#this week's 911 really was such a SHINING example of this

[thelaurenshippen]

911 really is such a good reminder of the particularly kind of joy that is weekly, seasons-long shows with many episodes per season. every character gets a moment to shine even in a truncated season. the satisfaction of seeing characters grapple with stuff that happened YEARS ago. having multi-episode arcs and one-off arcs that are equally enjoyable. beach episodes (metaphorical). I know we're all saying this all the time but why can't more tv be like this

[hippolotamus]

Fuck It Friday

tagging @shortsighted-owl @alyxmastershipper @spotsandsocks @fatedbuddie @911onabc @buddierights @elvensorceress @speaknowdiaz @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @chaosandwolves @monsterrae1 if you also want Friday to fuck off or… something

On this most Fuck it! of Fridays, I offer this recent vintage:

In which there is pining, and multiple examples of Buck and Eddie saying I love you without actually saying I love you

15.4k words | M | read on ao3

They haven’t known each other for more than a few weeks, but as soon as Eddie ends his call, Buck knows something’s off. Apparently, nearly getting blown up with someone and almost falling out of a collapsing high-rise together has made him surprisingly intuitive about Eddie. By the time they arrive at the hospital, all Eddie’s revealed is that Christopher and Abuela are there but he doesn’t know what for. Buck tries to find the right words to comfort him, but Eddie’s out of the truck before he can put it in park.

Eddie seems to visibly settle, his shoulders relaxed and posture less rigid, after his aunt points out that Christopher is doing more than okay. The little boy is easily charming the staff with a winning smile.

“Daddy!” Christopher exclaims, letting Eddie wrap him in a giant hug. Buck can’t help the ache in his chest, a messy knot of envy and warmth, at the sight.

My nephew is a saint.

…the forms are worse than the VA!

Pepa and Eddie’s words ricochet around Buck’s brain like a pinball. From what little he knows about Christopher’s condition, Buck believes what Pepa says about Eddie. Not that Buck thinks raising Christopher is extra difficult it’s just Eddie said Chris’s Mom wasn’t in the picture, and now he’s lost the one consistent resource to watch his son. Buck doesn’t have kids of his own, but he knows the demands of a firefighter schedule. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Christopher can’t be left alone, and this is an unnecessary setback Eddie doesn’t need right now.

“Can you excuse me for just a moment?” Buck slips away to discreetly make a phone call, leaving Pepa to fret in peace.

When he hits Call, Bobby’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Shit, he must still be out. A text will have to do for now.

There’s a situation. Call me as soon as you get this.

The message is barely sent when Buck’s phone rings.

“What’s going on, Buck? Anyone hurt?” There’s something like an edge of worry in Bobby’s voice.

“No, no. Nothing like that. Uh, it’s not really my business to share, but Eddie hit a snag with someone watching his son. He might need to-”

“Consider it taken care of. Whatever he needs. I’ll talk to the chief, but as far as I’m concerned there’s no issue here.” Bobby’s tone is firm but gentle. Buck’s not sure he’s ever been more grateful for his captain than he is at this moment. Well, maybe when he reinstated Buck after firing him, but…

“Thank you, Cap. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Buck. Just be safe and get back to the house.”

Buck disconnects the call and slips his phone back in his pocket. When he walks back to Pepa, Eddie appears to be having a heated discussion with her. Hands and fluent Spanish that goes right over Buck’s head, are flying between the two of them. Christopher stands off to the side, patiently keeping to himself.

“Hey, Christopher. Remember me?” Buck kneels so he’s at eye level.

“You’re Buck.” Christopher has a shy, infectious smile with bright eyes shining behind his red-framed glasses. “You save people with my dad.”

Buck can’t help but chuckle at the way Christopher phrases that. He’s always just seen it as doing his job. “Sure do. So, big day today, huh? I heard you really helped out and called 911.”

“Uh huh.” Christopher looks bashfully at the floor and Buck is already certain he would do anything for this kid.

“Since you’ve already got the superhero thing down, I thought maybe you’d like to come to the station, and show us a thing or two. What do you think?”

“Really?” Christopher exclaims with a giggle, melting Buck's heart with the sound.

Beside them the bickering falls silent. When Buck looks Eddie and Pepa are staring down like he’s got two heads. “What?”

“Buck,” Eddie starts to protest. “That’s a nice thought, but we can’t just take Chris with us.”

“Of course we can. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out together.” Buck stumbles to amend his statement when he realizes what he’s said. “All of us. At the station, I mean.”

If Buck thought he’d melted at Christopher’s laugh, it’s nothing compared to when Eddie looks at him, like Buck’s given him the world. Normally he’s more than eager to show off, but Buck can’t find it in himself to tell Eddie he’s already cleared this with Bobby. It feels selfish somehow. This isn’t about what he did, it's about taking some pressure off for Eddie and his family. And if it makes Eddie look at him like that? Well. Buck will do just about anything.

“You boys need to get back to work,” Pepa interjects. “Like I said, I’ll take him tonight and maybe Christopher can be with you tomorrow. If Edmundo can’t make other arrangements.”

Eddie gives her a measured scowl, but says nothing. Buck feels his heart break the littlest bit when Christopher’s smile falls. They’re never supposed to make promises, and he doesn’t want to overstep, but Buck can’t take the disappointment painted all over Christopher’s face.

