A man in McDonald’s asks me about Jesus.

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I was pouring Diet Coke into a cup at a local McDonald’s - the restaurant I managed for years while putting myself through college - when a man approached and asked if I knew that Jesus was my savior.

I was in a hurry. I was teaching a storytelling workshop in less than 30 minutes, and I believe that the only way to be on time is to be early, so I didn’t have time to chat about religion.

Nor the inclination.

I was also working on a story in my mind - one I would be telling in less than an hour as a part of my workshop. I didn’t want to be interrupted.

So I said to the man:

“I know you’re doing this because you want to save my soul, and I know it’s incredibly hard to do what you’re doing. And It’s a beautiful thing that you care enough about me and others to make this effort, but honestly, I don’t have the time nor the inclination to talk about this right now. But thank you for thinking of me. It means a lot.”

Then the man started to cry.

Having been born into a Catholic family, then having quit Catholicism after my first CCD class in favor of Protestantism, then having abandoned religion altogether when I decided that it was all made up, but then having been lifted from homelessness by a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses and spending almost two years living in their home, I understand the Christian imperative to spread the good news of Jesus.

I think it’s a little silly, of course. According to the doctrine of at least some Christian religions, if you don’t accept Jesus as your personal savior, you can’t go to heaven, even if you’ve spent your entire life in some Amazonian rainforest or on some remote desert island, never having the chance to even hear about Jesus.

That doesn’t strike me as a fair and just God, but that’s not the point. Here’s the point:

As intrusive, onerous, and pushy as someone like this man might seem, he is genuinely trying to save souls, which is not easy. More often than not, his efforts are met by ridicule, anger, disregard, or disgust.

In fact, it’s likely that almost all his attempts to speak to people are unsuccessful, and most encounters probably end in acrimony.

Nevertheless, that man believes that I cannot go to heaven unless I accept Jesus as my savior, so he’s trying like hell to save me, despite the constant threat of ridicule or worse.

When was the last time you tried to save a stranger?

Hell, when was the last time you tried to save a friend or loved one?

This is why I thanked the man for his efforts and treated him with a bit of grace. And my choice of response, in turn, is why he cried.

Not sobbing and snot bubbles. It was more of a teary-eyed, verklempt reaction.

And I get it.

I know that most people respond with something far less decent when a man like this approaches them. I know that most of his encounters are negative. I watched my family of Jehovah’s Witnesses suffer from derision almost everyday. Despite their best intentions, most people despised them for their efforts and treated them terribly as a result.

I despised those people.

It’s not always easy, but when we judge people on their intent, even if that intent does not align to our personal belief system, the world is a more decent place. We treat people more decently. When we take a moment to honor effort and purpose over intellectual, philosophical, or political agreement, I think we are better people.

If someone is advocating for a position because they genuinely think it’s right and just, I need not agree with them or support them. In fact, I can stand in direct opposition to their efforts. But I can still treat them with grace.

Don’t get me wrong. If they are advocating for a position out of self-interest or some other nefarious purpose, or they are misleading or lying, I need not be decent at all. I can hammer away with all of the weapons in my verbal toolbox.

But if they believe that they are doing right by the world and are noble and just in their pursuit, I try to be decent and kind, even if I am diametrically opposed to their position.

So no, I don’t think Jesus is my savior. I think he was a smart, decent human being, far ahead of his time, and I believe his teachings still have great relevance today.

But no, not my personal savior and certainly not the son of God.

But if someone believes this and is willing to risk ridicule to save me, the least I can do is thank him. Speak kindly. Then move along.

The man thanked me for my kindness and wished me luck, and I did the same. He’s probably forgotten me by now, but I suspect that I’ll remember him for a long time.

He tried to save me. I owe him that much.

Colbert drinks alcohol. The audience cheers.

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Every now and then, Stephen Colbert will drink alcohol during his evening monologue. At some appropriate moment, usually in an effort to feign disinterest or finish off a bit, he will step toward the camera so a staffer can pass him a glass of bourbon, whiskey, or similar spirit, and then he drinks.

Here’s the bizarre part:

Every time, without fail, the audience cheers. Some hoot. Others holler. A couple even whoop. But the response is always audible, always positive, and always thrilled.

Steven Colbert takes a sip of hard liquor, and everyone cheers.

I don’t get it.

Are we still at the point where a 55 year-old man imbibing alcohol is cheer-worthy? I’m not complaining about the actual drinking. That’s fine. Legal and perfectly acceptable.

But cheer-worthy?

Seth Meyers has an occasional segment called “Seth Meyers and INSERT CELEBRITY NAME Go Day Drinking.” In this segment, Seth and a celebrity like Rhianna, Ina Garten, or the Jonas Brothers drink large amounts of alcohol in the middle of the day, and hilarity ensues. Audiences don’t cheer when Seth drinks, but they laugh, which makes a lot more sense to me, because it’s funny.

And yes, if you’re a teenager and your friend is shotgunning his first beer, or you’re a freshman in college and your sorority sister is doing her first keg stand, you cheer.

This makes sense, too. Your brain is not yet fully developed, and alcohol consumption is still novel and illegal.

It makes sense to cheer. It’s kind of stupid, but it also makes sense.

But this is a grown-ass man, standing before an audience of presumably grown-ass adults, sipping a little scotch, and the response is always loud, enthusiastic, and filled with a few high-pitched screams.

