Ten Ways to Tighten Titles

I have to admit that I wish I had researched this subject before titling my novel The Storyteller. For eons, the working title gelled, set, and solidified in my mind until until it would take an act of Congress to change it...which meant never. 

Until publication loomed.

The "send" button loomed on the screen. I was ready. I was psyched. My finger hovered over the keyboard.

"Hit it," I murmured.

"Wait!" my wife said. "You know..."

Whenever she starts a sentence that way, something important is coming. I stopped and turned slowly and apprehensively to her.

 "I never really liked that title," she continued. "It's too long and it just doesn't tell me anything about the story."

I would have lashed out with a stream of obscenities, except for one thing. She was right.

She makes a habit of that.

After many trials, we both agreed that The Storyteller said exactly what needed be said. With the revised cover approved, the finished project zoomed off to cyberspace. At which point, a search of Amazon revealed there were more books named The Storyteller than there were Johnsons in Minneapolis.

Which taught me "Pay as much attention to your title as you do your story." 

I knew that. I once taught that. I forgot.

I'm blaming it on old age. 

Of course, the title is important. After all, the title that grabs the reader's attention. It's the most memorable part of the book until the reader opens the cover. More work up front can only eliminate grief and consternation at the end of the project, not increase it.

In retrospect then, I decided to examine the titles of other works I've read, watched, and listened to. This exercise revealed ten ways titles can be constructed, tweaked, and clarified. There may be more, but these work for now. 

Remember, these are only choices. Doing all of them would be daunting. I've given up daunting for the new year. Rather than dealing will all ten, I'm going to pick just one. Just which one, I don't know. See which of these works for you:

1. Alliteration–This is an oldie but a goodie. For some odd reason, alliteration sticks in the brain longer than cold oatmeal on the kitchen wall. To make your title memorable, this is at once simple and fun. 

Alliteration also has the added benefit of fitting almost any genre. Jane Austen used it with her romantic novels Pride and Prejudice, as well as with Sense and Sensibility. Pastor Greg Boyd used it with his theological book Repenting of Religion. 

A word of caution, though. Once you establish the alliterative mold, varying from it can bring disappointment. Having seduced potential readers with the titles Golfing with God and Breakfast with Buddha, Roland Merullo broke the pattern with Lunch with Buddha. Given the response, he probably should have had brunch first. Who knows what will happen if he tries to have Dinner with Buddha.

2. Animals–For some reason people like animals. 

Cows. Dogs. Pigs. Orangutans.

Who doesn't just like saying the word orangutan?

Maybe we like animals because they make us feel we are not alone on this planet. Maybe because many are more moral than humans. Or maybe because they walk funny, and that makes us feel superior. 

Be aware, though, that while readers like animals, not all animal titles work, but some of the catchiest ones do. On this frigid Minnesota night, three come to mind writing handbook Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott), novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (Mark Haddon), and children's book/CD Frog Trouble (Sandra Boynton). 

I have no idea what that has to do with Minnesota. Sorry.

3. "Catch" Phrases–One of the main purposes of the title is to grab your reader's attention by using an intriguing image or phrase. One of the best is Suzanne Collins's Hunger Games, which is eye-catching even if you haven't heard of the book. While you may expect a food fight or a hot dog eating contest, most people are nervously aware that games involving hunger might have a more sinister origin.

What does she do for the first sequel? Two things. First, she literally catches our attention with the word...catch. Now that my seem a bit obvious and lazy, but then she uses the television reporter's favorite device of setting that mundane word ablaze, resulting in Catching Fire. One can almost see a news person breathlessly panting into a microphone and backlit by a billowing  inferno and the flashing lights of firetrucks, police cars, and over-sized SUVs looking for attention.

By the way, Collins was not the first to use the literal catch. See J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye.

4. Character Names–Using a character's name in your title is fraught with danger, but the technique has proved successful if the character's name is unusual or intriguing, if the person is famous, or if there is an inherent "What?" resulting the name. 

For example, the title of John Irving's novel A Prayer for Owen Meany makes one wonder if Owen has a cruel demeanor and how it will reveal itself. Shakespeare's history plays needed only a monarch's name to attract an audience, like Richard II, Henry VIII, and King John. Wendy Wasserstein threw a 20th century "fluff name" in with a term for literary epic to entice audiences to her play The Heidi Chronicles. (Who cares that she was an art historian search out her own feminist identity? The title brings to mind cheerleaders building a pyramid during the halftime of a football game.)