“Tell you what, Christopher. If you can’t come visit tomorrow - and if your dad says it’s okay - I’ll give you a personal tour another day. Deal?”

“Deal!” Christopher lights up again, like sunshine personified, and reaches to give Buck a high five.

“Hope to see you tomorrow, buddy!” Buck couldn’t possibly keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

“Bye, Buck. See you tomorrow.”

Buck excuses himself so Eddie can say goodbye and finish making arrangements for the night. It gives him time to think. Tonight and tomorrow are taken care of, but that’s not going to be enough. Eddie’s going to need something more than just barely 24 hours of coverage.

“Ready to go, Buck?” Eddie passes him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“Yep,” Buck uses his best everything’s-peachy tone, desperately wishing he knew how to fix this. “Let’s go.”

read the rest on ao3

[ask-the-good-creeps]

You can open up if you'd like

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT MENTIONS. DEPRESSION MENTIONS. MENTAL HEALTH MENTIONS. DO NOT READ IF THESE THINGS COULD NEGATIVELY AFFECT YOU.

 Okiedokes, mi amigos. The following story happened years ago, but it still comes up in my mind a lot; and I feel like sharing the experience may benefit someone going through a rough patch and/or yield a bit of insight to y’all about why I think the way I do. If you decide to read further, please read it to the end.

 So, this story begins with my first year of university. I was nineteen years old, fresh out of the Arizona foster care system, and had a history of mental health issues (official diagnoses from the psychologists I saw was PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, and Bipolar Disorder Type II – all of which triggered and fed into each other) that I was medicated for at that point in my life.

 Things were going well for the first year…I made friends, I joined clubs and events, had an on-campus work study job, and was pulling decent grades in my classes. Then, the year ended and summer rolled around. I volunteered to spend my summer on-campus as a Resident Advisor for the university’s honors outreach program (where we brought 7th-9th graders to the campus for 2-week programs to give them a taste of college life and encourage them to come to us after high school, pretty much).

 To anyone on the outside looking in, things looked like they were going great for me. In my eyes, everything was going great. Except for one thing…my grade hadn’t posted in one of my classes for the semester, and I didn’t do to well on the final (in my opinion). I was slightly worried that I was going to fail the class – looking back now, that was a ridiculous worry because I was doing great in the class and the professor was a really cool dude that usually didn’t fail students unless they put in literally zero effort throughout the semester.

 But, I worried nonetheless.

 Even then, it didn’t feel like a big deal to me…what I didn’t realize is that subconsciously it was the straw that broke the camel’s back for my mental health.

 You see, being in foster care as a teen is Hell. Especially in Arizona. One of the things they drill into the heads of teens in “the system” is that we’re absolute failures who will drop off the map and end up leading miserable lives after we age out of foster care (probably because they don’t teach us the necessary life skills to survive outside of their care, but I digress…that’s another story for another day).

 In the group homes, I was the kid that stayed out of trouble and got straight-A’s in school. I was the kid who never smoked, drank alcohol, or tried drugs not even once in my life. I was the one that kept climbing and got accepted into university on full scholarship after high school. So, I was the one that all those adults of the foster care system used as an example…the one who had extremely high expectations on their shoulders as a result.

 So, when the grade for that class finally posted online and was not an A like my other classes (it was a C), it was the end of the world to my mind. I didn’t realize it when it happened, but seeing that grade made a thread of stability quietly snap behind the scenes where I couldn’t see it.

 As a result, I had a rogue thought.

 Now, when it comes to my thinking patterns, there is always a clear…well, pattern. If I’m thinking about my Great Aunt Vickie’s cat, for example, I can recognize that I started thinking about her because I thought of a funny cat story that was something similar to what Vickie’s cat did; and I can recognize that I thought of that funny cat story because I saw a cat meme on the internet yesterday; and so on, and so on, until I find the real-life stimulus that triggered the whole line of thinking.

 Rogue thoughts are a whole different matter entirely. Unlike my usual thinking patterns, these rogue thoughts just show up without any noticeable stimulus or previous thinking…and that makes them dangerous for someone like me, who has learned to control my depression through CBT and recognizing when my thought patterns are starting to get too negative for me.

 I returned to my apartment in between summer outreach programs (we had a few days to recoup between each 2-week session) and that’s when the rogue thought in question appeared.

 “Kill yourself.”

 That was the thought. It was not linked to any depressive thinking patterns, it was just there. It didn’t feel like a big thing, just another item on my to-do list for the short break I had. Had I been more used to rogue thoughts and encountered a similar one to this in the past, I would have thought more about it.

 I would have recognized that this thought may have popped into my conscious line of thought out of nowhere, but seen that it had deep roots in my subconscious thinking.

 But, I hadn’t had a rogue thought like this in the past.

 All of my previous suicidal ideations had patterns to trace back to in my conscious mind that allowed me to work through most of them without incident.

 So, I sat at my desk and started writing out a suicide note. It was very casual in tone, like a friendly farewell to my friends and family as opposed to being a depressing final record. I planned to jump off my apartment balcony the next day. After careful consideration, I decided that I would prefer my body to stay in one piece (my apartment was on the eighth floor, after all) and I opted to overdose on my medication instead.