What the hell is going on?


Bacon is simple and delicious

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In case you missed it, Dunkin Donuts (recently rebranded Dunkin) introduced a new menu item at the end of February:

Bacon.

They call their new menu item Snackin’ Bacon, but it’s just bacon.

A bag of bacon. Eight half-strips of wrapped in “a portable sleeve for on-the-go snacking ease.”

Sometime in 2019, in some boardroom in the Dunkin headquarters in Canton, MA, an executive pitched this idea to a similar group of executives, probably by saying something like,

“Let’s do bacon. Just bacon. A big ole’ bag of bacon.”

Whoever that person was, they have by unwavering and eternal admiration, not because I’ve actually purchased a bag of Dunkin’s bacon (though I’m not opposed) but because so often the simplest ideas are the best ideas but also the hardest ideas to propose and support.

When it comes to memorizing multiplication facts, for example, there are thousands of books, online resources, games, and toys, all designed to help a student memorize that all-important alphabet of math, but in the end, the best way to memorize multiplication facts is to simply practice daily.

Find the facts that you don’t know, and memorize them through repetition.

It’s not sexy, and it’s often not what students and their parents want to hear, but it works.

The same often holds true for storytelling. When it comes to finding a story to tell, we all have those amazing, improbable, incredible, unbelievable moments in our lives that make good stories, but the best stories are almost always found in the smaller, simpler moments of our lives.

I was put on trial for a crime I did not commit. I once evaded the police in a high speed (albeit very brief) chase. I once administered first aid to a boy who had a hole blown in his leg by the backfire of a school bus. I was performed completely naked in a comedy club in Attleboro, MA during a hypnosis show. I once dammed up a New Hampshire river, stopping the flow of water to a popular tourist attraction downstream that relied on that flow of water. I was once kissed by a mother of a student during a parent-teacher conference.

I have yet to tell any of these stories. I may tell them someday, but I’d much prefer to tell stories about the little moments of my life, when my heart and mind were changed through the everyday words or actions of others. The kind of stories that my audience will know and understand and be able to connect.

This is hard for some storytellers to hear, especially when they are world travelers, professional mountaineers, or have constant contact with celebrities.

So often, storytellers are drawn to the incredible, amazing, unbelievable moments of their lives. These feel like great stories, and they can be, but simple is almost always better.

There is nothing simpler - and perhaps more delicious - than a bag of bacon.

I salute you, unnamed Dunkin executive, on your wisdom and courage to suggest something so simple and so perfect.

Of course cinnamon rolls should not be baked in plastic wrap

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Elysha sent this text to me from the comfort of her bed a few minutes ago.

Please note the condescension.

Take the plastic wrap off first?

Does she really think I might be stupid enough to cook cinnamon rolls while covered in the plastic that she stretched over the tray last night?

Clara had already come downstairs and delivered this message in person, so I had already put her precious cinnamon rolls into the oven by the time I read this unnecessary text message.

And I’ll have you know that I placed that tray of cinnamon rolls into the oven with the plastic wrap still affixed, but because I am not an idiot, I noticed the problem while closing the oven and removed that plastic wrap immediately.

My wife didn’t marry a fool, regardless of what she may think.

Jerks drive expensive cars

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A new study has found that drivers of expensive, high-status vehicles are less likely to stop and allow pedestrians to cross the road - with the likelihood they'll slow down decreasing by 3% for every extra $1,000 that their vehicle is worth.

In other words, people whom drive expensive cars are jerks.

But we didn’t need a scientific study to know this.

Right?

Lest you think this study is an anomaly, a Finnish study published last month also found that men who own high status automobiles are more likely to be argumentative, stubborn, disagreeable and lacking empathy.

Again, did we really need science to confirm that we all knew already?

Fear not. I’m sure there are exceptions to this rule, so if you’re feeling argumentative over the notion that your expensive car might be an indication that you’re a jerk, relax.

I’m sure that you’re one of the special ones for whom these findings do not apply.

The bad storyteller and the admiring spouse

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Years ago, Elysha Dicks and I were attending a Moth StorySLAM in Boston.

The host of the show reached her hand into the bag filled with potential storyteller names, pulled out a slip of paper, and announced the name of the next storyteller.

The young man sitting directly in front of us rose, took the stage, and proceeded to tell one of the worst stories that Elysha and I have ever heard. It was cringe-worthy pile of self-congratulation, failed jokes, and a constant, persistent reference to the Ivy League school that he had attended.

The man basically bragged about himself for the entire time and giggled about things that only he found amusing.

The story also went well past the allotted six minutes.

I don’t hear many stories that I genuinely despise. Maybe a handful in all my years, but this was one of them.

Maybe the worst. Elysha agrees.

When the man sat back down, the woman sitting beside him reached over, hugged him, kissed him, and told him that he had performed brilliantly. It was an honest-to-goodness outpouring of pride and love for a story well told. Absolute admiration for this man and what he had just done.

The judges did not agree.

This moment has plagued me for years.

What is better?

Would you prefer that your significant other see your faults clearly and offer honest, direct feedback when you fail miserably, or would you instead prefer a significant other who loves you so much that they adore and admire almost everything that you do?

I know the logical, sensible answer is the former, and when it comes to public performances and other creative pursuits, perhaps an honest assessment is always preferred lest you continue to embarrass yourself and fail to realize your dreams.