5. Contrast and Irony–These literary and rhetorical devices are most often used within a text to make an impact on the reader. It only makes sense to use them in titles. 

The sharp contrast used in the name of Irving Stones's classic The Agony and the Ecstasy about Michelangelo almost sucks your head off your shoulders and screams,"Read me!"

Using misdirection is not only fun, but can be a tool of discovery that the reader uses to unearth interest previously unheard of. In a recent nonfiction book, Simon Garfield used a familiar phrase for his main title Just My Type, which to most sane, albeit self-absorbed, people would indicate a book on relationships. Imagine the surprise of finding the striking subtitle A Book About Fonts.

6. Events–Using events in titles only works works well if the event is included in your story. Unless the event is big enough, at which point using it in your title is a no-brainer. Stephen King recently used it in 11/22/63, commemorating the assassination of JFK. The band U2 immortalized the Irish conflict with their song "Sunday Bloody Sunday." And then there was the movie Woodstock. Only the biggest rock event EVER! In all three cases, no more needed to be said to find an audience.

7. Length–How long should your title be? There is no hard and fast rule here. Some of the most memorable titles are almost unbearably long, while others can be as effective with a single word. For example, compare Paul Zindel's play The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds with John Patrick Shanley's Doubt.

8. Numbers–Numbers attract. I don't know why. They just do. For some reason, people like to quantify, identify, and deify with numbers. That's fine, but caution here. Numbers used to identify sequels can be an instant turnoff, whereas others attract immediate attention. The movie Once and Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 exemplify the latter. 

Immediately the viewer wants to know "Once what?" The reader knows that Fahrenheit 451 is a temperature, but of what? Strangely, even when the answer is given, it's difficult to stop reading...which is  the sign of a good title.

An offshoot of the previous caution is the use of dates. Historical dates work well as 1776 (David McCullough) and 1493 (Charles C. Mann) show. Future dates can cause a problem when the date comes and goes. George Orwell's 1984 is a classic, to be sure, but the story lost some of its impact the farther the world passed beyond the date depicted. The less said about the movie 2012 the better.

9. Objects–Common everyday objects make for great titles, because the more ordinary that object is, the more curious a reader will be to find out its significance. Examples: The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks, The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Dead Man's Cell Phone by Sarah Ruhl. You want to know what was the notebook used for, which letter was red and why, and what's up with the cell phone and how did its owner die? Questioners  become seekers who ultimately become readers.

I wasn't going to mention the last one, but...

10. Sex–Sex sells. There's no doubt about it. Okay you don't have to use sex to get attention, but I assure you it will. And this is nothing new. The concept goes way back. Look at The Rape of Lucrece by Shakespeare. And you don't even need to be that brazen. You can hint at it as William S. Burroughs did with The Naked Lunch. 

Oh, there are so many others, but somebody will call me a dirty old man, and I already have enough image issues.

Which brings us to the crux of the issue: How many books does the title sell? 

I have no idea. But the more attractive the title, the more apt readers are to investigate the book. The more they investigate, the more apt they are to buy, read, and recommend it to friends and colleagues. Word of mouth will spread, and that word of mouth is invaluable. And it all starts with the right "tight" title.

Oh, and you may want to check how many others have used the same title already.

For these and other examples of strong titles, as well as a weak title list, see the "Titles, Titles, Titles" page.

Rules Revisited: Beware the Brussels Sprouts

I don't mean to beat a dead horse here...or a horse statue...or even a wooden hobby horse.

Violence is wrong. 

Watching a three-day Green Acres/Petticoat Junction/Beverly Hillbillies marathon is wrong.

Cooking Brussels sprouts for anything other than insect fumigation is wrong.

Giving books for Christmas is good. Receiving books for Christmas is even better.

Yesterday, while I griped and grumbled about the notion of putting Brussels sprouts on the same menu as cherry pie and stuffed baked potatoes, the family placated my indignation by passing out gifts. (They're so smart.)

I loved all the presents, but one was especially appropriate to The Write Wind. 

A book. 

But not just any book. 

The 20th Century in Poetry, edited by Michael Hulse and Simon Rae. (Nothing like having an author in the family who feeds your literature addiction.) That in itself is a good thing. 

But what elevated the book immediately in my estimation was a "throw-away" sentence found in the introduction that reinforced the rantings of the Crabby Curmudgeon here a few weeks ago. 

CC said at the end of his tirade: "Learn the rules. Rigorously and repeatedly use them until they’re second nature. Then wreck ‘em! Stomp the heck out ‘em and develop your own. It’s fun."

