Tag Archives: life

Why I Never Quit Writing

Me writing
Me writing

There’s an interesting post from Konrath’s site, in which he explains why he never quit writing. Basically, years ago, he was making about 25k a year from writing and felt it wasn’t enough, and now he’s making a ton of money from writing, but felt that if you can’t hack the writing challenges, you might be better off just quitting. And he’s right. But his post also hints at something else: The people who basically are driven to write, and therefore need to make it part of their professional life, if not their entire professional life.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the same sentiment because let’s be honest, my writing career has never taken off the way it was supposed to. When I was a kid, teachers used to tell me that I was a brilliant writer, that they could see a future for me as an intense writer. I loved telling stories, whether in person or on paper. Writing came naturally to me. It felt inevitable as a future career for myself.

Early in my writing career, I latched onto an agent who was going to sell my first novels. She was a well-known, highly placed agent. Everything was looking great. And then she had a brain injury and left the business. And then came back to it years later, but honestly couldn’t remember who I was. Yeah, sounds like a bad soap opera plot. I then secured a second agent who tried for about six months to sell my stuff (or just thought about it and never did anything about it) and then fizzled. Since then, finding another agent has been almost as easy as climbing Mount Fuji by starting in Texas.

And then the ebook revolution took place, and the whole industry fell apart. There are still publishers out there, but connecting with them has become almost impossible, and agents don’t seem to be interested in anyone any more, and everyone that has ever wanted to be a writer, even if it was just for fun, is now a published author selling their own stuff through Amazon and others. Now, the model has changed from good writers getting attention to the best marketers getting the most attention, even if the writing is awful (i.e., Fifty Shades of Gray, although people tell me that once you get past the really bad beginning writing, it actually becomes a much better writing enterprise).

Which brings me back to my original question in the subject line of this post. Why I never quit writing. You see, I really can’t stop. I love to write, and the only way I’ve ever been able to understand and then explain the world is through writing. For me, the act of writing is an exercise in learning more about the universe and why we’re here. Through continuous experiments in writing, I find myself learning more about myself and more about the world around me. Each new novel is an exploration into the process of writing for me, and each new novel is something completely different than what I wrote before. It’s more of a Murakami type of writing, although it’s my own journey, not one scripted out by someone else.

But the business of writing has been the thorn in my side since day one. I’ve never made it successfully, which often leaves me wondering if I should even be able to consider myself a professional writer when my books are read by so few people. Sure, I can take any title I like, but what good is a false accolade in the long run?

But getting back to the question, what I have discovered is that writing is basically all I have. I don’t have a family. I don’t even have a girlfriend. I don’t have a job that I go to where I think “those people would suffer if it wasn’t for me coming in each and every day.” The people where I work wouldn’t notice at all if I wasn’t there tomorrow. They might notice the desk not being occupied, but that’s about it. I don’t do anything of enough significance that it matters to anyone, nor will it ever.

I don’t have a lot of friends, so I don’t have a large group of people who rely on me as their social hub person. I have very few friends, to be honest.

I don’t even have a pet that relies on me for its meals. Not even a goldfish swimming around, thinking, “where’s that strange human who puts food into my bowl?”

For me, writing is all that I have. I construct fantasy worlds, and sometimes I create scenarios where people do horrific things that force them to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t have normally done. I write about people who question their reason for being, their relationships, their place in the grand scheme of things, while I meanwhile ask none of the questions of myself because I have no ties to the material world that my characters inhabit.

So, for me, if I didn’t have my writing, I’d have nothing. Which brings me to the conclusion that if I ever finally realize that my writing is a joke, that my purpose actually has no purpose, I’d probably end everything right then and there.

That’s why I never quit writing. It’s all I have.

Struggling to Find a Purpose

Well, after the whole losing a crown on my tooth thing and the identity theft incident, I’m now back at work and moving forward into another day. It sucks that there are thieves out there who will steal you blind (just because they can), and it sucks that random health concerns can really mess with your day. But really, what can you do about it other than just get through it and move onto another day?

Which brings me to another day. And realizing that, I’m back to the same quandary in that I really don’t know what to do with my “other” day now that I’m there. My life still sucks. And I really don’t have anything to look forward to, other than more days of dealing with the fact that there are more sucky days after this one.

