#i wonder if this is how Daniel feels when he posts a journalism article and people read it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleekervae · 4 years

Text

The Neighbour [0.7]

Masterlist

The sun was high in the sky, bright and casting everything in a flattering golden light. The grass blades beneath Eva's body pricked at her fair skin and Remington's hair tickled her spine, the May heat was blazing but she was happy as she proofread her latest article.

Remington had his white heart-shaped sunglasses on, and Eva was sure he must've been asleep from how still he was. She broke her attention from her laptop and looked over her shoulder, stormy blue eyes gliding over the expanse of his torso and the many tattoos that were like a gallery to his world. A gallery that she had the pleasure of enjoying just for herself.

With a sharp intake, Remington stirred when he felt he was being watched. And when he saw Eva's delicate face looking back at him, he smiled back, face thick with sleep but he looked happy.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just checking on you," she replied coyly, "You comfortable?"

"Yes I am. Had no idea you made such a good pillow," he grinned, to which Eva simpered amusedly, "How's your article coming?"

"Just proofing before I send it," she said.

"How much you getting for it?"

"Seven hundred and fifty bucks"

He gave a stirring whistle, settling down against her flank and closing his eyes, "Make that money, Eva,"

Eva was quiet as he nestled down again, but she kept her eyes fixated on his body. She admired the way the light bounced over the sunscreen-slick film on his skin, and how effortlessly pretty and cool Remington looked in contrast to the lush green grass beneath him. The tips of her fingers brushed at the cooler blades beneath her chest, fighting the urge to reach over and touch the ink on his bicep.

And just like that, a new poem jingled in her brain and sprinted to her fingertips. The poem was drafted in minutes, and as Eva read it over and over to herself she was at a loss as to whether she should publish it to her blog. She knew Remington had looked at her poetry, and she wondered what he would think if she posted a piece about him. Or what his fans would think if they happened to find her blog. Would people even know it was about him?

Nevertheless, she took another glance at his rising and falling chest. In her lens she looked at him like a muse, a piece of art that she wanted to record and worship with her words. And that feeling made her nervous.

... But it also had her simmering with excitement.

"You're still staring at me," he suddenly said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Eva rolled her eyes, though a sheepish grin spread across her own lips as she pushed her laptop across the grass, "Let me up,"

Remington's eyes snapped open again as he lifted his head so Eva could get to her feet, "You alright?" he asked.

"I'm just gonna' get something drink. You want anything?" she replied.

"I'm good," he threw his hands behind his head as he laid back down in the grass, "I'll guard your computer for you,"

Eva chuckled, "You're so brave,"

"Aren't I?"

Eva slipped her tank back over her bikini top, rubbing at the hot spot where Remington's hair had prickled over her skin. Her hand seemed to shake as she pulled back the glass sliding door, quickly slipping inside and finding Emerson sat on the couch with his notebook and variety of charcoals. Pepper was sleeping at his feet, but she perked up and tried to crawl to the top of the couch when she heard Eva's footsteps.

Emerson turned to his neighbour, "You okay, Eva?"

"Yeah," the small brunette replied, "Could I grab some water?"

"Of course," he smiled, "You know where the glasses are,"

"Thanks," she grabbed herself a glass of cold water and headed back for the door, stopping when she peaked over Emerson's shoulder and gazed in awe at the gothic victorian architecture covering two full pages in his journal, "That's so sick,"

"Thanks," he replied happily, "Did Remington tell you about our graphic novel?"

"He did. Did you illustrate everything?" she asked incredulously.

Emerson shrugged sheepishly, "I had a lot of help. I'll let you read the first copy that comes out, if you'd want"

"That would be awesome,"

It was then an idea stirred in the back of Emerson's head, "Do you write any fictional stuff?"

Eva shrugged, debating whether she should bring up her fanfiction hobby, "... I've dabbled,"

Emerson smiled, "Well, I'm planning to make these into a series. When we start drafting the next volume, would you want to work on it with us?"

Eva's heart nearly leapt into her throat, "You serious?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, "It's always more fun working with friends, anyway,"

Eva's face flushed, "Emerson, I'm honoured! I'd love to work with you guys,"

Over in the backyard, Remington shifted and sat up from his nap. He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the sudden influx of light, then focusing in on the shadowy silhouette of Eva and Emerson in the house. He watched her smile, and the hand that wasn't holding a water glass came to rest on her chest. He wondered what they were talking about: probably art, the pandemic, the album party that was coming up this week.

Or was it possible that they were talking about him?

Remington took a glance at her macbook, the screen having just fell asleep. Curiosity got the better of Remington, he wondered why Eva kept glancing at him between her writing. He checked again and Emerson and Eva were still having their conversation, and Remington reached over and tapped the touchpad, bringing the laptop back to life. Eva's main page was her article about dog fighting and the people who ran these gambling rings, but Remington clicked on the open Tumblr tab. A draft of a new poem stared back at him, and before he knew what he was doing he was reading it word-for-word.

"You sleep soundly, protected by the company of

snakes, angels, and demons.

They guard your organs, flesh, and muscles.

Without moving eyes they watch the world pass you by

While you're none the wiser, drunk on beer and sunstroke.

The breath that leaves you fans over a crest of regality, valiance,

The summer grass tries to scratch away the frowns of the skulls on your arms,

You've come too far to continue to be sad.

At least, that's the impression I get.

I like your homage to the illuminati: that little triangle below your intestine

forever searches for lies and enlightenment.

Or maybe you just decided that it looked cool?

And I love that angel, clinging to your spine as you dive into the four corners of hell

Yet it drags you back to the surface, reminding you of the better qualities you have

that overshadow the bad ones.

Your body is a gallery, and I've bought myself a ticket.

I only planned to take the basic tour, a brief introduct --"

Remington quickly clicked back to Eva's article when he heard the door sliding open again, but Eva had caught him snooping. She looked down at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her standing figure blocking out the searing sun.

Remington glanced back at the screen, "Reading about the bastards who exploit defenseless animals and force them into fighting for monetary gain," he replied quickly, "Very profound work,"

Eva had the mind to know he was spouting straight bullshit, but she didn't press on, "Thank you," she set down her water glass and started to pull off her shorts.

"Your thirst quenched?" he asked.

"Yes, and now I'm going to go for a swim," she smiled, "You're more than welcome to join me,"

Remington sat back as her tank top fell to the ground, revealing the small flower tattoo on her ribs peeking out from the band of her bikini. Eva stood at the edge of the pool, shook out her hair, and dived head first into the crystalline water. Remington smiled to himself as he stood up, his heart thrumming as fast as a hummingbird could bat its wings when as the words he read fluttered behind his eyes.

She was writing a poem about him.

Eva emerged from the water just as Remington took a running start, and without warning, cannonballing into the water beside her. As she wiped the water from her eyes more had splashed over her head. Remington broke out of the water seconds later, laughing when he saw the scowl on Eva's face.

"You're so fucking chaotic!"

"You love me,"

The album was to drop this Thursday at midnight, and they were going to stream and celebrate its release at Sebastian's place with a party. A small party, with Daniel, Andrew, their mom, and their girlfriends.

And of course, Eva had been invited.

Remington assured her it was just going to a small casual affair, and all she needed to bring was her "gorgeous smile". Those were the words he used. Nevertheless, Eva had a constant flutter in the pit of her stomach as Thursday neared; annoyed because no matter what she pulled out of her closet she seemed to have nothing to wear, and popping advil because her period decided to pay her an early visit the morning of the party.

Remington continued to check Eva's Tumblr and Instagram pages now and again, wondering if she had posted the rest of that poem. He felt a little guilty about snooping, and he wondered what her reaction would be if she knew he had looked. Or perhaps she already knew that he had and she was only letting it slide because she didn't want to talk about it. And as he stood in the shower on the morning of the party, not snapping out of his thoughts until Emerson banged on the door loudly for his turn, Remington began to realize he wanted Eva so much more than he should have for a friend.

Pluto lay diligently at the foot of Eva's bed while she worked, wearing a face mask to hopefully keep her period acne at bay. She read through her most recent poems, a shiver crawling up her spine every time she read them. It was scary because within the last few days, she realized Remington had become the muse she examined and picked apart in her pieces. It wasn't that she hadn't written about boys before, she had, but they didn't elicit the same excitement Remington did when he touched her; or when he was even near her.

In the two and some months she had come to know him, Eva's world had grown so small and yet exploded so suddenly in such little time. Remington was a firecracker of wild colors that splattered across the folds of her brain and drew her into him like a moth to the light. She wanted to watch him move, work, and no matter what she wanted to make him smile. After listening to his music, she knew how badly he needed to be happy. And there was a part of her that wondered what it would be like; how would he be with her if they started a relationship? What's it like dating a rockstar? She imagined the day-to-day wouldn't be very different from how they were now: great friends just one step further on the scale of intimacy.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted it. She wanted him.

✧✧✧

Remington's tongue tingled as he approached the complex courtyard in the late evening, his gaze flying to her balcony to hopefully get a small glimpse of Eva. He smashed the call button for her apartment and waited for her sweet voice to pick up.

"Yellow!" she answered happily.

"It's your friendly neighbourhood psychopath," Remington smiled as he spoke into the speaker.

Eva chuckled, "Come on up! I got the door open,"

The front door clicked and Remington slipped inside, his mask over his face as he waved to the landlord who was too nose deep in his newspaper to give a damn about him.

He pulled his mask down and knocked first before entering Eva's apartment, first being greeted by Pluto who leapt out of his bed and began to rub himself against his pant leg. Remington scooped him up in his arms.

"It's good to see you too, buddy!" he cooed at the cat, "Are you coming to the party with us? Maybe if we ask nicely your mom will take you?"

Remington's attention diverted from Pluto when he heard Eva walk in from behind. Turning around, any words he had were suddenly stuck in his throat when his eyes fell over her. Just when Remington thought she couldn't look any more gorgeous, she blew all his expectations out of the water in a body-hugging black, white, and red plaid dress, white sandals on her feet and her short hair loose and wavy. She only had on mascara and some eyeliner, but in his opinion, Eva didn't need any more than that.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Her smile faltered when Remington hadn't said a word, not even a hello, "... You're looking at me weird," she said, bordering on panic as she glanced at her dress, "Do I look weird? 'Cause I can go change --"

Remington quickly snapped out of it, "N-No! You're fucking gorgeous," he gaped, "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare like that --"

"No, it's okay," she assured him, smiling sheepishly as her heart skipped a beat, "You look really good, too. Yellow suits you nicely,"

Remington chuckled, continuing to cradle Pluto as he glanced at his pants, "See -- me and Emerson got into a debate. I say they're yellow, he think they're lime,"

Eva shrugged, "Regardless, they're on the citrus spectrum," she grinned, going to grab her purse, "Are you sure I can't bring anything? Like a bottle of wine, or --"

"Nope! Seb's got all the alcohol we'll need," he replied, "You can bring Pluto if you want, though. Emerson's gonna' bring Pepper,"

"He's better off here where I know he'll be safe. Over there, I'll constantly be worried if he's trying to tear up the carpet or... or eating another shoe," Eva shook her head.

Remington shrugged as he set Pluto down, "Just as well, I don't think he and Pepper like each other," he said.

"Oh really? What gave that away?" Eva asked in mock disbelief, "The constant hissing, the yapping, the growling? The cat's staying here,"

"Sorry bud, I tried," he said to Pluto. The tabby spun his tail before striding off back to his bed.

Eva took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, "He'll be fine," she sighed.

Remington cocked his head, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "It's that time of the fucking month again and my stomach does not like me,"

He swallowed with uncertainty, "... It's just a period thing, right? You're not losing taste or smell or anything, right?"

"No, it's just a period thing," she assured him, "I'll be fine. I feel like shit, but I just need some fresh air and some good music,"

"Lucky for you, I can provide all of those things. And just to reiterate, you look fantastic," he said.

"You're sweet," she smiled, slinging her denim jacket on and clutching her purse, "Shall we?"

"We shall," Remington quickly held the door open for her, "After you, my lady,"

"Why thank you, kind sir,"

#remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #palaye royale #Palaye Royale imagine #Palaye Royale fic #poetry #boy bands #band imagines #band imagine blog #band blog #original story #original female character

37 notes · View notes

thebaronmunchausen · 5 years

Text

Like most of you writers, I got my start as a writer in the campus press, first in high school, then in college. And, like most of my contemporaries I dreamed of a career in journalism—writing for the national newspapers and magazines, since, in those days, there was only print journalism. Creative writing programs, and even creative writing courses didn’t exist.

UST, my alma mater, offered a degree in Journalism (with course offerings which included the new fields of Advertising and Public Relations). In the same faculty (the Faculty of Philosophy & Letters, or Philets), which taught Journalism, it also offered a Bachelor of Philosophy (with course offerings which included many Literature subjects). I chose Philosophy even if I had no idea what profession a degree in Philosophy prepared one for, mainly because I wanted to take all those Literature courses.

In high school, while writing for and eventually editing The Paulinian, I began to contribute feature articles to several national magazines (all unfortunately short-lived). As a sophomore in college, while writing for and eventually editing The Varsitarian, I wrote a weekly column in the youth section of the “Manila Chronicle”; and as a senior, I became Editor of the youth section of the “Weekly Graphic”. So, when I graduated from college, I considered myself a professional journalist.

But what I really wanted to be was a writer of short stories, and, of course, to win a Palanca. This didn’t come easily to me. It was essays that I wrote, and the Palanca Awards then did not yet include the essay category. My best friend had already won a Palanca for her poetry while still an undergraduate. But I hadn’t even published a story! And when she was invited to be part of the first Writers’ Workshop in Silliman, and I wasn’t, I was devastated.

When my first short story was published, I was 25, married and a mother. When I won my first Palanca, my husband had accepted a job with UNICEF, and we were living in Beirut. The news got to me in a letter from my mother, sent via diplomatic pouch by UNICEF in Manila. Tony was out of the country, and my oldest daughter was in school. So the only one I could share my big news with was my second daughter, Anna, who was around 4 years old. I said to her: “Anna, guess what, I won a prize for my story—I got 3rd prize.” She thought about that for a moment, and then, she said, “Gee, Ma, you have to try harder next time.”

I have another favorite Palanca memory. It happened in this very room on Palanca Night. I was here with my husband, Tony. Either he or I had served as judge for one of the categories. A young man came up to greet us—it was the late Luis Katigbak, still an undergraduate in the UP’s Creative Writing Program then. He looked rather self -conscious in his dark suit. I had only ever seen him in t-shirts and jeans, so I almost didn’t recognize him. We congratulated him for his prize, and he shook our hands, gave us a wide smile, and a little bow. After he had left us, Tony said to me, “That’s the look and the swagger of a writer who has just won his first Palanca. Recognize it?”

And every Palanca night since, I have seen that look and that swagger in some of the young writers in attendance. But now and again, I wonder: how long will this last? The question I’m asking is not long will the Palanca Awards last, but how long will writers keep on wanting and trying to produce the kind of writing that wins a Palanca award?

Why am I asking this question? We all know that in the different branches of the country’s biggest bookstore chain, what few shelves are devoted to books are not occupied by literary titles written by Filipino writers. Of course, these days, the question that follows naturally on that one is: but what do we mean by that term “literary title”?

A few months ago, at a meeting of the Board of Trustees of the Book Development Association of the Philippines (BDAP), I heard another term used for the first time: “hard literature.” I learned that, in the publishing world, the term has replaced the earlier term, “serious literature.” As a writer, and a reader, my own definition of “serious literature” is literature that is carefully crafted, literature that seeks to explore ideas which the writer feels strongly about, literature that is written, not just to share experiences, but to offer insights about its subject. In other words, literature which has a chance of winning a Palanca award.

But at that meeting I am referring to, the speaker (himself a very successful local publisher, who happens to be here tonight, and who has given me permission to mention his name—Mr. Jun Matias of Precious Pages and Lampara) made a pitch for Filipino publishers to be more open—not just to “hard literature”—but to all forms writing. There is so much of it being produced now, he said, so many young people wanting to share their stories, and so many people wanting to read them, that publishers who choose to continue to ignore it, or “judge” it—by which he meant, look down on it—run the risk of being left behind. This made me sit up.

Jun then showed us a brief video of one of his authors—a Wattpad writer—arriving for a “meetup.” This writer’s fans were so numerous that they had to open another room to accommodate them. When she arrived, she was received like a rock star—with screams and shrieks and wild applause. And she looked the part too—young and slim with straight long hair, her face partly hidden by huge shades.

Another publisher later told me that her company has been in an arrangement with Wattpad since 2014, to turn selected Wattpad novels into print novels. One of these, “She’s Dating a Gangster” by Bianca Bernardino became, not just an National Bookstore bestseller, but the first Wattpad novel to be turned into a movie (by Star Cinema, with Kathryn Bernardo and Daniel Padilla in the lead roles).

This publisher also informed me that their most popular writer, Jonaxx, is so big that the company has created an imprint just for her. Her real name is Jonah Mae Panen Pacala; she’s 28 years old and a pre-school teacher from Cagayan de Oro. According to her fan page she is the first Filipina Wattpad author to gain 1 million followers. Last year, that figure went up to 2.7M+. And her fans are so fiercely devoted to her that they object to her novels’ being changed in any way, including correcting grammar and syntax. “Mapapansin Kaya?” the first of her books to be published, had a print run of 40,000. Seven of her books have been published so far. Since she joined Wattpad in 2012, she has published 32 novels. (That was a year ago. Perhaps she has since produced more.)

Actually, my initial reaction to the Wattpad phenomenon when I first heard of it was astonishment. I had no idea that so many people wanted to write fiction. But why not? Looking back on my own teen years… didn’t I, too, want to write stories?

I began writing stories because I loved reading them. I’m talking about novels like “Little Women” and “Anne of Green Gables” and “Daddy Long Legs;” and later, the Nancy Drew series and the Beverly Gray series—what today are called “YA novels.” My world was a small one. My parents were conservative and kept me at home most of the time. To use a hoary cliché, reading books opened doors for me, doors into other, larger, worlds.

When I first tried to write stories, I was a pre-teen. I simply wanted to imitate the stories I had read. The heroines in those stories had adventures; they fell in love. And they wanted to be writers! They became my role models. My writing—like my reading—was not so much for self-expression or sharing with others. It was a form of escape, an escape from a life I considered boring and humdrum.

But I outgrew those stories. There was something predictable in their plots, and in their characters, principally, the little orphan girl, neglected and deprived of love, but gifted with a vivid imagination. After various mishaps, some painful, sone hilarious, she transforms into a strong-minded, large-hearted, confident, accomplished, and lovely young woman; and of course finds a young man worthy of her.

So, I moved on to Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters, to Mark Twain and Harper Lee and Charles Dickens. I discovered Nick Joaquin and Kerima Polotan and Carmen Guerrero Nakpil. I realized I was no longer reading just for escape. Without fully realizing what I was looking for, I just knew I was looking for something else, for something more.

My writing began to change as well. I showed my new essays and stories to my English teachers and the school paper adviser. When they edited these, or wrote comments on the margins, I did not take this as an infringement on my freedom. Neither did any of my classmates, by the way. We took it as an effort to help us become better writers. And we were grateful. (Which is I find it difficult to understand why, today, some beginning writers are averse to being edited.)

Anyway, this whole process simply meant that I was growing up as a person. And that I was developing as a writer.

Today, I ask myself: if the Net had existed when I was a teen-ager, and had it been possible to post my scribblings on an app like Wattpad, without the benefit of comments or suggestions from teachers or more experienced writers; had I acquired a huge following, and my stories been turned into printed books, which would sell copies in the hundreds of thousands… if these things had happened to me, would I have chosen to stop writing girlish romances, and moved on to other subjects, and other ways of writing? What would have been the reason for doing so?

It has occurred to me that this may well be the situation some of the Wattpad writers find themselves in. They’re already successful. What else do they need to do? In particular, why do they need to go to college and study writing?

Actually, I know people—some of them, writers—who believe that one does not have to get a degree in creative writing to become a writer. And that is certainly true. National Artists Nick Joaquin, NVM Gonzalez, Francisco Arcellana didn’t have degrees in Creative Writing. National Artists Bienvnido Lumbera, Virgilio Almario, and Frankie Sionil Jose don’t have degrees in creative writing. And, as I said earlier, neither do I.

The establishment of Creative Writing as an academic discipline is relatively new (unlike the B.A. in Fine Arts and the B.A. in Music, which have been around for more than a century). But I’m not quite sure why anyone would discourage young writers from wanting to get degrees in creative writing.

The myth seems to be that a formal education in writing will “destroy” your natural, instinctive talent. And, perhaps, there ARE some teachers out there whose methods may, in fact, have a negative effect on their students. But doesn’t this happen in all fields, be they the arts, the natural sciences, or the social sciences? There are good teachers and bad teachers; there are teachers whom some students find inspiring while others find them boring.

I tell my students that, at some point, they should become pro-active and choose the mentor they feel is the best suited to their own temperaments, someone they admire and trust and feel they can work with. Such a mentor cannot harm them; in fact, he or she, is more likely to be a great help to them.

I’ve said this often before: writing is a profession like any other. One trains to become a professional. It is accepted as natural that people in the other arts, like painting or sculpture should wish to enroll in a College of Fine Arts, and musicians should wish to enter a Conservatory of Music. And, certainly in the visual arts and in music, the more highly skilled you are, the bigger your chances of selling your works via the great international auction houses or doing solo performances to the accompaniment of great symphony orchestras. Why should it be any different for literature?

Of course writers who don’t want to get a university education don’t have to get it. But if they’re serious about making writing their career—if they wish to be professional writers—they need some form of training, even if it be self-training. All training requires hard work, but this kind of training—self-training—even more so.

One learns any skill, first, by imitating those who know how to do it. Even child prodigies—like Tiger Woods, who was playing golf when he was two years old—took golf lessons, from his father, first of all. Even gifted musicians—like the band Queen and its brilliant front man Freddie Mercury—have acknowledged the influence on their work of other rock stars, whom they respected, and whose music they spent time studying: Elvis Presley, David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix.

When the UST Center for Creative Writing invited Ely Buendia to speak at a forum on song writing, I asked him what he thought had led to the Eraser Heads’ great success. He said he didn’t know, but he also told me that he had admired many other musicians, had studied them, and tried to incorporate those influences into his music. He mentioned, in particular, Elvis Presley (who, in turn, had been influenced by African American blues, southern country music, and gospel music). And he mentioned our own folk songs, which he said he had also studied.

To return to what I was saying earlier: what would be the incentive of the phenomenally popular and commercially successful Wattpad writer to raise the level of her writing skills, and take on concerns larger than first love or first heartbreak?

Actually, I know someone who has done just that. Perhaps some of you will recognize the name Charmaine M. Lasar. She’s a 20-year-old Wattpad writer, who won the Carlos Palanca award for the novel in Filipino in 2015. She has been quoted to the effect that she joined the Palanca literary contest because she “wanted to refute the idea that only garbage comes out of Wattpad.” But she also added that, in writing her 35,000-word novel, Toto-O, which she claims to have written in just one month, she “consciously deviated from her Wattpad writing style, which is looser and more carefree,” and opted to write something that was “medyo malalim” in terms of language.” Also, its plot has nothing to do with young love or heartbreak.

The novel was published in 2016 by JumpMedia. And last year, Maine was accepted by the UP Institute of Creative Writing as a writing fellow for its National Writers Workshop. I met her there, and she told me she was considering saving up to enroll for a Creative Writing degree. I salute her, and I salute the Palanca Awards for giving her the recognition she earned.

Her crossover is proof that the two worlds—the world of pop fiction and the world of hard literature—are not mutually exclusive.

Back in 1999, after retiring from government service, my husband (who, in one of his earlier incarnations, had also been a poet, an essayist , and a journalist), set up a small publishing company that he ran pretty much by himself. He had in mind two lines: information books, and literature. But when he found out how small the print run of most literary titles was, he was shocked. Why, he asked me, would I go to all that trouble and use up all that time to write a novel or a collection of short stories or essays, if only a thousand people were going to read me?

He was determined to publish books that would appeal to larger audiences, and he decided that the way to do that was to produce short, light, nonfiction books, targetting readers in their 20s and 30s; books which would be accessible, without losing their literary quality. Many of the writers he published were first-time authors, like Vlad Gonzalez, Carljoe Javier, Rica Bolipata Santos; but he also published writers who already had something of a name, like Marivi Soliven Blanco, and Luis Katigbak; and award-winning writers like Butch Dalisay, Vince Groyon, and Chris Martinez. The award winners were not averse to trying their hand at writing that would have a more popular appeal.

Milflores books did well in terms of sales. A few did exceptionally well. And some of the Miflores books also won awards, like Rica Bolipata Santos’ “Love, Desire, Children, Etc.,” which won the Madrigal Gonzalez Best First Book Award.

