closed. Would we have gotten back together if we’d been able to meet that night? I sometimes think we would have, but of course there’s no way to know. It’s just my memory of the conversation and what life was like for both of us at the time.

So… why didn’t we get together if we both wanted to? Because the technology didn’t exist. We knew we’d have to meet in the middle in order for both of us to make our next-day obligations and we couldn’t figure out the logistics. Sure, there was a map that showed a town halfway between us, but we knew nothing about what was in that town that might be suitable, and we had no idea how we’d get in touch when we arrived.

Two problems that are completely irrelevant in the age of the internet and cell phones.

Today it’s yelp followed by mapquest and we’d have a place. Then cell phones to ensure we connected. No problem, no missed connection.

Now my life has turned out pretty well and I don’t begrudge the lost connection. I wouldn’t have met my wife, after all, and she’s a much better match for me than “Alicia” was. So I don’t have a lot of regrets about the lack of technology then, but it does make me wonder…

…and while there are obvious analogs in writing (certain stories could only exist in certain times or the available technology would render much of the plot moot), I’ve also started wondering how the technology changes affect our memories.

Ya see, memory is often more emotional than rational. We often have clearer memories about things that triggered strong emotions than those that were just intellectual. So what created those states?

I clearly remember the frustration of not knowing how to connect with “Alicia”. I remember how overwhelming it was when we finally quit trying. And I remember the angst when I realized later that the window for getting together had closed.

Similarly, I remember times in my youth of giddy nervousness, waiting for the phone to ring. I didn’t dare go out because I didn’t want to miss a specific call. I got cranky when my dad got on the line. Of course, answering machines and call waiting made those issues moot long before cell phones. Do kids have that anxiety today? And how does it color their romances?

Which calls into question some of my own memories. I remember all the drama of teen romance. How would the drama have been different if I’d had better technology? I don’t know. But I do suspect I’d remember those times quite differently.

I don’t have answers, of course. It’s just one more reminder of the fungibility of the human memory.

So my last post referred to two situations where the art form requires cardboard villains. But what about realistic villains? John Ringo makes an argument that it is perfectly fine for a realistic character to see themselves as a villain, in contradiction to my assertion that no one’s a villain in their own mind.

Ringo writes (here, in the comments):

The truth is that many people who choose to be in positions of conflict are, at some level, what most people would call ‘truly evil.’ They are infested by demons if you will. (Strong id if you prefer.) But they CHOOSE to manifest that side of themselves only when necessary. They keep it in a box and bring it out when they face others who don’t so choose, who revel in their own evil. It is their Killer, their Machine, their Stranger. (Billy Joel song.) Cops, military, what have you. They are ‘the rough men’ who keep us safe in our beds at night and many of the very best… are more like Mike than they care for.

Now I understand the ‘infested with demons’ part–I’ll come back to that in a moment. However, I don’t think that’s the same as id. Because id and self-awareness are incompatible in my view.

That’s partially because I interpret id as truly unconscious, like Freud’s original definition. It’s also because those folks I’ve encountered who are indulging their id really aren’t reflective about who they are or what label to apply to themselves.

Now admittedly, I don’t personally know many ‘villains’, but I have known a number of addicts, and addicts are near the top of the heap when it comes to id indulgence. Someone in the throes of an addiction rarely has any conscious thoughts beyond “how am I going to get my next fix?” It’s “I”, “I”, “I”, with little thought of those around them.

Which in many cases is a good definition of villainy–being so wrapped up in their own desires and wants that other people are either irrelevant or little more than pawns/obstacles to getting what they want. Many villains are outright sociopaths, and in fact one could define ‘villainy’ as such callous disregard for others as to truly be causing evil.

For example, a kid who tortures a cat is thinking about how much pleasure he’s getting, if he’s thinking at all. He’s not about the suffering of the cat, because that’s not relevant, or he’s created a justification for why it’s okay (“it’s just a cat.”). To most observers, that’s evil. But the kid doesn’t see himself as evil because he just doesn’t think about good or evil in that context. It’s pleasure for him, end of story, right?

So… from my perspective, if someone is indulging their id, they may be evil, but they’re not self-aware enough to think of themselves as evil. Instead, they’re in their own world where ‘heroism’ is getting their ‘needs’ met. They “win” if they succeed, and they’re miserable if they fail. It’s a solo video game in their mind where the rest of us just happen to be in a real rather than virtual world.

So what about ‘infested with demons?’ I think Ringo has a good point that many ‘heroes’, especially in literature or other art forms, walk the edge between heroism and villainy. This, I think, is a good thing for fiction as it enhances the art. The struggle to stay on the right side (or the right side most of the time) adds drama and realism to the story. I think most of us have struggled with doing the right thing and resisting temptations. For most of us, though, that’s a struggle against sloth, gluttony, or other of the subtle deadly sins rather than struggling to avoid mass killing or rape.

Furthermore, bringing that ‘dark side’ out by choice to stop others (as in Ringo’s example) is clearly a case where the character sees themselves as heroic and not as a villain. It’s bringing that ‘dark side’ out for purely selfish reasons that’s in question.

And for me, the question is less, “will he or won’t he give into the dark side?” but do they think of themselves as a villain if they do choose the dark side?

An addict may make an ‘evil’ choice to surrender to the addiction. Once they’re in the throes of it, though, they don’t think about it anymore. There may have been a passing moment of ‘I’ll be a villain if I do this’ but that is quickly submerged as the appetite takes over.

A more interesting question is what levels of rationalization will a person go through to convince themselves that a choice wasn’t evil? Or that on-going action isn’t? George Lucas tried to explore this for Anakin Skywalker, and I’m not happy with the job he did. But I do know of two real life examples that shed some light on such a descent–Albert Speer and John Dean.