 I had a little garden at my window, and I set the note there. I sent a quick text to my father that simply read, “My plants know the reason why.” I was prepared to take the pills…then my father called me.

 He was concerned, but I lied and said that I was just spouting random nonsense with the intent to confuse people (easily believable, as my catchphrase at the time seemed to be, ‘the pancakes fly at midnight and the waffles swim at dawn’ for some reason). He asked multiple times if I was alright, to which I always answered affirmatively. Then, the call ended.

 I went to my room and laid in bed. I put in my headphones and turned on my music. Then, I swallowed ten of my prescription pills (which I was only supposed to take one of every 24 hours, for reference). After that, I swallowed a literal handful of melatonin tablets I picked up OTC, because I didn’t want to be awake for the damage the prescription meds would do to my system.

 I laid back in bed with the music going, and passed out fairly quickly. However, the melatonin wasn’t enough to keep me unconscious as my body started trying to purge the pills in an act of self-preservation. I couldn’t open my eyes because every time I did, the room spun. I was throwing up a lot, and at one point when I leaned over the bedside to get it on the floor instead I lost my balance and faceplanted onto the ground (which I found out later had led to a broken nose). I didn’t even feel it, just the pain my insides were going through as I faded in and out of consciousness.

 Here’s where it gets interesting, reader. It was night by now, and the lights in my room were off. The livingroom light was on and it shined in through the crack under my closed (and locked) bedroom door. Even if I could open my eyes, it wasn’t enough light to see by.

 Yet, it wasn’t my eyes that detected anything. I felt a presence in my room with me, there in the dark. It felt like I knew this person, as if they were a close friend, despite the fact that I had no idea who they were. I remember asking this person,

 “Do I still have enough of the poison left in my system to kill me?”

 To which I received their reply:

 “No. You’ve coughed enough of it up. You’re going to be alright.”

 I cracked my eyes open ever so slightly and saw a flashing blue light shining up at the ceiling every so often. It was a notification light on my phone, which I had left plugged in to charge on the dresser next to my bed.

 My goal here was to die, not to suffer. Since this person there with me insisted I wasn’t going to die, I reached out with my eyes still closed a couple times. I managed to grab my charge cord and pull my phone off the dresser and to the floor next to me.

 It took a couple tries to dial emergency services (911) because I couldn’t keep my eyes open very well, but eventually I got an operator on the line and managed to briefly explain why I called in between bouts of vomiting.

 The paramedics came in. They asked me what I had overdosed on, how many pills I’d taken, and when I took them. I answered with the name of my med, that I had taken ten times my normal dose, and that I didn’t check the time but it was still light out.

The paramedics didn’t believe me at first. One of them told me it was almost light out again now, and that taking that amount of that med meant I should not be alive still, let alone able to express semi-coherent thoughts. They didn’t believe me until they picked up my pill bottle and saw how many were gone.

 I was taken to the hospital and spent a few days recovering there. I had my eyes closed and was in and out of consciousness the whole time, so I’m still not sure exactly what they had to do to keep me alive (though I don’t remember getting my stomach pumped, and I think I heard someone say something about charcoal).

 On my third day there, I started to think on what happened and realized something. I still didn’t know who had been in that room with me. The paramedics had to get a key from the front desk when they arrived and go through two locked doors (my front door and my bedroom) to get to me. My apartment was on the eighth floor, so someone coming in through the (also locked) window was out of the question.

 I didn’t recognize the person’s voice, so I chalked it up to my brain treating me to reverse psychology through an auditory hallucination to keep me alive. Though, that is just a theory.

 So, dear reader, you’re probably wondering why I decided to share this story. Well, it’s not really the story that I wanted to share, but what I learned from the experience.

 I learned that suicide is not a proper course of action, no matter the circumstances. 

I learned that we cannot die before it is our time – the universe will intervene. 

I learned that I have plenty of people who care (though very few of them know why I was in the hospital in 2015). 

I learned that stress is not to be taken lightly (subconsciously I had been super stressed about my C-grade and the implications that I was a failure because of it, and also because of everything loaded on my plate) and it must be handled in a healthy way. 

I learned how to say ‘no’ to avoid putting too much on my plate.

 Most importantly, I learned about freeing myself from the expectations of others. You see, my friend, you will meet many people throughout your life that are important to you that have expectations of you. Family, friends, teachers, mentors, and so on…and you may be worried about disappointing them, as I once was. But please understand that only your own expectations for yourself truly matter, and if you try to please everyone else you’ll end up in a really tight spot. Learn to let go of what they want and pursue your own passions and dreams (preferably before you end up going to university for a major you aren’t even fond of, like I did).

 Lastly, If you feel or think in any capacity that suicide is something you should do, I encourage you to think twice, and reach out openly and honestly with what you’re experiencing to someone you trust in your life or to a Mental Health/Suicide Prevention hotline. If you feel like you have nowhere else to turn, I’m here.

 As someone who almost became a statistic, believe me…I understand.

[archieviscom]

picking a story or statistic

as part of the brief, I need to pick a compelling story or statistic to translate into type. the brief mentions that I should feature either key teenage knife crime statistics and/or use the stories from K4L’s mentors or attendees. 