My life isn’t bad. Or horrible. I mean, I don’t live in an environment where evil, brutal masters are flogging me on a daily basis while I work in the salt mines. My biggest dilemma on a daily basis is deciding between paper and plastic, and I’ve sort of solved that by buying reusable Meiers bags that I bring to the supermarket with me. Basically, my day consists of figuring out whether a colon, a semi-colon or a gerund phrase are used correctly. And even then, who really cares?

The real dilemma is that I don’t have a purpose. Nothing I do really matters. No one cares. Oh sure, someone might throw a fit if a memo doesn’t go to the correct audience, or another person might somehow come unglued if the wrong font was used to explain an osteometric procedure. But in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter. No lives will be saved, made better or worse, or otherwise seriously inconvenienced.

And personally, besides not having a purpose, I don’t have really anything going on in my life. And I’m not under-exaggerating here. There’s NOTHING going on. My writing career is not a career. It’s not even a glorified hobby these days. I have no girlfriend, mistress, or flirting affair with the girl down the hall who thinks I’m somewhat okay but would rather date anyone but me. I don’t even have that. I don’t party. I don’t even have a drug problem, which ironically might be something to bide the time as people who do drugs at least have something to occupy their time.

I sometimes think I grew up during the wrong period in US history. The amount of technology we have today has made interaction with other people almost inconsistent or nonexistent. Sometimes, I think it would be really fascinating to just up and walk off, wandering the lands as a Kwei Chang Caine or Jack Kerouac, starting over at practically every “Welcome to….” city sign. It’s like there’s a whole world out there to experience, and I’m sitting at home playing Star Wars: The Old Republic.

Years back, I kept thinking I was going to be changing the world. Then I learned that’s not likely to happen. The world doesn’t want to change. And you know, I’m sort of fine with that. However, perhaps it’s time to change me, and being what I am really kind of sucks.

Whatever I’m doing right now certainly isn’t working.

Another Birthday, and now it’s Monday

Yesterday was my birthday, or at least the anniversary of my birthday. I’m a year older. I forget the actual age but it’s somewhere between 18 and the age of the planet, which if you believe in science is billions of years old, and if you don’t, then it’s slightly shy of 4000. Either way, my age is somewhere in there.

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I never do. I don’t have a family, a girlfriend, or friends who hang out with me, so my birthdays are mainly spent alone, doing alone things. Like playing a computer game, watching a movie on DVD, or reading a book. That’s pretty much the sum of my every day, so my birthday is rarely that much different.

I did take the day off of work. Well, actually, I took Friday off (as yesterday was Sunday). I like to take a day and “celebrate” my birthday, even if that celebration consists of doing nothing. But it means that one day out of the week when I should be at work, I’m not. So it sort of works itself out.

But I’m definitely realizing I’m getting older. My back hurts a bit these days, and I’m not as agile as I used to be. The other day, my foot hurt really something awful. I’m not sure why. I think it’s just one of those: “You’re getting older, duane” sort of things. Later on, it felt fine.

As I start to get older, I find myself with a bit more time to regret the things that didn’t work out in my life. I think about relationships that didn’t work out, and I kick myself a lot about those. I mean, I totally blew it with Marisha, and then turned around and destroyed a bizarre, yet somewhat productive relationship with Sally. Sure, Sally was nuts, but it kind of worked out. I just wasn’t ready for that relationship at the time, and then I sort of burned that bridge where it stood. I regret that a lot. Oh well.

I regret that my writing career has never taken off the way I hoped it would. I remember teachers telling me when I was a little kid that I had the “gift”, that I was going to go far with my writing. I soaked those comments up, too, and I really believed them. And when I received my first book deal, I was overjoyed. And then the publishing company tanked before the book was released. And then my agent got into an accident and disappeared, showing up years later and no longer remembering who I was (after her head injury). My second agent represented me for about six months and then kind of stopped answering all correspondences. Obtaining a third agent has been somewhat elusive. And then the Internet happened, and the Kindle, and then the industry changed to the point where I don’t think I’m ever going to have a writing career. Ever. I kind of regret that happened.

I regret my music career never started off. Back in my young days, I was a soloist, and my singing was pretty damn popular. I had a great voice…still do. But I never did anything with it. Instead, I joined the Army and put all of that behind me. I’m a bit too old for that sort of thing now, so it’s another one of those things I regret.

I sometimes kick myself that I dropped medicine as a college career and went into political science instead, and then communication. I’m a genius with mathematics, yet I’ve done nothing math or science-related with my life. I even developed a mathematical, game theoretic social model for compliance negotiations between nations. Never did anything with it. Gave up trying to convince people it was a better alternative than the current losing strategies we use with diplomacy today.