But isn’t there something at least a little appealing about being married to someone who thinks that almost everything you do is fantastic, lovely, and just about perfect?

At least in some realms of your life?

You're an objectively terrible cook, for example, but your spouse loves every bland, overcooked meal that you prepare.

You're horrible in bed, yet your spouse is satisfied every time.

You have the worst taste in music, but your spouse thinks that every playlist you design is a sonic masterpiece.

It's not all bad. Right?

If forced to choose, I opt for the spouse who offers honest, direct feedback every time. This is the relationship I have with Elysha, and it has benefited me immensely over the years. She is smart, wise, and possesses excellent taste. She has stopped me from stepping too far over the line many times and prevented me from sounding too self-congratulatory on several occasions.

I am less of a jerk-face because of her.

But it’s not an easy decision for me.

Unbridled, relentless admiration doesn’t sound so bad, either.

Right?

Anyone is technically allowed to play in the National Hockey League, and that is dumb

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Perhaps you heard about Dave Ayers, the 42-year-old Zamboni driver who came in as the emergency backup goaltender last week for the Carolina Hurricanes and and stopped 8 of 10 shots to get credit for the 6-3 win.

An amazing night for Ayers, but it’s not as if tending goal was something new for the him. Ayres is the Zamboni driver and arena maintenance worker for the Maple Leafs' AHL affiliate, the Toronto Marlies, but he has also been the regular practice goaltender for the Marlies and has appeared at Maple Leafs practices and skills sessions this season.

He’s not an NHL player, but he practices regularly with the professionals.

The strangest thing about this incident the way the NHL handles situations wherein both goalies are unable to play for a team and an emergency goalie is required.

The league's official rule book states that the home team is responsible for providing an emergency goalie and “if both listed goalkeepers are incapacitated, that team shall be entitled to dress and play any available goalkeeper who is eligible.”

Ayer actually was listed as the emergency goalie for both teams that night. He could’ve played for either team if needed. He actually helped to defeat the team that employs him.

I think this is bizarre. When the goalie and backup goalie on a National Hockey League team gets injured, the team can essential tap almost anyone on the planet to be the emergency goalie. Ideally, it’s someone who has played goalie before, like Ayers, but by the rules, I could be a team’s emergency goalie, even though I’ve never played organized hockey before and can’t really skate.

I don’t like this at all. Professional sports teams should be be allowed to bring civilians from the stands into a game as needed. And they should not have players ready to play for either team if needed.

When a baseball team runs out of pitchers because of extra innings, a regular position player takes the mound and tries his best to get some out.

When the kicker on a football team is injured, the punter or some other player who can kick the ball attempts the field goals and extra points, or sometimes, the team simply doesn’t kick the ball for the rest of the game, going for touchdowns and two-point conversions instead.

When both soccer goalkeepers are unavailable, another member of the team takes the position instead.

But hockey allows someone who is not on the team to play the position. For either team if needed.

This is stupid.

NHL teams dress 20 players each night but can only play six players at a time. They have plenty of extra players sitting on the bench. Can’t an actual member of the team - a professional hockey player - take the net instead?

I think so.

I’m happy for Dave Ayers. A dream-come-true kind of moment for him, no doubt, but the rule that allowed him onto the ice that night should be changed.

Immediately.

Edith Green: 1922-2020

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Elysha’s grandmother, Edith Green, passed away last Sunday. She was 97 years-old.

On Thursday, we honored her memory at a memorial service in New York City. Family from around the country gathered to laugh, cry, and remember Nana in all her glory. Elysha, her father, and others delivered beautiful, heartfelt eulogies.

On Friday morning, Nana was laid to rest in a cemetery in Great Barrington, MA.

As I thought about Nana and her passing, it occurred to me that I’ve only known her for about 15 years, which means I met Nana when she was 82 years-old.

I was astounded.

For most of the time that I knew Nana, she was a lively, engaging woman full of life and energy. When we first met, she still owned homes in New York City, Boca Raton, and the Berkshires, and visited them frequently. She traveled. Attended college classes. Visited with friends. Still dated.

All at the age of 82 and beyond.

It was while staying with Nana in the Boca Raton that I began writing - on a whim - a short story about a man who steals things that go unnoticed. That story would eventually become my first novel, Something Missing, and launched my writing career.

Nana and Elysha were the first to read those early chapters at her kitchen counter. Nerve-wracking moments for a writer who thought he had finally found this groove. After a moment of consideration, Nana declared that they weren’t half bad.

I was thrilled.

Over the years, I tried to spend as much time as possible listening to Nana and her stories when we visited. It wasn’t hard. She was an outspoken, opinionated, hilarious lady with tales in abundance.

On Yom Kippur in 2016, I sat down with Nana in her apartment in NYC and recorded about 30 minutes of her stories using the StoryCorp app, sending the recording of our conversation to the Library of Congress for safekeeping.

I wish I had done that more often.

But early on, I started writing down some of the things that Nana would say to me and others in a note on my phone. Over time, that list grew long. I recently read them to Elysha for the first time.

Some of Nana’s greatest witticisms included:

  • “If you can’t smile while eating good food, there’s something wrong with you.”

  • “Old people talk about bodies that don’t deserve to be talked about.” 

  • “Listen, if you can avoid working a single day in your life, do it.”