Today, we have Visprint Publishing, which is doing something similar, but on a much larger scale. Some of the writers whom Nida Ramirez publishes are actually academics, like Chuckberry Pascual, Joselito Delos Reyes, and John Jack Wigley. All three have written “hard literature.” All have won awards for their writing. But Nida has chosen to publish their lighter work. Visprint books are small, inexpensive, light, humorous. Nida has also published the speculative fiction of Eliza Victoria and the graphic fiction of Manix Abrera. Actually, none of Visprint’s titles are sleepers. And some have won literary awards too. In fact, in 2015, Visprint received a National Book Award as Publisher of the Year, a prize which goes to the publisher with the biggest number of winning titles for that year.

So Visprint would seem to represent the happy bridge between the commercially successful book and the artistically lauded book, proving, yet again, that these are not incompatible.

In that sense, this is actually a very exciting time for writers. There have never been so many choices available, including what would have been mind-boggling for me and my contemporaries: self-publishing online.

Before making those choices, though, writers need to figure out a few things. First, what kind of books do they want to write? Second, what kind of writers do they want to be, or think they can be? Third, do they mainly want to entertain readers, or to challenge them intellectually, or to influence them politically? Do they want to make as much money as they can? Or do they want to write in the best way they know how? Or do they want to try and do both? And, finally, how do they want their books distributed—by commercial publishers? by academic publishing houses? by themselves, on line and in small expos?

These choices will be determined by what they believe the function of literature is in a country like ours, at the time in which we live, and what role they want to play in it as writers.

Because I am a writer who is also a publisher, I understand the need to be commercially viable. But, as an educator, I also believe that public service is an important responsibility of the publishing industry. And this means recognizing that expanding the market for books is important, not just for bigger profits, but because more educated citizens make more mature citizens—an indispensable element for any experiment in democracy, like ours.

In concrete terms, this means: on the one hand, accepting the level at which most of our reading public is—what it’s willing to read, what it enjoys reading—and, on the other hand, committing at least a part of the resources available to producing books which will upgrade standards and tastes.

Personally, I remain committed to writing in the best way I know how, no matter how small the audience for this kind of writing might be. Because I feel that literature of this sort—“hard literature,” if you will --serves its own purpose.

In another essay, I wrote about this, and perhaps you will allow me to quote from it: “Writers of all generations have tried to define that purpose. But there are periods in our history when it becomes startlingly clear. The period we live in today, in this country, is one of them—one of those periods when events, both natural and man-made, conspire to drain one of all hope that better times lie ahead."

I mentioned the book, "Sonoran Desert Summer," by John Alcock, professor of Zoology at Arizona State University, where he describes June in the desert as "the month of almost no hope for all living creatures, with the temperature at 102 degrees, rainfall at two-tenths of an inch, and a wind that has removed almost every hint of moisture from the desert world."

He calls it "a time for hanging on, enduring, letting the days pass."

And then, he describes how, suddenly… "from the boulders on the still shaded lower slope of Usery Mountain comes a song, the clear, descending trill of a canyon wren. Loud, defiant, and encouraging, it announces a survivor... (The bird) bounds from rock to rock, at perfect ease in its home in the desert.’’

Sometimes I think that this might be the reason we do it, the reason we keep on writing. This is our song, “defiant and encouraging.”

As writers, we all know that we must stay the course, most particularly in bleak times such as those that confront us now. We will not necessarily agree on what we are called upon to do, but we will do it according to our best lights. We will observe, we will record, we will protest. Above all, we will remember. And we will endure.

Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo

*Speech delivered during the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards, November 8, 2019, at the Manila Peninsula, where the author was Guest of Honor and received the Dangal ng Lahi Award

11 notes · View notes

notbemoved-blog · 4 years

Text

Dorothy Day and her Hope-filled “Revolution of the Heart”

What a time we’re in! I’ve put my blog on hold while working on my next book, but feel the need to come back with a few pieces to “Keep Hope Alive” in these dark times. And just in time for a Dorothy Day revival! Dorothy Day, the enterprising journalist and social activist (and perhaps soon to be saint of the Catholic Church) is having something of a revival of her reputation. A new biography (Dorothy Day by John Loughery and Blythe Randolph) and a new documentary (“Revolution of the Heart: The Dorothy Day Story” by Martin Doblmeier) have put Day back in the limelight where she belongs. She’s recently appeared in the New York Times Book Review (written by prominent religion historian Karen Armstrong, no less), for an extensive New Yorker profile, and even today in the REVIEW section of the Wall Street Journal! Day’s renaissance couldn’t come at a better time, when, thanks to the pandemic, the fragility of our safety net for the poor shows itself for what it really is: benign neglect, if not downright abuse.

I’ve been an admirer of Dorothy Day’s for decades, dating back to my time as a Catholic seminarian in Baltimore in the 1970s when we were encouraged to think a lot about the poor and about social conditions and how best to put our social consciences to work to improve things. After leaving the seminary and trying to find my way throughout the rest of the ‘70s, I enrolled in The American University’s School of Communications and set about trying to improve my skills as a writer. While pursuing a second bachelor’s degree in Communications (the first, from St. Mary’s Seminary College, was in Philosophy), I happened upon a wonderful journalist/teacher Joe Tinkelman, who taught some of my earliest writing classes and whose consistent encouragement caused me to believe I might have a career as a writer someday.

For his “American Newspapers” class, Tinkelman pushed us to write a long-form journalistic piece profiling a newspaper of our choice. My mind immediately went to The Catholic Worker, Dorothy Day’s creation from the 1930s that was still going strong in the 1980s. I thought a 50-year retrospective was in order, so I set about to research this little-known gem and report back to Tinkelman and the class. The research I did (mostly at Catholic University) put me in deeper touch with Dorothy Day, her philosophy, her writing, and her work with the poor of New York City.

For the next four weeks, I’m posting a serialized version of the paper I did for Professor Tinkelman as a tribute to his inspiring teaching and to Dorothy Day herself and her incredible work. Read with caution: You may just get radicalized!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Catholic Worker—The Voice of American Catholic Radicalism Since the 1930’s (Part I)

By Michael J. O’Brien, 12/8/81 – American Newspapers, American University, Professor Joe Tinkelman

On a piercingly cold night in December of 1978, I stepped from the sub-compact I had so comfortably been traveling in with a former seminarian classmate of mine onto the curb of Second Avenue on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. We were on our way to Maryhouse, the Catholic Worker’s House of Hospitality for homeless women, to attend one of the C.W.’s Friday night meetings. It was my first visit to the Catholic Worker Headquarters. Before I could even close the car door, a middle-aged Black man with the smell of whiskey on his breath and of urine on his clothes—the smell of the destitute in any city—asked me for some money “for a cup of coffee.” I remember looking into this man’s half-dazed eyes, seeing behind him the lights of Second Avenue—the bars and novelty shops, the cafes and movie houses that give the street a feeling of one continuous cabaret—and wondering how to tell him on this of all nights that I could not give him a penny. [Part of our seminary training was to decline to give money to alcoholics. “They’ll only use if to further their illness,” we were told.]

I was already late for the C.W. meeting, so instead of inviting him for a bite to eat at one of those cafes, I asked him to join me at Maryhouse. I knew he would at least be warm there and perhaps could even get a cup of hot coffee. He refused, and as my friend and I dashed across the street to get to the meeting, I heard him cursing us. I can’t think, now, of a more appropriate greeting for my first visit to the Catholic Worker—a group that has served the poor and the dispossessed of the Bowery for almost 50 years.

At the time, however, I was only thinking of our lateness! As we opened the doors to Maryhouse and rushed up the stairs of this seemingly ancient tenement, I was awed by the thought that Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker—“both a newspaper and a movement”—graced these steps daily. For all I knew, she was there that very night, this being her primary residence in the City. I didn’t know much about Dorothy Day then, but I knew she had chosen to live her life among the poor and to serve them as if they were Christ. That was enough to spark my interest in her and in her work.

My friend and I entered the doors of the auditorium to a standing-room only crowd. More than two hundred people were packed into this tiny hall that serves as a distribution center for the newspaper and the meeting hall for “the clarification of thought,” as Peter Maurin, the Catholic Worker’s other founder, put it.

We took our places among those standing in the back and I caught a glimpse of Daniel Berrigan, the radical Jesuit pacifist, who was speaking to the throng. Berrigan was scheduled to talk that night—I guess that’s why so many people showed up—on the poetry of Thomas Merton, a well-known Catholic monk and author who died in the late 1960s. Berrigan read to us some of Merton’s poems concerning war, peace, death, and nuclear armaments. After each poem, he gave us his own interpretation of what he believed Merton was trying to convey; they had been good friends.

Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, and Daniel Berrigan: Three pillars of radical Catholic thought in the 1960s.

The entire evening had an aura of unreality about it for me. Here I was in Dorothy Day’s house listening to Daniel Berrigan speaking on Thomas Merton—three pillars of radical Catholic thought represented under one roof! The history of modern Catholic radicalism came alive for me that night. It is some of that history, particularly the Catholic Worker’s singular role in its development, that I will attempt to relate in the text that follows.

The Young Radical Journalist

One could say Dorothy Day was a journalist from birth. Her father was a sports writer for the New York Morning Telegraph; her brothers became newspaper editors. Journalism was in her blood.

She became involved in questions of social justice at an early age. She read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle and Jack London’s essay on class struggle while still in high school. One of her brothers worked on a Chicago paper (where the family lived during Day’s adolescence) called The Day Book, an experiment by Scripps-Howard that reported on the ups and downs of the Labor Movement. The paper’s accounts of the the struggles of the poor and of the workers stirred Dorothy deeply. She began to feel that her life was linked to theirs, that she had received “a call, a vocation, a direction” for her life.

Dorothy Day began her career as a journalist in 1916 at the age of 18 by taking a job at a newspaper coincidentally named The New York Call—a socialist daily that was heavily involved in the labor issues of the day. Later she worked on The Masses, a monthly Communist magazine. After the periodical’s suppression by the Attorney General during the post-World War II “Red Scare”, Day worked for The Liberator, the successor to The Masses.

Her assignments took her to all kinds of strike meetings, picket lines, and peace rallies. She interviewed Leon Trotsky while he was living in New York and writing for a Russian socialist newspaper. She picketed the White House and went to jail for a month with a group of suffragists. She counted as her friends Eugene O’Neill, the great American playwright; Max Eastman, editor of The Masses; and John Reed, author of Ten Days That Shook the World, a journalists’s account of the Russian Revolution. (The new movie REDS explores aspects of the lives of all three of these men.)

A 1917 photo of Dorothy Day (center, holding a copy of The New York Call) urging the U.S. NOT to enter WWI.

An Unlikely Convert

Although her early years as a journalist were spent advocating for causes and movements that were considered godless (Communism, after all, considers religion as an opiate), Dorothy Day converted to Catholicism in 1927 at the age of 30. She saw the Catholic Church as the church of the poor and of the worker, and she wanted to be one with them in every way. Also, she had given birth to a little girl through a common-law marriage, and the overwhelming love she experienced for both her lover and her daughter made her believe that there must be a God.

Day’s conversion caused her much suffering; she had to leave the man she loved because he would not condone her religious leanings. But she put principle before personal comfort, as she would so many times in the future.

After her Baptism, Day found she was no longer one with her comrades. They could not understand her religious convictions and she found it difficult as a Catholic to participate in demonstrations and meetings that were organized by Communists. She continued to report on the plight of the working man for Catholic periodicals—she even did a series of articles for the Catholic press explaining Marxist-Leninism!—but she felt far removed from her earlier radical involvement. She was at a loss as to how to reconcile her two great loves—her newfound love for God and her continued love for the working man and the poor.

An Answered Prayer

Dorothy Day often warned people to be careful how they prayed. “God takes you at your word,” she would say. It was through just such a prayer that she found a solution to her dilemma and that The Catholic Worker came to be.

In early December 1932, Day was covering a march on Washington, D.C., by the Communist-led Unemployment Councils. The march was an attempt by the Depression’s unemployed workers to bring their grievances to Congress. Day was reporting on the march for two Catholic periodicals, America and Commonweal. She became distressed by the march’s lack of Catholic leadership and felt she could no longer sit by and watch as others, especially Communists, took the lead in fighting for the working man. She had to find a way to get involved in the struggle as a Catholic.

On December 8, just after the worker’s march and, coincidentally a Catholic Holy Day, Dorothy Day went to the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception—still under construction in Washington—and prayed fervently that God would show her the way out of the box she was in. Remarkably, God took her at her word. When she returned home to New York, Peter Maurin, the man who was to teach her the way out, was waiting for her in her apartment.

Peter Maurin

Maurin had been sent to Day by the editor of Commonweal because they “thought alike.” He was a French peasant and was deeply rooted in Catholic social tradition. He had studied Aquinas, Augustine, and the socialy encyclicals of the Popes, as well as the many contemporary Catholic social writers, including Hillaire Belloc, Emmanuel Mounier, and the Russian activist and social theorist Peter Kropotkin.

Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin sitting for a group Catholic Worker photo in the early 1940s.

Maurin had a plan for the reconstruction of the then-crumbling American society. His plan had four planks: (1) houses of hospitality for the immediate relief of those in need; (2) farming communes to relieve the wretched unemployment brought about by urban industrialization; (3) round table discussion “for the clarification of thought” on social issues; and, (4) a newspaper to get these ideas to the man and woman in the street. Maurin’s entire plan was aimed at “creating a new society within the shell of the old” where it would be “easier for men to be good.”

The Birth of a Newspaper

Dorothy Day didn’t immediately comprehend the breadth of Maurin’s thought, but she jumped at the idea of publishing her own newspaper. She found out that the Paulist Press—a Catholic publishing outlet—would print 2,500 copies of an eight-page tabloid (originally 9”X12”) for fifty-seven dollars. Day feverishly began writing articles for the fledgling paper—articles on the plight of sharecroppers, child labor, the hourly wage for factory workers, and racial injustice. These, along with Maurin’s “Easy Essays”—short, free-flowing verse for quick and easy consumption of ideas by the man in the street—made up the copy for the papers first edition.

Maurin wanted to call the paper The Catholic Radical, but because of her knowledge of Communist periodicals in the U.S., Day insisted on calling it The Catholic Worker—a direct challenge to the then-popular Communist paper The Daily Worker. “Man proposes, woman disposes,” Maurin jokingly demurred. And so, The Catholic Worker was born.

They didn’t seek permission from the Church to use the word “Catholic.” Day wondered about this, but a priest friend of hers wisely advised, “Never ask permission.”

The enduring Catholic Worker masthead

The first issue of The Catholic Worker was ready for distribution on May Day—May first, the great Communist holiday celebrating the working masses—of 1933. In a short column entitled To Our Reader, Day dedicated the paper:

For those who are sitting on park benches in the warm spring sunlight. For those who are huddling in shelters trying to escape the rain. For those who are walking the streets in the all but futile search for work. For those who think that there is no hope for the future, no recognition of their plight—this little paper is addressed. It is printed to call their attention to the fact that the Catholic Church has a social program—to let them know that there are men of God who are working not only for their spiritual, but for their material welfare.

Dorothy Day was determined to make her stand along with others involved in the workers’ struggle, so in typical in-your-face radical fashion, she along with three of her Catholic supporters went to hock the paper in Union Square, where 50,000 workers had gathered for a massive show of support for Communism. They were scoffed at and they sold few papers, but Day and her friends were satisfied with their results. The paper had been launched. In addition, Day and Maurin had embarked on the great pilgrimage that would consume the rest of their lives.

(To Be Continued)

#Dorothy Day #Peter Maurin #Daniel Berrigan #Thomas Merton #Joe Tinkelman #The Catholic Worker #American University #AU Communications #St. Mary's Seminary College #smsc

1 note · View note

foreverwayward · 6 years

Text

“Wayward Hearts” Season 1 Chapter 11: Salvation

Summary: As Sam and Dean begin the search for their father, a chance encounter with another hunter will change the roads ahead. Riley Munroe is a hunter, raised by her father after her mother tragically died when she was only six months old. Brought together by loss, grief, and the family business, Sam, Dean, and Riley join forces. They’ll find that their stories are intertwined and lean on each other as they search for answers and to avenge those they’ve lost. They’ll face evil, darkness, and hell itself…as a family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 9,350

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

Sam, Riley, and Dean sat in a small café in Omaha, Nebraska. A recent hunt had brought them into town, but there were no leads for other possible cases. The three were itching to get back on the road. Not knowing where John or the demon were, had them on edge. If they weren’t working, they were left alone with their thoughts and they all desperately wanted to avoid that.

Dean worked through newspaper articles and Sam searched the web for anything that might catch his eye.

As Riley came back to the table she huffed as she sat. “I’m so bored,” she whined. “We’ve been sitting in this town with nothing to do for a week. Someone give me something to shoot already.”

“I know,” Dean agreed. He sighed in frustration as he folded up his newspaper. “I couldn’t find one decent lead in Nebraska. Sam, please tell me you found something before we all lose our minds.”

“Uh--” Sam started as he scrolled through articles. “Well, a man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home over in Colorado.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Elkins. How do I know that name?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell for me.” Sam exhaled deeply. “Anyway, looks like the cops don’t know what to make of it. At first, they said it was some sort of bear attack, but now they say they’ve found signs of robbery.”

The oldest Winchester reached into his bag to pull out John’s hunting journal. He flipped through the pages as Riley waited to see what he’d find. Dean turned the notebook in their direction and pointed to a name. ‘D. Elkins”.

Riley looked over the page and saw a phone number beside the name. “That’s a Colorado area code. Wait, are you thinking it’s the same Elkins?”

“Only one way to find out.”

------

After a long day’s drive, the hunters found themselves on a snowy Colorado mountain.

A small cabin sat alone among the trees. The light from the moon illuminated the blanket of white. Nothing but silence filled the mountain as more snow softly fell to the ground.

Dean picked the lock and the three stood in the doorway with flashlights. They split up and looked for anything to give them more information on the man who had died there only days before.

The home had been trashed. Furniture was overturned, items laid broken on the floor, and papers had been scattered and thrown about.

Sam and Dean walked ahead as Finn sniffed near the door.

Riley bent down to see what he had found and picked up white flecks into her hand. “Salt. It’s all right in front of the door.”

“Are we talking ‘protection-against-demons’ salt or ‘oops I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” The cabin was small, so even in the next room, Dean could engage in the conversation as he rifled through Elkins’ desk.

“Well, it’s definitely a ring.” With Riley at his side, Finn began to sniff more through the house. He had been trained to know when something smelled off or strange. It had helped on hunts when it was just the two of them.

“You guys think Elkins was a player?” Sam asked.

“Definitely. Hey, guys…” Dean called. “Come check this out.”

The others found their way to him. Dean had a notebook opened in front of him. The pages were filled with random notes, newspaper clippings, phone numbers, information on supernatural creatures, and more.

Sam scanned over the pages. “Looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s.”

“Yeah, except this dates back all the way to the ‘60s.”

Finn’s whining could be heard in another part of the cabin and the three followed the sounds. When they found him, he was in the doorway of an office space.

That one room had seen the worst of the fray. The floors were cluttered with debris, glass, books, and other odds and ends. With almost nowhere clear to walk, the hunters trudged their way through it.

The dog continued to whimper at all the smells he picked up on. Blood stains covered the wooden walls and had found their way to the floor. Sam, Dean, and Riley had found where Elkins spent his last moments in terror.

Glass crunched under their boots and Riley looked up. The sunroofs had been shattered through. “Well, whatever came for this guy--there was definitely more than one.” She shined her light across the room. “This dude put up a hell of a fight from the looks of it.”

As they continued to search the room, Dean found what looked like an old wooden gun case among the chaos. It was empty and the shells it once held were missing as well.

He moved his light to the other side of him and stumbled on what looked like scratches on the floor. Using a piece of paper and pencil, Dean rubbed the led over it to reveal a message.

“Sam, Rye…” Dean turned to give them the paper as they both studied it. “Three letters and six digits. It’s the location and combination for a post office box. ...that’s exactly how Dad does it.”

------

The team got back into the Impala after finding the right post office. Inside they had found an envelope addressed to ‘J. W.’ Riley sat in the back with Finn as the boys got in the front.

They all debated whether or not to open it, wondering if it had been left for John.

A knock came from the driver’s side window and the hunters jumped at the sound. Smiling back at them, was John Winchester.

Seeing that he was coming for the backseat, Riley scooted over and made room as Finn laid in her lap.

John got in the car and closed the door behind him. The three were shocked to see him.

“Dad! What are you doing here? Are you alright?” Sam had quickly shifted in his seat to look at his father.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I read the news about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could.” John looked over at the blue-eyed hunter beside him. “Saw you guys up at his place. I had to make sure you weren’t followed by anyone or anything.”

The youngest Winchester grew was almost jealous. “Wait. You came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?”

“He taught me a lot about hunting. We had a falling out years ago, but he was a good man.” Putting his hand out for the letter John said, “I should look at that.” When he was handed the letter, he opened it and began to read. “If you’re reading this, I’m already dead…” John paused as he read on. “That son of a bitch. He had it the whole time. When you three searched the place, did you see an antique gun? A Colt revolver?”

“No, sir,” Dean replied. “There was an old gun case, but it was empty.”

“The things that killed Elkins, they have it. We gotta pick up their trail.” John hadn’t even finished his statement before he was already getting out of the car.

“Wait, you want us to come with you?” Sam was stunned.

“The gun--if Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta go get it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s important that’s why,” John spoke more firmly. He never had the patience for when his children questioned him. After a deep breath, he looked back at them. “We’re gonna be going after a nest of vampires. That’s what Elkins hunted--it was his specialty.”

Hurrying back to his truck, John got in and started it up knowing the young hunters would be behind him.

Dean looked quickly back at the others and started up the car.

------

Later into the night, John sat listening to the police scanner in the subpar lodge they had all shared for the night. Sam had fallen asleep and so had Dean and Riley on their own bed as the cuddled up together. A tired Finn laid on the floor at the foot of their bed.

A call came through and John ordered everyone up. Groggy and disoriented, they all struggled to wake themselves.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Heard a call on the scanner. It’s the vamps.” John grabbed his jacket as he hurried for the door.

“What? How do you know?”

John turned to his son, slightly irritated. “Just follow me, okay?”

Still trying to fully wake up, the three grabbed their things to head out the door as Riley patted her leg for Finn to follow.

------

Riley was never a morning person and the lack of sleep started to hit her as they waited near the scene. She yawned. “Fuck, it’s early. Doesn’t your dad ever sleep?”

Sam leaned against the car, irritated that John had left them behind to talk to the cops. He didn’t feel like a partner, but like a child.

John and his youngest son always butt heads, mostly because Sam didn’t believe in being his father’s soldier.

John walked back to the car and told them they were on the right trail and that the vampires had come through and taken a couple. “They’re headed west. We’re gonna have to double back to get past the roadblock”

“How can you be so sure?” Sam asked in defiance.

Dean mumbled under his breath. “Here we go again.”

“I found a vampire tooth at the scene.” Handing it to Dean, John looked at Sam. “So, yeah. I’m sure.” With that final comment, he headed back for his truck. “Oh, and Dean. You might wanna give the car a touch up so you don’t get rust. You even got a fucking dog in it for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.”

Even little comments like that made Dean feel as if he was failing his dad.

Riley felt it too. It got under her skin how much control and power John had over the man she loved.

Dean could face any monster head on and never doubt himself. But his greatest fear was not being enough for his father.

------

The two vehicles had been driving down the highway. Sam’s irritation with his father continued to seep from him. His hands squeezed around the wheel as he drove.

How pent up he was had been giving Riley anxiety as she felt it all. Negative energies and emotions were always harder to block out.

Trying to get her mind off of it, she offered her thoughts. “Odds are, those vamps drug that missing couple back to their nest.”

“That’s probably what Dad’s thinking,” Sam agreed. “Bu,t I wouldn’t know. The man won’t ever tell us what he’s thinking.”

“Alright, Sam. We spent the last entire year looking for Dad. Now, we’ve barely been with him for more than a couple hours and you guys already have shit between you?” Dean knew that was just how things were between his brother and father. He also knew that meant he would always get put in the middle.

Sighing, Sam replied, “No. It’s not like that. I’m glad he’s alright. I’m even happy that we’re all working together.” He couldn’t bite his tongue another minute as his tone changed. “He just treats us like children, Dean. Dad just barks orders at us and expects us to jump to his every command.” Sam’s anger grew and he began to vent. “He keeps us on some fucking stupid ‘need-to-know’ basis. This may have been alright when we were kids, but not now--not after everything we’ve been through. I mean even you, Riley. Are you guys just fine with him running the show?”