I think in terms of the instagram story. I want to keep it simple (something it mentions on the brief) and make it quick and snappy, from my research I found out the average attention span for younger people is 3.25 seconds. obviously I can go on longer than that but I need to make a big, eye catching impact in that short time. the same could apply to the static element too, a lot of people see billboards on the side of the road or in high streets, places like that. the brief gives the example of a 48 sheet billboard. I think a lot of these are placed roadside so the same short time period still applies to some degree. a lot of people would be driving past it, or would see whilst on the bus or just walking past it. this needs to be easily digestible but also make an impact and cut through all the regular commercial noise seen in day to day life. 

instagram story - I haven't done anything in this format before so there will be a bit of learning curve. as I've always done with creating animations, I have set up a document in illustrator that I can then import into after effects (the type is just placeholder). back in a previous post, I showed a clip from operation odessa where they displayed type reading across the screen. I would like to try something similar and then display the statistics. 

statistics - I think given that an instagram story has a maximum of 15 seconds. i don’t know if I'll be able to translate a story very well and might not be able to do it justice. I will therefore go with statistics, I just need filter through what I've learnt so far and pick one or a few that a) have the most impact and b) can somehow be translated into type.

in a 12 month period (June 2019 to June 2020) police recorded 47,349 incidents involving a knife or sharp object. that's just insane, that's and average of 3,946 a month or 911 a week or 130 a day, 5 every hour... I think this alone is enough to go off but I will consider a few different ones. 

I found an article from the guardian that spoke about UK knife crime statistics: 

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/apr/23/knife-offences-hit-record-high-in-2019-in-england-and-wales

“This has been the inevitable consequence of huge cuts to policing and the loss of 21,000 officers, and the cuts to the key services we rely on to prevent crime, such as youth clubs, mental health support and probation”. this one I found quite interesting and it could work as the brief mentions that  the campaign should shine some light on the topic to the wider public. I think a lot of people just blame the gangs and kids for this but when in reality, there are so many more layers to this onion. there are several fundamental flaws within the system and it is failing so many people and its in some cases, pushing people into this life. However, I do want to avoid getting too political with this, I think that could deter away from what's really the focus here and there are other options to explore, Key4Life show statistics on there page looking at the environment that these kids are living in and how this could also contribute to the steep rise in these crimes. This was also mentioned in the Vice documentary I watched earlier this week. I could look into Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (as mentioned on the brief) and see if I could incorporate this into the rise of knife crime. 

https://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

a breakdown of Maslow’s theory:

Physiological needs - these are biological requirements for human survival, e.g. air, food, drink, shelter, clothing, warmth, sex, sleep.

If these needs are not satisfied the human body cannot function optimally. Maslow considered physiological needs the most important as all the other needs become secondary until these needs are met.

Safety needs - Once an individual’s physiological needs are satisfied, the needs for security and safety become salient. People want to experience order, predictability and control in their lives. These needs can be fulfilled by the family and society (e.g. police, schools, business and medical care). For example, emotional security, financial security (e.g. employment, social welfare), law and order, freedom from fear, social stability, property, health and wellbeing (e.g. safety against accidents and injury).

Love and belongingness needs - after physiological and safety needs have been fulfilled, the third level of human needs is social and involves feelings of belongingness. The need for interpersonal relationships motivates behaviour. Examples include friendship, intimacy, trust, and acceptance, receiving and giving affection and love. Affiliating, being part of a group (family, friends, work).

Esteem needs are the fourth level in Maslow’s hierarchy - which Maslow classified into two categories: (i) esteem for oneself (dignity, achievement, mastery, independence) and (ii) the desire for reputation or respect from others (e.g., status, prestige). Maslow indicated that the need for respect or reputation is most important for children and adolescents and precedes real self-esteem or dignity.

Self-actualization needs are the highest level in Maslow's hierarchy, and refer to the realization of a person's potential, self-fulfillment, seeking personal growth and peak experiences. Maslow (1943) describes this level as the desire to accomplish everything that one can, to become the most that one can be. Individuals may perceive or focus on this need very specifically. For example, one individual may have a strong desire to become an ideal parent. In another, the desire may be expressed economically, academically or athletically. For others, it may be expressed creatively, in paintings, pictures, or inventions

with the esteem needs (level 4 of Maslow’s theory). I think a problem could be embedded within this. esteem for oneself and the desire for reputation or respect from others. a lot of these kids unfortunately lack guidance and knife attack videos spread like wildfire on social media, as part of that vice documentary they interviewed a gang member in London. He said that one of the worst contributing factors to the rise of knife crime is social media. these kids are seeing these attacks all day everyday on their phones, they are completely desensitised to it and they think its ‘cool’. ‘he said ‘people base themselves on what they are watching’. a lot of these young children look up to what is happening, they see how a life of crime can lead to respect, money, they see it as a way to get by and unfortunately for a lot of people, this is the only way to pay the bills. another thing to add to this is that for a lot of these kids, if they survive on commit a knife attack, it is seen as a badge of honour. they’ll happy post a picture of themselves on social media whilst lying in a hospital bed saying they are still alive. 