  • “If you marry good, you’ll be good.”

She was also so sweet to me, and over the years, said some of the kindest things that have ever been spoken to me by anyone, including:

  • “You know… you’re the writer of the family. Those are big shoes, sir. Fill them well. We’re depending on you.”

  • “I’m proud of you, and I know Elysha’s proud of you, but be proud of yourself.” 

About four years ago, Nana said this to me while sitting on the edge of her bed in New York. It’s one of the moments I will remember most when I think of her:

  • “You did it on your own, kid. Didn’t go to work for your father. Didn’t take a hand out. Didn’t inherit a single thing. You did it completely on your own. That’s really something. Better than most. I’m so impressed by you.”

It took all I had not to cry that day, because I knew how much my tears would’ve annoyed her.

When people hear that Nana was 97 years-old when she passed, they often say things like, “She had a long life” or “That was a good run.”

I say it, too.

And it’s true. She lived a long, happy life, and in the end, she asked that her family not be sad. Her time had come.

But the world is a little less bright today because Nana is gone.

On the day of her funeral, Elysha and others managed to wrangle all eight of Nana’s great-grandchildren onto the sofa for a photo. The first time all eight had gathered in one space.

Edith Green’s legacy. We should all be so lucky.

Rest in peace, Nana.

Resolution Update: February 2020

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PERSONAL FITNESS

1. Don’t die.

I was in Manhattan last night, producing and hosting a show for the Yale Alumni Association, and I was nearly hit by a kid on a skateboard in the middle of 8th Avenue, but that’s as close as I came to death in February.

2. Lose 20 pounds.

I lost one pound in February. Slightly less than the 12 pounds lost in January but still moving in the right direction.

13 pounds lost in all.

3. Eat at least three servings of fruits and/or vegetables per day, six days a week.

Done! I’m still counting orange juice as a fruit, and the vegetables in soup are also quite helpful in achieving this goal.

4. Do at least 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 3 one-minute planks for five days a week.

Done.

Also, after learning about a 62 year-old man setting the new world record for a plank at more than 8 hours, I’ve begun extending my plank time. I did a 5 and 6 minute plank last week, and I’m up to 2 minutes of the others.

I’m hoping to reach 10 minutes in March.

5. Set a new personal best in golf.

The golf courses were not open in February.

WRITING CAREER

6. Complete my seventh novel before the end of 2020.

I met with my new editor, Alice, in February to confirm that she doesn’t think the next idea for my new novel is stupid, and she doesn’t. She seems to like it quite a bit, so it’s full steam ahead.

Also, I’m working on revising my first middle grade novel, too, so between my adult novel and my middle grade novel, I’m feeling good about finishing at least one of these books in 2020.

7. Write/complete at least five new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist. 

No progress.

8. Write a memoir.

Writing continues. Rather slowly.

9. Write a new screenplay.

No progress.

10. Submit at least five Op-Ed pieces to The New York Times for consideration.

None submitted in February.

11. Submit one or more short stories to at least three publishing outlets.

None submitted in February.

12. Select two behaviors that I am opposed to and adopt them for one week, then write about my experiences on the blog.

I’ve identified a behavior to try in March:

I’m going to read Twilight or 50 Shades of Gray. I’ve always assumed that both books are terrible, but at a recent party, I listened to friends disparage these books, which automatically made me want to defend them based upon their commercial success and hints of literary elitism.

I have an oppositional disposition which makes me a joy to be around.

Suggestions on which book I should read?

13. Increase my newsletter subscriber base to 5,000.

I added 78 subscribers in February for a total of 4,124.

If you’d like to sign up for my newsletter, you can do so here:

14. Write at least six letters to my father.

One letter written in February. One written in total in 2020.

15. Write 100 letters in 2020.

Zero letters written in February. Four letters written overall.

Not great.

16. Convert 365 Days of Elysha into a book.

No progress.

17. Complete and release my limited episode podcast on “Twenty-One Truths About Love.”

The podcast is nearly complete. Episodes with my editor, the cover designer, and more are ready to go. I need to record the first episode with Elysha and finish editing the last one and it will be ready to launch.

I may wait to launch the podcast in conjunction with the paperback release of my novel.

STORYTELLING/SPEAKING CAREER

18. Produce a total of 12 Speak Up storytelling events.

Three shows produced in February:

  • A charity event at the school where I teach in West Hartford, CT

  • A show at District in New Haven in partnership with Bear’s Smokehouse BBQ

  • A show for the Yale Alumni Association at The Greene Space in Manhattan

Four shows in all in 2020

19. Pitch myself to at least 5 upcoming TEDx events with the hopes of being accepted by one.

I helped two clients get accepted into TEDx events in 2020 ands 2021, but I made no progress of my own so far.

I’ll be speaking at a TEDx event in the Berkshires in April, but I booked that gig last year.

20. Attend at least 15 Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

I competed in the Moth GrandSLAM in Boston in February. One Moth event so far in 2020.

21. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

No Moth StorySLAMs attended in February. Hard to win if you don’t play.

22. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

I completed in a Moth GrandSLAM in Boston in February and finished in second place.

Deservedly so.

23. Produce at least 40 episodes of our new podcast Speak Up Storytelling. 

Elysha and I produced four episodes in February. Eight in total.

Our latest dropped on Wednesday! Subscribe today!