I regret that I haven’t dated in over a decade. And I don’t see that changing any time in the future. Everyone around me is married, unavailable or simply not interested. And there aren’t that many around me as it is.

Secretly, I keep telling myself I need to pick up and move across the country to some place I’ve never been before and start over there, but I’ve become somewhat of a coward these days. In my youth, I’d jump up and go anywhere, convinced I’d fall back on my feet. Today, I’m scared to death of making a move like that and finding myself unemployed, unable to find a job and then slowly becoming homeless and despondent. I’ve always managed to land on my feet in the past, but this last time was a lot more difficult than ever before, and I just don’t see myself desiring to go through that horror again. Yet, if I don’t find something, somewhere soon, I don’t think I’m going to be around much longer.

Arbitrary Observations on a Thursday Afternoon

I was walking from one building where I work to another one, which involves a couple of doors that need to be opened. As there was a bit of pedestrian traffic in the area, at one point I found myself holding the door open for other people. At the time, I ended up holding the door open for four different people at different times (not one right after the other), and the one thing that struck me as odd was that each person reached for the wide open door I was holding, almost as if I was going to shut it in their face. If it would have happened once, it would have just been one of those things, but four different people all reached for the opened door, almost as if they had bad experiences with other people holding open the door for them. Kind of strange. At least they said thank you, even though they seemed to suspect I was going to rescind my offer to keep the door open for them.

Another observation: When teaching at a community college, I’ve discovered that the axiom once taught to me by Professor Ashlyn Kuerstin was that you should always explain on the first day of class that attendance is mandatory AND that the death of your grandmother doesn’t affect attendance. I forgot to give her spiel this time around. Two students have now reported ill or dead grandmothers. Kind of strange, but strangely enough, expected.

One of my colleagues was let go today by the company for not meeting expectations. I walked by her desk today and noticed her half filled (or half empty, depending on psychological disposition) cup of water is still on her desk, the straw in it, as if ready to continue drinking. I guess someone will eventually clean it up and throw it out. I often wonder what that person must think to himself as he or she cleans up after someone’s now empty desk. Probably just glad it was someone else. Or not. Who knows what people think?

I have tomorrow off from work. I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, and I need to get to the Secretary of State’s office to renew my auto registration, which means I have to find my current insurance card (for some reason I never replaced my old one, even though I have the same insurance and the same policy number). I’ll probably have to sit in that place for a few hours because it’s always slow no matter when you go there. I guess that’s why I put off these sorts of things. I hate bureaucracy, almost as much as Kafka.

I kind of wish I had some kind of social life these day, but I don’t. I don’t even really have close friends anymore, other than a few close colleagues who I basically only ever get to see at work (one of whom I consider a friend, even though we don’t really spend any time together outside of work). I’m at that age where I don’t really feel comfortable going to bars (I don’t drink), especially alone, and I don’t really have any other options to meet people. E-dating never works, at least not for me. I sometimes suspect that the same people doing well at e-dating are the same people who do well at regular dating; they’re usually players who lie to women and get away with it. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, and because of it, I’m probably never going to meet anyone. Women talk about liking nice guys and all that, but they lie, and everyone knows it. Eventually, they might settle for a nice guy after they’re done playing their own games, but by then, we’re off the market, playing World of Warcraft or Star Wars: The Old Republic, because at least there we have something that makes a bit of sense, even if it means no real social interaction.

Anyway, that’s my Thursday. I teach my class tonight at the college, and then I go grocery shopping before heading home to a house full of friendly stuffed animals. Well, mostly friendly. Some of them can get a bit roudy. But they mean well.

The World Moves on Without Me

Years ago, I was working in military intelligence, and the training exercise was something you’d see on any episode of “24” or any other television show that pretends to understand what intelligence people do. Basically, we’d receive all sorts of intelligence information from sources, news, and wherever, and then based on an assessment of the map, we’d make recommendations about what needs to be done in order to counter the “threat”. It was a period of 24 hours we were dealing with (shortened for our exercise), but what kept annoying me was that no matter how many “brilliant” suggestions we made, the scenario wasn’t designed to actually implement any of our suggestions. So, if Dictator A was waging some kind of guerilla campaign, his actions would have sanctions based on any of the recommendations we made. In other words, it was all scripted out ahead of time, so no matter what impact we tried to make, we wouldn’t actually make a difference. The exercise serves two purposes: One, you learn to react quickly to a changing scenario, and (possibly unplanned by the designers) second, you learn that quite often intelligence people have all the information but no one bothers to listen to them.