one thing from the above linked page said ‘our most basic need is for physical survival, and this will be the first thing that motivates our behavior’. this could potentially relate to why so many people in heavily effected areas fill the need the carry a knife and also why they seek out joining and being involved with a gang. carrying a knife could give someone a feeling of physical survival. it was said on that Vice documentary that carrying a knife is just normal, its the way life is for many people. it could relate to guns in America, if everyones got one, I'm going to have one too. you don’t want to end up in a situation without it. another thing mentioned in the same doc was by the host, he said ‘when you’re carrying a knife, your fuse is so much shorter’. so it might be making these kids feel safer, stronger, tougher, it could just end up putting you into a situation you wouldn't be in if you just didn't carry one. its not as simple as that unfortunately. 

obviously, I don’t really know what im talking about and its very hard to imagine what life is like for people affected by and involved with this. this is a very sensitive issue and I don't want to risk sounding arrogant or naive about it but this is what I gather from the research I have done. 

[cloudbusterpress]

What it’s like to be a speechwriter

Do you have a gift for knowing what people are trying to say, and how to help them say it so they shine? Do you enjoy researching topics, and have an ability to encapsulate that research into a clear message? Is the persuasive essay your favorite assignment in English class? If so, scroll down to read more about speechwriting from a professional in the field, former speechwriter Rob Costello. And check out all the other cool careers in writing profiled on TIPS FOR TEEN WRITERS!

How did you get started as a speechwriter?

I never set out to become a speechwriter. In fact, when I was a teenager I didn’t really set out to be much of anything. I graduated high school not having a clue what I wanted to do with my life, and for most of my 20s I worked in a series of low-skill, low-wage jobs. I cleaned toilets and flipped burgers. I dealt cards in a casino. I processed trade documents for an international bank.

When I met my future husband, I moved to Ithaca, NY to be with him. There I got a job dispatching police and emergency services for the Cornell University Police Department. What a crazy, intense job that turned out to be! I quickly realized answering 911 calls all day long was way too stressful for me, and so after only a year of doing that, I managed to snag another job at Cornell that was much more my speed: receptionist in the Dean’s Office of the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences (CALS).

This is where I spent the next decade, working my way up from receptionist, to the dean’s administrative assistant, and finally to her executive assistant and chief of staff, where I helped her run the college. I enjoyed this experience very much. CALS is one of the leading ag and life sciences research institutions in the world. Working for the dean, I got to learn a great deal about the cutting-edge environmental, biological, and food systems research happening in the college. I also met tons of interesting people, from Nobel prize-winning scientists and Fortune 500 CEOs, to senators and members of Congress, and some of the brightest, most dedicated students in the world. Finally, I learned the ins and outs of what it takes to run a world-class research and academic institution with well over a thousand faculty and employees, and an annual budget in the hundreds of millions of dollars.

It was during this period that I first realized I could make a career out of writing. A big part of my job was helping the dean manage the huge volume of correspondence she received, literally hundreds of letters and emails a day. Because she couldn’t possibly answer all of these messages herself, I often drafted responses in “her voice,” which she would then review, edit, and sign. I’d always loved to write, and over time this became my favorite part of the job.

Eventually, I went back to school, earning my bachelors degree in English and an MFA in writing for children and young adults, while still working full-time (something I don’t recommend if you can possibly avoid it). When the position of the dean’s speechwriter became available, my educational background, extensive  knowledge of the college, and deep familiarity with the “dean’s voice” made me uniquely qualified for the job.

What is a typical day like?

It’s hard for me to pin down what a typical day as a speechwriter was like, because speechwriting was only half of my job. At the same time, I was also the college’s social media manager, which meant I ran CALS’ Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, and YouTube platforms, and wrote articles for various college publications. Depending on the dean’s public speaking schedule, which varied widely throughout the year, I could spend as much as 80% of my time working on speeches or as little as none.

That said, when I left CALS a few years ago to pursue fiction writing and teaching full-time, the dean was giving anywhere from 90 to 120 public addresses a year, which breaks downs to something like two to three speeches a week. Of course, not all speeches are created equal, and many of these were brief remarks that required minimal research and preparation.

On the other hand, some of the major speeches, such as the annual State of the College address, could take weeks to prepare. These involved massive amounts of research and data collection, interviewing faculty about new college initiatives, reviewing financial and budgetary reports with college officers, creating graphs and gathering photographs for slide presentations, familiarizing myself with the venue and A/V equipment that would be used for the speech, and then finally crafting the speech, followed by multiple rounds of revision with the dean.

In general, when I was working on a major address like this, most of my day was spent at my desk in front of my computer, doing research, drafting the text, and preparing the slides.

What training, education or preparation would help someone to be a good speechwriter?

To be honest, the most important training I received came from my high school English teachers, who taught me how to write a persuasive essay. When you reduce them to their essence, most speeches are merely persuasive arguments read aloud. They begin with an introduction that leads to a thesis statement, followed by a series of supporting points that build to a summary conclusion. Since I was also active in speech and debate as a teen, I had experience crafting arguments about complicated issues that were accessible and easy to convey while speaking. Who knew the basic skills I learned in high school would turn out to be so important to my job years later?

In college, I did coursework in speechwriting, presentation making, and rhetoric that was all very valuable, too.