24. Begin providing transcriptions of each episode of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast.

No progress.

25. Explore the monetization of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast.

DONE! Kind of…

I set up our Patreon page in January, and in February, without officially launching the campaign or finalizing possible perks, managed to land two Patreon contributions.

Monetization achieved on an exceptionally small scale. But a good sign of things to come!

26. Perform stand up at least six times in 2020. 

No performances in February.

27. Pitch at least three stories to This American Life.

No stories pitched in February.

28. Pitch myself to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast at least three times.

I sent a pitch to Marc and his producer last week. One so far in 2020.

It occurs to me - just now - that I work with a comedian who knows Marc Maron and has even appeared on his show. Perhaps I have another way of reaching him…

29. Produce at least one new video for my YouTube channel each month.

I posted a brand new video that shows me using an improv activity called First Last Best Worst. I realized yesterday afternoon that I had yet to post anything to the channel in February, so I recorded the video in my car while sitting on 8th Avenue in New York.

It came out pretty good considering the circumstances.

Subscribe to my YouTube channel here.

Watch me model First Last Best Worst here.

30. Find a means of producing my storytelling instruction for an online platform.

No progress in February but at least half a dozen requests for this service.

HOME

31. Print, hang, and/or display at least 25 prints, photos, or portraits in our home.

Walls were painted in our backroom, and Elysha is currently purchasing new art to blend with the old. Progressing well.

32. Replace the 12 ancient, energy-inefficient windows in our home with new windows that will keep the cold out and actually open in the warmer months.

Contract signed. We’ll be replacing 14 windows in March.     

33. Clear the basement. 

No progress.

34. Refinish the hardwood floors.

This might be a problem. Hardwood floors require at least a few days to be completed, and we have cats. The cats will absolutely not stay with anyone else while the floors are being done, so what the hell are we going to do? Anyone?

35. Purchase a new television.

Done! It’s large and beautiful and professionally mounted to the wall.

FAMILY/FRIENDS

36. Take at least one photo of my children every day.

I missed 5 days in February. Twelve days in all so far. I need to somehow make this a habit.

37. Take at least one photo with Elysha and myself each week.

Done! Including this one:


38. Cook at least 12 good meals (averaging one per month) in 2020.

No meals cooked in February. One meal so far in 2020.

39. Ride my bike with my kids at least 25 times in 2020.

No progress. It’s February in New England.

Actually, Charlie rode his bike in the driveway one day before I got home from school, but it was 30 degrees, so he’s insane.

40. Plan a reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.

No progress.  

41. I will not comment, positively or negatively, about physical appearance of any person save my wife and children, in 2017 in an effort to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall. 

Done.   

42. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2020.

No surprises in February.

I sent Elysha a bouquet of flowers to her workplace on her birthday in January.

One surprise so far.

43. Play poker at least six times in 2020.

The poker game that I scheduled in February was cancelled because of the death of Elysha’s grandmother.

One game played so far in 2020.

44. Spend at least six days with my best friend of more than 30 years.

No progress.   

NEW PROJECTS

45. Understand Instagram better.

No progress.

46. Listen to new music via the Billboard Hot 100 Spotify playlist at least four times per month.

Done!

Songs that I especially liked in February were Memories, Good as Hell, Blinding Lights (a Duran Duran ripoff), South of the Border, and everything by Billie Eilish and Lizzo.

47. Host a fundraiser for RIP Medical Debt, which would allow us to relieve the medical debt of struggling Americans for pennies on the dollar.

No progress.

48. Complete my Eagle Scout project.

No progress.

49. Scan and send photos of Laura to her daughters.

No progress.

50. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog and social media on the first day of every month.

Done.

Charlie is funny.

/

Charlie - age 7 - was arguing that two is a large number.

“No, it’s not,” his big sister Clara shot back.

I was going to counter with several examples. I’ve actually written a children’s picture book entitled “Two Is A Lot,” and it’s outstanding. In fact, it would be universally beloved IF I COULD FORCE A PUBLISHER OPEN ITS DAMN EYES, so I have plenty of examples at the ready, but Charlie instead countered with this:

“Yes, it is. Two is huge. Watch.”

He paused for a moment, smiled, and then started counting:

“One…. 32 years later … two…”

He smiled again. “See?”

Charlie is a legitimately funny kid and places enormous value on humor, but this might be his first legitimately hilarious, original joke.

My little sister does a very big thing

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Allow me to brag a little bit about my little sister, Kelli.

For well over a decade, Kelli has been writing professionally. Like me, she has done other things while being paid to write - as do many writers - but recently, her writing career has reached a point where she can reliably make her living solely from writing.

Kind of amazing. Right?

Kelli doesn’t write books or columns like me. Instead, she writes for businesses, almost exclusively online, and her writing is designed to improve a company’s SEO.

Honestly, I don’t entirely understand how her business words, but I know that these companies are paying her significant amounts of money to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs on many, many topics.

She’s writing. Professionally. Two honest-to-goodness professional writers in the family.

Mom would be so proud.

She passed away two years before my first book was published and well before Kelli launched her own writing career, which has always made me sad.

I’ve heard people say that dying is hardest on the living. Tell that to a mother who never got to see her children make their dreams come true.

When I asked Kelli how she managed to get to the point where she can make a living with words, her answer was perfect:

“So much patience and hard work.”