Now, this could go on into a diatribe about intelligence and how no one pays attention to it, but that’s a column for another day. Instead, I’d rather deal with something a little closer to home. Having read my little introduction, I would like to put forth that my life is very much that scenario today. Except I’m no longer in intelligence. I’m an average Joe who has zero impact or say so in government whatsoever. And sadly enough, I’m discovering that it’s just as frustrating now as it was when I was supposed to have a voice.

You see, every day I read the news to see what’s going on in the world and in my local community. And every day, huge things happen, but none of them have any ties to me whatsoever. There was a huge protest in Oakland yesterday, where OWS people were arrested because of what they believe in. Police are up in arms (as they usually are), and the city officials are planning to “meet” this disruption with the usual gumption. Me, on the other hand, well, I’m not involved. I don’t live in Oakland, and even if I did, chances are pretty good that I’d be somewhat of an insignificant cog in the wall over there, so what’s it really matter?

Our country is going through huge budget problems. I have lots of ideas I’ve tried to share with people. No one cares. They listen to economists who have continued to prove they know as much as anyone else, and they argue amongst themselves, but the average person with a plan, or a solution, is insignificant. Instead, we’ve been relegated to the ranks of the spoken to rather than those who have a voice.

And that’s been bothering me a lot lately. Unfortunately, other than to complain about it to an audience that doesn’t exist, I really don’t know what to do about it. And I never have. Instead, I seem to live a non-existent life without purpose, doing the same things over and over without any path towards anything greater. The critic can easily say, well go do something, but I’m left in that same quandary of “do what? And why?” I guess that’s the whole attraction of the Occupy Wall Street thing for a lot of people. We’ve been so disenfranchised for so long that at least there you have a voice, even if no one really is listening to you again. For a fleeting moment, you get to yell and scream, and others around you yell and scream as well. But in the end, what do you get out of it, other than arrests by police and ridicule from everyone else?

In the end, you start to realize that the world revolves around some people, and the rest of us just occupy space. It’s like our only purpose is to be consumers of stuff that the revolved around people manage. We exist so they can have good lives, and we pretend that one day we might be one of those people, but secretly we realize we’re probably never going to be.

So, what is the average person supposed to do, other than live a mediocre life that has little to no meaning?

When You First Begin to Realize You’re Never Going to Change the World

I was one of those little precocious kids who grew up, convinced that he was one day going to change the world. At first, it was going to be through science, as I studied physics, sure that I was able to see the world in ways that no one else possibly could. I had my ground-breaking theory that re-explained the universe’s creation through a process called neutra-matter (my own invention) that was the embodiment of light, and thus, the separation particle that kept the barrier between matter and anti-matter. It all made sense to me, and actually still does. I worked through college to become a physicist, and throughout my education, I devoted a great deal of time just trying to disprove the theory so I could move onto something better. And I never did. So it might be true. Or not. We’ll never know because I didn’t remain in physics, and even if I did, I hit a point where I started to realize that no one really cared.

Yeah, that was true. No one cared. I had this great idea, and I was convinced it could change science. But again, no one cared. So I moved onto a different field. Genetics.

In genetics, I was quickly invigorated with a new idea that consumed my every scientific thought. I now had a convincing argument as to how the AIDS/HIV strain first emerged, and coordinating this theory with the concepts of archaeology (which I was also studying at the time), I realized that there was a way to use my theory to trace down Patient Zero, and possibly erect a cure for AIDS by creating a genetic suppressor from the origin rather than from the current variation of the virus. And it made a lot of sense to me.

So, as this was during the dawn of the AIDS era, I managed to convince a coordinator of the first AIDS conference to listen to my theory, and she was so intrigued by it that she arranged a meeting with me and a group of scientists who were all part of the first conference. They read my report, called me in and then in a round table discussion, asked me all sorts of questions about my theory. And they were intrigued. And then one of them asked me where I got my medical degree, and I revealed that my education was in physics, and that I did not have a medical degree. Essentially, the discussion was over, and no one was really interested in hearing anything else I had to say. In the end, my theory was shelved, and I went on with my life. Decades later, AIDS is still out there, and unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to be cured any time soon. Of course, I can’t say my theory would have done it, but it bothers me that it was never followed up.