Finally, all those years working in the dean’s office furnished me with a wealth of knowledge and resources that proved invaluable to my speechwriting career. Having a basic understanding of the different kinds of scientific research conducted in the college was crucial, because so many of the dean’s speeches involved promoting that work to alumni, politicians, and other stakeholders. It also really helped that I’d become something of an expert on the institution of CALS itself. This meant I always knew just whom to ask to get my questions answered quickly and accurately. Furthermore, because I was so familiar with the college’s inner workings, I understood many of the complicated subjects the dean spoke about, such as the budget and various policies and initiatives. This enabled me to craft speeches without a lot of coaching that were coherent and authoritative on these complex matters. I can’t imagine how hard it would have been for me had I not spent so many years beforehand getting to know the dean and the college so well.

Of course, this experience was unique to me and my job in CALS. But generally speaking, I think for any aspiring speechwriter the lesson here is to become as much of an expert as you possibly can on the subjects you will be writing about. Do your research. Ask questions. Be curious. Learn as much as you can before you ever sit down to write, because all of that knowledge will lend your speeches clarity and authority.

What skills do you think helped you do the job of speechwriting well?

Writing well persuasively is the most important skill to master. Knowing how to frame an argument and anticipate counterarguments is a big part of this, as well as being able to translate complicated issues or ideas into simple, clear, compelling language. Listening is also an essential skill, as well as being able to take critical feedback. Time management and organizational skills are invaluable, especially when multiple deadlines loom. Basic research, journalism, and interviewing skills are also extremely useful. Being comfortable setting up and troubleshooting A/V equipment is important, as is proficiency with presentation and graphics software like PowerPoint, Prezi, InDesign, and Keynote.

What type of person would be a good fit to be a speechwriter?

Somebody who is tenacious about getting the facts right. Somebody who enjoys writing persuasively and changing people’s minds with words. Somebody who doesn’t seek the spotlight and who doesn’t mind having another person receive the glory for what they’ve written. Somebody who cares passionately about the agenda being pursued by the person or organization they work for. (For example, it’s probably not a great idea if you’re an environmentalist to take a job writing speeches for the President of Exxon!)

What are the down sides of speechwriting?

You spend most of your time alone at a desk! It can be a challenge to find a good speechwriting job. Your job satisfaction is often dependent on whether or not you are able to satisfy one person (the person giving the speeches), so if you have a difficult or demanding boss, it can make your life a real drag.

What are the up sides of speechwriting?

Speechwriting is a great job for an introvert! It’s also tremendously rewarding to be able to work with an influential leader to craft a speech that may change people’s minds and influence lives. In my time at CALS, I worked on several major addresses the dean gave about the environment, education, and the value of scientific research in promoting a better world, all issues I care deeply about. Speechwriting gave me the opportunity to feel that I was contributing to the academic and scientific mission of the college, without actually being an academic or a scientist. Speechwriters can often play an important role in helping to spread the word about important issues and ideas. If you care about things like politics and activism, but aren’t the kind of person who can get up in front of others and lead, being the one behind the scenes who helps those leaders be more effective in communicating their messages can be extremely empowering and satisfying.

What resources, professional journals, organizations or social media sites keep you informed about your industry?

Unfortunately, I’ve been away from speechwriting for a while now, so I haven’t kept up with current resources. However, I do know that the Professional Speechwriters Association was founded in 2013 and offers information and links to non-members on their website.

Any words of advice for people interested in speechwriting?

I think it’s most important to develop a good rapport with the person you’re writing speeches for. After all, you are essentially putting words into their mouth. Words they will be speaking in public. Words they may be judged on and/or criticized for later on. By the very nature of the job, speechwriters are often working for influential public figures, such as politicians and other leaders. It can be a strangely intimate experience to see these powerful people with their guard down, expressing fears, anxieties, and vulnerabilities that don’t always correspond to their well-honed public images. It’s important, therefore, that you earn their trust by doing everything you possibly can to make their job easier. This means listening to how they speak, their unique speech patterns, vocabulary choices, and sentence structure. It means familiarizing yourself with the kinds of jokes and anecdotes they’re comfortable telling, as well as the subjects they wish to avoid. It means being scrupulously well-prepared and always having your facts straight, so that they are not embarrassed by giving out bad information or saying something inadvertently offensive or disrespectful to their audience. Finally, it means understanding what’s most important to them about the speech they are giving, what their goals are for it, and what message(s) they are trying to convey. After all, it isn’t about you and your pretty words. Your number one priority is to make sure they shine!

Rob Costello writes fiction for and about queer youth. He holds an MFA in Writing from the Writing for Children and Young Adults Program at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. An alumnus of the Millay Colony for the Arts and the New York State Summer Writers Institute, his short fiction has appeared in Hunger Mountain, Stone Canoe, Eclectica, and Narrative, and is forthcoming in Rural Voices: YA Stories of Growing Up in Remote Communities (Candlewick, Fall 2020). He teaches creative writing to teens and adults, and has been on the faculty of the Whole Novel Workshop at the Highlights Foundation since 2014. He recently finished work on his debut young adult novel entitled An Ugly World for Beautiful Boys, and lives with his husband and various four-legged companions on top of a wide and windy hill in upstate NY.

Find out more at www.cloudbusterpress.com.