Riley just sat quietly knowing it wasn’t her place to speak on Dean’s behalf, no matter how much she wanted to.

“If that’s what it takes, Sam.” Dean was willing to humble himself to John. His phone rang and after he was given his order, he replied, “yes, sir. Got it,” before hanging up. “Take the next exit. Dad said he got the vampires trail.”

“How?” Sam asked with bite.

“He didn’t say.”

That was all it took for Sam to have had enough. Laying into the pedal, he sped up the car and passed his father’s truck. Whipping the Chevy around to a stop, John’s car barely missed the Impala.

A furious John got out of his car and marched towards them as Sam did the same.

“Oh, shit. Here we go.” Dean was familiar with the fights they would have and hated every moment. He got out to be the buffer while Riley sat in the backseat trying to breathe through the storm of rage and anger that surrounded the car.

“What the fuck was that?” John barked.

Seething with anger, Sam addressed John. “We’re gonna talk. Right now.”

“About what?”

“Everything! Where are we going, Dad? What the hell is the deal with the gun? Huh? First, you say it’s too dangerous for us to all be together and then suddenly you need our help?”

Desperate to defuse the tension, Dean stepped up to them. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s deal with the vamps and we can do the Q&A later.”

“Your brother’s right, Sam. We don’t have time for this.” John stood stoically like the Marine he always was.

“Obviously, something big is going on, Dad and we want to know what!” The anger Sam had been keeping inside finally bubbled over as he yelled in his father’s face.

John took an almost threatening step closer to his youngest son and commanded for him to get back in the car.

“Look, you guys. We’re all tired. We can talk about this later.” Grabbing his brother’s jacket, Dean shoved his Sam towards the car. “Sammy, I mean it. Come on.”

“This is why I left in the first place,” Sam scoffed under his breath.

“Yeah! You left!” John had tolerated enough of his son’s disobedience. “Your brother and me--we needed you! You walked away, Sam. You walked away!”

“You’re the one that told me not to come back, Dad! You’re the one that closed that door, not me!” Sam began to shout as his rage consumed him. “You were just pissed off that you couldn’t fucking control me anymore!”

John reached out to grab Sam’s coat in frustration as the two were ready to fight.

As Dean went to push himself between John and Sam, Riley stepped out of the car. Their rage had become her own.

“That’s enough!” she yelled forcefully as she slammed the door. “Sam! Get in the car. Now.” She turned to look at John and wasn’t afraid of him the way Dean was. Riley was firm as her brow furrowed. “Get back...in your car, John.”

As the Winchesters tried to calm themselves, clouds formed from their lips as their breaths hit the air. The tension was palpable.

“She’s right.” Dean looked at them both in frustration as he pushed them apart. “This is over.” John and Sam both got into their cars and Dean was left there with Riley as they tried to steady their breathing.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” he added sarcastically as he threw his arms up in annoyance.

------

The truck and Impala found their way onto a dirt road behind a row of trees. Ahead of them, was an old barn with beat up cars out front. The wind blew through the overcast morning and the leaves rustled as the trunks of the two vehicles opened revealing their arsenals.

It was time to gear up. The nest was in that barn and John wasn’t leaving without that gun.

Luckily, tensions had died down to an extent since the stop on the highway.

Everyone was readying themselves with machetes. They knew that the fastest way to get this job done was to be as stealthy as possible while the vampires slept. But if they were found out, beheading the creatures was going to be the only way out.

Finn would have to wait in the car, though Riley wasn’t concerned in the least. He was trained to stay quiet and would wait patiently for them to return.

She turned towards Sam as she strapped her gun holster to her waist. “Look, I’m sorry if I was out of line earlier.”

Sam scoffed with a smile. “Nah. I’m cool with you letting me know when I’m being a jackass.”

“Oh, so it’s okay when she does it?” Dean snarked. The others let out a small laugh.

As John prepared his weapons, he looked over at the young hunters. “You kids really wanna know about this Colt?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys replied.

“It’s just a legend. Well, I thought it was. I never really believed it until I read Daniel’s letter.” He turned to face them. “Back in 1835, when Halley’s Comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun--a special gun. He made it for a hunter. A man like us--only on horseback.” With a sigh, John continued, “the story goes, he made 13 bullets. This hunter used the gun a half a dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. They say--this gun can kill anything.”

Riley’s face changed as the stress from earlier began to melt. Nothing else mattered at that moment. She looked at John as her heart practically jumped into her throat. “...like the demon.”

“Yeah--the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail, I’ve been looking for a way to destroy that son of a bitch. Find the gun...and we may have it.”

The three young hunters stood frozen in time as they realized the Colt might be the key to the end of their lifelong nightmare.

------

John, Riley, and the boys found a large barn window to the rafters that would give them a way in. One by one, they climbed in to softly land on stored hay.

A foul smell of death wafted through the air as it mixed with that of the hay and dirt. The light that peeked through the panels of the barn would have to be enough to guide them.

The four spread out without a command. They worked like a well-oiled machine. Armed and ready, they meticulously moved through the barn through rows of hammocks. The vampires were fast asleep to avoid the hours of painful sunlight.

On the opposite end sat a makeshift cage. Rusted fencing metal was used to keep in the nest’s prey. Six weak and fading people sat wasting away as they were slowly being drained of blood over time.

Riley signaled towards Dean, motioning for them to head towards the prisoners. Dean went to work to break the hinges of the door as quietly as possible.

Putting a finger to her lips, Riley told the captives to remain unheard.

The amount of fear and suffering she could feel as she stood there was about to make her sick. She had to fight to keep all the pleas for help that rang through her mind under control. Riley was overwhelmed hearing more thoughts than one at a time as the terrified victims feared for their lives.

While John found the back of the aged farm building to find the leader of the nest, Sam saw a young woman tied to a post. She seemed unconscious and wore a blood-stained white blouse. The girl had obviously been bitten.

Sam pulled out a knife from its sheath and crouched down as he began to cut her free. When he looked up, her eyes began to open.

He whispered, “hey. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

The woman’s jaw dropped open as she released a horrifying and inhuman scream. She had been turned.

All of the hunters jolted at the sound of the noise, realizing their cover was blown.

As if the girl had set off an alarm, the sleeping creatures woke ready to attack.

John yelled as he came from the back, “run! Go! Go!”

Doing as he said, the three found themselves in a full sprint towards the entrance of the barn. They hurried into the embrace of the sun as they ran in the direction of the cars.

Sam, Dean, and Riley tried to catch their breaths as John came from the trees behind them. “They won’t follow--they’ll wait ‘til tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it’s for life. They’ll come for us.”

“Alright,” Riley said through her deep breaths, “so, what do we do?”

------

The motel room had every shade drawn as they prepared for nightfall. Sam and John sat alone in awkward silence while Riley and Dean had run an errand.

With Finn at his side, Sam sat on the bed stroking his fur as his father went through his research. The feeling of bad blood from the night before still hung in the air. Neither knew how to cross the bridge they had seemed to burn.

“I never told you this,” John’s voice broke through the quiet in the room as he played with a pen in his hand. “But I had college funds started for you boys. I wanted you to go and make something of yourselves someday.” He turned to look at his son. “This was never the life I wanted for you.

“Then why’d you get so mad when I left?”

“When your mother died, all I could see was evil. All that mattered to me was keeping you boys alive. I wanted you both ready. Except, somewhere along the line I stopped being your father and became your drill sergeant.” Sam went over to the desk his dad sat at, ready to hear what he had to say. “When you told me you wanted to go to school--Sammy, I was just so damn scared. You would be alone and vulnerable. I guess it just never really occurred to me to think about what you wanted. Maybe it was just because of how different we are.”

The silence returned, but with a different feel. The Winchester men breathed a sigh of relief as the air around them felt less thick. It was the first time that Sam had ever felt like he could begin to understand John. He never knew that the way his father reacted to him leaving wasn’t about control; Ii was about the crippling fear of losing his little boy.

“Dad,” Sam started. “We’re more alike than you think.”

“How so?”

“With what happened to Mom, and then to Jessica? I think we have a lot more in common than just about anyone.”

John mourned the fact that Sam knew the pain he had gone through in losing his wife. No one should have to endure that kind of suffering, let alone his child. Though as his tears formed in his eyes, there was a glimmer of hope--hope that their relationship could mend itself.

A smile formed at the corner of John’s mouth. “I guess you’re right.”

The door opened as Riley and Dean came in. Dean held a brown paper bag in his hand as he held the door for her. After greeting Finn, Riley walked over to the desk to join Sam and John.

“We just stole blood...from a funeral home. How did this become our lives?” she asked with sass.

Dean chuckled as he removed a bottle from the bag. Thick blood filled the glass container that he sat on the desk. “That was a lot of security to protect a bunch of dead guys.”

Looking up at the others John gave his command with a single nod. “You know what to do.”

------

On the side of the road, late in the night, Dean leaned over the Impala’s open hood. The headlights were off as he felt around the metal engine.

“Car trouble?” the voice of a woman spoke out from behind him.

Dean spun around to see a long-haired brunette. She was in washed out jeans with a matching vest that wrapped over her black long sleeved shirt.

“Let me give you a lift. I’ll take you back to my place.” Her tone was seductive as she got close to the hunter.

“Pass. I mean, I’m into some kinky shit, but I draw the line at necrophilia,” he replied sarcastically.

The woman gave a chuckle before striking him with the back of her hand. Her strength sent Dean straight to the ground.

As another vampire approached, the female creature grabbed Dean by the face and lifted him up in the air leaving his feet to dangle.

“You’re a forward one aren’t ya?” Dean grunted as he grabbed at her wrists. “I don’t usually get this friendly 'til the second date.”

“You know, we could have some fun. I always like to make new friends.” She lowered him down, still holding his face, and forced him into a kiss. When she was finished, she held him out in front of her.

“You know, I wish I could, but I’m not exactly on the market right now.” An arrow was heard whisking through the air before it thudded into the other vampire’s chest and another into her back. “Sorry. Looks like you may have pissed off my girlfriend.”

The vampire turned around as Riley walked out from the shadows with a crossbow in hand.

John came from the opposite side with one as well while Sam held a machete.

Looking at the other hunters, the vampire snickered, “barely even stings.” She released Dean ready to fight the others.

“Give it time, sweetheart,” John replied in a cocky tone. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood.” The creature gave a look of shock before falling to the ground nearly unconscious. Pointing to her body John ordered to the others, “load her up in the truck.” The remaining vampire was still alert, but on his knees. John glared at him, taking Sam’s machete. “I’ll take care of this one.”

------

A small bonfire had been set ablaze as Sam patrolled the area.

John walked over from his truck with a sack of items that he handed to Dean. “Toss this on the fire--saffron, skunk's cabbage and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready.”

“Ugh. This friggin’ stuff stinks.”

“That's the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes and you stand a chance of not being detected.”

Riley turned to look at her boyfriend. “First you make out with a dead chick and now you smell like actual shit. How did I get so lucky?” she asked in sarcasm.

Dean chuckled as he playfully went to kiss her. She cringed and pushed him away.

“They’ll come for the girl. Vampires mate for life, so she means more to the leader than the gun. The blood sickness will wear off soon though, so we don’t have a lot of time.” John closed up the trunk. “Thirty minutes or so and then you all get out of the area as fast as you can. I’ll have the Colt so I’ll handle the rest of them.”

“Okay,” Sam started hesitantly. “But afterward we’re gonna meet up and use the Colt together? Right?” There was a long pause as John refused to answer. “You’re gonna leave again and go after the demon alone, aren’t you?” He scoffed. “You know, I don’t get you. You can’t keep treating us like children, Dad.”

“You are my children,” John barked. “I’m trying to keep you safe!”

Dean couldn’t stand staying quiet any longer. “Dad, all due respect but, uh--that's a crock of shit.”

Riley’s eyes grew watching him challenge his father’s words. She wasn’t sure she would ever see a day where Dean stepped out of rank.

“Excuse me?” John was thrown by his son’s words.

“You know what Sammy, Riley, and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe.”

“It’s not the same thing, Dean.”

Crossing her arms, Riley stepped closer to be a part of the conversation. “So, what is it then, John? Why don’t you want us to be a part of this? This fight means just as much to us as it does to you.” Her words showed her lack of patience with the man.

He turned to face her. John always knew that Riley was a fiery woman but was still surprised she spoke out against him. “This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you all alive.”

“You mean you can’t be as reckless,” Dean bit back.

“Look...I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death--it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't.”

Riley braced herself as the emotions from the Winchesters began to engulf her. She was learning to always be ready for them whenever the family would have to talk.

“What happens if you die?” Dean stepped up to his father. “Dad, what happens if you die and we could have done something about it? You know I’ve been thinking. I think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together.”

Sam nodded in agreeance.

“John,” Riley’s voice was softer and more pleading. “We’re stronger together. You know we are.” There was a moment of silence and Riley tried to read his thoughts. She could only catch pieces. It was almost as if his thoughts were too scattered to make sense.

Finally, John turned towards his sons. “We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order,” he said as he headed back for his truck.

The three stood there unsure of what to do. They knew there was no arguing with John, but there was no way in hell they were going to wait on the sidelines for the most important fight of their lives.

------

John was going to find the leader and make a trade for the Colt on his own. At that time, Sam, Dean, and Riley had gone back to free the prisoners in the barn.

Cars had been following John for quite a long stretch of road. He had been watching from his rear-view mirror, keeping an eye on their distance. With one more glance, he saw that the cars had gone. John turned his head to get a better look, only to see the fog rolling behind him.

As he turned back to face the road ahead of him, John had to slam on the brakes as he saw the nest of vampires waiting in the road. The headlights created a glare in their eyes that gave them a strange, supernatural glow.

“Get out,” the leader ordered. He was tall with long shaggy hair and wore a black leather jacket. As John got out of the car the vampire continued. “I’m Luther. Who the fuck are you?”

“Name’s Winchester.” Reaching into the truck, John drug out the weak vampire. She was bound in rope and still groggy. “She’ll be fine.” He paused to look at their leader in the eyes, “...dead man’s blood.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“A trade. I want the Colt--the gun you took from Elkins.”

Luther started to laugh. “That’s what this is about? You think you can just shoot us?”

“Oh, I don’t need it for you. I’m saving it for something else.” The hunter gave a cocky smirk. “So, put the gun down or she goes first.”

Obeying the demands, the vampire placed the Colt onto the road. He stepped back to give a safe distance for the hunter to retrieve it.

As John went to reach down for the gun, the drugged vampire had regained her strength and pulled from her restraints. She swung around and struck John with force, causing him to fall to the ground.

A snickering Luther walked over to John as he stood back up. The monster hit him hard enough to fly back into his door’s window. The glass shattered around John’s weak frame as he met the pavement once again as he was knocked out cold.

Arrows shot through the air and impaled two of the nest members.

Sam, Riley, and Dean had finished their mission, but weren’t about to leave John on his own. Orders be damned.

They charged at full speed into the road ready to fight. Dean swung hard, taking off one of the creature’s heads off as Sam fired another arrow.

Riley came out from behind a tree with her crossbow ready and Luther tackled her to the ground. She groaned out in pain as her back hit the floor and the wind had been knocked out of her chest.

As he looked down at Riley, she could hear a strange hissing come from the monster. It wasn’t audible, though she could almost feel it in her bones.

Luther’s cold hand grabbed her up off the ground and he wrapped his arm around her throat.

Dean immediately reacted to her being taken and turned towards Luther with the machete. His eyes were filled with hate and his blood boiled watching the monster hold onto her. “Let her go, freak!”

“Don’t,” Luther hissed. “Put it down or I snap her neck.”

Being too caught in the moment, Riley had no thoughts to attempt to send Dean’s way. She gasped for air as her throat began to feel squeezed. T

he moment she had to fight for air, Dean put his hand up in surrender. There was no way he would risk her life. His blade clanked on the ground as he conceded to the demands.

“You people.” Anger poured from Luther as he held tightly onto the hunter’s throat. “Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do.”

“I don’t think so,” a deep voice spoke out from behind him.

Luther turned to the voice, still holding Riley. He was met with the barrel of the Colt pointed in his direction as John held it firmly in his hand.

Before Luther could respond, the hunter pulled the trigger. A loud bang exploded through the empty highway as a bullet found its target in Luther’s forehead. A large, almost rotted-looking circle immediately appeared at the entrance wound. Luther stumbled and released Riley.

She gasped for air as Dean grabbed her to hold her close and Sam hurried to their sides.

Blood seeped from the vampire’s skull and ran down his face as a mystical glow came from the bullet’s entry. A rush of wind blew in as Luther’s face quickly flashed an almost skeletal appearance. Black veins stretched out across his pale skin and he fell to his knees. He groaned out in pain as a light shot through his skull, finally snuffing out any life in him. The then still corpse landed on the ground.

Luther’s mate screamed in fury and pain. Her wrath and monstrous-like screams echoed in Riley’s mind.

Another nest member took the woman by the arm and drug her away back to her vehicle. Once inside, the driver laid on the pedal and sped them away in a desperate escape.

John stood still in his spot as a satisfied grin curled at his lips.

It was true. The Colt was real.

------

Riley filled up Finn’s bowl of water and sat it in the corner as she tidied up. Sam and Dean worked to clean off their gear after an eventful night.

“You boys ignored a direct order back there,” John stated as he walked in the door.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied.

Dean looked at his father with no fear. “But we saved your ass.”

Sam’s face was shocked as he looked at his brave brother.

Riley was bursting with pride for Dean. So much so, that she somehow found him even more attractive.

“You’re right,” John admitted.

“I am?” Dean was in no way prepared for that response.

Nodding his head, John looked at his children. “It scares the hell out of me. But you two are all I’ve got.” He turned to Riley and Finn. “Well, the four of you, I guess.” Riley smirked as she pet the faithful dog at her side. “You were right, Riley.” John looked at the three young hunters in front of him as he surrendered to their only chance of ending it all. “We go after this damn thing...as a family. Together.”

------

The next day, John had set up a station at the desk. Papers, pictures, news clippings, weather reports, and more were pinned to the wall behind him. Books were stacked on the desk and years of endless research was spread out.

Sam sat near John as they worked through his findings. Dean had been pacing when Riley came in from a walk with Finn.

“Good, you’re back.” Looking up at her, John motioned for her to come to him.

Dean gave her a kiss hello and they walked over as his hand found her waist.

“Look, our whole lives we been searching for this demon right? There hasn’t been a damn trace of it, until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail.”

“That’s when you took off.” Dean finally understood and John nodded. “Alright, so what's this trail you found?”

“It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, and then California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us.”

“Families with babies,” Riley added.

“Yeah. On the night of the kid’s six-month birthday.” Sam and Riley turned to each other. “You both were exactly six months old the nights the demon came.”

“So, basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason.” Sam began to walk away into a pace. “The same way it came for me? So, Mom's death--Jessica? It's all because of me?”

Riley’s head snapped in his direction. “So, what? Does that mean I’m to blame for what happened to my mom and to Deb? Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know, Rye. I mean, as much as it sucks, that’s kind of what it looks like.”

“For the last time,” Dean’s voice was filled with frustration. “What happened to everyone was neither of your faults.”

Sam scoffed. “Fine, so it’s not my fault, but it’s my problem.”

“No! It’s not your problem. It’s our problem.” Dean had listened to his brother blame himself for too long and he wasn’t about to let his self-hatred feed into Riley’s.

John stood and his chair squeaked on the wooden floors. “Okay, that’s enough.” Everyone took a moment to take a breath and calm themselves. “I don’t even know what the evil bastard wants with these kids. I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one step behind it. I've never even gotten there in time to save…” John couldn’t even find the words to finish that sentence as he hung his head in shame. “I failed them all. Just like I failed Mary,” he thought as he ran a hand down his face.

Riley could feel the conflict in him and in his thoughts. “Okay, so how do we find it before it strikes again?”

“There are signs. It took me a while to see the pattern, but it's there in the days before these fires signs crop up in an area.” John handed different papers with information to the three hunters. “Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. And then I went back and checked...they all happened in Lawrence, a week before your mom died and in Palo Alto before Jessica. Riley, the same things were going on before what happened to your mom and to Debbie too. And these signs,” he paused. “...they're starting again.”

“Where?” Sam’s tone was filled with a sense of urgency.

“...Salvation, Iowa.”

A lump formed in Riley’s throat as she came to a realization. She walked over to her canine companion and crouched in front of him. Finn licked her face knowing that she needed the comfort. A tear ran down her face and she sniffled.

Riley cleared her throat. “Guys,” she started. Sam and Dean turned in her direction as she struggled to compose herself. “We gotta take Finn to Missouri’s. It’s too dangerous and we’re going through Kansas on our way to Iowa.” She wiped her face and rubbed the dog’s ears. “I can’t risk it.”

Dean moved over to her and she stood to meet his embrace. His hand rubbed up and down her opposite arm in comfort. “I know it’ll be hard, sweetheart. We’ll go get him when it’s safe. I promise.”

“I’ll give Missouri a call.” Sam grabbed his phone and made his way outside.

Riley squat down to the ground, looking Finn in the eyes and lovingly petting him. “I gotta keep you safe, buddy. But I swear, I’ll come back for you.”

------

In the Impala, Dean sat fixated on the road as he followed his father’s truck.

Riley sat in the back. She strummed at the strings on her guitar in an attempt to take her mind off her aching heart.

Riley knew Missouri would take care of Finn--that he would be safe. Still, leaving him behind felt wrong. She knew how much she would miss him and she tried to ignore the tears that urged themselves from her eyes.

Saying goodbye to Finn earlier that day was like a knife to her gut.

John’s truck pulled to the side of the road and Dean followed. The two cars parked as John got out and began to curse through his growing emotions.

“Goddammit!” His hands ran through his hair before he struck the car in anger. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dad, what’s going on?” Dean asked as the three of them hurried his way.

“I just got a call from Caleb,” he paused as his head fell. “Jim Murphy’s dead.”

Riley struggled to keep herself in check as John’s inability to control his pain began to soak into her core. When she was vulnerable, the feelings she picked up on seemed to magnify to an unbearable level.

She knew Pastor Jim. He helped take care of her and her father several times when they needed him most. Jim was a good man and a respected hunter.

“How?” she asked as her voice broke.

“His throat was slashed--he bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place.”

“A demon?” Dean paused. “The demon?”

John shrugged as his hands found his jacket pockets. “I don't know. Could be he just got careless and he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “So what do we do?”

“Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week.”

“John that could be an impossible number of kids,” Riley said in worry.

“So, we check ‘em all.” John began to shake as his anger rose thinking of his friend’s death. “This ends, now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes.” John turned towards his car and got in before slamming the door.

Sam, Riley, and Dean shot each other a look before hurrying back to Baby.

------

The Winchesters and Riley had reached Salvation. Their only hope of finding the families that were in danger was to search hospital records. Dean and Riley worked through the files of one hospital while Sam and John searched two others.

As Sam walked out of the Salvation Medical Center front doors, he flipped through his notebook of information he’d gathered. A familiar pain rushed through his skull as he clutched his forehead. It was another vision.

Flashes of a nursery in the middle of the night took over. A brown-haired woman walked into her daughter’s room as the sound of a train whistle blew from outside. Sam breathed heavily through the pain as he saw the shadow of the demon next to the cooing child. The next flash was the room set ablaze as the woman was pinned to the ceiling, screaming.

When it had finally passed, Sam’s head shot up. “A train.”

He pulled a map from a pocket in his backpack looking for tracks nearby. Spotting where he thought he should go, Sam took off. He was going to find the house he had seen in his vision. Sam had to know if what he saw was real.

------

The hunters had all made their way back to the motel they had checked into. John sat with his hands clasped as he leaned against them. Riley and Dean sat side by side in silence as Sam told them all about his vision.

“A vision?” John’s tone went flat. “And you think this will actually happen to the woman you went and found because…”

“Because things happen the way I see them.” Sam rubbed his head still recovering from the lingering pain.

Dean looked towards his father. “They started out as nightmares. Then they started happening when he was awake,” he said as he got up to go pour a cup of coffee.

“It seems like the closer I get to anything involving the demon,” Sam winced, “the stronger the visions get.”

John stood in a huff. “When the fuck did you all plan on telling me this? Jesus, Dean, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.”

“Call you?” Dean asked in sarcasm. “Are you kidding me? I called you from Lawrence when we went back to the house. I called you when Riley’s aunt died.”

“John, I called you when Dean was dying.” Riley had bitten her tongue long enough. “We got a better chance of winning the lottery than getting you on the phone.” She felt John’s energy shift.

He knew they were right. Silence fell in the room as no one knew what to say.

“You’re right,” John admitted. “Although I’m not too fond of this new tone of yours, Dean, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He looked over at Riley. “You both are right.”