Many years later, I was in graduate school after doing the whole Ph.d thing in political science. This time, however, I was pursuing communication. And suddenly it dawned on me that our usual process for conducting diplomacy was wrong. In the middle of the night, I woke up with an additive theory, utilizing political science international theory, interpersonal communication theories, a communication rhetoric theory and a mathematical model I designed in my head that would eventually be completed through computer modeling. This new theory, I predicted, would lead to a brand new way of conducting negotiations and diplomacy. Latching onto one of my fellow grad students with a background in history, we wrote up a theoretical paper on this and then presented it at communication conference. After that, a few people from different organizations contacted me by email asking me more questions, but over time, I starrted to realize that it also required people to really think differently than what they were used to. When I tried to present it to the Obama Administration, I realized no one was really interested in learning. People were pretty satisfied with doing things the way they had been doing them since the days of Caesar, so very quickly I got the impression that I was barking up trees that no one wanted me barking near. So I gave up on that as well.

The point is: At some point, you start to realize that no matter how many great ideas you have, eventually you’re probably going to hit the point where you realize that most people generally don’t care. The status quo is so much easier to stick with, so the amount of work involved in getting anyone interested in change is practically at a ridiculous premium. It’s a lot like the Occupy Wall Street movement that’s going on right now. I mean, they have great ideas and the best intentions at heart. But the reality is that no one is going to listen to them, and mostly what they will receive for their efforts is ridicule and pepper spray. You can’t convince people to change their ways, even if the change is in their own best interests.

So, at some point, you have to realize that as much as you like, you can have all of the greatest intentions in the world, but at some point you need to do the proverbial growing up of reality and settle for mediocrity and, if lucky, a small step after a period of anarchical punctuated equilibrium.

That’s where I am now. There are so many things I wanted to do with my life, so many things I thought I would do with my life, but in the end, I realize that it really didn’t amount to much. No fame. No fortune. No changing of the minds of the masses or even a few leaders. Not even a really cool career or a stable girlfriend (or an unstable one for that matter). At some point, you begin to realize that all you really have is an apartment full of friendly stuffed animals, a shelf of unpublished, or crappily published, novels, reruns of Star Trek and a World of Warcraft account. Had I known that a long time ago, I probably would have chosen a much easier route to get here.

Reviewing Books

Well, today is my final day of teaching for the semester. I doubt I’ll be teaching during the summer (that’s something the full timers do, as they have to do something to raise their pay above $100,000 per year; the rest of us part-timers don’t get hours during the summer, for the most part). This means I’ll have some time to devote to something. I was going to devote my time to writing a new novel, but screw it. Writing is stupid. No one buys my books, so why even try? Instead, I’m going to devote the summer to reading the books of others. And then, who knows? Maybe I’ll kill myself. Not really sure yet, as I haven’t thought that far forward yet, but I’m keeping all options open. Just haven’t decided whether to go with drugs or jumping off a bridge yet. But that’s for another post obviously. This one is about reviewing books.

So, what I did was post on kindleboards.com that I was interested in reviewing the independent books from the various writers there. And a bunch of them jumped up and started giving me their best works, so I’m started buying their books on Kindle, and starting tomorrow, I’ll be devoting my time to doing nothing but reading their books and then reviewing them.

I’m thinking of including the reviews here on the blog, and then I’ll probably build an additional site that’s all about my reviews. And of course, I’ll include the reviews on the Kindle site for their individual books. Plus, I’ll build a set of lists about different genres where I’ll include books that I’ve reviewed.

I figure if no one is ever going to read my books, I’ll contribute this way, and then when I get tired of it, well, I’ll just end it. Sounds like a plan.

Memoir Books Are Being Slowly Replaced by Lazy Writers


I was in the bookstore the other day looking over the selections of books when I came across a really interesting book of which I had heard nothing so far. But it looked intriguing. It was called Moby-Duck, and as you can see from the picture with this article, it is about a man who goes on a quest to discover what happened to 28,800 bath toys that were lost at sea.

So, why am I talking about this book? Well, think about the story involved in this book. The author, Donovan Hohn, actually put forth a lot of work to find out what happened to these rubber duckies and bath toys after the disappeared. In essence, he went on an epic quest, like the infamous Moby Dick to find what happened to these items. In other words, he went through a hell of a lot of work to get the story that he later transposed to paper so that the rest of us could experience his adventure.