[rydenstories]

No one will acknowledge what was buried in my parents’ back yard

REDDIT

God, this is so strange. I really don't do stuff like this, honest. I'm not even a big internet person. I just don't know what to do. Everyone involved has given up except me and this seems to be the only place that provides people with answers in these cases, or even just a direction to go in.

I found it when my parents were out of town. They'd lived in the same house my entire life, had both retired from their jobs, and were doing a lot of traveling. During that time, they'd have renovations done on the house. It wasn't a huge surprise when they asked me to help while they were gone. Out of the three children they had, I was the only one that hadn't followed their footsteps in the medical field. I made a few too many mistakes at an early age and flunked out of high school. Construction was the only real option, but I'd made somewhat of a name for myself in that field. I owned my own business, and my parents would often hire us out on renovation jobs in exchange for discounted rates. I wouldn't have charged them at all, but they insisted.

When it all happened, they announced that they were vacationing to Canada to see Niagara Falls. During the time they planned to be gone, they put together a commission list of renovations they wanted to pay my crew to do. We'd worked for a week building a shed and replacing a few counters in the house. Work had gone by fine, and with job mostly being over, I sent most of my guys home. All that was really left were just personal things my mom had asked me to do. One of those tasks included starting digging a hole for a small koi pond my mother was planning.

I'd been digging for about an hour I think. I was enjoying the effort of the task and kind of zoning out, something I did pretty often when I worked alone, when I started uncovering plastic. Like a clear tarp or something. Admittedly, I was still a little zoned out, staring so puzzled at it before coming to the dawning realization that this didn't seem right. I thought about just going inside, calling my mother's phone, and asking her about it. Surely she'd know if something was buried in her back yard. Still, I continued to dig anyway.

It had started to get dark by the time I had completely uncovered all of the tarp, which seemed to be buried on top of something. I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, turned on my flashlight, and shined it into the hole. It was hard to tell at first. Hell, I had to crawl down into the hole and really look to be sure. Under the tarp were the remains of at LEAST two people. I bet I sounded like a damned fool to the 911 operator, who had to deal with me frantically stumbling over my words, trying to explain that there were fucking skeletons in a hole in my back yard.

First, it was two officers that arrived, who almost seemed like they thought I was joking. Or maybe they thought they'd look in this hole and find the remains of some dead family pet. However, when they saw what I'd seen, they both went pale and called in for all the overwhelming bullshit that came next. Interviews, which I had to defend my family, defend my siblings, and defend myself. Forensics teams sweeping the entire place, moving the bodies (turns out, there were 3, all belonging to children) at a surprisingly quick speed. Faster than it had happened, it was over. Forensics had their jobs to do. I, nor the police, could get ahold of my parents so that gave the detectives plenty of motivation to do their jobs. I didn't know what else to do, so I just called my sisters and told them the bare minimum of what I could. Just enough to get them out here, but not so much for them to be absolutely freaking out.

I barely slept that night, or the night afterwards. Nothing changed and nothing was updated until about three days later. They got a DNA match on the set of bones. My DNA. Somehow, one of those tiny skeletons belongs to me. The other two tested close to mine, and were later confirmed to be perfect matches to my sisters. I know how it sounds. Trust me, I feel like I'm literally losing my mind. I'm in so much shock that writing all of it down has been the only thing keeping me sane these past few days. This is my life and I'm horrified.

After finding out that information, it all slowly went off the rails from there. At first, everyone involved tried to tell me it was a lab fluke. Then, it was tons of excuses. Told me that they were sending the samples to other labs, talking to DNA specialists. They got kind of frantic after that from what I observed. I mean, EVERY expert was stumped. They couldn't understand how the DNA was a perfect match. They compared dental records that matched perfectly as well. They told us they were looking for someone who might know something. They told me this for weeks afterwards.

I don't know where they found him, but they eventually found someone I believe might know something.

They sat me down with him in one of those tiny interview rooms with the two way mirrors. They called him Detective Grady. He limped, wore an ill fitting brown suit, and smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne to cover the smell of cigarettes and something else I couldn't put a finger on. He was the kind of guy you'd see working at a funeral home, not with the police. Despite his severely off-putting appearance, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. Looking back, the entire interview was incredibly off in some way, but somehow nothing really seemed weird to me at the time. The questions he asked were normal enough, but elicited odd answers I'd never thought about before. Like, for example, he'd asked me about my health throughout my life. It has never crossed my mind, not once, but I've never been sick as far as I remember. No colds. No flus. I don't think I've ever even vomited unless I drank too much or ate something wrong. The questions were normal, but my answers weren't. I went home frightened.

Somehow, despite never seeing him afterwards, I feel I have never been out of Detective Grady's presence. It doesn't necessarily feel like being watched, but more like every space I enter is somehow occupied by him as well. I can't explain this.

My sisters were both given similar interviews with similar results. They were both scared. I remember sitting with them in the living room the night after. We agreed that something was obviously off about our childhood, but we just don't know what. It all feels foggy looking back now. If I think about it too hard, I get painful migraines.

At this point, we still hadn't heard from our parents. In fact, no one had. They packed up the car, left the hotel they were staying at in Canada, and have yet to be seen. I want to worry about them, they're my parents, but I'm afraid that they might know something. I don't wanna believe they had a hand in this, but they'd never run off like this before. They were attentive and loving parents our whole lives. That's something I'm alarming sure of.