Sighing, Riley closed her eyes as she worked up the courage to ‘rip off the band-aid’ and tell John the rest. “It’s not just Sam.”

John’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to--” Dean started before Riley interrupted him.

“It’s okay, Dean,” she said putting a hand sweetly on his arm. “John, Sam isn’t the only one dealing with this stuff.” Riley took another deep breath. “I’ve been developing empathic abilities. I feel people’s emotions. And…”

John sighed, “there’s more?”

“I still don’t know how to control it...but, I can hear thoughts sometimes.”

“...telepathy.”

Riley nodded. “It all started around the same time Sam’s nightmares started.”

Again, the silence had returned. John rubbed his temples as he tried to absorb the overwhelming information. “What would Jackson think if he were here?” he thought.

“He wouldn’t judge me, John. He would tell me not to be afraid.”

John’s head shot back up to look back at her. His eyes were wide and he knew it was all true.

“Look, psychic abilities or not, we know the demon is coming tonight.” Sam knew they were wasting time. “And another family is gonna go through what both of ours did.”

“No, they’re not,” John replied in certainty. “No one is, ever again.”

Just as John finished speaking, Sam’s phone rang. Flipping it open, he answered. “Hello?”

“Well, hi, Sam. Long time no talk.”

The familiar and sinister feminine voice sent a chill down his spine. “Meg.” The others turn to Sam in a slight panic. “Last time we talked, you fell out of a window.”

“Yeah, that really hurt my feelings,” Meg teased. “Let me speak to your dad.”

“I don’t know where he is, Meg.”

“It’s time for the grown-ups to talk, Sam. Let me speak to him...now.”

Sam hesitated before he gave his father the phone. John brought it to his ear. “This is John.”

“Howdy, John. I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood.” There was a pause as John’s jaw clenched with rage. “...still there John-boy?”

“...I’m here.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today I'm in Lincoln--visiting another old friend of yours. You and Caleb go way back, don’t you, John?”

“You listen to me. Caleb’s got nothing to do with anything. You let him go.”

Sam, Riley, and Dean jumped at the name they knew all too well. John’s heart sank in his chest.

“We know you have the Colt.”

Trying to compose himself, John lied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, okay, John. Well, why don’t you give this a listen?” Immediately, the sound of Caleb gasping and gurgling came through the phone. Meg had slit his throat. “You hear that? That's the sound of your friend dying,” she snickered. “Now let's try this again. We know you have the gun John, word travels fast. So, as far as we're concerned you just declared war. And this is what war looks like. It has casualties.”

“I’m gonna kill you. You know that?”

“Oh, John please, mind your blood pressure,” Meg taunted. “So, this is the thing. We're going to keep doing what we're doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved--they'll all die unless you give us that gun.”

John swallowed hard as he realized he had no other option. “...okay. I’ll bring you the Colt.”

“There's a warehouse in Lincoln, on the corner of Wabash and Lake. You're gonna meet me there. Midnight, tonight.” Her voice was calm but stern. Meg knew she John him right where she wanted him.

“That's impossible. It's gonna take me about a day’s drive to get there. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane.”

“Oh. Well, I guess your friends die, don't they? Such a shame. But if you do decide to make it, come alone.” The line disconnected.

John closed the phone as he looked up at his boys and Riley.

Sam shook his head. “Do you think Meg is a demon?”

“Either that or she’s possessed by one,” John answered.

Riley looked distressed as her mind went a mile a minute. “Oh, my god.”

“What is it?” Sam asked reaching for her shoulder.

“She’s possessed. It all makes sense now.” She scoffed as she began to pace. “When we were in the warehouse, I felt something. Well, actually...I didn’t feel anything. It was like she was a shell of a person--like there was nothing but darkness and emptiness inside of her.” Riley stopped and looked up at the Winchester men as another realization came over her. “I heard her.”

Dean could see the almost panic-like state she was in. “Heard who?”

“The girl Meg is possessing.” Riley sat on the bed in almost a moment of defeat. “I--I heard a faint, distant scream coming from her--like someone was crying for help. I didn’t know what it was at the time. But...I was hearing the woman trapped inside.” As she looked up, tears formed in Riley’s eyes. She felt she should have known that trapped woman needed her. What was worse was that the girl been left in there with the demon the whole time.

Crouching in front of her, Dean took her hands. “Look at me.” His green eyes found her crying blues. “There was nothing you could have done. You did nothing wrong.” He wiped a tear that fell down her cheek. “I think you might be more powerful than we thought, Riley.”

“He’s right,” John agreed. “I’ve never even heard of anyone being able to do that.”

Sam bit his lip before speaking. “It’s so strange, mine haven’t evolved like that. It’s almost like Riley’s abilities are tied to souls--emotions, thoughts, presence...it’s their essence.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Dean stood to sit beside Riley. “We’ll figure it out.”

John turned to grab his things and start collecting his research. “I’m going to Lincoln.”

“What?” Dean couldn’t believe his father would cave in to their demands.

“It doesn't look like we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die--our friends die.”

“Dad, the demon is coming tonight,” Sam pleaded, “for that woman and her family. That gun is all we got. You can't just hand it over.”

“Who said anything about handing it over?” John put on his coat as he readied to leave. “Look, besides us and a couple of vampires, no ones really seen the gun, no one knows what it looks like. We’ll go to an antique store--find another old revolver.”

“Wait a minute,” Riley said giving John a confused look. “You’re just gonna try and pass a fake and hope she doesn’t notice?

“I just need to get one that resembles the Colt. As long as it’s close, she won’t notice. I just need to buy a few extra hours.”

Sam understood where his father’s plan was headed. “You mean for us and Riley.” He paused and dread filled him. “You want us to stay here...and kill this demon by ourselves.”

“No, Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean and Riley to build a home together if they want to…” John began to weep and his voice broke with every word. “I want Mary alive...I just want this to be over.”

------

Somewhere down a muddy road, the four hunters met under an old wooden train bridge. The rain softly fell and rippled in the pools of water at their feet as a whistle blew in the distance.

Dean pulled a brown paper bag out from inside his jacket and handed it to John. “You know this is a trap don’t you?”

As he pulled back the bag, John could see an antique revolver. The barrel was long and silver and it had a brown wooden handle. It looked like a distant relative of the Colt.

“That’s why Meg wants you to come alone.”

“I can handle her,” John smiled. “I got a whole arsenal loaded--holy water, Mandaic, amulets…”

Dean interrupted. “Dad, promise me something.” Riley hooked into his arm as his hands sat in his pockets and leaned into him to comfort him. “This thing goes south just--get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed alright? You're no good to us dead.”

“Same goes for you.” There was a long, drawn out pause between them. “Alright, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this Colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count.”

“Yes, sir,” both sons acknowledged.

“Been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here...I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you three now. It's your fight. You finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?” John handed the Colt to Dean as he hesitantly took it.

“We’ll see you soon, Dad.” Sam tried to control the sadness and worry that swam through him.

The emotions between them all under that bridge were intense. Riley had stayed quiet trying to be their rock while she tried to steady herself.

“I’ll see you later.” John patted Sam’s shoulder with a smile before turning to leave. With one last look at his children, John got into his truck and the door slammed shut.

As he drove away down the muddy road, the three stood where he had left them as they watched him disappear into the distance.

Riley reached out her hand for Sam’s and clasped it in hers. She pulled him closer to her side. Holding onto her brother and linked with the man she loved, they stood silently in the rain.

They had never been closer to the end of it all. And as afraid as they were for themselves and for John--Sam, Dean, and Riley knew that they would fight to the end. ...as a family.

------

Chapter 12: Devil’s Trap Part 1

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series :)

Series Tag List: @coffee-obsessed-writer @waywardmoeyy @00slayer @adoptdontshoppets @crystallstaircase @salt-n-burn-em-all @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @becs-bunker @squirrelnotsam @fandommaniacx @death-unbecomes-you @cemmia @flamencodiva @aaspiringhero @gemini0410 @love-nakamura

86 notes · View notes

chestnutpost · 6 years

Text

Former Nickelodeon Star Jennette McCurdy Opens Up About Her Eating Disorder

This post was originally published on this site

Note: This essay contains discussions and images that may be triggering for some readers.

In support of the recent National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I’m coming out about my history with disordered eating, which I’ve never publicly discussed before.

I’d thought about sharing my story a few times in the past. Once I was asked to write an article for The Wall Street Journal on beauty and body-shaming. Initially I toyed with calling the piece “I Threw Up Three Minutes Before I Wrote This” and opening up about life in the trenches of bulimia, but ultimately I decided against it. It felt too vulnerable to talk about something I was struggling with (not to mention that I had recently written an article about my mom’s battle with cancer and I was self-conscious about coming across as one big cry for help).

But now I’ve been in recovery maintenance for two years. I’m no longer actively engaging in disordered eating. After spending a lot of time in therapy working on myself and confronting what I’ve experienced, I finally feel like I have the perspective required to write about what I’ve been through and maybe ― hopefully ― it might help someone who is going through the same thing feel less alone. (Plus, it’s been a good few years since mom died, so my quota for trauma sharing is ready to be refilled.)

My disordered eating started when I was 11. As a child actress working in Hollywood, I quickly learned that remaining physically small for my age meant I had a better chance of booking more roles. Unfortunately, I had a trusty and dedicated companion ready to help me with my burgeoning anorexia: my mom!

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy Me, my mom and my brother in 2004 having dinner at a restaurant where you could meet Disney characters. Our trips to Disney were always so complicated for me. I loved Disney and wanted to be able to just enjoy it, but instead I’d spend the days leading up to the trip looking up the menu, planning exactly what I would eat, calculating the calories I’d consume, and starving myself as much as possible to “save room” for the “big meal” ― at which I’d wind up restricting myself anyway. At least I always got a hug from Baloo!

I don’t hold this against my mom at all. I don’t think she could help it. Mom had been hospitalized for anorexia on several occasions when she was a teenager and I’m not convinced she ever overcame her disordered eating. When I was growing up, the only dinner I ever saw her eat was a plate of steamed broccoli and cauliflower with a single pinch of garlic salt for flavor.

I always remember feeling that my mom really struggled with my body, weight and diet. She’d regularly compare my size to that of other girls. She’d portion out my meals for me. She’d help me count calories.

At the time, instead of being bothered by her suggestions, I remember thinking that she was actually helping me ― that she “got it” more than the other moms ― and that she wanted me to be successful.

“Are you sure you want ice cream? You’ve already had 900 calories today,” she’d remind me as I yanked open the freezer door. I’d pause, rethinking my decision, and then I’d lose my grip on the door and let it shut slowly as a wistful expression crossed my face. That’s mom, always looking out for me.

I didn’t really recognize that my mom was aiding in my disordered eating until one night riding home from dance class when I was 12. She turned around to face me from the front seat and said, “Angelica’s mom is really concerned about your weight. She said she brought it up to the other dance moms and they’re all worried you’re too thin. They’re thinking about calling to get you help.”

She paused. I processed.

“If anybody asks, just tell them you’re eating normally,” she directed.

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy Me with my childhood friends Danielle Chuchran, Dylan Meyer, Megan, Tessa, and Caitlin Meyer at the Young Artist Awards in 2003. I was 12 and really struggling with anorexia, so any sort of social eating like at this luncheon was genuinely my nightmare. The woman sitting next to me at our table noticed I was fiddling with my roll instead of eating it and commented loudly, “You haven’t eaten a thing!” I seethed with anger that this woman almost blew my cover as a closeted anorexic.

I nodded numbly, piecing it all together as mom turned back around and made some comment to herself about how she really hoped we made it home in time for the new episode of “House” and how Hugh Laurie was a great actor and you just would never know he’s British.

In retrospect, that moment alone should have been alarming enough to make me question mom’s support. But even if I had wanted to stop at that point, I don’t think I could have. I was already too controlled by my eating disorder to see clearly what was happening to me. Plus, being small was doing wonders for my career. I booked six roles that year, all for characters several years younger than I was. I made justifications for my mom’s support of my disordered eating and I made justifications for my continuing down the road I was traveling.

At 14, I was cast in the Nickelodeon series “iCarly,” and by the time I was 15, the show was starting to get popular. The stress of having to be “on” all the time got to me. I became even more fixated on food and my body. I monitored every bite I took. I exercised obsessively. I measured my thighs with a measuring tape every night before bed.

When I was 18, my mom was diagnosed with cancer for a second time and this time it was terminal. “iCarly” had become a global phenomenon, I had a record deal with a fancy record label, mom was dying, and I just couldn’t handle the pressures of everything happening around me. But this time, instead of turning away from food, I turned to food. Lots and lots of food.

And so began my binge eating phase. I still tracked, calculated and obsessed about every single thing that went into my mouth, just the same as when I had anorexia. The only difference was that I was eating a lot more. I was constantly preoccupied with food. Nothing meant more to me than my next bite and nothing gave me more shame than my last one. I was in a toxic, self-loathing cycle.

By the time I was 21, I had just signed a deal for a spin-off series starring my character from “iCarly,” I was dating an NBA player, and mom was weeks away from dying. I had also become acutely aware that I was a role model for kids, which I felt like I was supposed to find cool but actually found upsetting. My great “contribution” to society was walking onto an overlit Nickelodeon set shouting lines about fried chicken (my character liked fried chicken) and that’s what kids were looking up to? Granted, we can’t all be Pema Chodron, but there was something about the shallowness of my success that made me resent it. That resentment festered, providing even more fuel for my disordered eating. I actively began to engage in anorexic behavior again.

But this time it was a bit different. Every day I’d try not to eat ― I’d give it my best shot, I really would ― but eventually, my mind and body would cave in and demand food. I would eat … and then I would throw up what I ate.

They say when one door closes, another one opens, and that was certainly the case for me when it came to disordered eating. Goodbye, anorexia; hello, bulimia!

When I first began to vomit after eating, I was honestly thrilled. Are you kidding me? I could eat whatever I wanted and then throw it right back up and avoid the consequences of eating (aka gaining weight)? It was the best of both worlds!

Plus, my disordered eating was reinforced wherever I went and by whomever I saw. I’d lose weight and go to a wardrobe fitting where the stylist would look at me excitedly, wag a pair of double 0 jeans, and happily singsong, “Down a size!”

Or I’d get a phone call from my agent, who would say, “You’ve never looked better. Keep doing what you’re doing.” Thanks, Steve ― little do you know that at this very moment you’re muted while I throw up my spicy tuna roll.

Or I’d be walking across the soundstage lot on my way to a table read and a producer would roll down his BMW window and tell me to “keep it up!” I’d flash my pearly whites (or ― more accurately ― slightly-stained-from-the-stomach-acid whites) and feel proud.

My disordered eating was reinforced wherever I went and by whomever I saw. I’d lose weight and go to a wardrobe fitting where the stylist would look at me excitedly, wag a pair of double 0 jeans, and happily singsong, ‘Down a size!’

Another thing I soon learned about eating disorders in Hollywood was that they can be highly competitive. Highly. Competitive. I encountered countless famous actresses, singers and entertainment personalities with eating disorders and found out there was a kind of “disordered eating hierarchy” in young Hollywood, with anorexia reigning over bulimia.

I’d show up at red carpet events and feel like I was getting side-eyed by girls I knew to be anorexic. They’d look at me with what I believed to be pity and I’d look back at them with admiration. In my mind, they were so poised, so full of control, so disciplined. And there I was, puffy-cheeked and swollen-knuckled from all my purging. I was unable to not eat and unable to keep down what I ate.

I started to feel ashamed that I wasn’t good enough at disordered eating. I’d analyze my bulimia and feel terrible. I told myself that if I were better at this, if I were truly committed, I would just be able to not eat. I was convinced that bulimia was nothing more than poor man’s anorexia. What kind of hack was I?

Inevitably, the shame snowballed and so did the bulimia. Before I knew it, I was having five, six or seven purging sessions a day. By definition of the disorder, I was truly succeeding. And yet my bulimia always felt like a failure ― like I was coming up short of what a true disordered eater could (and should) accomplish.

Mark Davis via Getty Images Me at the Creative Emmy Awards in 2013. It’s scary to me how easy it was to cover up what was really going on. If you throw on a nice outfit and smile big for the cameras, they’ll never know! I really want to help change this by encouraging people struggling with disordered eating to speak openly and honestly about it.

This hellish bulimic spiral continued for three more years. And during those years ― plus the 10 years before when I was wrapped up in other forms of disordered eating ― not one person in the entertainment industry confronted me about it. Maybe my destructive behavior was obvious to everyone around me, but if they were all monetizing the situation ― and essentially me ― then what incentive did they have to try to change it or help me?

The one person who did ultimately confront me was my sister-in-law. I was living in Toronto while shooting the Netflix show “Between,” and she and my brother came to visit me for Thanksgiving. We went out to a nice restaurant where I ate lots of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce … and then I made my way to the bathroom. I purged and purged and purged, celebrating the Pilgrims’ first harvest in the New World the way I knew best. Then I swung open the bathroom door and came face to face with my sister-in-law.

“You need help,” she told me. And I knew she was right. I felt a strange combination of terrified and relieved ― terrified that someone knew my secret and I would have to face my disordered eating, and relieved that maybe now I would finally get better.

Once I got back to Los Angeles from Canada, I met a therapist named Laura whom I really liked. Laura was a spiritual type who hugged me at the end of every session. She had long auburn hair and wore prairie skirts and used the word “beautiful” a lot ― often after I’d said things that were not even remotely beautiful (which was confusing to me until I realized that she used “beautiful” in spaces where most therapists would say, “I understand”).

I met with Laura three times a week for sessions and she attended particularly stressful industry events with me, since those events were often huge triggers for my bulimia. (Stress + crostini hors d’oeuvres = a bulimic spiral waiting to happen.)

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy This photo was taken right around the time my mom passed away. I was really struggling with disordered eating and had just dipped my toe in the waters of bulimia. I was absolutely terrified of gaining weight and I would take a photo of myself every morning to compare it to a photo of myself from the day before.

Laura was my plus-one to the 2015 Kids’ Choice Awards. Nick Jonas called me to the stage, I locked eyes with a clapping Angelina Jolie, and I got through my lines. Then I walked backstage to meet up with Laura, who was trying to be discreet about taking a picture of Adam Sandler (she wasn’t very familiar with his films but loved “The Chanukah Song”). She beamed at me as I scarfed down a few sliders. Then she quickly sensed my inner turmoil. We rushed to the backseat of an Uber XL where I began sobbing as Laura made sure that I didn’t throw up. The Uber driver was very confused as I repeatedly wailed, “The sliiiiiiiders!”

Around that time, Laura told me she thought I needed a higher level of care and suggested an inpatient treatment facility in Colorado. And that was when I quit seeing Laura. I told myself I was tired of her spiritual approach, but in retrospect I think it might’ve had more to do with the fact that I wasn’t ready to get better. I wasn’t ready to let go of my disordered eating.

Over the next year and a half, I continued to purge even as I also began to face various come-to-Jesus moments. My throat frequently bled and I popped blood vessels in my eyes from vomiting so much. Once I lost a tooth after regurgitated stomach fluids wore down my enamel. Another time I passed out on my friend’s bathroom floor from dehydration. Finally, I decided it was time to seek help again.

At 23, I was back in Canada working on the second season of “Between” and it felt like the right time to go back into treatment. I met a whip-smart eating disorder specialist, Hank, who used a combination of cognitive behavioral, dialectical behavioral and schema-based therapies.

Hank was not spiritual and did not hug. He dressed impeccably and his hair was perfectly combed. He weighed me at the beginning of each session and gave me homework at the end. He consistently challenged me and urged me to challenge him. When I said something that wasn’t logical, he’d say, “That’s your eating disorder voice.”

I began to face various come-to-Jesus moments. My throat frequently bled and I popped blood vessels in my eyes from vomiting so much. Once I lost a tooth when I passed out on my friend’s bathroom floor from dehydration. Finally, I decided it was time to seek help again.

Identifying my eating disorder voice was the most pivotal aspect of my recovery. I had to learn to understand this thing in and out. I had to recognize that this part of my mind, this eating disorder voice, was not healthy and was not going away. So if I wanted to get better, I’d have to call out my eating disorder voice every single time it popped up. I’d have to confront my urges to obsess or indulge in disordered eating behaviors (which arose hundreds of times every day), work to avoid or correct them, and act based on my recently adopted healthy mindset instead.

Recovery was brutal. It felt like breaking up with a bad boyfriend whom I loved even though I knew I shouldn’t. He treated me poorly, he ruined my life, he consistently devastated me, and yet, without him, who was I really?

Since so much of my identity had been built around the framework of disordered eating, I literally had to relearn how to think in order to rebuild my identity, which was as painstaking and uncomfortable as it sounds. I thought recovery was about walking along white sand beaches with a soft smile while wearing crepe pants ― not sobbing for half-days at a time or falling into a dark hole of depression because suddenly the thing that determined the largest part of who I was for 13 years was now gone.

I had several relapses during my time with Hank and several more even after I finished the program, but Hank warned me about relapses and told me they were totally normal. The important thing was getting back on the recovery program anytime I had a slip so that, as they say in recovery, “the slip doesn’t become a slide.”

Courtesy of Brian Kimskey Me in 2019.

And so far, the slips haven’t become slides. Anytime I’ve had a slip, I’ve gotten back on my program. It’s been two years and I’m doing well, recovering and moving forward. I still get eating disorder urges, compulsions and occasional fantasies. I still hear that old eating disorder voice, but luckily I hear it less and less often. And when I do hear it, I now have the tools to muffle it. So, thankfully, I can now open up about my disordered eating without titling this piece “I Threw Up Three Minutes Before I Wrote This.”

Jennette McCurdy grew up acting and had leading roles on shows like Netflix’s “Between” and Nickelodeon’s “iCarly.” Not totally satisfied with the work she did as an actress and wanting to take charge of her own creative narrative, McCurdy began writing and directing her own projects in 2017. Her first short film, “Kenny,” was featured on Short of the Week and in The Hollywood Reporter, and is an official selection for the 2019 Florida Film Festival, where it’s nominated for the Grand Jury Prize for Best Short Film. McCurdy’s newest short film, “Strong Independent Women,” is about a mother who puts all her energy into helping her daughter overcome an eating disorder. For more about McCurdy, visit her official website, Instagram and Twitter accounts.

Do you have a personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch!

If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.

MORE FROM HUFFPOST PERSONAL

The post Former Nickelodeon Star Jennette McCurdy Opens Up About Her Eating Disorder appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://thechestnutpost.com/news/former-nickelodeon-star-jennette-mccurdy-opens-up-about-her-eating-disorder/

2 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

836

Have you ever been to Costco? No. But I vaguely know about it because I can never really avoid US media, given that it’s everywhere. I’m more familiar with their other stores like Wal-Mart though lol. Do/did you have to wear a uniform to your high school? Yep. I went to the same school from kinder to high school so I pretty much wore one thing every weekday for 14 years, and I can say that and mean it literally. What's your favourite flavour of iced tea? Lemonade. Quick, name the first European country that pops into your head? Luxembourg. How many video games do you own? I don’t have any of my own, but my family owns quite a lot. We’re currently using three consoles (PS3, PS4, Switch) so we have a good amount of games.