My point is that so few people who write memoirs these days actually go through this amount of work in their adventures before sitting down and writing their “memoirs”. Instead, they suffer one bad relationship, have a bad drinking problem, or do something singularly simple and then try to convince the rest of us that it was actually an epic journey to get from one place to the other. I guess you could say I’m getting a little sick of these kinds of stories that really have no great master journey to them, no odyssey, yet are treated as if they are the epic adventures of a lifetime.

We need more writers out there who are willing to go through a little bit of work to actually come back with the story they need to tell. Instead, we get lazy writers that try to profit off of their innane adventures. And we keep buying this crap because none of us are willing to demand more from the writings that we read.

I felt this way some time ago when I was writing one of my earlier science fiction novels, Thompson’s Bounty, which was about a Coast Guard cutter that gets sent back into the 17th century. When I first started writing the novel, I actually tried to just crank it out without really knowing much about my subject, other than having watched a few old movies about pirates. Then it dawned on me that I wasn’t ready to write the novel. So I contacted the Coast Guard and requested some in person information, which led to going out with a cutter crew for several days over several weekends. It also led to a bunch of long conversations and tours on a Coast Guard base where very knowledgeable people gave me first hand information about the subject I was writing. In the end, I wound up with a book that told the story I wanted to tell instead of one that was peripheral and out of context.

Recently, I’ve been working on a novel that I originally wrote decades ago that takes place in Eastern Europe during the Cold War. Originally, I kind of winged it through the story, but after doing my thesis work on the August Coup in the Soviet Union, I finally had the premise, place and event that really made up the background of the novel I wrote years before. So, I’ve been sitting down and tackling that book from the start, realizing that I now know a lot more information than I first did when I wrote that book back then.

That’s sort of the thing I’m talking about with the kind of reading I’m coming across these days. So much of it can be so much better than it is if authors would take the time to actually do the research that would make their books that much better. I remember a great scene from Billy Crystal’s Throw Mama From the Train when a woman in his creative writing class is describing a submarine story she wrote, and he comments that maybe she should actually know the name of the device she’s describing if she wants to be taken seriously in a story that involves submarines. I take his advice a bit further and say that maybe some time should be given to exploring the lifestyles and events that lead people to the moments that occur in novels so that the reader believes the author is the right person to be writing the story.

We seem to have a lot lazier writers these days with a lot of the stories and memoirs I read, but that doesn’t mean we have to settle for that. We can demand more substance, research and work. We just generally don’t. And we’re the ones who suffer as a result.

The Dilemma of Action or Non-Action in Libya

It probably doesn’t come as much of a surprise to anyone that we’re undergoing a fourth wave of democratiziation in the world right now, with the Middle East being the focus of the current spread. However, what’s not being made much of an issue is timing and how important it is to the success of this particular wave.

When Egypt went through the wave, it was already moved forward enough so that the results were conclusive before any real effort had to be applied. It may not have felt that way if you were living in Egypt, but when it comes to waves of analysis, it was a forward moving mechanism that never had much of a chance of a backlash. Some of the other areas of the Middle East have not been so lucky. Libya happens to be one of these more stubborn areas.

Right now, a skirmish is turning into a full blown civil war in Libya. But you wouldn’t know that if you were in any other place than Libya right now. Qaddafi is fighting for political and physical survival right now, and believe it or not, this is really his make or break time for his future as Libya’s leader.

Which brings me to the influence of outsiders, of which the United States is definitely in this category. Right now, Libya is fighting what could be the start of its civil war, but without assistance from outside, the rebel forces fighting right now might not last much longer. As with many independence movements in the past, western nations now have a chance to influence the future of a nation that is on its way to throwing off the chains of authoritarianism. The important question is: Should the west get involved at all?

Think about that question for a moment because the answer has a lot of huge implications that don’t often get brought up until it is too late. Right now, the United States, and other western governments, can probably make a significant difference by establishing a no-fly zone over Libya and then by escalating to providing assistance to rebel forces, either through supplies and/or through direct action.

But should we? If our sole purpose in life is to develop and establish democracy anywhere we can, then the answer would be pretty obvious. But is that our purpose? Or is our purpose to be completely self-serving, assisting only the interests that directly benefit our nation and its prosperity? Believe it or not, there are many arguments for both sides. In the end, whatever path we choose, it must benefit us in some way, or it’s not a logical path to choose in the first place.