In response, some readers/viewers saw that paragraph as the blasphemous raving of an old man, while others exhaled in welcome relief that finally the grammar Nazi of their adolescence had joined the real world. 

In actuality, it was the blasphemous raving of an old man, but be that as it may, Hulse and Rae's introduction confirmed CC's assessment of creative writing, at least in the realm of poetry. 

And CC was ecstatic about the affirmation. To the point of nearly letting the Brussels sprouts circle the table without comment.

Nearly. But he's old and can be forgiven.

"Back to the book," you say. 

Sorry. To make a short story long...

According to Hulse and Rae, as well as countless literary critics, the 20th Century was a battlefield of critical theory that pitted poets against readers against academics. The likes of Kipling against Yeats against Frost against Eliot against Ginsberg against Plath... Each spokesman claimed the correct theory, while viewing the collective hordes railing against them as heretics and charlatans.

Throughout the century, there were more theories of composition and analysis than there were alternatives to serving brussels sprouts for Christmas dinner. No wonder Hulse and Rae wrote: "The one rule in poetry is that there are no rules."

See why CC was so happy?

While that observation may seem permissive and lazy, the words are, in fact, liberating for poets and readers alike, especially when adopted by writers and audiences of the 21st Century. 

How?

Without the strictures of confining and arbitrary rules, the poet is free to say what he/she wants in the way that he/she wants to say it, creating a style most effective for the poem's purpose. 

The reader, freed from Pharisaical conventions of what makes good poetry, can step out of the putrid Puritanical temples of tradition and enter ever-expanding fields of fresh verse where poems are scrubbed clean of rancid rhythm and rhyme, purged of muddying metaphors, and shaped into masterpieces so deceptive in their simplicity that their beauty overwhelms the most intricate flowers.

On this day after the Christmas holiday, I am devouring this book of verse with the enthusiasm that my family ate the Brussels sprouts yesterday. 

I think I'm getting the better meal/deal. 

With fresh material to read and inspiration for new things to write, it's going to be a great new year. May yours be the same. 

Mountainous Goals

Year-end reflection and evaluation is a good thing, although a bit disconcerting in some ways. While reviewing the nascent scribblings of my new book "Emergence," I came to an important conclusion, reiterating the words of Guy Johnson: "It is my desire to be a great writer. I know that I still have a mountain to climb to achieve that."

Time to abandon the distractions, put on the old hiking boots, and start climbing!

The Music Church: A Christmas Story

As mentioned last week, this has been a difficult season, remembering the people lost in the past year. I found this story in my archives of material written years ago. It helps me. I hope it will do the same for you.

Mike Frickstad

On Grandma’s top bookshelf, amid the Ellery Queen and Perry Mason novels, the encyclopedias and Readers’ Digests, sat the musical church – a plastic music box in the shape of a cathedral with doors which opened and closed to the tinkling strains of “Silent Night,” revealing a picture of Mary and the baby Jesus. The baby smiled.

Jason loved that church, and on his frequent visits to his grandparents he always asked permission to play with it. But every time when his grandfather rose from his special chair to bring the church down, his grandmother always stopped him saying, “Save it for Christmas, Grandpa. Otherwise it won’t be special anymore.”

Reluctantly, Grandpa always sighed and agreed, placing the church back on the shelf. “Sorry, pal. Grandma’s right.”

Jason stood far below the shelf, anticipating the Christmas season when he might get to wind the precious “music church."

Finally, Thanksgiving was the big day. After the unending meal, after all the dishes had been washed, his grandmother took him up to the attic to dig out both the the outdoor and indoor lights, the nativity set, and the Christmas candles.

Grandpa and Jason’s dad strung the outdoor lights around the windows and doors. His mom put the Santa Claus, reindeer, and tree candles in their holders and spread them throughout the house. In the meantime, Grandma and Jason arranged the nativity scene, making sure the angels, the wise men, and the shepherds were in exactly the right place.

With all the decoration finished and only the tree to be added to the scene, Grandma looked down at Jason. smiled, and said, “Okay, Jaysie. It’s time.”

Then she climbed onto a chair, took the church carefully in one hand and brought it down to the eagerly awaiting boy. “Sit down in Grandpa’s chair,” she told him.

Jason glanced at Grandpa to ask, “Can I?” 

His grandfather gave a fake scowl, the grinned broadly and nodded. Jason climbed into the soft, green recliner as his grandmother brought him the church. Grandma wound the spring and the notes of the familiar carol rang throughout he room.