Have you ever been to a casino? If so, which one(s)? I’ve been to the casino inside of the ship that I went on a cruise in, but I think it was just named ‘Casino’ haha. I had only turned 18 then, so the only thing I was allowed to do was walk through the area. Do you love or hate olives? Hate them. I always group them on the side of my plate if they’re served on my pizza or pasta; or if I’m eating with my mom, I just give all the olives to her because she lovs them. When was the last time you got delivery food? The other day. My parents got home a little late and didn’t have time to cook for dinner, so they just had liempo delivered to our house. What's your favourite suburb in the city you live in? That’s not really a concept or system that we use here. We do have private and guarded subdivisions that some families choose to live in for increased safety and security, but that’s the closest thing we have to ~suburbs~ And usually, if you don’t live in a certain village you never have a reason to enter unless you’re visiting someone. That makes it impossible to pick a favorite since I’m only ever staying at the village we live in haha. Have you ever visited a sex shop? Yeah, Gab and I entered a sex shop in Metrowalk once. I was a little sheepish and I saw the store clerks giggling at me, but I know they didn’t mean to laugh mischievously so I laughed with them too to ease my tension. I just looked like someone who was entering a sex shop for the first time, which was true. Do you like the name Cindy for a girl? It’s okay, but it’s not my first choice. I can’t hate it though; I have a friend named Cindy and she’s a wonderful human being. How many sets of keys do you have for your house? Three. I lost my key a few months ago so I had three copied. Do you give spare keys to your place to your friends and family? My mom is in charge of giving spare keys to key (hehe) family members like my grandma. But I think giving my friends spare keys to a house that isn’t even technically mine is a little creepy. Have you ever been to Tokyo, Japan? No. I’ve been to Japan, though. When was the last time you saw a movie in theaters? December-ish. Knives Out was the last movie I saw in the cinemas last year. What brand is your laptop or computer? Apple. What's your favourite citrus fruit? I don’t like fruits, but uhhh I do like to sip on a lemon after drinking tequila lmao. Do you know anyone who has Parkinson's disease? I don’t think so. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? Not possible here. Manila has never been bicycle-friendly. You’ll have to go to the province – the polar opposite of the city – to do that. Do you use Instagram? How often do you post there? I tried to use Instagram this year to do my own project where I post one photo for each day of 2020. Covid has obviously since ruined that plan and I haven’t updated since the first week of April. :( Otherwise I hate Instagram and don’t engage with anyone there at all. What's your favourite brand of beer? I reeeeally don’t like beer and will only have a bottle if it’s absolutely the only thing being served at an event. I’ve taken a liking to Red Horse after trying it out for the first time earlier this year, so while it’s not a favorite drink of mine I can see myself seeking it out first from now on. When was the last time you high-fived someone? I’d say in the last couple of weeks. My sister and I would high-five when either of us says something witty. Do you like writing? How often do you write? I like writing in an autobiographical/biographical sense? I don’t write fictional stories or poems, but I can definitely whip out a feature article following the life of a certain real-life person. I’ve also always enjoyed writing down my own experiences, emotions, etc. and talking about my day so I’ve been journaling on-off since I was 9. Have you ever dyed your hair a very different colour from your natural? I’ve never dyed my hair. Are there any posters or artworks hanging in your living room? We have generic artworks in the living room, yeah. They’re nothing remarkable, they’re just splatters on the frame to fit my mom’s aesthetic. What's your favourite place to get pizza? Mama Loooooou’s. Missing the outside world so much. How many times have you been to the beach? Too many that I’m not up to counting. I’m at the beach at least once a year. Has there ever been a fire inside your house? Tell me the story. Fortunately not. That sounds terrifying. Are you good at rhyming and/or puns? Not so much my forte, no. Have you ever ordered anything from Amazon? No. I’ve never tried to check out the website, so I’m not actually sure if they ship here. Even if they did, it will not be the first place I’d do my online shopping in because isn’t Jeff Bezos a huge, selfish dick? Do you have cushions on your couches? Yes, several. We also have pillows on our living room carpet so that the place doesn’t look bare. What was the last thing that made you feel a negative emotion? My mom let out a huge scream when she was trying to hold Cooper and he playfully nipped her, and my dad and I got annoyed because it could’ve scared him. We didn’t let her interact with him much after that. When was the last time you drank whiskey? What brand was it? My one and only encounter with whiskey was when I was curious about my dad’s bottle of Jack Daniel’s and poured some onto a glass and gave it a sip. I really, really, really hated it. Had to throw the rest of the drink away :( Do you like bubble tea? What's your favourite flavour? If that also means milk tea, then yeah. My go-to flavor is Salty Cream Chocolate from CoCo. If I’m somewhere other than CoCo I’ll usually get winter melon or a chocolate flavored one. Have you ever had a scary encounter with a wild animal? Yes. I’ve forgotten where I was exactly but I was in this zoo/safari and it had an open area section where some of the animals roamed freely. I guess one of the bigger birds felt threatened by me when I was using my DSLR so it semi-ran to me and started going at my feet. It gave me an intense stare the whole time which was super unnerving lol. How many piercings do you have? Two, but they’re barely used.. What colour are your underwear today? Green. Do you know anyone who works in a place 1 hour or more from where they live? If you work in Metro Manila, you automatically live one hour away from it. No questions asked. Traffic’s always been a big bitch here. Is there anything in your pockets right now? I don’t have pockets. Are there any loose coins around you at the moment? Nopes. What's your favourite TV show? (top 5 if you can't choose) Friends, Breaking Bad, BoJack Horseman, The Walking Dead (until season 6), The Big Bang Theory (until season 6-7ish). What do you think of androgynous names? I think you meant unisex but whatever lol. They’re alright when you’re older but they can be a little traumatic for some kids at a younger age, speaking from personal experience. I got bullied so much just for my name that whenever a new person would ask me “What’s your name?” it would always send me trembling. Do you own a dictionary? Yeah. I needed one in Grade 2 for English/Language class and I’ve kept the same copy since. Have you ever had a spray tan? No. Never needed it. Do you prefer to hang or fold your clothes? Fold. Just looks a bit more organized to me. Do you own any sports bras? Where'd you get them from? Nah because I don’t really work out. Have you ever had sex in a kitchen? No. I’m open to the idea, but I’m not doing it in my parents’ kitchen. Are you any good at imitating accents? Awful at it. I’m not any good at any of them hahaha.

What's the most expensive restaurant you've ever eaten at? I can’t remember the name because it was Italian, but it was some fancy ass place in BGC I took Gabie to for her 19th birthday.

#survey #surveys

0 notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Text

Even in a Pandemic, Death Is a Popularity Contest

Facebook

The food media paid scant attention to the Indian-born chef and restaurant owner Garima Kothari when she was alive. That lack of coverage has extended to her tragic death.

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to [email protected].

When the COVID-19 pandemic began earlier this spring, the Indian-born chef Garima Kothari saw business at her Jersey City restaurant, Nukkad, evaporate overnight. Yet she found little time to despair. Instead, she strategized.

She started selling DIY dosa kits. She tried curbside deliveries. She offered discounts. When we spoke over the phone on April 9, Kothari said that her numbers continued falling, yet she tempered her concern with hope. She laughed nervously when I asked if she feared that the restaurant, just five months old, would have to close for good. “I hope not,” she said. “I have plans.”

Just two weeks later, on the morning of Sunday, April 26, Kothari died in an alleged murder-suicide at the hands of her partner, Man Mohan Mall. She was 35. According to the Hudson County Prosecutor’s Office, authorities discovered Kothari with multiple upper body injuries in the apartment the couple shared, eventually concluding that her death was a homicide. A day after her death, an autopsy revealed that Kothari was five months pregnant.

I had spoken to Kothari as part of my reporting for a short piece on the impact of COVID-19 on small, immigrant-owned restaurants. Though our conversation only lasted nine minutes, Kothari talked candidly about the challenges of operating a tiny, newer restaurant that focused on Indian cooking, which still struggles to gain high regard in America despite the valiant efforts of gifted chefs. She had applied for many relief funds and grants, but feared that the nature of her restaurant, coupled with its relative infancy, would make capital elusive. “For a very small restaurant like mine, especially a restaurant that’s not doing Italian and French food, I don’t know if I will ever get a single penny,” she told me.

Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember?

The COVID-19 pandemic’s impact on the food and restaurant industry has stretched digital food publications thin, forcing journalists to dedicate all their resources to coverage of a rapidly shifting landscape. Stories that seemingly bear no overt relation to the pandemic — like, say, Kothari’s brutal death — have consequently fallen by the wayside. Such circumstances may explain why the tabloid and celebrity media covered the death, but few food publications in the country dignified Kothari with so much as a blog post, barring a short article on Tuesday morning from Grub Street (owned by Eater’s parent company, Vox Media).

But the response to Kothari’s death raises enduring questions: Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember?

Kothari’s death may be the first time that readers will hear about her, an embarrassing truth that suggests her demise will eclipse her accomplishments. She bid farewell to the life of investment banking in her native India (she’d later call the corporate world “too cold”) after realizing her life’s great love was food. In 2010, Kothari entered MasterChef India, making the top 15. Following that experience, she decamped for Paris and attended Le Cordon Bleu, where she received her pastry diploma in 2013. She then moved to America, working as a pastry chef in Jacksonville, Florida, before heading north to New Jersey in 2015. Kothari managed her own catering and events business; she was also an occasional writer, having contributed to such sites as Food52, the Kitchn, and the Michelin Guide.

Coverage of Kothari was so scant in her lifetime that some may reason that she wasn’t yet “famous” enough, that her restaurant was too young, to justify immediate reporting on her death. This argument is precisely the issue at hand, one that exposes the inherent bias of a food media whose narrative gaze skews towards white, materially advantaged, cis male chefs, who also tend to have aggressive public relations teams that help to guarantee media saturation. Such privileges also dictate access to capital, like the kind Daniel Humm’s Eleven Madison Park has gotten from American Express. Without them, few aspiring restaurant owners stand a chance of catching the mainstream food media’s attention.

Given the sheer number of restaurants that open each year, and the fact that Jersey City is flush with Indian restaurants, you may wonder what made Kothari’s restaurant so special. At Nukkad, she was trying to do something different with her native country’s cuisine; she saw street food through the prism of her own nostalgia, filtering childhood staples through the culinary techniques she’d picked up throughout her career. This approach resulted in dishes like butter chicken mac-and-cheese and pizza dosas filled with mozzarella, as well as fare one might consider more typical for a nominally Indian restaurant, such as idlis, chaats, and biryanis. Kothari didn’t care about being slapped with the dreaded “fusion” label, much less about the distinctions between north and south Indian cuisines. Like many chefs before her, she worked strenuously to push people past their worn perceptions of Indian cooking, and fought this battle in a highly individualistic way.

Viewed from a purely editorial standpoint, in other words, Kothari’s approach to food — and her winding path to it — made her a compelling character who should have been more famous prior to her death. But she operated at a distinct disadvantage within the restaurant world as a condition of her womanhood, her race, and the fact that she was not born in America. Her creative impulses, like the self-described “Indian soul food” she cooked, likewise put her on the fringes of the industry. In death, food journalists have further pushed her to the margins.

As such, Kothari’s case speaks to a rot in food coverage that existed long before the pandemic illuminated its fissures. While American food publications are infatuated with celebrity, they too often seem to impose a higher barrier of entry for figures like Kothari, an immigrant woman of color who didn’t quite have the resources (nor, eventually, the time) to become a media darling.

What credentials would have rendered Kothari important enough for food publications, in both life and death?

Critics may gripe that I’m reading these outlets in bad faith (or that Jersey City is too far from the food media’s pulse in New York City, but I’d point to stunningly consistent coverage of its critically acclaimed pizzerias). They may also charge that such intense scrutiny is unwarranted at a time when a pandemic has food journalists operating under unprecedented duress. But the muted response to Kothari’s death reveals a fundamental imbalance that Grub Street’s Chris Crowley illustrated in his sensitive piece on the April 1 death of Jesus Roman Melendez from complications of COVID-19. Melendez was a long-time cook at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Nougatine — the “backbone” of the restaurant, as Crowley wrote. In eulogizing Melendez, he gave flesh to a man who’d usually remain nameless in stories of Nougatine’s success, and simultaneously questioned the mechanics of a food media that deifies a man like Vongerichten.

Crowley’s posthumous profile of Melendez feels exemplary because it’s an outlier, pointing toward a future for food journalism that honors talents who so often remain unseen. But a piece like his shouldn’t be so unique. Two weeks elapsed between Melendez’s death and that piece’s publication; once the wound of Kothari’s loss begins to heal, I hope that other outlets will make room for a story that gives Kothari similar narrative consideration, framing her not in terms of erasure but instead focusing on what she achieved. Letting her story dissolve into the ether would merely confirm the anxieties Kothari expressed to me about the eventual fate of Nukkad: a fear that gatekeepers would look right past her.

It’s no secret that the press has unique power to mold public opinion and inform our ideas of who we consider to be stars worthy of respect. Just last year, the editor of a major newspaper’s food section asked me why I’d pitched a profile of a small restaurant owner in Bushwick when I could write about a more established name like Nigella Lawson. The question revealed this publication’s reactive, not proactive, default posturing. So I now find myself wondering if the food media’s commitment to the status quo will continue, despite how unsustainable the pandemic is revealing that to be?

In an ideal scenario, publications will emerge from this pandemic with greater sensitivity for the stories of restaurant owners like Kothari who suffered acutely as a result of the pandemic’s financial strains. To be fair, scores of food journalists are already doing this work, and no longer just at smaller and/or more regional publications. Such coverage should appear with even greater consistency in mainstream, national publications. But in a more likely (albeit cynical) scenario, these outlets may very well continue to give real estate to the blandly familiar cabal of well-funded celebrity chefs, figures who’ve become poster boys of this uncertain moment for American restaurants.

What credentials would have rendered Kothari important enough for food publications, in both life and death? It shouldn’t have taken some arbitrary metric of success, be it a James Beard nomination or a profile from the New York Times, for writers to extend her the very basic courtesy of aggregating an article about her death. Such anointments have more to do with access than intangible variables, like talent and dedication. Those prerequisites shouldn’t determine whether a woman who devoted her life to food gets a fair remembrance.

Mayukh Sen is a writer in New York. He has won a James Beard Award for his food writing, and he teaches food journalism at New York University. His first book, on the immigrant women who have shaped food in America, will be published by W.W. Norton & Company in fall 2021.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2WguReL https://ift.tt/2WeLwQ5

Facebook

The food media paid scant attention to the Indian-born chef and restaurant owner Garima Kothari when she was alive. That lack of coverage has extended to her tragic death.

Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember?

But the response to Kothari’s death raises enduring questions: Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember?

What credentials would have rendered Kothari important enough for food publications, in both life and death?

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2WguReL via Blogger https://ift.tt/2SqNTyd

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

0 notes

bookingbuys-blog · 5 years

Text

11 Travel Podcasts That Will Give You Serious Wanderlust

Posted: 7/12/2019 | July 12th, 2019 I love podcasts. As someone who travels often, they’re a great way to stay informed and entertained while you’re on the go. To help me highlight some of the best podcasts in the industry, I’ve invited Debbie from The Offbeat Life to share her favorites. She’s a podcaster herself and knows what it takes to run a great travel podcast! Podcasts have exploded in popularity in recent years, especially in the travel niche. After all, who doesn’t love to travel? Unique travel stories, helpful tips, information on creating a nomadic lifestyle, and inspiration on the go — there are podcasts for them all! I started my own podcast, The Offbeat Life, to discuss the stories of the people I met during my travels who were able to become location independent and create their ideal lifestyle. I was in awe of their adventurous nature and wanted to inspire myself and others to follow in their footsteps, take more chances, and learn what it takes to create a balanced life. As a podcaster and traveler, I often look to other podcasts for inspiration. To help you get inspired for your next trip or your foray into nomadic life, here are the 11 best travel podcasts of 2019! 1. The Thought Card Hosted by Danielle Desir, this podcast focuses on world travel, paying off debt, and building wealth. Danielle gives her audience the confidence to make smart financial decisions that will allow them to accomplish both their travel and financial goals. Where to Start: Give the episode with Denis O’Brien a listen. He is the founder of Chain of Wealth and shares his tips on how to create passive income. 2. JUMP Formerly known as the Budget-Minded Traveler, Traveling Jackie inspires others to get out and see the world through travel and adventure. She provides valuable, actionable information that will allow you to take the leap and explore. Where to Start: Check out her interview with the Bensons, a family of five who were able to travel the world after they sold all their belongings. They explain the impact of travel on their lives and how it changed them upon returning home. 3. Andy Steves Travel Podcast This podcast features wanderers from all over the world who highlight how travel has affected their perspectives, habits, and lives. Where to Start: Listen to the episode, Cagefighting in Peru with Rollie Peterkin, who left a secure 9-to-5 job to become a mixed martial arts fighter! His inspiring story is full of wonderful anecdotes and practical tips that you will find both informative and entertaining. 4. Chronicles Abroad Hosts Nubia Younge and Frantzce Lys highlight their experiences living abroad as well as those of others who took risks to live their dream to be location independent. Where to Start: Don’t miss the episode with Yan and Lee, a couple who decided to pay off their debts and live abroad. They had graduated from college but found it difficult to find jobs in the United States, so they took matters into their own hands — they got jobs overseas! 5. Extra Pack of Peanuts This is a great podcast for travelers who want to stay on a budget while on the road. Travis, who hosts the show, interviews nomads, bloggers, and entrepreneurs who give insight and firsthand tips on how to embark on your own affordable adventures. Where to Start: Give the “7 Lessons Learned” episode with Travis and Heather a listen. They share what they have learned from living a location independent life for seven years. 6. On She Goes This is a wonderful podcast that helps women of color become more confident travelers, giving them the tools they need to take the leap and see the world. The interviewees share fresh perspectives and shed light on their travel experiences and challenges. Where to Start: Listen to the episode with Georgina Miranda, the founder of She Ventures and an adventure travel expert. Georgina discusses her experiences working in a male-dominated industry. 7. Women on the Road This biweekly podcast dives into the life of solo female travelers who are living the #vanlife. Host Laura Hughes interviews these fearless women and creates a unique spin on their nomadic lifestyle. Where to Start: A listener favorite is an interview with Abbi Hearne, an adventure wedding photographer. From practical tips to the challenges she has faced in building her dream business, Abbi’s story will inspire you to start making your own dreams a reality. 8. As Told by Nomads Host Tayo Rockson features incredible stories from individuals who are nomads and entrepreneurs, with a focus on leaders in business, culture, travel, and global affairs. Where to Start: Check out the episode with Zahra Rasool, who discusses authenticity, diversity, and collaborative journalism in storytelling. 9. Wild Ideas Worth Living Host and journalist Shelby Stranger interviews impactful explorers, experts, and entrepreneurs who have taken their wild ideas and made them into a reality, people who have climbed the tallest mountains, written best-selling books, and stood up for what they believe in. Where to Start: Start listening to this incredible podcast’s interview with Alex Honnold, the most recognized climber in the world and the first person to ever free-solo El Capitan. 10. The Globetrotter Lounge This podcast is hosted by Jet Set Lisette, an award-winning travel expert and host. Lisette interviews amazing and inspiring women who have found creative ways to travel the world. Where to Start: Be sure to check out the episode with Jess Sanchez, who shares her experiences traveling the world with her family. Jess and her husband decided to leave their 9-to-5 to embark on a life of travel with their two young children and have chronicled their life through their blog, YouTube channel, and podcast. 11. The Offbeat Life Hosted by me, this podcast highlights the stories of digital nomads and location-independent entrepreneurs. It digs deep into the realities of starting a remote business and how to create a sustainable nomadic lifestyle. Where to Start: To get started, jump into my episode with Joni Sweet. She is a remote writer and gives valuable insights on surviving as a freelancer. She also discusses how to build a portfolio that will land you writing gigs that can take you all over the world! *** Now that you have the list of the best travel podcasts, go ahead: download them and satiate your wanderlust! You may even feel inspired to book a ticket and leap into the unknown! Debbie Arcangeles is the host of The Offbeat Life, a podcast that highlights individuals who are location independent and nomadic entrepreneurs. Her podcast has been featured on Refinery 29 and Mic, among other sites. When Debbie is not writing or interviewing guests for her show, you can find her hiking and exploring new destinations. Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned. Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time. Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are: World Nomads (for everyone below 70) Insure My Trip (for those over 70) Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and that will save you time and money too! The post 11 Travel Podcasts That Will Give You Serious Wanderlust appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

Source link Read the full article

0 notes

hermanwatts · 5 years

Text

Sensor Sweep: Firefly, Black Mask, Original Adventures Reincarnated

Anime (RMWC Reviews): By 1969, Japan had advanced quite far in terms of animation. Especially when a studio would put real effort behind a project, such as when Toei Animation released Sora Tobu Yuureisen in July of that year. Known in English as The Flying Phantom Ship or The Flying Ghost Ship, the film is a 60 minute full-color adventure into suspense, conspiracies, and super science with a few important creators involved.

T.V. (John C. Wright): We were discussing Joss Whedan’s late and lamented outer space horse opera FIREFLY. A reader named Sophia’s Favorite holds forth sharp criticism for the show: In my opinion Firefly is the JFK of TV shows: a mediocrity at best that gets ludicrously overrated solely because it was taken “too soon”. He goes on to list several reasons for saying so.

T.V. (Jon Mollison): If you’re into network action/dramedy shows, you’ll want to give tonight’s episode of Hawaii Five-O a look. For one thing, the show has not been renewed for an eleventh season. Ten years is a pretty good run for any show, and this revival is one of the few to come close to matching the original.

Writing (Pulprev): Conventional wisdom states that characters should be flawed. Nobody can relate to perfect people. Flawed characters are more believable, more likely to gain the reader’s sympathies. But the conventional wisdom doesn’t teach how. In the hands of lesser writers, this usually manifests as a grab bag of random negative traits. Alcoholism, smoking, minor but not debilitating mental illness, snarkiness, cynicism. Poorly handled, these traits add flavor to the story but they do not significantly influence the characters, and therefore do not influence the plot. The result is a patchwork person, a collection of traits and behaviors sewn together and little else.

RPG (RPG Pundit): “Adventure Paths” Aren’t Deep-Roleplay, They’re D&D for the Special Bus Today: “Adventure Paths” and story-mechanics are not ‘deep roleplaying’. For that, you need the freeform style of the OSR. Take off the D&D training wheels!

Horror Fiction (Wasteland & Sky): Today I would like to talk a bit about horror fiction. It isn’t brought up much on this blog because my knowledge on the subject isn’t too vast, but I have been reading a bit about it recently and would like to share some observations. This is because horror, like just about everything else, isn’t doing so hot these days. Though I suppose that isn’t much of a surprise.

Science Fiction (Washington Post): In “The Visual History of Science Fiction Fandom — Volume One: The 1930s,” David and Daniel Ritter — a father-and-son team — show us, through words and pictures, how a passion for science fiction evolved into a way of life for young people who couldn’t get enough of that crazy Buck Rogers stuff. The result is a sumptuous scrapbook of photographs, magazine covers, artwork and hundreds of articles, letters and typescripts, everything beautifully held together by the Ritters’ concise but enthralling text.

Cinema & H. P. Lovecraft (DMR Books): Entertaining adaptations of H. P. Lovecraft’s work are, in my estimation, few and very far between. While I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a few films over the years, for the most part movies tapping into Lovecraft’s work tend to feel like they’re miles away from the cosmic horror themes that saturate most of the author’s stories. Five years of working at a video store and taking home anything that promised to delve into the Cthulhu Mythos have, I confess, made my approach to these kinds of films rather antagonistic. They have to prove themselves to me.

Anime (Walker’s Retreat): Given the point-and-shriek swarming attacks done on other targets, this was inevitable. Amazon is vulnerable due to having SJWs in junior positions who are amenable to SJW swarm attacks, and one can likely assume that Ebay and other Western-controlled outlets will feel the swarm in the days to follow once Amazon’s seen to bend the knee. As usual, the SJWs in the media will reliably inform you that this is the play by making a big deal out of it once such swarming gets sufficient momentum to amplify in their outlets.

RPG (Karavansara): Fantasy AGE does not walk any extraordinarily original terrain – it’s basically a sword & sorcery engine, very similar in tone to the old classic D&D, but running on a system that’s both lightweight and cool, allowing for the creation of original, detailed characters rather swiftly. Clocking at a little over 140 pages, the Basic Handbook is beautifully illustrated, rationally arranged, and covers all the bases: the races and classes we expect from a fantasy game, combat and magic, and all the basic perks.

Pulp Magazine Fiction (Pulp Fest): Although a trailblazer as a specialty magazine, DETECTIVE STORY did little to further the development of the detective or crime story. That task would be left to its highly prized successors: BLACK MASK — the pulp where the hardboiled detective story began to take shape — and DIME DETECTIVE MAGAZINE — where the tough guy detective became extremely popular. Call them what you will — flatfoots, gumshoes, dime detectives, or private eyes — it was these hardboiled dicks that transformed the traditional mystery story into the tough guy (and gal) crime fiction that remains popular to this very day.

Fantasy (Dark Worlds Quarterly): What I do like about Rabkin’s scale is it helps me to identify or codify some types of fiction that don’t fall neatly into genres (which we must remember were invented by publishers as a marketing tool, not academics). For example Doc Savage is a genre-crosser, with some Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror and Mystery elements, and yet none of the above. But ol’ Doc can be placed on the scale, outside of genre considerations.

Men’s Adventure Magazines (Paperback Warrior): During the 1950s and 1960s, Men’s Adventure Magazines like “Stag” and “For Men Only” told salacious stories – often masquerading as non-fiction journalism – of daring deeds and lusty ladies around the world. The magazines were illustrated with vivid action drawings by many of the same artists who created the cover art for the vintage action and crime paperbacks we adore. Robert Deis and Wyatt Doyle have preserved many of the great stories and art from these magazines in a series of anthology books called Men’s Adventure Library published by New Texture.