There is a logical argument to not becoming involved at all, even if one is inclined to recognize potential benefits of democracies everywhere. And that’s the axiom that eventually all people are going to have to rise up themselves and throw off the chains of oppressors for themselves. It was the argument used against George W. Bush when he invaded Iraq, claiming a nation-changing strategy was in the best interests of the United States; his detractors claimed that if Iraqis really wanted freedom, it was something they were going to have to pursue themselves, not have handed to them on a silver platter.

The argument is simple. If a people are given a democracy and there is no historical framework for embracing democracy, chances are pretty good that in very little time they will throw it away in the name of security rather than freedom, kind of a reverse Benjamin Franklin-ish claim. However, if they are already embracing the foundations of what leads towards democracy, then the theory is that they don’t need us to push them in that direction because like entropy, they’re going to pursue it themselves as a natural process anyway. It just might take them a little longer than we would have wanted had we pursued the strategy ourselves.

So, using this theory, we would have to argue that the future for Libya could be democracy if its people are willing to make the sacrifices necessary to bring themselves to that situation. If Qaddafi succeeds in suppressing it, then they weren’t ready for it in the first place. But that doesn’t mean that they won’t eventually pursue and receive it. They just weren’t ready at this time.

That’s all fine and dandy if you’re talking theoretics and don’t feel people deserve freedom because not enough of them are capable of achieving it yet. If the opposite approach is valid, meaning that people deserve freedom regardless of the forced servitude status they are currently in, then all means necessary should be used to pursue that state of democracy. This secondary argument points out that slavery is not a positive circumstance for any people just because the dominators have more guns and means to keep their slaves in check. I don’t think anyone would argue that forced slavery is a “good” that any wise people should be living within, and that any means necessary should be enforced to make sure that no one is ever forced into circumstances like that, especially if there is a larger, democratic power out there willing to enforce the idea that freedom is a right for all.

So, the question really narrows down to where we stand on this particular issue. Are we at a point in our own growth that we recognize the inalienable right of all people to live in a society where they are free to choose, or are we still of an older mentality, where we support only what benefits us personally and pretty much cast everyone else out to the idea of every man for himself, until that person can achieve his own better means through personal sacrifice?

I don’t really have the answer to that, but I can point out one thing that is most significant and crucial to the conversation. If we’re going to do something, we need to do it now, because if we wait any longer, the window of freedom will close, and then it all falls back to being talking points and theory.

But what do I know? Really.

Is it Possible for a Freelance Writer to Make it Today?

This is one of those questions that has been going through my head lately. I’m one of those enigmas of writers who has written a lot of stuff, yet never really managed to break into a writing career. At one point, I had a good start, and then I just stopped, giving up writing, before realizing what a mistake I made. And then I realized I wanted it back more than anything. But I did it at the strangest time, when the Internet was just coming around, and suddenly the old way of doing things was no longer the way things were done. Now, I’m an overwritten writer who has pretty much nothing of a writing career, realizing that I’m probably never going to have one.

So, like most struggling writers, I tried to do the whole e-book thing, and I’m averaging about $25 every three months of sales. Not exactly the illustrious career to get one away from one’s normal day job. And when one has all desires to be a full-time writer, that gets extremely frustrating.

So I find myself wondering if there’s really a future for an unpublished writer who doesn’t just get lucky or happen to be in the right writing school at the right time. Again, being lucky.

I put my book of poetry on Amazon, and it’s done absolutely no sales. I’m not a salesperson, so I really don’t have the ability to figure out what one has to do to interest anyone in buying one’s writing. So the only other option is to just release all of my writing for free, which then still leaves me with the realization that that probably doesn’t make a difference either. People are less willing to read your stuff for free than they are if they actually went to buy it. Sadly, that’s kind of true. They find it has less value if you tried to give it away, so even if it was Hemingway trying to get bullfighters to read his latest book, it wouldn’t make a difference because the stigma is already there because of the whole free thing.

Which leaves me with the wonder if I should just give it all up. My career is going nowhere, and I honestly don’t anticipate it going anywhere in the near future. The only reason I haven’t given it up already is because I really don’t have anything else in the wings to replace it. My job isn’t going to make me happy. Watching TV isn’t going to give me any satisfaction in life. I don’t date and probably couldn’t recognize a woman if I ever saw one (as it’s been so long). Which leaves me with something I’ve been talking about for some time now. Nothing. Writing was pretty much it. And without it, I’m not sure I really have a reason for sticking around anymore. I mean, what’s the point?