Enthralled, Jason watched as the doors opened, then closed, then opened, revealing  the Christmas scene with the smiling infant. When it was finished, he looked up and asked, “Can I try it, Grandma?” 

“All right," she told him, "but be careful. We don’t want to break the spring.”

Carefully, Jason wound the tiny crank on the back of the church until the music began to play and the doors began to move. He then held it on his lap and watched as the doors closed, opened, then closed. The music stopped. 

“That’s not right,” he thought.

“Grandma, the doors are shut,” he said.

She shook her head. “Hmm. Try agin,” she told him.

Again Jason wound the box, and again as the music slowed to a stop, the doors shut. “Grandma, you try. Okay?”

Grandma squeezed into the chair next to Jason, then set the church on her lap. She wound it, but this time, when the music finished playing, the doors remained open. 

She and Jason looked at each other, confused. She tried again. The music played. The doors opened, shut, and opened. Every time Grandma wound the music church, the doors stopped open, but when Jason tried, they always stopped closed.

After the fourth time attempting tries with his grandmother, Jason began to giggle. Then Grandma started. Before long the living room sang with laughter at the music church doors that would stay open only for Grandma. 

Jason pointed to the picture behind the doors. "Jesus is happy," he said.

"Yes, he is," Grandma said, kissing Jason on the forehead. "Where do you think we should put the church of season?" she asked him.

"I know!" Jason down, carried the church across the room and placed the church on the television. "That way you and Grandpa can see it every day, right?"

"You are so right," his grandmother said.

Then, as Christmas neared, Grandpa brought home and set up the tree. Grandma, Jason's mom Nancy, and Jason decorated it. Grandpa and Jason's dad Ken brought the piles of neatly wrapped gifts Grandma had hidden in the upstairs bedroom and arrange them under the tree.

While those presents intrigued Jason, especially those with his with his name attached, he had no trouble keeping his patience when Grandma went to the television for the music church. The church with the doors that would open only for her. The church with the baby that smiled.

It was a great Christmas time. It was a great Christmas day.

The next Christmas, however, was different. Thanksgiving was at Jason’s house. His mom was there; his dad was there; Grandma was there; but his grandfather was not. The funeral had been the week before.

Jason’s mother cooked the traditional turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, corn and pumpkin pie. As good as it all was, it was not the same as at Grandma’s.

Nobody talked to each other, other than to say, “Pass the butter. Pass the turkey. Pass the milk.”

Halfway through the meal, Jason’s mom got up and ran to her bedroom. Jason thought he heard her crying. Grandma put down her fork, folded her napkin, and asked Jason’s dad to take her home.

“Are you sure you want to be alone?” he asked her.

“I…I don’t know. I just know I want to go home. I need to go home.”

“Maybe Nancy could…”

“No, Ken. She needs to be with you right now. Just take me home. I’ll be all right.”

“If there’s anything…”

“I know. Thank you.”

Grandma looked across the table and saw Jason stirring his cranberries with his fork.

“Ken, do you think it would be all right if Jason stayed with me a couple days?” she asked her son-in-law.

“Are you sure you want to…?”

“Would it be all right with your, Jaysie? We can decorate the house for Christmas. Your dad can pick you up on Sunday.”

Jason brightened and looked inquiringly at his father.

“You can bring whatever toys you want. I’ve got lots of room,” Grandma said.

“Is it okay, Dad?”

After a moment’s hesitation, his father said, “Sure. I’ll tell your mom.”

Two days later, Jason wasn’t sure why his grandmother had wanted him to stay with her. She took care of him fine –– feeding him, tucking him into bed, picking up his toys, but they had not decorated anything.

The lights, the candles, the nativity set, all remained in the attic. There was no tree. There were no presents. And worst of all, the music church remained on the top bookshelf, the doors shut.

Grandma barely talked, seldom came out of her room, and let Jason do pretty much as he pleased –– although he didn’t feel like doing much. He didn’t want to disturb her. When Saturday night came, the house remained in the same condition as when Jason had arrived.

Sunday morning Jason awoke late. He didn’t know what time it was, but he knew he should be getting ready for church. Grandma hadn’t awakened him yet. Quietly, he padded down the stairs, wondering if something were wrong.

When he reached the living room, he saw his grandmother sitting on the couch, her head resting on her right hand, staring at his grandfather’s empty recliner.

Jason looked at her a moment as she sat lost in her memories.

“Grandma? Are we going to church?” he asked.