I meet many fledgling writers who adore the idea of sitting in a coffee shop mid-morning, coffee at the ready, pecking away at their masterpiece, but “patience” and “hard work” are not the words that these folks use when talking about writing.

But Kelli is right. Patience and hard work are essential.

I started writing back in November of 1988, and I have -without exaggeration - written every single day of my life since then. In high school, I opened a business writing term papers for my classmates, earning enough money to purchase my first car, a 1978 Chevy Malibu.

My first paid writing gig.

In 1990, I started writing a column on a localized bulletin board system: an early precursor to the Internet. My friend and roommate Bengi and I wrote a column entitled “He Said, He Said” for an audience numbering in the dozens.

When Bengi finally quit, I took over both sides of the column.

Over the years, I wrote in journals. I wrote letters. I wrote zines that I would send to people who didn’t ask for them. I wrote for the college newspapers of three different schools, including a college that I did not attend.

I wrote on my wedding day. I wrote on every day of my honeymoon. I wrote in the delivery room during the birth of both of my children. I wrote when I was homeless. The day I was jailed.

I wrote when I had pneumonia. Multiple times.

I’ve been writing this blog since October of 2005, never missing a single day.

Patience and hard work. Qualities that often strike me as in tragically short supply in many of the people who aspire to bigger and better things.

Not my sister, though.

Kelli went onto say:

“I never thought I could make a living doing this because I was always self-conscious about my work. I think I finally made it Matt! I have high paying clients and I’m so proud of myself for the first time ever.”

Also:

“Mike (her fiancé) tells me all the time how great it is that I’ve built this up from nothing, but he doesn't understand how hard its been to finally get here. For me it’s such a huge accomplishment!”

Two things struck me from those statements:

For a long time, my sister was self-conscious about her work. It caused her to doubt herself. For a while, it may have even held her back.

Patience and hard work become even harder when you doubt your skill and talent. I had the blessing of self-confidence bordering on arrogance.

Maybe even arrogance bordering on self confidence. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would ever like my work, but I liked it and thought it was good, so if others disagreed, they were the problem.

Not me.

My sister’s journey - and the journey of many artists - was made much harder by the creeping challenge of doubt. The lack of self-confidence. The uncertainty over whether her work was good.

It’s also true that our friends and loved ones can talk about being proud or even impressed with our success - and it’s always a wondrous thing to hear - but when it comes to something as solitary as writing, it’s hard to imagine anyone understanding how hard it really was. They can’t see the thousands of hours spent writing and editing and revising. The millions of words written and many millions more deleted in the process of finding the right ones. The struggle to find meaning and humor and engagement in words.

My little sister has done a very big thing. She, too, struggled mightily at many points in her life. A teenage mother who, like me, also struggled with homelessness, poverty, and a car accident that nearly left her dead. Like me, no one even mentioned to word “college” to her growing up.

No one encouraged her to chase her dreams.

Her path was not easy. In fact, it was considerably harder than mine.

Today she is a professional writer. She has made her dream come true. For the first time in her life, she is proud of herself.

I’ve been proud of her for far longer than that.

She’s come a long, long way.

Speak Up Storytelling #87: Matthew Dicks

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On episode #87 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, I analyzes his own story "Holding On By a Thread" in an episode we call Storytelling Forensics. 

This episode is dedicated to Elysha's grandmother, Nana, who passed away on Sunday. 

Rest in peace, Nana.

LINKS

Purchase Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling

Purchase Twenty-one Truths About Love 

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicksblog

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-grin-and-bare-it

No more swing sets, please. Never again.

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Last weekend Elysha and I saw Jagged Little Pill on Broadway, which I liked but did not love.

A couple of terribly failed scenes, a wholly unnecessary plot line, and one big sledgehammer to the head of the audience at the end of the show spoiled it for me.

The show did, however, feature one of the most thrilling moments in all of live theater for me, so it was worth the price of admission. Plus I was sitting beside Elysha, which makes every show a little more exciting.

In addition to the serious flaws in the writing of the musical, one other thing really stood out for me:

Early in the show, when two teenagers slip away for a romantic moment alone, they find themselves in a park, sitting on a swing set.

I’d like to go on the record as saying that “teenagers staring moony-eyed at each other while sitting on swings” is officially done. It’s a trope that needs to be killed forever.

No more, please.

Never again.

It’s a moment I’ve seen a million times before - in television, film, and on the stage - and it’s something that I even did myself as a teenager.

Several times.

Of all the locations where these two characters could’ve ended up, why in the world would anyone choose a location that every audience member has seen before? It’s a tragically ordinary moment - overdone and cliché - and I can’t imagine how it was allowed to stand.

Jagged Little Pill has received mixed reviews since it opened, leaning positive but not overwhelmingly so. But with some surgical revisions and a fresh take on a few scenes, I think it could be improved considerably.

They really should give me a call.

This is massive hubris, I know. Arrogance and assumption beyond compare. I’ve written one rock opera and three tween musicals in my life.

What do I know about a Broadway production?

Maybe enough to keep a damn swing set off the stage and perhaps enough to streamline a bloated plot and freshen a few scenes and really improve the show.

But again, that’s hubris and arrogance beyond compare.

But also probably right.

Thank goodness for Mommy and Daddy

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I despise legacy admission practices at colleges and universities.