RPG (Goodman Games): You’ve speculated. You’ve wondered. You’ve waited. Now you get an answer. Coming this September, Goodman Games will release Original Adventures Reincarnated #5: Castle Amber. Intended for levels 3 through 7, Castle Amber was the adventure that launched the Mystara campaign setting, and was the second adventure for the D&D Expert Set. Here’s some text from the back cover:

Music & Comic Books (Far out Magazine): We dive straight back into the Far Out Magazine Vault to find Marc Bolan, the musician, guitarist and poet who is arguably best known for being the lead singer of the glam rock band T. Rex, who was seemingly obsessed with comic books. Now this tale seemingly twists and turns into areas that even we weren’t sure where it would take us next. This story is going to depict how three extremely popular figures of popular culture all interviewed each other, at different times and in different circumstances but all with aiming for the same end result.

History (Peter Grant): The so-called Shangani Patrol was a legendary encounter in 1893 between colonial forces and the Matabele tribe of Lobengula in what is today Zimbabwe. The entire patrol was annihilated, after having killed more than ten times its own number in an epic fight through the bush. In colonial Rhodesia, it was regarded in the same light as the fall of the Alamo in Texas, or the doomed fight of the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae.

Gaming (News Hump): Nation turns to Warhammer players for advice on how to stay at home for two weeks. Pungent men with severe vitamin D deficiency and a large collection of overpriced figurines are suddenly very much in demand as they are deemed the nation’s greatest experts at staying indoors for weeks on end while they paint space goblins.

Comic Books and D&D (Goodman Games): Thus begins the Crypt-Keeper’s Corner, the letters page in the June-July 1950 edition of E.C. Comics Crypt of Terror. You could be forgiven if you mistook that dramatic introduction as the opening salvo from any game master at any table-top role-playing game. In fact, it’s also fairly easy to see how Gary Gygax, the main co-creator of Dungeons and Dragons (and an entire gaming industry) would fess up to being influenced by the art and storytelling found within the comic books of his formative years.

Sensor Sweep: Firefly, Black Mask, Original Adventures Reincarnated published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

0 notes

writingguide003-blog · 6 years

Text

27 Writing Lessons & Hacks From Some of the Best Writers on the Planet

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/27-writing-lessons-hacks-from-some-of-the-best-writers-on-the-planet/

27 Writing Lessons & Hacks From Some of the Best Writers on the Planet

photographer name

The amount of bad writing advice out there is astounding. People who have never published anything selling courses on how to make a career as a writer. Terribly written Medium articles telling you how to improve your prose. Marketing books from writers who not only haven’t sold many books—but their own marketing books don’t sell. All this bad advice adds up and makes a harder thing—an already difficult industry to navigate—even harder.

Over the last year, I’ve been lucky enough to interview some of the best writers on the planet for WritingRoutines.com. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to be able to ask Pulitzer Prize winners, #1 New York Times best-selling authors, brilliant novelists, talented journalists and expert communicators about how they practice their craft. I got valuable lessons from each one. I’ve collected a few of the best below, alongside some of the insights—or hacks as we call them today to get more people to click—from writers I wish were still alive to interview or ones I wish to interview someday if the opportunity presents itself.

I hope you learn as much from them as I did. Enjoy!

***

Devote Yourself to Someone Greater First

“If I am asked today to advise a young writer who has not yet made up his mind what way to go, I would try to persuade him to devote himself first to the work of someone greater, interpreting or translating him. If you are a beginner there is more security in such self-sacrifice than in your own creativity and nothing you ever do with all your heart is done in vain.”

— Stefan Zweig, author of The World of Yesterday and in the 1920’s and 1930’s was one of the most popular authors in the world

Wake Up Early And Read, Read, Read

“I wake up around 5am. I have 2-3 cups of coffee. I read and read and read for two hours. I read high quality literary fiction to be inspired, high quality non-fiction about a topic I am fascinated by in order to learn, I read inspirational or spiritual writing to feel that special something inside, and often I will spend some time studying a game. Then I might read the literary fiction some more. At some point, I get the urge or the itch to put the books away. I go to my computer and start to write.”

— James Altucher, author of Choose Yourself!, which the USA Today’s called one of “Best Business Books of All Time.”

Do Not Chase Exotic Locations to Write

“It was a time everyone was pressing wonderful houses on us. ‘I have a perfectly marvellous house for you to write in,’ they’d say. Of course no one needs marvellous houses to write in. I still knew that much. All you needed was one room. But somehow the next house always beckoned.”

— Budd Schulberg, author of What Makes Sammy Run? and the Academy Award-winning screenplay for On the Waterfront

Edit Ten Times

“I repeatedly edit it many times, at least ten. I just keep on doing it, until I can’t think of further improvements. I can’t say that is a process in any formal sense, simply a recognition that the “process” to date hasn’t worked very well and so it must continue. I don’t pretend this is efficient.”

— Tyler Cowen, economics professor, author of Average Is Over and contributor to the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Newsweek and many other publications

Nobody Gets Talker’s Block

“No one ever gets talker’s block. No one wakes up in the morning, discovers he has nothing to say and sits quietly, for days or weeks, until the muse hits, until the moment is right, until all the craziness in his life has died down.”

— Seth Godin, New York Times bestselling author of Purple Cow and more than 20 other books

Do the Three Passes of Editing

“[My editing] rests on three passes. The first pass is when you write the best chapter you can. The second pass comes later once the whole book (or whole part of the book containing the chapter) is done. During this pass, I come back to the chapter on my computer and cut and tighten. The final pass is when I read through a printed version of the chapter on paper. Reading on paper is necessary if you’re going to root out odd constructions or minor errors.”

— Cal Newport, author of the Wall Street Journal bestseller Deep Work

The Only Way Out is Through

“The way out of this mess is through. A friend of mine who used to do long-distance running gave me some advice on dealing with pain as a writer. “What do you do about the cramps?” I asked. I was noticing they hit my in the gut usually at the three or four mile mark. I thought he’d have some great advice on how to avoid them altogether. In fact, I assumed this was the case. His answer surprised me, though. ‘Cramps? What do I do? I keep running, and eventually they go away. I run through the cramps.’ What do I do when I feel blocked? I write through the block.”

— Jeff Goins, author of the Wall Street Journal bestseller Real Artists Don’t Starve

Sometimes You Just Need Some Good Earmuffs

“I’m an “absolute quiet” kind of person. If I’m writing at home, and there’s any noise at all, such as my wonderful hubby puttering around and coincidentally clearing his throat, I wear my Peltor Sport Ultimate 10 Hearing Protector Earmuffs. I’m so used to them that when I need to concentrate, I put them on even when there isn’t any noise. Earmuffs are like a signal to my brain—Okay, focus! On planes, I often wear noise canceling headphones.”

— Dr. Barbara Oakley, bestselling author of A Mind for Numbers and former Army Captain

Be So Good They Can’t Ignore You

“What they want to hear is, ‘Here’s how you get an agent, here’s how you write a script’…but I always say, ‘Be so good they can’t ignore you.’”

— Steve Martin, author of Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life and award-winning actor and banjo player

Keep the Best in Mind

“It really depends on the genre of work I’m doing–I always try to keep models in mind, though the model will change depending on what I’m working on. For the book on Cato the Younger, Jimmy Soni and I were constantly referring to Tom Holland’s book on the Roman Republic, Rubicon; for our book on Claude Shannon, to James Gleick’s The Information and Sylvia Nasar’s A Beautiful Mind. For my academic work, people like Danielle Allen are great models.”

— Rob Goodman, congressional speechwriter and co-author of A Mind at Play and Rome’s Last Citizen: The Life and Legacy of Cato, Mortal Enemy of Caesar

Quit Your Bitching

“Don’t lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don’t have a career. You have a life. Do the work. Keep the faith. Be true blue. You are a writer because you write. Keep writing and quit your bitching. Your book has a birthday. You don’t know what it is yet.”

― Cheryl Strayed, author of the number #1 New York Times bestseller Wild and Tiny Beautiful Things

Fix The Important Things

“Writer’s block is miserable and part of it can be just being in a really bad place. Sometimes if you’re just in a bad mental place, it doesn’t matter what work you put in. You have to fix bigger things than your writing.”

— Hari Kondabolu, the comic who the New York Times called “one of the most necessary political comedians working today.”

Get a Giant Sketchpad

“Notebooks have always been big for me, both in the early stages of a new project and as a way to get myself unstuck if I’m struggling. But I have giant, chicken-scratch handwriting, and would always end up jotting down thoughts over half a dozen pages and then never really looking at them again. I have probably fifty illegible notebooks sitting in desk drawers, and I would easily have filled fifty more had I not been introduced to the most elegant solution by a friend, the author Ashley Cardiff: A sketchpad. A 9-by-12-inch artist’s sketchpad. This has been my great revelation. It’s unlined so I can read my bad handwriting and large enough that I can group several ideas together on the same page. Plus, it gives me an excuse to buy fancy mechanical pencils.”

— Liana Maeby, author of South on Highland, which actor/writer BJ Novak called “the kind of book kids will steal from each other.”

It’s All Material

“I’m never not working on material. Every second of my existence, I am thinking, ‘Can I do something with that?’” [By the way, this advice echoes a phrase I’ve learned from author Robert Greene, “It’s all material.” Meaning everything bad that happens, everything frustrating or delayed or disappointing—all of it can be fuel for a book. It can teach you something that helps you improve your business, it can become a story you pass along to a friend.]

— Jerry Seinfeld, creator of Seinfeld and named by Comedy Central the “12th Greatest Stand-up Comedian of All Time.”

Understand How the Pieces Fit Together

“To write a clean and fluent piece of any kind, you have to understand how its various parts fit together—how a change here will affect something over there. With a short piece, you never lose sight of the whole because you can read and reread it many times as you work. That’s what I do. I make a change and then I read the whole piece to see how it works. But I can’t do that with a book, so I have to find other ways to stay oriented. I reread or skim sections of the book that I know relate to the part I’m working on, I keep notes about the larger structure, and I use Word’s phrase-search function to move around and check up on things. I also make a huge effort to commit as much of the book as I can to memory. It’s exhausting and it seems psychologically damaging in some way, but it helps me to understand when jokes need to be repeated, how much space needs to intervene between similar kinds of scenes, how ideas should be patterned, etc.”

— Aaron Thier, author of Mr. Eternity and recipient of a literature fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts

Run to Keep Yourself Sane

“The twin activities of running and writing keep the writer reasonably sane and with the hope, however illusory and temporary, of control.” [This is not unlike many other writers—including Murakami and Malcolm Gladwell—who use running as a coping mechanism.]

— Joyce Carol Oates, author of over 40 novels, including Them, winner of the National Book Award

Before You Write, Crystallize Your Thinking

“If I’m just starting, I never consider the page blank. I’ve been writing in my head long before I sit down at the keyboard. In fact, I sometimes start inadvertently, by describing to someone what I’m doing. Conversation often crystallizes my own thinking far more effectively than solitary reflection. When I put the first words down, I know they’re likely to change, which I find liberating—no need to get it perfect the first time. But I want the first sentence to set a tone or indicate a theme for that chapter, so I have to start with a clear sense of the meaning of the events that follow, and how I want the reader to feel.”

— Pulitzer Prize winner T.J. Stiles, author of Custer’s Trials: A Life on the Frontier of a New America

Let the Play Accumulate

“Don’t start writing the play at once, but get a little notebook and put down everything you think about your play in the notebook, just as the ideas come to you without rhyme or reason especially. Let the play accumulate, as I call it; let it percolate and stew in your mind; and write down any ideas, bits of dialogue, descriptions, words—anything you think you might be able to use. Many of these things will come to you unconsciously while you are walking home from school, bathing, mowing the lawn; be sure to get them all into your notebook.”

— E.P. Conkle, professor emeritus of drama whose plays have been produced on Broadway

Take the Necessary Medicine

“I tend to edit heavily and repeatedly as I go along, so I don’t make the distinction, at least by myself. For the books that I’ve written for a larger public, however, I’ve had the help of an immensely gifted editor (Alane Mason, at Norton), so there I do separate out the tasks: in effect my own writing/editing; and then a further editing after receiving her suggestions. I tend to hate the latter experience, though I recognize that it is almost invariably good—a bit like swallowing disagreeable but essential medicine.”

— Stephen Greenblatt, author of The Swerve, a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book Award winner

To Beat Writer’s Block, Double Down on Research

“When I have writer’s block it is because I have not done enough research or I have not thought hard enough about the subject about which I’m writing. That’s a signal for me to go back to the archives or to go back into my thoughts and think through what it is I am supposed to be doing.”

— MacArthur “Genius” and Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Annette Gordon-Reed, author of The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family

Always Ask These Questions

“What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?” Then finish with these final two questions: ‘Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?’”

— George Orwell, famous author of 1984 and Animal Farm

You Don’t Need a Vomit Draft

“Writers are usually encouraged to write a “vomit draft” and just get something out, however terrible it is, in order to overcome The Fear, get some momentum, and move to more of an editing mindset, where’s it’s less scary to make progress. I don’t do that. I think that’s just a trick to try and lower the stakes so you can overcome procrastination and The Fear. And while it’s good for that, I think it’s bad in the long haul because you’re producing a lot of junk and that’s going to be hard to fully clean up. I treat writing a lot more like architecture. You wouldn’t work without a blueprint, construct a crappy building, then knock it down and build a better one. That would be ridiculous. You’d put together a really tight blueprint, then construct the building once, the right way, and if it needs tweaks, they’re relatively small. As the old saying goes: ‘Measure twice, cut once.’”

— Eric Barker, author of the Wall Street Journal bestseller Barking Up The Wrong Tree and creator of the popular blog of the same name

Keep the Momentum

“Never stop when you are stuck. You may not be able to solve the problem, but turn aside and write something else. Do not stop altogether.”

—Jeanette Winterson, a two-time winner of the Lambda Literary Award and author best known for Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, which was adapted into a BBC drama

You Don’t Need to be Kissed by a Muse

When asked if writing comes easy: “Haha, no, I’ve not been kissed by a muse. For me, writing is a craft that needs constant honing.”

— Andrea Wulf, author of The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World, which won the Royal Society Science Book Award 2016 and the LA Times Book Prize 2016.

Write for the Ear

“I’ve got a theory that most writers are either frustrated musicians or painters – and which of them you are depends on whether you write for the ear or the eye. As a former musician and former speechwriter, I definitely write for the ear. I listen to music all the time for inspiration and energy. I tend to make playlists as the sound track for writing different books. They serve as snapshots in time. So, I’ve got one for Wingnuts – lots of The National, Drive-By-Truckers, Radiohead and Randy Newman – and one for Washington’s Farewell that’s more classical, jazz, the Americana series by Chris Thile, Yo-Yo Ma and Edgar Meyer and the soundtrack to Hamilton.”

— John Avlon, author of Washington’s Farewell and editor-in-chief of The Daily Beast

Learn How to Take Brutally Frank Criticism

“I try to imagine comments, questions, and criticisms that the book will generate. Then I try to rehearse the reply or answer. My friends are great critics of my writing and I always make sure they have read the drafts and galleys and been brutally frank with me about their reactions. They know I can take it.”

— Richard Clarke, former Assistant Secretary of State who has served under three different Presidents in different roles and author of Warnings: Finding Cassandras To Stop Catastrophes

Wake Up and Get After It

“I remember Salman Rushdie telling me how he gives it the first energy of the day. As soon as he gets up, he goes to his office and starts writing. He’s still in his pajamas. He believes there is a “little package of creative energy that was nourished by sleep,” and he doesn’t want to waste it. He works for an hour or two and then goes to brush his teeth. I have a very similar approach. Only I brush my teeth before I start. I guess that’s my pre-writing ritual.”

— Cal Fussman, best known for the “What I’ve Learned” Esquire column and a master interviewer who has talked to the likes of Mikhail Gorbachev, Muhammad Ali, John Wooden, Richard Branson

***

For more writing hacks from other brilliant writers and one amazing interview sent directly to your inbox each week, check out WritingRoutines.com

Read more: http://thoughtcatalog.com/

0 notes

4ufitness-blog · 6 years

Text

Episode Eight: Start With the End in Mind!

You know your WHY. You have something to offer to the world. How are you going to make sure you get it done? In this Episode of the Fitbiz Journey Podcast, we discussed how to achieve your BHAG- Big Hairy Audacious Goal- and hold yourself accountable to it by starting with the end in mind and planning all the way down to what you should be doing at this very moment to work towards your goals.

Through asking yourself a series of questions, you will narrow down that massive goal down to what to do now. That big goal can be something you feel is accomplishable lets say in 10 years.

When it comes to goals and achieving them, most people think that having a daily list of to-do’s and finishing off each task one at a time is the best way to work towards those goals. Yes, you will feel accomplished by crossing that thing off, but did it truly move you forward in the best way?

It is not just about crossing things off the list, it comes down to finding what the MOST IMPORTANT THING is that you can do, that one thing you can do which moves the needle the most, that one thing that if you finish it, then remaining things on that list can already be eliminated. By doing this one thing that will take 20% of your time, you eliminate 80% of the remainder of what’s on the list. So how do you determine that one thing?

The first step is to define that BHAG and ask yourself “What is my SOMEDAY goal?” And this should be BIG. For us at 4U Fitness, it is to eliminate the Obesity epidemic. It seems crazy and ridiculous and so big that you may wonder how we even think we can accomplish it, but that’s how it should be. If you don’t have a fear of achieving your goal, that goal is not big enough!

Daniel's ultimate goal is to Revolutionize the Fitness and the Space industry in many ways.

Question 1- What is the one thing I want to accomplish someday?

Question 2- What is the one thing I can do in the next 5 years? (that will get me closer to my someday)

Question 3- What is the one thing I can do this year? (that will get me closer to my 5 year which will get me closer to my someday)

Question 4- What is the one thing I can do this month?

Question 5- What is the one thing I can do this week?

Question 6- What is the one thing I can do today?

Question 7- What is the one thing I can do Right Now?

Write these questions down and answer them. Get yourself a nice journal for daily use and make sure these questions are ingrained in the back or the front so that you always have them there for reference.

Accountability and Time

Any point tin the day, you must ask yourself, “How is this activity helping me move towards my goals?” And if it isn’t, then you don’t do it. For example, if your goal is to get very fit and strong and lean, and your friends ask if you want to come out with them Friday night and grab some drinks at the bar, does going there help you work towards your goals? No it doesn’t. So don’t waste your time.

And for the love of all that’s good, do not multitask. In the book “Deep Work” By Cal Newport, he describes how multitasking seems like you’re getting a lot done but you’re really just getting a small amount of a big list of things done, and not done very well. How can you complete something 100% when, by multitasking, you’re getting 10% of 10 different things done? You can read more in an article about multi-tasking here: https://www.danielnyiri.com/single-post/2017/11/20/Is-Multitasking-Worth-It

The last piece of accountability is really about organization. The journal we mentioned earlier where you wrote down your 7 question plan for your BHAG, that is something you MUST use daily. Any successful person, wildly successful person that is, has a routine that allows them to stay organized and not be overwhelmed by the madness that is life. We recommend you read “The Morning Miracle” by Hal Elrod to help develop your morning routine.

He discusses how the routine has helped him achieve success in every aspect of his life and let us tell you, IT WORKS. One piece of the routine is journaling, and another piece is planning your day and both these things will allow you to keep yourself truly accountable and keep a clear mind as you work towards improving your life and achieving the dream that you have.

-Books to read-

“The Miracle Morning” by Hal Elrod https://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Morning-Not-So-Obvious-Guaranteed-Transform-ebook/dp/B00AKKS278/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?ie=UTF8&qid=1526825885&sr=8-1-spons&keywords=miracle+morning&psc=1

“The One Thing” by Gary Keller, https://www.amazon.com/One-Thing-Surprisingly-Extraordinary-Results/dp/1848549253/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1526825941&sr=1-1

“Deep Work” by Cal Newport, https://www.amazon.com/Deep-Work-Focused-Success-Distracted/dp/1455586692/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1526827178&sr=8-1&keywords=deep+work

Check out this episode!

0 notes

goldrolloverira · 7 years

Text

Historical inevitability and gold and silver ownership

In the end, it’s the times that need to be hedged.

by Michael J. Kosares, USAGOLD

The Wall Street Journal’s editorial writer, Daniel Henninger, registers some very important observations in the wake of the troubling events in Charlottesville. Charlottesville, he attempts to point out, is symptomatic of something much deeper ingrained in the American psyche. “Some may say.” writes Henninger, “the Charlottesville riot was the lunatic fringe of the right and left, with no particular relevance to what falls in between. But I think Charlottesville may be a prototype of a politics that is drifting away from traditional norms of behavior and purpose.” Aptly, the editorial is titled, “The Politics of Pointlessness.”

Any thoughtful individual who has witnessed the chaos in Washington would say that something has gone fundamentally wrong with our system of governance and it began way before Donald Trump entered the White House. Through all of this I keep coming back to the seminal book published in 1997 by William Strauss and Neil Howe titled The Fourth Turning. In that book the authors predicted much of what has happened in America over the past twenty years.

Fourth turnings are a time of crisis that can last 20-23 years

The fourth turning is a time of crisis – an overturning of the existing social and economic order. The start date of the current fourth turning, according to Neil Howe, is 2008. Since turnings typically last 20-23 years, it will end sometime between 2028 and 2031. So a lot of water will run under the bridge before its all over.

I listened to a compelling, recent interview of Neil Howe at the MacroVoices website – a thorough review of the ideas in the book and a lengthy look at what might be next. (The full interview transcript is linked below.) To elaborate on my short description immediately above, here is Mr. Howe’s own description of a fourth turning along with a few other important quotes from that interview:

–– “The fourth turning is the final season of history, if you will, the final generation. And that is the period of crisis. That is the period when we tear down institutions that we’ve built, everything that’s dysfunctional. And we sort of rebuild things from scratch again. And it usually follows a period where—it’s bound up in a period where there’s complete disgust, complete distrust with what we have.”

–– “And I would say these are strong parallels that we see between the decade we’ve been living through and the 1930s. Because it isn’t just what happens to/in the economy. I mean, you consider so many ways in which this last decade has recapitulated the 1930s, starting off with a financial crisis, worries about deflation, worries about declining fertility rates, and currency wars, and beggar thy neighbor policies, and radical attempts by monetary and ultimately fiscal policy to remedy the situation.”

–– “I think we can be too mesmerized by the fact that the last fourth turning we had started with the Great Depression and ended with World War II. I think there are more possibilities. We could be defeated on a fourth turning. We could completely unravel on a fourth turning, giving the amazing popularity of these dystopian or alternative history drama shows on HBO and Netflix today really spelling out those scenarios.”

–– “And then the crisis, when all of these problems begin to coalesce into one huge problem. It’s when the Great Recession met all of these—the rise of fascism both in Asia and in Europe, and everything came together, currency wars, everything became part of a huge problem. Which, by the resolution, you see—and this is what happens at every fourth turning. All the little problems come together into a giant problem. And the giant problem gets completely solved.”

–– “So in politics we see volatility is incredibly high. If there were a political index—there is a political index, there’s a political uncertainty index which actually you can go on FRED and look at it, which is amazingly high levels compared to where it was for the last 20 or 30 years. There is a political index, but it’s very high right now as opposed to the market index which is very low. So, if you’re doing valuation divided by some measure of volatility, which is kind of your basic complacency index, that’s at record high levels now in markets. But you’d have to say complacency is at record low levels in our political and civic life. We’re totally nervous. We even, I think, to some extent, fear that we’ve lost any kind of public square, the ability to even have a public discourse on every issue. I think that that is a real problem.

[End quotes]

Historical inevitability and portfolio preparation: Gold and silver ownership

There is a certain amount of inevitability in Howe’s analysis that a good many will have a hard time accepting, but I am among the group that believes that we are carried on great waves of history whether we like or not. That is why cycle theory has always appealed to me since my early days in the investment business. I chose to become a gold and silver broker (back in 1973) because I have always believed that there are good and bad times economically, and when the bad times roll around, that is when you want to be sure that you have made preparation, and most advisedly well ahead of the trouble. Markets cycle. Politics cycles. Economies cycle. Nature, by the way, cycles. And when you really put on your thinking cap, that tells you why everything else cycles.

Gold and silver, unequivocally, remain the best choice to preserve capital during the secular downslopes – in times like these. Whenever we watch what’s going on out there and you can’t seem to figure out why people are behaving the way they are, just remember that we are in the grips of a fourth turning and this is the way it is going to go and, as Howe points, it could get considerably worse.

If you have an abiding interest in the kind of analysis you are now reading, you might appreciate our monthly newsletter compiled and written by Michael J. Kosares, the author of the popular investor guideline, The ABCs of Gold Investing: How to Protect and Build Your Wealth with Gold (Third Edition). You can sign-up for it here. Always timely. Written for gold and silver owners or for those thinking about it. Thank you.