There was no answer. He wanted to ask her again, but knew he shouldn’t. Instead, he crawled onto the couch and laid his head in her lap. Gently, she looked down, stroked his tousled hair, then returned her gaze to the silent, lonely chair.

After a moment of quiet, Jason spoke again. “Grandma?”

There was a pause. Then, “Yes?”

“Are we gonna have Christmas?”

He heard a sniffle, then turned up to see tears forming in his grandmother’s eyes. Her lips trembled. She looked down at him as she wiped the tears away.

“What do you mean?” she whispered, haltingly, patting Jason’s chest.

Jason looked up at the bookshelf and pointed. “The music church.”

Grandma smiled, nodded, and patted Jason's chest again. She rose, got a chair, climbed onto  it and brought down the box. 

“Sit in Grandpa’s chair,” she told him.

Jason looked at her quizzically, unsure what to do.

“It’s all right,” she told him.

Jason scrambled into the chair and Grandma squeezed in beside him.

“Can I try first, Grandma?” he asked.

“Be careful,” she told him.

“I know. The spring.”

Slowly, Jason turned the crank on the back of the church. When the music the began, he stopped turning. Both watched as the doors opened, then closed –– and opened again. The music stopped with the doors open.

“Grandma, the doors are open!” Jason shouted.

“I know,” she said, amazed. “Try again.”

Once more Jason wound the church and again the music stopped with the doors open. “They’re open again, Grandma!”

“They sure are.”

“Here, Grandma. You try.”

“Jason, I don’t…”

“Come on. You try.”

Jason’s grandmother took the music church in her hands and then paused.

"Come on, Grandma. Wind it!"

She took a deep breath and wound the spring as she always had. The music started. The doors closed, opened –– and closed. The music stopped.

Grandma and Jason looked first at the church, then at each other. Laughter burst from them both at the same time. The laughed and hugged –– and laughed and hugged.

Abruptly, Grandma placed the church on the floor, stood up, and said, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Jason asked.

“To the attic,” she said. “We’re going to have Christmas.”

“Yea!” Jason shouted, and hugged his grandmother’s legs. The, suddenly, he broke away, and said, “Just a minute.”

Before his grandmother could ask, he picked up the church and wound it once more. When the music stopped with the doors open, he nodded at the picture of Mary and Jesus and placed the church on the television. 

Grabbing his grandmother’s hand, he led her to the stairs and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

The baby smiled.

The Art of Authority: Eliminating the Boss and Embracing the Mentor

"Life would be wonderful, wouldn't it, if those darned people in charge would just get their act together."

"Yeah, especially if they could just treat us like human beings."

" Yeah, I hate my boss."

Sound familiar? It's a conversation that arises daily around the world. Writers about their publishers. Workers about their employers. Voters about politicians. Seemingly, the whole world is revolting against authority that is, frankly, revolting.

This is going to seem weird to some, but since I retired years ago, I miss dealing with people both under and as an authority figure, mainly because my life has been blessed with an abundance of superb coworkers, students, and supervisors. In fact, as 2013 draws to a close, I have been reflecting on the people I worked with, the ones that shaped my careers, my values, and my life. I wish everybody could experience what I did.

This has been a tumultuous year with major disruptions by uncontrollable events from the government shutdown to a shift in my spiritual life. More traumatic, however, was the death of key family members, friends, colleagues, and authority figures.

This has been an especially difficult week. When I was leaving town, I learned the man who made a teacher out of me passed away, and his death revived memories of how this one person shaped my life. 

This man, master teacher Jerry Slough, taught me how to deal with students, colleagues, and parents. He taught me the discipline needed to prepare, adjust, and evaluate my performance in and out of the classroom. His words were equal parts praise and correction, reflection and laughter. He was an inspiration and just plain fun to be around.

He was the supervising teacher when I finished my college education as a student teacher. He was the department head when I began work. Later, he became the assistant principal. Yes, he was always an authority figure, but he was never my "boss."

Rather, he was advisor, guide, counselor, mentor.

Mentor.

That word gets thrown around loosely nowadays, so I use it with caution.  As I think about my friend, though, I realize it is the most accurate word to describe him. His job, his mission in life, was never to boss. He was an educator, a helper, a seeker of excellence in himself and his school.

So he was never boss. He was always mentor. 

What is the difference between a boss and a mentor? The following definitions may seem hyperbolic and simplistic (I tend to be that way at times). They are, however, based on observations—and, yes, my prejudices, so you can take them for what you will.