Frankly, I despise any practice in which a person is gifted the privilege of education, employment, or wealth simply because of who their parents happen to be.

I’m looking at you, Donald Trump Jr.

Thankfully, legacy admission practices are on the decline as colleges and universities take a serious look at whether it’s makes sense to continue programs that benefit the children of alumni while also disproportionately advantaging the wealthy.

In 2004, 58 percent of schools engaged in legacy admission practices. In 2019, that number was down to 48 percent.

The practice is more prevalent in the top 250 schools but still in decline: 

63 percent of top schools considered legacy admissions in 2004, compared to 56 percent today. 

It’s better, but it’s still terrible. The child of a Harvard graduate, for example, has a 33.9 percent chance of being admitted to Harvard, compared to just 5.9 percent of non-legacy admission.

This, in my humble opinion, is gross.

Kids who have earned their way into Harvard are blocked by kids who won the genetic lottery.

What a goddamn joke. None of us should look at Harvard in the same way again.

It won’t solve the problem of legacy admissions, but I have a proposal to at least balance the scales a teeny tiny bit. Perhaps all legacy admissions to Harvard and any other college or university should be required to wear a tee shirt during the first month of every semester that reads:

“I’m attending this prestigious school because my mommy or daddy attended this school. Maybe even one of my grandparents, too. I wasn’t accepted based upon on my own merit but because of legacy admission. What I’m trying to say is that I kind of suck. I don’t deserve to be here. But privilege is powerful, people. Large donations help, too. Do you want to be my friend?”

It’s a lot to fit on a shirt, I know.

Maybe just:

“I didn’t work as hard, and I’m not nearly as talented as the kid who didn’t get admitted to this university. Thank goodness for legacy.”

I know. Still a little long.

Simple and annoying

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I spend much of Saturday walking around without a coat,. It was sunny with temperatures in the mid 40’s and a light breeze, but I had exercised earlier and was still running warm when I left the house, so no jacket or coat.

Just a tee shirt.

In the span of less than three hours, three people asked me why I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

One stranger, one acquaintance, and one friend.

None of them asked in a way that sounded worried or concerned for my wellbeing. All three sounded annoyed. Angry, even.

Curious about this odd turn of events, I repeated the experiment on Sunday - tee shirt and jeans - on an even warmer day, and once again had two people ask me why I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Both were people who know me fairly well. Once again both seemed slightly annoyed by my bare arms and exposed torso.

I’m not sure why people would be so concerned over my choice of outwear, but I discovered something rather interesting over the course of this weekend:

I have a new and simple way to annoy people.

Huzzah.

My father's situation was hard, too

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A couple weeks ago, my wife, Elysha, asked for help from her friends on Facebook. She’s been struggling with the news coming out of Washington and beyond - specifically the racist, ignorant sex offender in the White House but other things, too - and wanted to know how her friends were coping.

I had two answers to this question.

The first, and most important, is that  I constantly remind myself that Americans have faced other impossibly hard times and survived.

My father, for example, was drafted and forced to fight in Vietnam under a corrupt commender-in-chief. He came of age during a turbulent, violent time in America when 58,000 of his fellow service men and women returned home in body bags, and those who returned alive were not greeted with handshakes and ticker tape parades. He came home to a country that did not understand post traumatic-stress disorder and was in the midst of a massive economic slow down.

Unemployment rose as high as 9% following the war. Inflation was out of control. Interest rates were as high as 20% at times.

This was a difficult time in America.

This is not said to mitigate the challenges of today. Donald Trump and the spineless, power-hungry Republicans in Congress are legitimately threatening the rule of law and creating enormous personal hardship for many people. Children are placed in cages in the border. Nazis are marching in America’s streets and referred to by Trump as “very fine people.” A massive tax cut for the wealthy has pushed corporate profits to the richest Americans while the bottom 60% of Americans have seen their wages and savings fall during the Trump Presidency. The deficit is the highest it has ever been.

That’s just a few of the problems we face.

Just remember that past Americans have also faced enormous struggles and survived.

Before my father, both of my grandfathers came of age during the Great Depression, Both fought in World War II when nearly half a million American servicemen and women were killed in combat and the very survival of our nation was at stake.

My great grandfather fought in World War I, returning home to face the Great Depression.

These times that we live in have been hard, but they have been hard before. Keeping this in mind helps to remind me that this, too, shall pass.

My second answer to Elysha’s question about coping with today’s world is to take action. For me (and Elysha), it comes in several forms:

  1. Elysha and I are members of the ACLU, supporting their actions in checking this unlawful President whenever appropriate and supporting Americans in need of legal representation.

  2. I was a member of the Knight Foundation lawsuit that forced Trump to unblock me on Twitter. Checking Trump’s power whenever possible is something we should all do. Today I get to tweet my outrage at Trump daily, which is both cathartic and amusing for me. I also feel like it’s my duty to tweet at Trump given all the money spent on my behalf in the lawsuit.

  3. Elysha and I are school teachers, helping children to become good American citizens everyday. We teach respect, tolerance, and nonviolence. We celebrate diversity. We teach children about the Constitution, the rule of law, and how important it is for all Americans to vote in all elections in this nation. Every one of these things - simple, American ideals - are in direct opposition to Donald Trump and his actions while in office. Helping children become engaged, informed, and energized citizens of this country is the best way to prevent the rise of an authoritarian ignoramus in the future,

  4. Elysha and I own and operate Speak Up, an organization that brings people together to share stories and learn about each other. Our storytellers are diverse and remarkable people who share stories that promote understanding, respect, and mutual cooperation. Our storytellers are a diverse group of people from around the world who bring new perspectives to our audience. We’ve even hosted US Senator Christopher Murphy on our stage.