My concern is getting across the bridge between the great crisis that may still be ahead of us and the resolution that comes at the end of fourth turning. That is why I own gold personally and why I think every thinking, well-established individual financially should own it as well. The name of the game is to protect wealth and not leave your life work on the table when the crisis hits with full force. A diversification of about 10%-30%, in my view, will get the job done. How high you go within that range depends upon on how strongly you feel about what is going on.

Why I put so much stock in the book, The Fourth Turning

You may wonder why I put so much stock in Strauss and Howe’s The Fourth Turning. Besides making a great deal of sense as a view of how we as human beings move through history from one generation to the next, the authors presciently predicted the 2008 financial crisis eleven years before it happened.

From The Fourth Turning:

“The next Fourth Turning is due to begin shortly after the new millennium, midway through the Oh-Oh decade. Around the year 2005, a sudden spark will catalyze a Crisis mood. Remnants of the old social order will disintegrate. Political and economic trust will implode. Real hardship will beset the land, with severe distress that could involve questions of class, race, nation, and empire.”

Talk about hitting the nail on the head. The last two sentences tell it all as we now live through the experience. I have always said that the gold and silver owner can afford to sit back and watch the show with a certain amount of detachment and comfort knowing you have done your best to protect your assets. Gold certainly worked for its owners during the first stage of the fourth turning when gold went from roughly $700 per ounce to nearly $2000 at its peak before working back to current price levels. Silver did equally well going from roughly $16.50 to over $50 at its peak.

It is likely to work in the next stage of the cycle as well. As we watch the social, economic and political implosion unfolding around us, you begin to wonder whether or not it has come time for the great middle of America to kick back a bit and take a more detached approach to the problems, and that is what Daniel Henninger is driving at in his editorial.

Neil Howe in his interview mentions a “political uncertainty” chart in the final quote in that section above available at FRED. I think he may have been talking about this chart, but even if it isn’t it tells the same story. As you can see in the following chart, economic uncertainty has been running at a high level since the year 2000 and in direct correlation to gold’s secular bull market. Since 2008, for good reasons, the uncertainty has been running at consistently high levels and on a hair trigger. The current lull might simply be the calm before the next storm which, in my opinion, is already visible on the horizon.

I will end by returning to Daniel Henninger’s thoughtful editorial this morning and recommend that you read it in full along with Neil Howe’s interview. Howe’s interview transcript and Henninger’s editorial are both linked immediately below. Unfortunately, Henninger’s full article is not published in the clear, but Fox posted the beginning with a link to the full article. Here is the thought with each he ends the piece. It’s a good one.

“Amid the torrent, an odd paradox emerges: People are consuming more content and detail about politics than ever and more content and detail about politics than ever, and more people than ever are saying, “I have no idea what is going on.” Someone is at fault here, and it is not the absorbers of the information.Charlottesville is being pounded into the national psyche this week as paroxysm of white nationalism. On current course, the flight from politics is going to look like rational behavior.”

Neil Howe interview (Courtesy of MacroVoices/Audio version can be accessed at the MV link.)

Daniel Henninger editorial (Wall Street Journal, 8/17/17)

#gold #investing #ira #rollover #roll over

0 notes

monoshah · 7 years

Text

This is a Selfish Post- Part 1.5

Amongst the many obscene feelings we feel, a very common one is the feeling that time is passing too fast. That, life is passing us by and we’re just..watching.

In fact, the Dictionary of Obscure sorrows has a specific word for this feeling- Zenosyne: the sense that time is going too fast.

Think about it- the last time I wrote this post, it was the start of 2017 and now, we’re already six months in.

So, to make this law of universe seem a little sane, I use my selfish posts as a way to stop and reflect.

The past six months have been pretty eventful and I’ve had the fortunate opportunity to learn a ton, not just form things that happened to me, but, from the people I met.

Here’s a list of those lessons (ps- if you’re a little confused about this title and not sure what its about, I’d suggest starting with the first part).

- All of our problems are so trivial (and so are we): For the past six months, I had the privilege to live in Sevilla, Spain, for an internship experience. Rest assured, I did not know a word of Spanish, nor was I aware of the Spanish culture. And, although this may seem “irresponsible”, living in a foreign country with new people who speak a language you don’t quite understand fully made me learn something- that, at the end of the day, the problems we face are so trivial. Additionally, this made me realize how small we are; we are just a tiny dot in a circle populated by dots. Now, whenever I feel too “closed up” from my mind, I remind myself this and it helps me open up. After reading about this a bit more, I found out that The Stoics practiced a similar exercise, it was called “the view from above” and you can watch the video here.

- Thinking about the “What ifs” may not kill you after all: During my time in Spain, there were so many things I was asked to do, that, normally, I’d say no to because of fear. For instance- on my first weekend, a couple of people from work asked me to go out clubbing with them. Now, I’m very socially anxious and awkward (hey, I write ok!), and find the whole clubbing scene pretty bizarre. And so, when I received this invitation, my mind automatically started producing excuses for not showing up, additionally, it also convinced me how everything would go wrong if I decided to go out. However, instead of solely thinking about failure, I asked myself- “Ok, maybe everything could go wrong and you’d be the most socially awkward guy out there. But- what if, just what if, everything went right for once? What if you actually enjoyed yourself tonight?” . And guess what? I had a pretty good night. I took a similar approach to other opportunities I’d automatically say no to- going away for the weekend, traveling, etc.

Further, this made me curious- why do we think what we think? Why do I, for instance, automatically think about negative things whenever someone asks me to go out clubbing? After reading some books about it I found out that there these automatically patterns are related to things that happened in our past, and, they directly influence our mood. This is why I always felt so depressed when someone mentioned clubbing.

I wrote a post about it (you can read it here).

- We don’t need a lot of money to thrive: The topic of money has always fascinated me, since, by nature, we do so much to gain more: shy away from our initial passions, hold onto toxic relationships, and countless other things that can negatively impact our character. And, since forever, the phrase “that’s how the world works, so get used to it” has been instilled in our minds.

However, what if i told you that you did have the option of not basing your entire life to gain as much money as possible? What if you did have a choice to stay sane, do what you love for a living, thrive, and not worry too much about gaining more money?

During my time in Spain, as an intern, I earned about eighty three cents an hour. That added up to about 200 euros a month, which, compared to America, is nothing. However, I learned that if we wisely distinguish between the things we really need vs things we want, we can not only thrive with less but also improve ourselves in the process without sacrificing a lot. I learned that it all comes down to one question- apart from the basic necessities, what things or services matter to us? So, instead of allocating thirty euros a month on clothes, I allocated the same amount to buying books. Why? Because they give me value.

Further, I read a book that changed my perspective about the psychology of Money. Its called “How to worry less about Money” and is written by John Armstrong. Whether or not money is a worry for you, I recommend this to everyone. It discusses the whole psychology of money and makes us ask important questions like “How much money do we really need (hint- the answer isn’t “as much as possible’). It also takes a very different approach to discussing what money essentially is, making the readers see the real picture, so, we’re not as intimidated by the topic.

- Our emotions can be managed: At the start of this year, I started reading a book called Emotional intelligence, written by a psychologist named Daniel Goleman. This book taught me everything there is to know about emotions- what are they, why they are the way they are, and how we can manage them.Further, it also made me understand that today,whether or not one is “smart”, being emotionally intelligent is more important. Why? Not only to live in harmony with everyone, but, to also understand ourselves and our automatic patterns of thought and feeling.

More practically, this book helped me thrive at work, since, I was better able to manage my mood. It also affected my personal life as I got more kinder with the people around me.

Theres a lot to cover here so I wrote a detailed post about it here and here.

- Crushes are delusional: In December last year, I decided to read more about love. Why? Well, Victor Frankyl’s words about love fascinated me:

“For the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth - that Love is the ultimate and highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.”

I wanted to find out- is love really that great? I mean sure, the honeymoon phase is wonderful but what after that? What happens to couples who want to live their lives together? I wondered if there’s a reason why romantic comedies and love stories end when the boy and the girl meet and kiss. The chase is great, but, real life is after that isn’t it?

So, following that, I read a ton of books- both fiction and non fiction, about love. And, I learned the following things: >We’re all lonely and begging to be understood by someone, and so, we all need love >Jane Austen’s novels were remarkably useful. From It I learned never to judge someone at first sight, especially from just their physical appearance and/or portrayed wealth. >Life is unfair: Following my second observation, in today’s society, we do judge people by their appearance. Think about it- we go to a club and the only people we notice are the good looking ones. There’s no time for us to sit down with someone and ask them about their story, their vices. No wonder why we’re so focused on exercising our bodies and don’t bother taking care of our minds.

Despite that, however, reading about love is like reading about learning how to swim. Thus, to make things more interesting, I engaged in deep journaling session whenever I felt attracted to someone. I tried to rationalize the reasons for my crush. And, surprisingly, my reasons were irrational. I learned that when we’re attracted to someone, we let the heart take over. And, although thats great for an actor working on a movie or a writer, writing a love story, for us, in reality, its not that great because it makes us delusional. From their blue eyes to the way they tie their hair.,every thing they do or are makes us believe that they are the one. That this is it, that, it couldn’t get any better.

Unfortunately, that’s not real. We’re essentially attracted to someone who in reality, isn’t what we think he/she is.

You can read more about this here.

- We will never find the “right” person to marry: Why? Because we ourselves don’t know who we need/ who this “right” individual is. This may sound a little cliche and if that makes you critical about that statement, I request you to think about it again.

I learned that by nature, none of us truly understand ourselves. We feel emotions and think thoughts we don’t quite understand the reasons for. This is exactly why life seems so “messy”, because we’re trying to understand the world and hack it, while at the same time, struggling to make sense of ourselves.

Then, we find someone who our delusional self thinks is “the right one” and we try to understand them, fully believing after some years that we do.

The goal then, other than striving to achieve a more Socratic level of self knowledge is to stop considering each and everyone partner as the “right one” and instead- acknowledging that because of the unfortunate reality that we don’t really know what kind of person we need, relationships are bound to be messy. And, once the romantic honeymoon phase is over, maintaining a relationship is an art, something that we need to learn.

I repeat- something that we need to learn (here’s a good start).

Here’s The Philosopher Alain De Botton in his popular article “Why you will marry the wrong person” written for the New York Times:

“Marriage ends up as a hopeful, generous, infinitely kind gamble taken by two people who don’t know yet who they are or who the other might be, binding themselves to a future they cannot conceive of and have carefully avoided investigating”

You can read the entire article here.

If you’re intrigued by this concept, I suggest reading this book.

- A hack for overcoming Shyness:I am pretty social anxious and this makes many things difficult as most of life is interacting and dealing with people. Going to networking events needs a lot of planning and courage. And, if you want to convince me to go out clubbing, you need to have the patience to deal with my stupid excuses (trust me, I’m pretty good).

However, being in Spain exposed me to my fear. The Spanish culture admires social relationships and it’s actually considered normal for people to go out clubbing from Wednesday nights. So, as I went out multiple times with my friends, I noticed how I started becoming less anxious. So much so, the initial automatic flow of negative thoughts stopped, whenever someone invited me for a night out.

I wanted to make this a little more concrete and just in time, I was fortunate enough to read something about shyness that made it seem so trivial; cosmopolitism- a new way of relating to strangers.

The concept emerged during the several encounters in the Greece and Rome civilization. Because these encounters were between people who lived very different lives, certain thinkers developed an approach which proposed that all these humans, whatever their surface variations, shared a common core- that they’re all human.

Here’s The School Of Life in the book “On Being Nice”:

Someone becomes a cosmopolitan not on the basis of having a buoyant or gregarious nature but because they re in touch with a fundamental truth about humanity, because they know that, irrespective of appearance, we are the same species beneath, an insight that tongue-tied guest at the party or the awkward seducer in the restaurant are guilty of implicitly refusing./ /The Pimple boy doesn’t discover that he and the high-school beauty share a case in humor and similarly painful relationships with their fathers; the middle-aged lawyers never unearths a shared love of rockets with her neighbor’s eight year old son. Race and ages continue not to mingle, to their collective detriments. Shyness is a touching, yet ultimately excessive and unwarranted, way of feeling special.

Here’s a great video by The School of life that explains this concept.

Lastly, here’s the book I was referring to (it’s great if you’ve ever wondered what it really means to be “nice”).

- Making time vs Having time: Despite the idea that life is pretty unfair, there is something about it that proves otherwise- the fact that we’ve all been given 24 hours in a day. That is, time to do anything we’d like to do. Its a clean slate and we can fill it in anyway we want to. However, despite knowing this, we don’t spend enough time for self-care.

The past six months I’ve learned a lot of self-care: the whole idea of prioritizing daily activities for yourself that help provide value. In my life, that involves working out five times a week, meditating daily, and reading and writing everyday. I learned that engaging in activities that bring us value doesn’t mean acting selfish. In reality, we’re doing it to make ourselves feel better, which, in a very real sense will help us deal with everyone else calmly. So, if you really think about it, self-care isn’t just for us, its for the people we engage with daily, our family & friends.

It was fascinating to see how my mood was different when I did not work-out in the morning that day, or, if I forgot to mediate. So, for self-care, one has to make time because these things are what’s really important. The rest is trivial.

How about you substitute thirty minutes of TV with a high intensity interval training session? You don’t have time to Meditate? Those extra ten minutes you spent surfing YouTube for cat videos are sufficient to take care of your mind.

Make a list of everything that gives you value and include them in your morning or evening routine. Its not important to check every activity off but the attempt is what makes all the difference.

-Saying “No” is harder for a reason: With the Spanish culture being so outgoing, it was necessary for me to learn how to say “No”. Saying no to partying every weekend, no to travelling every weekend, no to skipping work and taking long coffee breaks. However, more than it being necessary, I noticed how hard it was. I started observing how I started saying “Yes” to things I’d normally want to say no to, just to avoid conflict or get away with it. So much so, I’d started dreading my decision an hour after I accepted a House Party invitation.

Then, for a week, I decided to experiment. In it, I promised myself to do everything opposite. So, if I’d automatically say Yes to things, for this one week, I would have to gather the courage to say no. Fortunately, that week helped me understand that not only is it ok to say not, but, to some extent, it’s necessary to have boundaries.

One week turned into one month and slowly I started really thinking about every invitation. And, if I had a legitimate reason to not attend, I’d happily say no without any guilt or the fear of missing out.

I learned that it’s harder to say no because when we do that, we’re actually saying yes to things that matter to us. Things that grant us value. I said no to a skiing trip with my work friends because I was saying yes to a weekend trip to Barcelona with my best friend. I said no to a Wednesday night partying invite because I was saying yes to the next day’s gym session. I said no to becoming the president of a club at my college because I was saying Yes to other things I’d be focusing on- academics, acting, a part-time job, etc.

-If you master the small, the big picture takes care of itself: I learned to apply this concept everywhere in my life- productivity, becoming fear(less) (not fearless, there’s a difference), and habit setting. Normally, when we think of becoming productive, getting over our fears, or forming new habits, our goals automatically become so grand.

So much so, it overwhelms us and we don’t do anything. I learned that if we focus too much on the big picture, we forget what shapes it- smaller details. And, so, similarly, we forget that by taking care of the smaller details, the grand picture can be influenced.

To give you an example in the area of becoming fear(less), I am very scared of driving in India. When I tried to give my practical exam a couple of years ago, I couldn’t even move the car forward (even if thats what it took to pass the exam). My confidence while driving a motor vehicle is very low. However, the concept of breaking this down into smaller details and goals is helping me get back on track again. Instead of dreaming about becoming the perfect driver with a valid license, I started to break the ultimate goal down into smaller steps (that, if followed properly, will eventually get me there).

The first goal was to obtain a learners license, which required me to study for it while I was in Spain. Once I passed that, my goal was simply to trust the process and visit my driving school everyday to learn things about driving confidently. And, once that has been done, I will start practicing driving on roads. The goal being that I can practice everyday to build my confidence. Ultimately, the plan is to obtain a license right now and then resuming my practice whenever I am back home for holidays.

You get the idea.

- Unfairness is everywhere (and that’s OK): Pretty recently, I lost a loved one and I couldn’t help but notice how, after a few days, life just went on for everyone. It reminded me that everything is so trivial because at the end of the day, we have the possibility of leaving life right this very moment. And guess what? Once you do, people close to you will feel bad. Of course they will. However, as times goes on, so will life. And just like another old book in the shelf, your time will be over. We will all return to where we came from and to some degree I find that pretty unfair. Life has a way of convincing us to move on.

I learned that life is unfair, and the sooner we get used to it the better. Why? Because it can help us stay sane. When we achieve some sort of success, for example, this can remind us to stay grounded as whether we like it or not- success is not fully in our control. And here’s the better part- this can show us how to rate ourselves, not by success’ or failures, but, by doing what’s in our control everyday.

Ryan Holiday described this perfectly in his book Ego is the Enemy:

Your potential, the absolute best you’re capable of—that’s the metric to measure yourself against. Your standards are. Winning is not enough. People can get lucky and win. People can be assholes and win. Anyone can win. But not everyone is the best possible version of themselves.

- Engaging in premeditatio malorum helps: Before I started Meditating everyday, I used to be extremely anxious. It would require a lot of effort from my side to do everyday things like going on a holiday for instance. I would overthink the worst that would happen in every scenario, making me naturally upset and pissed off.

Fortunately, meditation helped me calm down. That said, however, I still find myself tensing over things I cannot control.To fight this, I learned to engage in an exercise that used to be practiced by The Stoics. Its called premeditatio malorum, which roughly translates to premeditating about evil/ admittedly visualizing negative situations. Basically, it means thinking (or better- writing) about possibly everything that could go wrong.

Then, once you have a list, think about how you could possibly avoid such disasters and/or realize that at the end of the day, in reality, regardless of how bad things get, life is going to be ok.

Its basically a “what’s the worst that could happen?” exercise.

I journaled about this whenever there was something that was troubling me and it helped. I realized that 1) not everything we think is going to happen. Infact, most of the times, nothing we think every happens and 2) Even if something does happen, by meditating about it previously, our approach to dealing with it is better.

You can read more about this here.

Further, Tim Ferris had an excellent TED talk about this, wherein, he spoke about how he used this exercise to become fear(less) about life. You can watch that here.

Productivity is simple: No, I mean it. Stop spending hours trying to find the perfect app. Getting work done doesn’t require sophisticated code and good design (it helps, yes, but they’re not necessary).

It requires principles.

I wrote about this here.

Things I’m going to experiment with, henceforth:

- Expressing my emotions: To not bottle things up inside - Using the “shyness hack” I described above to speak out - Journaling on a regular basis (daily- either in the morning or evening) - Learning more about relationships - Reading more about Stoicism and using this website to gain knowledge daily: How To Be Stoic

- Seeking Love and Courage. Love for anything that happens in life and the courage to face it. Source- The Daily Stoic newsletter (you can sign up here).

That’s all for now Folks

To focus a little more on my writing projects, I’m going to be taking a break from writing on my blog till the end of this year.

That said, I will keep updating my Facebook page in case I write any guest posts.

I don’t reckon anyone made it this far, but regardless- Thank you for all your love and support.

See y’all on the other side :)

0 notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Quote

Facebook The food media paid scant attention to the Indian-born chef and restaurant owner Garima Kothari when she was alive. That lack of coverage has extended to her tragic death. This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to [email protected]. When the COVID-19 pandemic began earlier this spring, the Indian-born chef Garima Kothari saw business at her Jersey City restaurant, Nukkad, evaporate overnight. Yet she found little time to despair. Instead, she strategized. She started selling DIY dosa kits. She tried curbside deliveries. She offered discounts. When we spoke over the phone on April 9, Kothari said that her numbers continued falling, yet she tempered her concern with hope. She laughed nervously when I asked if she feared that the restaurant, just five months old, would have to close for good. “I hope not,” she said. “I have plans.” Just two weeks later, on the morning of Sunday, April 26, Kothari died in an alleged murder-suicide at the hands of her partner, Man Mohan Mall. She was 35. According to the Hudson County Prosecutor’s Office, authorities discovered Kothari with multiple upper body injuries in the apartment the couple shared, eventually concluding that her death was a homicide. A day after her death, an autopsy revealed that Kothari was five months pregnant. I had spoken to Kothari as part of my reporting for a short piece on the impact of COVID-19 on small, immigrant-owned restaurants. Though our conversation only lasted nine minutes, Kothari talked candidly about the challenges of operating a tiny, newer restaurant that focused on Indian cooking, which still struggles to gain high regard in America despite the valiant efforts of gifted chefs. She had applied for many relief funds and grants, but feared that the nature of her restaurant, coupled with its relative infancy, would make capital elusive. “For a very small restaurant like mine, especially a restaurant that’s not doing Italian and French food, I don’t know if I will ever get a single penny,” she told me. Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember? The COVID-19 pandemic’s impact on the food and restaurant industry has stretched digital food publications thin, forcing journalists to dedicate all their resources to coverage of a rapidly shifting landscape. Stories that seemingly bear no overt relation to the pandemic — like, say, Kothari’s brutal death — have consequently fallen by the wayside. Such circumstances may explain why the tabloid and celebrity media covered the death, but few food publications in the country dignified Kothari with so much as a blog post, barring a short article on Tuesday morning from Grub Street (owned by Eater’s parent company, Vox Media). But the response to Kothari’s death raises enduring questions: Who gets spotlighted by the food media, and how do such decisions determine who publications choose to remember? Kothari’s death may be the first time that readers will hear about her, an embarrassing truth that suggests her demise will eclipse her accomplishments. She bid farewell to the life of investment banking in her native India (she’d later call the corporate world “too cold”) after realizing her life’s great love was food. In 2010, Kothari entered MasterChef India, making the top 15. Following that experience, she decamped for Paris and attended Le Cordon Bleu, where she received her pastry diploma in 2013. She then moved to America, working as a pastry chef in Jacksonville, Florida, before heading north to New Jersey in 2015. Kothari managed her own catering and events business; she was also an occasional writer, having contributed to such sites as Food52, the Kitchn, and the Michelin Guide. Coverage of Kothari was so scant in her lifetime that some may reason that she wasn’t yet “famous” enough, that her restaurant was too young, to justify immediate reporting on her death. This argument is precisely the issue at hand, one that exposes the inherent bias of a food media whose narrative gaze skews towards white, materially advantaged, cis male chefs, who also tend to have aggressive public relations teams that help to guarantee media saturation. Such privileges also dictate access to capital, like the kind Daniel Humm’s Eleven Madison Park has gotten from American Express. Without them, few aspiring restaurant owners stand a chance of catching the mainstream food media’s attention. Given the sheer number of restaurants that open each year, and the fact that Jersey City is flush with Indian restaurants, you may wonder what made Kothari’s restaurant so special. At Nukkad, she was trying to do something different with her native country’s cuisine; she saw street food through the prism of her own nostalgia, filtering childhood staples through the culinary techniques she’d picked up throughout her career. This approach resulted in dishes like butter chicken mac-and-cheese and pizza dosas filled with mozzarella, as well as fare one might consider more typical for a nominally Indian restaurant, such as idlis, chaats, and biryanis. Kothari didn’t care about being slapped with the dreaded “fusion” label, much less about the distinctions between north and south Indian cuisines. Like many chefs before her, she worked strenuously to push people past their worn perceptions of Indian cooking, and fought this battle in a highly individualistic way. Viewed from a purely editorial standpoint, in other words, Kothari’s approach to food — and her winding path to it — made her a compelling character who should have been more famous prior to her death. But she operated at a distinct disadvantage within the restaurant world as a condition of her womanhood, her race, and the fact that she was not born in America. Her creative impulses, like the self-described “Indian soul food” she cooked, likewise put her on the fringes of the industry. In death, food journalists have further pushed her to the margins. As such, Kothari’s case speaks to a rot in food coverage that existed long before the pandemic illuminated its fissures. While American food publications are infatuated with celebrity, they too often seem to impose a higher barrier of entry for figures like Kothari, an immigrant woman of color who didn’t quite have the resources (nor, eventually, the time) to become a media darling. What credentials would have rendered Kothari important enough for food publications, in both life and death? Critics may gripe that I’m reading these outlets in bad faith (or that Jersey City is too far from the food media’s pulse in New York City, but I’d point to stunningly consistent coverage of its critically acclaimed pizzerias). They may also charge that such intense scrutiny is unwarranted at a time when a pandemic has food journalists operating under unprecedented duress. But the muted response to Kothari’s death reveals a fundamental imbalance that Grub Street’s Chris Crowley illustrated in his sensitive piece on the April 1 death of Jesus Roman Melendez from complications of COVID-19. Melendez was a long-time cook at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Nougatine — the “backbone” of the restaurant, as Crowley wrote. In eulogizing Melendez, he gave flesh to a man who’d usually remain nameless in stories of Nougatine’s success, and simultaneously questioned the mechanics of a food media that deifies a man like Vongerichten. Crowley’s posthumous profile of Melendez feels exemplary because it’s an outlier, pointing toward a future for food journalism that honors talents who so often remain unseen. But a piece like his shouldn’t be so unique. Two weeks elapsed between Melendez’s death and that piece’s publication; once the wound of Kothari’s loss begins to heal, I hope that other outlets will make room for a story that gives Kothari similar narrative consideration, framing her not in terms of erasure but instead focusing on what she achieved. Letting her story dissolve into the ether would merely confirm the anxieties Kothari expressed to me about the eventual fate of Nukkad: a fear that gatekeepers would look right past her. It’s no secret that the press has unique power to mold public opinion and inform our ideas of who we consider to be stars worthy of respect. Just last year, the editor of a major newspaper’s food section asked me why I’d pitched a profile of a small restaurant owner in Bushwick when I could write about a more established name like Nigella Lawson. The question revealed this publication’s reactive, not proactive, default posturing. So I now find myself wondering if the food media’s commitment to the status quo will continue, despite how unsustainable the pandemic is revealing that to be? In an ideal scenario, publications will emerge from this pandemic with greater sensitivity for the stories of restaurant owners like Kothari who suffered acutely as a result of the pandemic’s financial strains. To be fair, scores of food journalists are already doing this work, and no longer just at smaller and/or more regional publications. Such coverage should appear with even greater consistency in mainstream, national publications. But in a more likely (albeit cynical) scenario, these outlets may very well continue to give real estate to the blandly familiar cabal of well-funded celebrity chefs, figures who’ve become poster boys of this uncertain moment for American restaurants. What credentials would have rendered Kothari important enough for food publications, in both life and death? It shouldn’t have taken some arbitrary metric of success, be it a James Beard nomination or a profile from the New York Times, for writers to extend her the very basic courtesy of aggregating an article about her death. Such anointments have more to do with access than intangible variables, like talent and dedication. Those prerequisites shouldn’t determine whether a woman who devoted her life to food gets a fair remembrance. Mayukh Sen is a writer in New York. He has won a James Beard Award for his food writing, and he teaches food journalism at New York University. His first book, on the immigrant women who have shaped food in America, will be published by W.W. Norton & Company in fall 2021. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2WguReL

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/05/even-in-pandemic-death-is-popularity.html

#EasyFoodNetwork #ComfortFoodRecipes #EasyRecipes #GoodFood #BestComfortFoodRecipes #TastyFoodv

0 notes

heliosfinance · 8 years

Text

My Interview with Jason Zweig

Note: This interview was originally published in the December 2016 issue of our premium newsletter – Value Investing Almanack (VIA). To read more such interviews and other deep thoughts on value investing, business analysis and behavioral finance, click here to subscribe to VIA.