Boss and Mentor Defined

When people talk negatively about bosses, two common traits emerge. Yes, the boss is an authority figure, but he is also self-centered and motivated by personal gain or profit (Profit usually refers to money, but can also apply to power and prestige.)

The mentor, on the other hand, is other-oriented and motivated by more intrinsic rewards than monetary abundance, opting instead for a prosperity measured by a sense of accomplishment and respect for and from others.

Stanford professor Robert Sutton's naughtily titled book The No Asshole Rule: Building a Civilized Workplace and Surviving One That Isn't accurately describes the boss mentality and habits, recounting the abuses that destroy the creativity, loyalty, and contentment of the very workers the boss needs to survive in the business world.

That's not to say there aren't exceptions to Sutton's premise. For example, he says, Apple flourished not because of its boss Steve Jobs, but in spite of him. That said, I highly recommend Sutton's book as a guide to anybody in a position of power, whether employer or educator, parent or pastor.

Beyond Sutton's Dirty Dozen behaviors, I present seven traits of the boss and contrast them with those of the counterpart of the mentor.

Boss and Mentor: A Collection of Contrasts

1. Bosses dominate. Mentors cultivate. Bosses love power and love getting their own way. Their goal is conformity to their wishes and their techniques. Meanwhile, mentors cultivate a climate where every worker has value, creativity and progress are fostered, and input is welcomed. Instead of exerting power over their workers, mentors solicit loyalty by exhibiting trust, gratitude, and support.
2. Bosses discourage. Mentors encourage.  Lost in a narcissistic world, the boss discourages honest criticism and suggestions. This is done through bitterness, anger and retribution. Mentors, on the other hand, not only supervise the actions of workers, they seek to learn from those workers as well.
3. Bosses use fear. Mentors use faith. Somewhere, somebody convinced the boss that the surest method to retain control is by instilling fear, often to the point of making workers  avoid encountering the boss in the in hallway or the elevator (a la Steve Jobs). Mentors, in contrast, uses compliments and expresses faith in employees' ability, assuring them they can accomplish the task set before them. 
4. Bosses love rules while for mentors, love rules. The boss thinks good rules make good works. "Do what you're told the way you are told, you'll do fine," the boss says. The mentor believes good workers need no rules since their motivation comes from inside. "I don't believe in rules," the mentor will say, "but I do follow this one norm: I will treat you with respect, knowing that you will treat me the same. Deal?"
5. Bosses mandate. Mentors delegate. Bosses enjoy the importance that comes with the authoritarian position, essentially, appointing themselves gods, attempting to control every aspect of their company's operation. The mentors accept their limitations and their humanity, delegating the appropriate tasks to the appropriate workers for the greatest good of their customers and workers.
6. Bosses coerce. Mentors convince. Bosses uses manipulation to get what they want, utilizing threats and promises that are easily broken. The mentors will appeal to the "better angels of our nature," by appealing to what is beneficial for all involved—the business, the worker, the customer.
7. The word of a boss stings. The word of a mentor soothes.  Criticism has its place in any human endeavor. The attitude of criticism, however, affects its effectiveness. Bosses sit in judgement of every aspect of performance. "Can't you do anything right?" is their motto. Mentors smooth over mistakes and praise successes. Their mantra is "You can do it. I know you can."

I know what some people are thinking, that these thoughts may fit in small organizations like schools and neighborhood stores, but not in the modern world of big risk, big business. However, these are not "pie-in-the-sky" observations by some old guy holed up in his private home office reminiscing about the good old days.

Au contraire. Take the example of Herb Kelleher, former CEO of Southwest Airlines. Here was a man who originated and built an an airline from the ground up by embracing human contact and respect. He said, "The core of our existence ... are dedication, devotion, and loyalty—the feeling that you are participating in a crusade."

In the Southwest culture, EVERYBODY is valuable—customer, worker, shareholder. And as an institution, everybody's welfare is important. Kelleher also said, “A company is stronger if it is bound by love rather than by fear.” (For more insight on Kelleher and Southwest Airlines, check this link: http://www.logomaker.com/blog/2012/05/21/9-inspirational-quotes-on-business-by-herb-kelleher/)

And the mentor fosters that love more than the boss. Therefore, for our sanity and our success as leaders and followers, it behooves us to eliminate our attraction to the boss and embrace the mentor.

Thanks for reminding me, Jerry.

The Most Excellent Search

As writers, as readers –– Heck! As human beings! –– we're on a life-long search for ideas, for direction, for purpose. LBJ tells us what the most noble search is:

In Case of Arrogance...