Speer, Hitler’s architect, made the conscious decision to avoid learning about the concentration and death camps. If he could force himself to be ignorant, then he could maintain the facade that he was a good guy and not contributing to the evils of the Third Reich.

Dean, Nixon’s legal counsel, wrote an autobiography of his years in the Nixon White House and discussed how he got so caught up in the trappings of power and the wonderfulness of it, that he didn’t want to look closely at what was going on. He tells a story of being in a hotel room and hearing Nixon tell reporters that he (Dean) was looking into Watergate, when Dean knew he was doing no such thing. Dean’s reaction was, “he mentioned my name on TV!”

Now I happen to think the whole ‘seduction’ into thinking that way is great fiction fodder. But my point was, the perpetrators didn’t see themselves as evil. They’d constructed a worldview in which they were either separate from the evil or that what they were doing wasn’t evil.

Which is what brings me back to Ringo’s quote. I still assert that realistic characters (vs. melodrama or Mary Sue characters) don’t ‘revel in their evil’ and see themselves as villains. They may have given into their id and lost self-awareness. They may have defined ‘good’ in a new way that justifies their actions. But even sociopaths just see themselves as heroes in their own mental universe.

At best, there is a moment, on the cusp of the choice, where a realistic character or real person may realize that one choice may make them a ‘villain.’ But once that decision is made, I think the internal thoughts of villainy disappear and the person becomes a hero in their own minds once again.

My wife and I recently celebrated our fifth anniversary. It’s definitely been a “whoa–where has the time gone?” phenomena for us–the days seem to have flown by. But it did give us a change to look back at our seven year relationship.

The thing that I wanted to write about here, though, was a comment that was made to me when I was considering proposing, that’s affected my writing. A good friend told me, “Pick a partner that helps you go further than you can on your own.” It’s turned out to be incredibly good advice

Now by “further” he meant “makes life richer and deeper” as well as “helps you go where you want to go.” Richer and deeper are difficult terms to define, but most people have a sense of them, particularly spiritual seekers. There are times, when one is truly living in the moment and truly present, that the words takes on a hue and a sense that is more than it does in those moments when we’re wrapped up in our heads and our ego-selves.

It’s a sense of awe simply at living.

And I’m blessed to get that with my wife.

Of course, that doesn’t prevent the other definition of “helps you go where you want to go” from being operative as well. The tricky part is, of course, knowing where you want to go. What may be today’s objective and pined-for goal may be discarded five years from now. That said, there are exceptions, like the desire to have children. But my personal experience is that those exceptions are few in number and generally obvious.

But I’ve found that that doesn’t necessarily matter. A partner who helps you and supports you no matter what direction you are going is a blessing. Many people say that about our kids–”I want them to be happy, no matter what they choose to do.” How many of us say that about our romantic partners?

In my case, my wife’s support has been instrumental in me getting so seriously into writing (were you wondering when I was going to bring it around to writing?). For a while, she was my editor, but it hasn’t been her active support that’s been important. It’s really the emotional support and the trust. She provides a solid base from which I can explore.

And I think that’s critical for writers of many stripes. We need people who believe in us. We may not be in a place where we have patrons who support us, like days of old. But I think most authors have hit a point where they’ve thought, “what the heck am I doing?” Those moments are much easier to get through if we know that someone, somewhere, has our back.

We go further then, in what we can get done. With the right partner, we also go deeper, which can manifest in our writing. At least for me, it’s made a huge difference to be married to such a woman.

In a comment on my last post, Steveh11 asked how I defined an alpha male. Well… that’s a bit tough, because I’m using the term sloppily. Therefore, it deserves a full post. It’s long, so more after the break.
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I don’t write teen coming of age stories. This is partially because I remember my teen years pretty well and don’t particularly want to relive them. For me, they were a mixture of fear, dread, overconfidence, unreasonable hope, and way way too much soap operatic drama. In fact, when I see a lot of popular entertainment, from soap operas to reality TV, I wonder if perhaps too many people never really got out of their teen years except in biological age. I don’t particularly find the egotistical gyrations over petty stuff and popularity to be particularly entertaining and so have little desire to be the creator of such work.

That said, another reason I don’t write teen coming of age stories is that the temptation to be preachy would be very very hard to resist. I find I’ve got way too many ‘lessons learned’ that would have been useful back then, assuming I was actually willing to listen. The latter (listening) is unfortunately a trick, as a current relative demonstrates to me regularly. He’s 19 and he’s confident as hell and has repeatedly brushed off advice from us old fogeys twice his age. I roll my eyes, confident that he’ll learn, probably the hard way. If I bite my tongue hard enough we can have a pleasant time together without me being preachy.

Nonetheless, some of the advice I’ve long thought about snuck out in a twitter hashtag and I had a request from Dan Lyke to post it someplace more durable. So… climbing up on my soapbox:

• You are not immortal.  But you’ll accomplish a lot more if you forget that fact in most circumstances.
• You will regret the things that you did not do far more than the things you did.
• It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.  And if you do it when you’re older, you can buy cooler toys.
• The phrase “I might be wrong” is one of the most powerful you can ever say.
• Know the difference between being right and being wise.
• If you’re going to do something illegal or immoral, make it deliberate. Don’t slide into it.
• There is more power in listening well than in any other social skill.
• Don’t attribute to malice that which can be attributed to stupidity.  It simplifies your enemies list.
• Everyone has a price, though it’s rarely measured in money. Knowing your own price makes you stronger.
• The least-drunk person in the room calls the shots. Consider whether you want to be drunk or in charge.

That’s ten things, which is probably a good place for me to step off the soapbox. Maybe they’ll be useful. Or at least entertaining.