“I wish I could talk to this guy,” I told my wife when I read Ben Graham’s The Intelligent Investor first time sometime in 2005.

“But he is dead, right?” she said.

“Oh, not Graham,” I exclaimed, “But Jason Zweig who has edited this version of Graham’s book.”

“I am sure you would one day,” she said with an air of confidence. But I junked her thoughts saying, “Why would he even want to talk to me?”

Well, I had this discussion in mind when I wrote to Mr. Zweig in mid-October last year to request him for an interview for our Value Investing Almanack newsletter. I knew it was a shot in the dark, something I had not done for a long-long time after missing a few such shots in the dark on stocks I lost money owning.

But this shot worked, and worked well for me. Not only did Mr. Zweig agree immediately for the interview, he also made me comfortable by asking me to address him as, well, Jason.

It turned out to be a great interview for me as a learner, and I hope Jason also found it worth his time and effort. Before I begin, I remember this quote from Jason in his starting note for The Intelligent Investor –

In the same way, I envy you the excitement of reading Jason’s thoughts in this interview for the first time. So let’s start right here with a brief introduction.

Jason Zweig is the investing and personal-finance columnist for The Wall Street Journal. He is the author of The Devil’s Financial Dictionary, a satirical glossary of Wall Street (PublicAffairs Books, 2015), and Your Money and Your Brain, on the neuroscience of investing (Simon & Schuster, 2007).

Jason edited the revised edition of Benjamin Graham’s The Intelligent Investor (HarperCollins, 2003), the classic text that Warren Buffett has described as “by far the best book about investing ever written.” He also wrote The Little Book of Safe Money (Wiley, 2009); co-edited Benjamin Graham: Building a Profession, an anthology of Graham’s essays (McGraw Hill, 2010); and assisted the Nobel Prize-winning psychologist Daniel Kahneman in writing his book Thinking, Fast and Slow. From 1995 through 2008 Zweig was a senior writer for Money magazine; before joining Money, he was the mutual funds editor at Forbes.

Jason has also been a guest columnist for Time magazine and cnn.com. He has served as a trustee of the Museum of American Finance, an affiliate of the Smithsonian Institution, and sits on the editorial boards of Financial History magazine and The Journal of Behavioral Finance. A graduate of Columbia College, Jason lives in New York City.

Safal Niveshak (SN): What inspired you to write your latest book, The Devil’s Financial Dictionary? What’s the biggest lesson you wish the reader should take from the book?

Jason Zweig (JZ):

Ever since I was a college student, I’ve been an admirer of Ambrose Bierce, the 19th century American author who wrote The Devil’s Financial Dictionary, one of the greatest works of satire in the English language.

A few years ago, my teenage daughters were teasing me about how my personal website never featured anything new (at least in their opinion). I looked out the window of my home office and wondered: “What could I do that would be new every day without making readers feel that I’m encouraging them to respond to the market’s every move?”

To the left of my window, I glimpsed the paperback copy of The Devil’s Financial Dictionary that I’ve owned since 1979. I glanced to the right and there, on my other bookshelf, was my second, hardcover copy of the same beloved book. I suddenly realized that I could write and post one satirical financial definition per day on my website. I didn’t expect it to turn into a book; I wrote the entries for fun. Then several publishers stumbled on it, and suddenly it became a book.

Of course, Wall Street and the rest of the financial world provide such a wealth of absurdities that eventually it may turn into a multi-volume encyclopaedia.

The lesson readers should take from the book is that the language of finance is often used not to explain, but to obfuscate. Those who know what terms mean can make a lot of money. Those who think they know what terms mean will lose a lot of money.

SN: What do you think happens inside our brains when we hear the financial experts’ gibberish? We all want to simplify our lives, so why is it that many of us admire those in the financial markets who throw at us the most complex stuff?

JZ: Neuroeconomist Gregory Berns of Emory University and his colleagues have found that listening to financial experts triggers a neural response they call “offloading,” which is a lower level of activation in the posterior cingulate and other regions of the frontal cortex normally engaged in decisions about risk and return. Conformity and deference to authority are part of human nature; man is a social animal, and we evolved to learn that following the leader and staying inside the herd helps to keep us alive. That served our ancestors well on the plains of the Serengeti. It doesn’t serve us well in modern financial markets, where computers can outsmart us and many people are richly rewarded for giving advice that is better for their own bottom line than it is for ours.

I also feel that financial jargon is even more insidious than other professional dialects, like medical lingo or info-tech gobbledygook. When a financial advisor uses jargon, we want to pretend to understand it so we can feel like privileged insiders who are “in the know.” Pretending to comprehend financial gibberish confers an illusion of power on those who purport to know what the jargon means.

In truth, the ultimate power lies in understanding that you don’t know what it means – and that the person using those words probably doesn’t, either.

SN: That’s true! Anyways, in mid-October 2016 front-page article in The Wall Street Journal titled The Dying Business of Picking Stocks, you wrote about investors giving up on stock picking and moving into passive funds. Can you please elaborate more in that? Do you see it as a long-lasting trend?

JZ: Our article was primarily about the U.S. market, although I believe these trends will inevitably percolate worldwide. Active management will never disappear entirely; hope springs eternal, and most people never entirely abandon their belief in magic.

Furthermore, active management gives investors someone else to blame. If you buy an index-tracking fund that loses 30% in six months, you have no one to blame but yourself; if you buy an actively managed fund that does the same, you can tell your family or your boss or your pensioners that the fund manager “strayed from his mandate.” You get to sack him instead of being sacked yourself. Finally, at least in the U.S. (and I’m sure in many other places), institutional investors are often required to make periodic “due-diligence” visits to the asset-management firms they hire. Many such firms seem to have home offices near beautiful beaches or in historic cities that are delightful to visit. Perhaps that is some kind of coincidence, but it certainly gives their largest clients a lifelong incentive to ignore high fees and low performance.

Nevertheless, index-tracking funds will continue to grow worldwide, as they should and as they must. Research by Fama and French, among others, has shown that nearly all outperformance relative to a market index can be explained by such common dimensions of risk and return as value, size, “quality” (profitability), and momentum. These factors can be systematically packaged into a tracker fund at extraordinarily low cost. An active manager whose success has come from picking stocks one at a time that score high on one or more of these factors must charge high fees to cover the considerable research costs; a passive fund can algorithmically mimic what the active manager is doing for a fraction of the cost. In the U.S., such “factor ETFs” are available for annual fees of under 0.1%, or 10 basis points and less. Active managers charging 10 to 20 times as much are doomed to lose market share.

SN: You define ‘forecasting’ as “an attempt to predict the unknowable by measuring the irrelevant; a task that in one way or another, employs most people on Wall Street.” Let’s talk about financial journalists here, who are in the prediction mode all the time, whether it’s newspapers, television, or the Internet. What role has financial journalism to play in promoting the devilish financial jargon you have defined in your book?

JZ: The financial media can’t be dissociated from the prediction industry in general. We are all guilty of perpetrating the myth that someone, somewhere, knows what the markets are about to do. Decades ago, the psychologist Paul Andreeassen showed that people who get more frequent news updates on their investment portfolios earn lower returns than those with no access to the news at all. That doesn’t mean that financial journalism is useless: Ignorance won’t make you a better investor. But the financial media should focus investors’ attention on the elements that separate success from failure – how to be optimally diversified, how to minimize fees and taxation, how to increase one’s own self-control – rather than pretending to clairvoyance or trumpeting whichever investment has been hottest lately.

I try to write for my high-school English teacher’s wife, who tells me whenever I see her that she likes my columns even though she doesn’t understand them. My goal is eventually to write one she can understand; I think, after 20 years, I am getting closer.

SN: You’ve defined “News” as “noise; the sound of chaos.” Bombarded with such noise from all sides, how does an investor go about blocking it to be able to make sound investment decisions.

JZ: Whatever can be a matter of policy and procedure must be. You should have a checklist that you must follow before taking any action. The rules should be yours, not mine, but they must be rules, not wishes. A few possibilities:

Never buy a stock purely because its price has been going up, nor sell purely because it has been going down.

List, in writing, three detailed reasons why you are buying, in terms that – like a scientific hypothesis – can be falsified by subsequent findings.

Stipulate a price target, a time by which you expect the stock to reach that level, and an estimated probability that those forecasts are correct.

Set up, in advance, automated alerts to remind you when price changes significantly – for example, 25%, 50%, etc. At those thresholds, assess methodically whether the value of the underlying business has changed comparably.

Sign a contract with yourself, witnessed by family or friends, binding you to sell only when the value of the business, rather than the price of the stock, decays.

If that sounds like too much work, then owning individual stocks probably isn’t a good match for your temperament. Buy a passive fund instead – but don’t forget to sign a comparable contract with yourself.

SN: You recently quoted Keynes who said that courage is the key to investing. But showing courage when everyone is running for cover in a falling market is harder to do than to imagine. Given that such scenarios are playing out quite often in the current times, how does an investor build the necessary courage to combine with his/her capital when the opportunities come knocking?

JZ: Cash and courage go hand in hand, as Benjamin Graham wrote in 1932 after stocks had fallen more than 80%. Cash without courage will do you no good in a falling market, as you will be too afraid to invest it. Courage without cash is equally useless, as you can’t buy anything no matter how brave you feel if you have no money to buy it with. So husbanding some cash is the first step.

I am also great believer in what I call “financial fire drills.” Just as office-workers are periodically required to rehearse what to do if the building catches fire, investors should rehearse how they should behave if the stock market erupts in flames.

Build a watch-list of investments you would like to own at much lower prices than today’s, specifying the prices at which they will become bargains. Cultivate good mental hygiene now, before it is too late: Break bad habits like watching financial television, frequently checking the value of your brokerage accounts, or getting constant updates on the market. Go back and study your behavior during the last market crash: Did you sell? freeze? or buy more? (Don’t rely on your memory, which is likely to be illusory; consult your actual brokerage records, and be honest with yourself about what they show.) Then look at how those decisions worked out: Did your behavior rescue you from further losses, or preclude you from further gains?

Using what you learn about your past behavior, you should be able to structure rules to improve your future behavior.

SN: Your book basically mocks the outrageousness of the financial world which, in other words, is laying bare the truth of how the system works. In fact, you’ve defined “stock market” as a chaotic hive of millions of people who overpay for hope and underpay for value. Amidst all this, what advice do you have for a small, individual investor on how to safeguard his/her capital and grow his/her money?

JZ: The great investment philosopher Peter Bernstein liked to say that investors without much money should take small risks with most of their money and big risks with a little of it. Maximizing diversification should be your primary goal. If you put at least 90% of your investable assets into a small set of low-cost, widely diversified market-tracking funds, then there’s nothing wrong with trying to pick a few market-beating stocks with the rest of your money. You can’t lose much of your total wealth if you turn out to be incompetent at stock-picking, while you could enhance your wealth significantly if you turn out to be good at it. But you must be serious about it, willing to devote great amounts of time and effort and scholarship and emotional resolve. If you treat it as a game, you are certain to lose, sooner or later.

SN: How can an investor improve the quality of his/her decision making?

JZ: Study the markets. Study history. Study psychology. Above all, study yourself. Successful investing isn’t about picking the right stocks and avoiding the wrong ones. It is about making sure that you don’t let your own emotions deflect you from your strategy at the worst imaginable time. The best investors are those who think constantly about their own shortcomings and how to overcome them.

SN: What are the most important qualities an investor needs to survive the complexity of the financial markets?

JZ: Self-control. I don’t know what proportion of people who call themselves “investors” are, in fact, just speculators, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it is above 90%.

I find it remarkable that in India, the world’s wellspring of yoga, so many investors give themselves endless stress trying to chase short-term market performance.

Investing is not a 110-metre race. It is a marathon. If you want to finish the race, you shouldn’t try to go faster; you should slow down. And you need to learn how to resist investing in any asset or strategy you don’t understand.

SN: You talk about self-control. Can someone learn to have self-control or learn to behave well, if that attribute is not already ingrained in him/her? I’ve read this wonderful book called Sapiens, where the author talks about the gorging gene theory, which suggests that we carry the DNA from our ancestors of gorging on sugared or fatty food even when we have our refrigerators overstuffed with such foods. This is because our ancestors used to gorge on sugared fruits but that was purely out of scarcity and fear that if they did not eat them, the baboons would. So, with such a DNA, can we as investors really learn to behave well?

JZ: Genetics is predisposition, but it doesn’t have to be predestination. We’re all inclined to love sweet, salty, or fatty foods, but we aren’t all doomed to like them. With diligence and discipline, we can train ourselves to have higher resistance to them. And we can recognize that willpower is insufficient, in and of itself, to achieve that resistance. We must make our environment more hygienic. Think of alcoholics, for example. You might tell yourself, When someone offers me a drink, I will just say no. But, over time, you will learn that that doesn’t work, because of what psychologist George Lowenstein has called “the hot-cold empathy gap”: In a cold, or emotionally unengaged state, you will picture your future desires as much more manageable than they will, in fact, turn out to be in the heat of the moment. So eventually alcoholics learn to control their environmental hygiene: They avoid walking down the street where the tavern is, they ask their friends to tell the party host not to serve alcohol, they bring their own non-alcoholic beverages with them when they travel. All of those behaviors are intended to keep dangerous emotional cues at bay.

By the same token, investors need to avoid the cues that can trigger self-defeating behaviors. Use checklists and watchlists to prevent impulse from determining your behavior. Remove any trading apps from your smartphone. Don’t bookmark any websites that encourage you to update your account values in real time. Build a spreadsheet of all your holdings that you refresh only once every calendar quarter. Change the password on your brokerage account to a personalized variant of IWILLTRADEONLYWHENABSOLUTELYNECESSARY; there is evidence from psychological research that frequent subliminal repetition of such a message can change your behavior.

You should be under no delusion that these techniques will eliminate your genetic frailties. But they can help you exert at least some control over them.

SN: Are successful investors born, or made?

JZ: Both, of course. A great deal of investing success comes from temperament, which is (largely) inborn. But every good investor I’ve ever met is a learning machine – someone who eats information ravenously and who is obsessed not by how much he already knows but by how much he has yet to learn.

An underappreciated factor that great investors share, I believe, is that they relish being proven wrong. Most people dread making mistakes with a kind of visceral horror. But great investors welcome making mistakes, because errors are opportunities to learn. Whenever I encounter a professional investor with a track record of outperformance who boasts only about what he got right, I know I am in the presence of someone whose overconfidence is dangerous, if not deadly.

SN: Apart from Ben Graham, Warren Buffett, and Charlie Munger, who inspires you the most when it comes to investing and investment behaviour?

JZ: I would name three people: two giants and one few people have ever heard of. First, John Maynard Keynes: Chapter 12 of his book The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money is probably the most concentrated set of profound insights into investment behavior ever written. He teaches us that to be rational you must reckon with how irrational other people can be.

Second, Daniel Kahneman, whom I have known for 20 years and whose book Thinking, Fast and Slow I helped research, write and edit: From Danny I learned how important it is to try answering difficult questions by beginning with the words “I don’t know.” The admission of ignorance is the gateway to learning, and the more you learn the clearer it should become to you how much you do not know. Finally, an individual investor and retired U.S. Army colonel named Jack Hurst, whom I met when amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (motor neurone disease) had already paralyzed his entire body save a few muscles in his right cheek. Unable to speak or move on his own, Jack nevertheless exemplified the patience, skepticism, independence, discipline, and courage that characterize the intelligent investor. Using a computer-brain interface powered by the electrochemical signals in the facial muscles over which he still had voluntary control, he meticulously researched stocks, bought them after severe price declines, sold them to capture tax benefits, and watched financial television – but with the sound turned off so it wouldn’t influence him emotionally! I wrote about him here. He taught me that courage is the most underappreciated of all investing virtues.

SN: You have inspired millions through your writing, but which are some of the books on investing, behaviour, and multidisciplinary thinking that have inspired you the most over the years? If you were to give away all your books but one, which one would it be and why?

JZ: I have listed the books I regard as indispensable here, here, and here.

Your last question is painfully difficult for someone who has loved books since he first learned to walk. I suppose if you held a gun to my head and made me pick only one book to keep, it would be the Essays of Montaigne. While that book has nothing to do directly with investing, it has everything to do with learning how to think and live. I can’t think of another book that is so good a guide to what it means to know oneself, to embrace uncertainty, to live within one’s means, to value humility above all other virtues, and to remember that the two greatest intellectual endeavours in life are to learn as much as possible and to accept how little you will ever be able to learn.

SN: Hypothetical Question: If you had a magic wand, which ill of the financial system would you eliminate first, and why?

JZ: I suppose I would require anyone providing investment advice to have a formal fiduciary duty to the client. Enforcing that requirement would be difficult, however. The supply of people whose minds and hearts qualify them to be fiduciaries for others is probably insufficient to meet even one-tenth of the demand. The sudden imposition of such a requirement would force millions of advisors around the world to try meeting a standard that most would fall short of. Perhaps there should be some sort of centralized training and licensing regime, the same way most nations require physicians, attorneys, and accountants to meet rigorous professional standards. Unfortunately, the magic wand you have handed me doesn’t seem to work; we are probably many years, if not decades, away from seeing fiduciary duty become universal. That is a shame. Investors, in the meantime, will have to rely largely on themselves; identifying good financial advisors is going to require great effort for the foreseeable future.

SN: You’ve talked about the importance of being a learning machine. And it seems that reading widely – apart from learning from, say, role models – is one of the important means to becoming a learning machine. In this regard, what are your thoughts on how one should go about selecting which books to read? There are so many books that come out these days, and each one of them looks inspiring and highly recommended by someone. But time is limited. So, is restricting to the supertexts on investing, thinking, and behaviour a good idea? Else, how should one go about selecting which new books to read? Do you have such a process in place?

JZ: I don’t have a formal process. However, I do pay close attention to what the people I respect the most are reading. When someone I admire recommends a book or a website or anything else to read, I try to read it. If minds better than mine have benefited from something, then so can I. It’s also worth bearing in mind that people without high standards will often recommend reading something that sounds better than it is. It’s disconcertingly easy for anyone to write a review or summary of just about anything and make it sound exciting even if, in fact, it is barely better than garbage. So if (for example) Charlie Munger says a book is “not bad,” you should regard that as much higher praise than if a second-rate or third-rate mind says some other book is a “must-read” or a “masterpiece.”

SN: As I’ve read at a few places, you also seem to hold Richard Feynman in very high regard. What are some of the most important things you like about Mr. Feynman and his teachings, which readers of this interview could also benefit from?

JZ: What I love about Feynman was his determination to think for himself and to be honest about his own limitations. In his books, he tells remarkable stories that can help even humanists think like scientists.

When Feynman was young, his wife, Arlene, was dying. Every day, she would send him little gifts at his office to show how much she loved him. Among them were bespoke pencils she’d had made with lettering along the lines of “I LOVE YOU, RICHARD. ARLENE.” (I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was something like that.) Embarrassed lest his colleagues see these emotional messages on his pencils, Feynman scraped them off with a knife. Soon, the next round of pencils arrived. This time, the message on them read: WHAT DO YOU CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK?” From that, he – and all his readers since then – have learned the importance of disregarding the opinions of others when important matters of the heart (or mind) are at stake. My other Feynman story involves the time he was asked by the state of California to sit on the committee that approves science textbooks for schoolchildren. He requested a copy of every single book on the list and read each from cover to cover. At the final committee meeting, the other members all said their favorite book was X. To Feynman’s astonishment, they had picked the book with the prettiest cover but without a word of text. It turned out that none of them had even opened the textbook; they liked how the cover looked and picked it as “best” on that basis alone. From that I learned the importance of always reading the source material, rather than relying on someone else’s representation of it. It still amazes me how many people who say “studies have shown that…” have never read the studies they are citing.

SN: Can you name some of the current publications (newspapers, magazines, blogs etc.) you read and respect a lot for their learning quotient? As far as reading newspapers is concerned, there have been proponents (like Warren Buffett who say it is a great source of ideas and information) and opponents (like Taleb who think newspapers are plain noise) of the same. Which side are you on? Is there a way to read newspapers effectively to differentiate between noise and signal?

JZ: I’ve listed many of the sources I regularly read here. Nowadays, I don’t use the term “newspapers” much; I call them (including The Wall Street Journal) “news organizations,” because that’s what we are. We don’t only, or even primarily, publish a newspaper. We publish online and on your phone and by email and so forth. To be honest, I don’t believe there is much debate to be had on this matter. Just ask yourself: Would I be able to make better decisions if I knew nothing whatsoever about what is happening in the world around me? It seems to me that the question answers itself, in the negative. While most investors probably pay too much attention to the news, an investor who pays no attention at all would be entirely in the dark.

As for me, I read The Wall Street Journal in both print and electronic form. First thing in the morning and last thing at night, I whiz through the top stories of the day on my iPhone to get a quick feel for what is happening. When I arrive at my desk for the work day, I read the print edition. I find that the “What’s News” column on Page One, which provides a one-or-two-sentence summary of every important article, is an invaluable guide to focusing my attention. Then I will often open some of the stories in my Internet browser, since the online versions often have interactive features that the print versions don’t. However, I don’t read every article every day; far from it. I focus on a handful that interest me, some in finance, some in politics or economics, some in technology, some in culture. On the weekend I mainly read our coverage of history and culture. The only other observation I would make is that when I am not working, I am always reading – but never about work. In my spare time away from the office, I have an iron rule never to read anything relating to finance or economics. Instead, I read classic fiction, poetry, history, philosophy, or science. The mind, like any muscle, must rest in order to grow. If all you read is finance, morning, noon, and night, eventually you will stop being able to learn anything new about finance. The best way to deepen your mastery of specific knowledge is by broadening your horizons of general knowledge.

SN: On that wonderful note, Jason, let me thank you for sharing your amazing and deep insights for Safal Niveshak readers. I’m sure readers are going to attain great benefits out of your thoughts and experience.

JZ: Thanks for the interview, Vishal! I really enjoyed it.

The post My Interview with Jason Zweig appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

My Interview with Jason Zweig published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B

0 notes