When The Write Wind gets a little bit...or a lot of bit...overbearing with its pronouncements, please remind us of this quotations from President Truman:

The Irony of Stasis -- and Vice Versa

My wife teases me about my desire for stasis. She's should. 

I'm not opposed to change. I simply like things to be where I'm used to finding them. Unfortunately, at times I'm fanatic about pro-stasis. Seriously. Do NOT move my cheese. 

One day Wifey-mine had a home-improvement project in mind. Paint the living room. Innocently, she broached the subject over breakfast.

"Paint the living room? Sure," I said, gumming my oatmeal and slurping my orange juice. 

I stopped short. "Wait!  That means you'll have to move the furniture!"

My neck broke out. My eyes twitched. Breaths became short and labored. I slid off my chair, crawled across the floor, crouched in the corner, and mumbled vague and muffled obscenities. 

My wife rolled her eyes and shook her head disgustedly. Finally, she brought me a slice of bologna, a slab of chocolate, and an oversized and overstuffed plush Eeyore. I was momentarily mollified.

"Go to the library," she sighed. "Or take a nap. I'll be done in a couple hours."

Obviously, I want stasis. I demand stasis. I LOVE STASIS!

Which ironically brings me to the subject today. One of my favorite literary devices. Irony. 

I love irony. Even more than stasis.

Few elements you can use in your writing have the impact than irony does. It's even more gasp-inducing than finding your couch in the kitchen. When your audience encounters an unexpected event in your story, whether they want to or not, they have to stop and think, "What the..?" Kind of like when I ran across Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote above. 

Browsing through Brainy Quotes today (Doesn't everybody?), I stumbled across these words and smiled: "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know." I briefly digested and nodded smugly. 

"Of course," I thought. "Write what you think, not what somebody else already said."

Then I read the words again. This time I did a mental spit take and blurted, “Huh?”

After wiping the slobber from my lips, I adjust the laptop angle and began talking to myself. "You hate quotations? Ralph Waldo Emerson, the King of Quotes, hates quotations? What?"

That may sound overstated, but consider this. Here is one of the most cited writers/speakers in American history telling us he had not time for quotations. Maybe he should have shut the heck up so there wouldn't be 14 million entries of him on Brainy Quotes! Why, I oughta...

But I digress. 

Look at what happened here. Emerson could have simply said be original, but the irony of such an oft-recounted sage saying "I hate quotations" affected the reader –– at least this one ––  more profoundly than would the simple words "Be original."

So as somebody who relishes words and thoughts, I love irony. I love hearing it. I love reading it. I love writing it. And you should, too.

At least as a writer.

Before you go off on a bent, however, it would be prudent to consider what irony is. Dictionary.com defines the term first as “the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning.” Most of us recognize this verbal irony as sarcasm, which is in itself, a form of irony. But irony is more than snark and nastiness.

The on-line definition goes on to say that it is also “an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected,” what we called situational irony in English class.

We are also informed about dramatic irony, when the reader knows something the character doesn't, and Socratic irony, which is a form of questioning used to lead a listener to reach a conclusion he didn't expect. 

The main element in all of these definitions is the contradiction between reality and expectations. The whole contradiction concept is what makes irony so striking. 

When a character says the opposite of what the reader expects to hear, the words reveal a multitude of layers to that character’s personality. 

When a character does the unexpected, even just once, he/she entices to reader to enter the psychologist/concerned-parent mode to analyze that person's motivations and to predict future behavior.

When the opposite of what is anticipated happens, the reader wants to understand why, what did he/she miss, and what could possibly happen next.

In sportsman terms,  exposition is the bait used to entice the readers, irony is the hook, and  the rest of the story is used to reel in their attention. Irony is great stuff for catching fish...er..readers.

The use of irony is not without its dangers, however. It is often easy to strain credibility, particularly with actions and situations, which can lose more readers than it captures. 

Before having a mother convince her teenager to eat his brussels sprouts by telling him they're candy, be sure establish the adolescent's gullibility, the mother's sadism, and the recipe that could cause a person to actually fall for such a vile deception.

Before having a three-year-old rescue a planeload of Green Bay Packers fans on their way to Hawaii by landing a 747 on an aircraft carrier, it is best to work out the details that could make such an event even plausible. (Good luck with that.)

Before you fall for Alanis Morissette's contention that somehow it is ironic to have rain on your wedding day, you may want consult the millions of brides that have had to dodge mud puddles on the way from the church to their escape limo. Find out just how unexpected rain is in relation to matrimonial ceremonies. In other words, to use irony, know what it is.