  5. We attended the Women’s March at our state capital on the day after inauguration day, bringing our children along so they could see protest in action.

Doing something is important. You need not change the world. Just push on the wheel of progress with as much energy as you can muster, whether it be in the form of a political donation, a letter to a Congressperson, or a smile of support to an immigrant in your community.

Doing something, anything, will help.

I wish the news didn’t upset my wife as much as it does, but I know that she is one of many. I also know that her reaction to the news out of Washington is completely rationale given the traitorous, self-dealing racist and sex offender in the White House.

Of course she is upset. It would be crazy not to be upset.

It’s just important to remember all that has come before us and all that can do and have already done to help our country and our fellow Americans survive this challenging time in America.

Write local

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An analysis of the 100 books published since 1900 that most often appeared on best-of lists found that for 61 of the 100, the book was at least partly set in a place the author lived.

Of the other 39 books, the average minimum distance between where the author once lived and where the book is set is just 73.7 miles.

This should be good news to me, even though none of my five published novels have made it on these best-of lists.

Something Missing, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, and Twenty-one Truths About Love are all set in the area where I have been living for the past 25 years. Almost all of the locations are real, including the homes that many of my characters inhabit.

Unexpectedly, Milo is also set in the town where I live, though it also includes a long section of road trip to a town in North Carolina.

Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling is a nonfiction book, but it’s filled with stories set in many place, but most of them are towns where I once lived, including the town in which I live today.

The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (and the upcoming The Other Mother) are both set in my hometown of Blackstone, Massachusetts, where I spent the first 18 years of my life. And that town is just 68 miles from where I’m currently living, meaning every one of my books would fit perfectly into this analysis.

All except for the best-of lists part.

In fact, the only book I ever wrote that was set in a fictional town was my only unpublished novel. It’s set in an invented town in Vermont.

Sadly, nobody wanted it.

This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t any good, of course. I think it’s a great story that deserved to be written and published, but unfortunately, no publisher seems to agree.

Yet.

But it’s interesting how it’s the only book that isn’t set in a town within the seemingly magical 73.7 mile limit is the one that I could not sell.

Maybe all I need to do is shift it south to Connecticut…

So many questions. A few answers, then more questions.

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The world is a strange and wondrous place.

After more than 40 years on this planet, I can still find myself in places like this, waiting at a traffic light behind a truck like this with so many questions:

What exactly does a plating company do?

What the hell is passivate? Anodize? Chromate of aluminum?

Are plating companies so rare that one presumably based in Massachusetts (given the license plate) has reason to be in central Connecticut? On a Saturday? And if so, where is it going?

What is behind the door of this truck? Piles of passivate? A machine used to plate something with passivate? Something else entirely?

More importantly, how was this business born? I can’t imagine anyone dreaming of owning or running a plating company when they were growing up, so how does a business like this start? Did someone see a market opportunity and seize it? Did the company’s owner work in the plating industry and decide that he or she could do it better? Did someone take over the family business, and if so, what spurred their parent or grandparent to launch this company decades ago?

There are answers, of course. Some I could not find, but a few are available thanks to the internet.

I still can’t explain plating very well, nor do I entirely understand what passivate is. And I still don’t know what that truck contained.

But according to the website:

“Following 18 years of plating experience - plus electroplating schooling - John Wietecha started his company in 1978. From its first 3500' leased space, and with the help of Dennis Chaffee who joined the firm months later to soon become a principal, Valley Plating grew to become a major regional plater with over 750 customers in the Connecticut Valley.”

So I guessed right. John Wietecha worked in plating for almost two decades before deciding to launch a business with the help of Dennis Chaffee.

This, of course, lead me to a host of new questions:

Why did John Wietecha work in plating for 18 years? Did he stumble into the field after high school? Learn to plate in the military? Dream of plating as a little boy?

Does his work in the plating business make him happy? Did he forgo some other dream in favor of a career with more stability and profit?

And did Dennis Chaffee also love the plating industry? Or was he perhaps sitting on a pile of cash, looking to invest? Did he push aside some childhood dream in favor of assisting John Wietecha in building this business?

The world is a strange and wondrous place. After more than four decades on this planet, I find myself wondering about things like this constantly, often frustrated with the inability to answer every question that comes to my mind.

Speak Up #86: Talia Pollock

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On episode #86 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha Dicks and I talk storytelling!

In our follow up segment, we discuss listener comments and upcoming events. 

In our Homework for Life segment, I talk about how contrast can often serve as an effective engine for storytelling. 

Next we listen to a story by Talia Pollock.  

Amongst the many things we discuss include:

  1. Humor

  2. The raising of stakes throughout a story

  3. Allowing important moments to linger 

  4. Strategic characterizations of characters

  5. Bending stories to fit the needs of the speaker

Next we answer a question about the cost of living a certain kind of life.   

Lastly, we each offer a recommendation.

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

  • Cheer on Netflix

Matt:

  • Calling for help in grocery stores

LINKS