Weeks went by with no word from the police or Detective Grady. My sisters and I waited at our parent's home, hoping for some ray of hope. We talked about seeking outside help on our own more than once. That's actually where NoSleep came up, the girls are both avid readers. Still, we were too afraid to make a move and possibly hurt the investigation we thought was underway. However, a call paid to the police station nearly a month later provided us with horrifying results; every single detective that worked the case had been transferred. No one working at the station had any record of the investigation, and the bones were no longer in their possession. I tried to talk to some of the other employees there but they mostly feigned ignorance. Our parents were listed as missing. That was it. We persisted as much as we could, but with the station giving us absolutely nothing new over time, my sisters and I were at a loss.

It's been a few weeks. Our parents are still missing, and I've heard nothing from the police. My sisters have gone back to work. Both are seeking counseling, but want no more part in the case. The fact that I've been so adamant about figuring out the truth has wore down on them and they don't want to be around me anymore. I understand. They're scared. I'm scared. I barely sleep and have nothing but nightmares. I can't even work.

I don't know if this is me asking for advice, or if I'm just trying to make this known. I know my sisters want to forget. There's something in the recesses of my mind that's screaming at me to forget it, too. In fact, it's screaming so loudly that I'm afraid I might actually forget what I found because of it.

Have any of you heard of anything like this? What is happening to my family?

[gunnersalley]

Self-Defense Tips for Older Folks

Every week our member service advisors at the USCCA get calls asking about self-defense strategies to help our older members. During a typical conversation, the caller will say something to the effect of, “I’m not as young as I once was and I can’t do those drills. What can I do to fight better?”  I’ll try to help out by sending an email discussing important elements to consider for those who may not be as fit or as active as they once were. That email usually includes the words, “Pull out your gun sooner then you think you should and shoot the bad guy if it appears he intends to do you harm.”  There is no magic self-defense technique that I can give a 75-year-old retiree that will suddenly put that person on par with a 20-year-old thug who already has 10 years of street fighting experience. That is why the firearm is called “the great equalizer.” It is the only tool that puts you on an even playing field with that thug.  But you have to be willing to use the gun.  The biggest problem I see with older self-defense students is the hesitation surrounding the use of force. This hesitation often springs from a lack of understanding about when it is appropriate to use force. When we don’t know if it is OK to use force, it is right for us to err on the side of not using force.  But here is the real deal: If you are older, weaker or slower or if you suffer from any type of infirmity that prevents you from fighting or fleeing effectively, pull out your gun and prepare to fight with it. I am not saying to pull out the gun and start throwing shots willy-nilly. I’m talking about brandishing. I’m talking about giving a stern verbal command, backed up with the threat of deadly force, in hopes of stopping the situation before it goes any farther.  Think about this: If you legitimately believe that a situation could become dangerous, shine a flashlight in the eyes of the aggressor and offer a stern verbal challenge WHILE YOU DRAW YOUR GUN. You cannot let the aggressor get within 20 feet of you. Inside that space, he can be on top of you before you can get your gun into action — and one punch could knock you unconscious, leaving you completely at the mercy of that predator.  All the same rules for the use of force apply, but if you are older, you are allowed to use more force sooner than a younger, fitter person.  This is also why you need to remember to call 911 immediately following any such altercation and have a lawyer ready to help you.  Here is an example: You are walking to your car after dinner and some punk down on the corner sees you getting your keys and starts heading your way. For some reason, you can tell he is really focused on you and this gives you a bad feeling. When he is about 50 feet away, pull out your flashlight, shine it in his face and say sternly, “Leave me alone!”  You will likely get one of two responses: “Crazy old fool! I don’t want nothing from you!” or “What you gonna do about it?”  Pre-stage your handgun. Get your hand on the grip and say again, “Leave me alone!”  If the person keeps coming, pull the gun out, keeping your finger OFF the trigger, point it at the subject and say, “Get away from me now!”  IF the subject keeps coming, you will be forced to shoot. If the subject runs away, you must call 911 instantly and tell them, “I just scared off an attacker with my gun.”  Then get ready for the worst night of questioning you have ever gone through. That’s why you will need a lawyer. You can tell the police that you felt threatened because of the actions of the punk, and you believed you might have to use force because you have had knee replacement surgery, or you have a bad heart, or you’ve had a hip replacement, or you have a bad back, or that you are just older, slower and weaker than such a punk.  These victim/subject factors should allow you to use more force sooner than a person who is reasonably fit, young and healthy. But in some jurisdictions, brandishing without a reason is a crime. And you may come up against a district attorney who just hates concealed carriers. That is why you need a good lawyer to help explain your actions.  There is no magic self-defense trick. What you can do is use your gun within the boundaries of the law. But also remember those boundaries expand a bit as you get older, as long as you can objectively explain why you did what you did and you can show the amount of force you used, or threatened to use, was reasonable considering the circumstances.  The post  Self-Defense Tips for Older Folks  appeared first on  USCCA-Concealed Carry Self Defense Insurance & CCW Info .

https://www.usconcealedcarry.com/self-defense-tips-older-folks/