But all those dangers aside, remember that irony is one of the most effective ways of engaging and maintaining your audiences. 

Who knows? It may even get you on Brainy Quotes like Ralph Waldo Emerson. It could change your life!

And mess up your stasis.

Maybe that's a good thing. Definitely better than eating brussels sprouts disguised as candy.

A Written Word

Just to remind us of the value of the printed word:

Simplify, Simplify: The Thoreau-ification of Thanksgiving

Everywhere I go, everything I hear, everything I see is telling me to give up time with family and friends Thursday and go "BUY! BUY! You have to buy! Christmas is coming. BUY!"

"Don't think about Thanksgiving," they say.  “Black Friday begins on Thursday!”

Let me answer that absurd statement: "I'm sorry, but no. Your sale begins on Thursday. Friday can only begin on Friday. As powerful as you Big Box retailers are, you do not control the calendar. Stop it."

Besides, Thanksgiving was originally set aside for us Americans to reflect on our blessings of families, friends, and food, not as a kick-off to the Christmas shopping season. Apparently that thought has disappeared from many corporate boardrooms  Values once focused on simple retail sales have morphed into materialistic greed-mongering.

It makes me sad and desperate for reassuring words. 

Today, though, I'm thankful for books. One in particular. Henry David Thoreau's Walden.

I remembered a long-forgotten instructor quoting it as inspiration for readers everywhere: "A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any work of art. It is the work of art closest to life itself.” 

It took many years and a Robin Williams movie to actually read the book, however.

In Dead Poets Society, John Keating (Williams) returns to his prep school as an English teacher. As a student he and his friends created a secret fraternity dedicated to reading the works of great poets and philosophers. 

At each meeting they read Thoreau’s words: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I  could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived …. to suck out all the marrow of life …”

The movie had me scouring the bookstores to find Walden. In it I found Thoreau espousing some the most profound thoughts ever written. 

In case you are unfamiliar with the book and its origin, in 1847 in an effort to confront the essentials in life, Thoreau retreated to a cabin in the Massachusetts woods, determined to live completely on his own. One can argue that since his experience was short-lived, his observations are inconsequential. 

To an extent, that is a valid criticism, yet the conclusions he reached and shared are still vivid and instructive. Their truth is an example of when the words written are more important than the life of the one who wrote them.

The truth Thoreau discovered is valuable for not only his 19th century, but for today. One observation says much about the human condition: “Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? … Our life is frittered away by detail.”

A 170 years ago and today.

Instinctively, I believe, the modern world knows this, yet advertising insists on cluttering our lives with the desire for more material, more stress, more detail, more garbage. Unfortunately, the merchandise advertised is not what humans need to survive. At best, it is merely diversion. 

Thoreau found the same thing in his age when writing Walden. He wrote, “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hinderances to the elevation of mankind.”

He went on to say, “Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end, an end which it was already but too easy to arrive at.”

The fact that the same thing can be said today begs the question: "What the heck is happening?"

Deja vu, maybe?

Observe the ads today. See what the box stores want you to buy. Is there anything that you or the people you buy for really need? Really? The televisions, the computers, the designers clothes, etc., are all fun, cool, and spiffy to have, but are they necessary?

There is always the argument that if you have the money, if you’re rich enough, what’s the harm?

Nothing, in and of itself. 

Unfortunately, today, as in Thoreau's time, too many people purchase not simply from need, but for reasons of conformity, image, and desire. Before they are even aware of the fact, the customers'  possessions and the debt they bring overwhelm and own the unwitting buyers. As Thoreau put it, “… men have come to such a pass that they frequently starve, not for want of necessaries, but for want of luxuries.”

"But I want to be rich," some say. "And if I can't be rich, I at least want to look rich."

Which begs an even bigger question, "What is rich?"

Well, Thoreau had an answer for that, too: “… a man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.” 

This seems like a counter-intuitive concept, but basically he is saying that the less you want, the more you have. I like that idea.

So if we accept Thoreau’s concept, how do we live it? He told us succinctly, and the older I get, the more I believe the man was a genius: “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand …. Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion.”

How do we do that? Eschew the rantings of advertisers and latch firmly onto the essentials of life. Deny those who would take you away from family, friends and food on Thanksgiving. Love others and let go of the commercialism around you. Thoreau-ify your life by getting back to the simple things and giving thanks for them.

One really simple idea? Read a book. Maybe just for fun, write one. But no stress.