972 Words: Arguments

From the Cambridge Dictionary:

What American political parties do is put forth an argument. They say, in essence, our way of thinking is better than their way of thinking.

Pretty simple. What’s difficult is finding and advancing the argument that will appeal to the most voters.

The Democrats (my party, although I’ve never been totally thrilled with being part of that club for the very reason I’m making this…, well, argument here) have failed to put forth an effective, sustainable argument for decades. In fact, we can go back to the presidential race of 1932 when Franklin Roosevelt told the American people they were getting a raw deal, that everyone, even the poorest among us, deserved food, clothing, shelter, a job. That hit voters in the gut; tens of millions of Americans were starving, wore tattered clothes, lost their homes, and were out of work. Roosevelt won in 1932 and won again in 1936, in 1940, and in 1944.

Harry Truman then told voters he’d give them a Fair Deal. That, too, was a gut argument, but it was a tad less effective because the end of the Great Depression and the war meant those tens of millions were back at work, earning and spending scads of money, fat and happy.

The Democrats, for whatever reason, abandoned the gut argument and have gone for the intellectual argument almost every quadrennial election since Adlai Stevenson, notoriously labeled an”egghead” by Dick Nixon, ran twice against Dwight D. Eisenhower and was trounced both times.

Nixon’s party was delighted to pick up on the pejorative. It hit them in the gut. They could say I don’t need any smart guy college boy telling me what’s what! What does he know about real life?

The Democrats, for whatever reason, became a party of eggheads. They say, again and again, “experts tell us,” “researchers say,” “science has proven,” and so on. Dem strategists believe, with all their hearts, that Americans are a rational, thoughtful, inquisitive bunch that’ll carefully consider the pros and cons of the issues and vote accordingly. That they’ll listen to the eggheads.

They’re so wrong.

That argument’ll win the day in a college freshman poli-sci class. It’ll get liberals and progressives to nod their heads at each other in agreement. It’ll even sway newspaper editorial boards. Democratic strategists start believing that the whole nation, everybody — Blacks, Whites, Latinos, straight, gay, university degreed, manual laborers, Christians, Jews, Muslims, agnostics, the rich, the poor, everybody — will vote as though they’re sitting in the freshman poli-sci class and hoping to ace it.

Nixon might have considered Stevenson an egghead, but he was the clever one. He was smart enough to know the single most gut issue in America in 1968 was race. White America was scared to death Black Americans were ready to pay them back for several hundred years’-worth of slavery, Jim Crow, and institutionalized racism. Nixon promised “law and order” and then courted all the southern segregationists who were abandoning the Democratic Party in droves. He won in 1968 and then was re-elected in an historic landslide in 1972.

Twenty years later, Bill Clinton won a couple of terms in the White House largely because he hit the voters in the gut. “I feel your pain,” he said, again and again. They didn’t care that he was unfaithful to his wife; only that he was on their side.

Barack Obama in 2008 stuck his finger in the air and determined Americans were sick of the same old bullshit. He promised them “Change We Can Believe In.” He won and was reelected in 2012.

Clinton and Obama, though, were anomalies. If only my party (I’m not thrilled even writing those two words) had taken its cue from them. The gut wins. The intellectual doesn’t.

Take the once and future president who has swept back into office at the controls of every level of the federal government. He’s broken every rule as well as any number of laws. He’s violated all norms, insulted everybody who doesn’t look, act, and think like him, and baffled pollsters and professional observers. Yet he wins.

Because he goes for the gut.

Groceries cost too much, he says. Inflation is out of control. The homeless are taking over our downtowns. Shoplifters are going wild.

The gut.

That’s what many, many, many Americans believe. He’s simply giving voice to their fears.

I saw this meme again and again during this most recent campaign season:

I don’t have to imagine it! I saw it in real time, in real life! People don’t care about abortion rights until their daughter gets pregnant. They don’t care about LGBTQI rights until their son comes home and tells them he’s gay. They don’t care about the miseries that are driving South and Central Americans up through the border illegally; all they know is they have to pass tent cities of them under viaducts on their way to work — and they don’t like it!

What people care about is the cost of a gallon of gas and the price of milk and eggs. And, by the way, taxes are too high, always too high.

These are gut issues. Most people have little desire to fight for the rights of others. I’ll go one step further: most people don’t care about the rights of others.

Until the Democrats realize the money voters have to spend on a dozen eggs is more important to them than whether or not trans kids can use whichever school bathroom they want, they’re going to lose.

This doesn’t mean Democrats have to abandon the fight for LGBTQI rights. It doesn’t mean they have to drop reproductive rights as an issue. Hell, they’d better not. But if they want to gain back the White House, the Senate, the House, governorships, and statehouses, they’d better start making an argument that hits the most people in the gut.

619 Words: Fantasy

Just a hunch.

A lot of my friends are walking around like emotional zombies these days in the wake of the shocking 2024 election. Scads of social media posts are advising folks to find joy in everyday things, to recognize the good in their lives, to care for themselves physically and mentally, to essentially grasp at straws to stay sane in a crazy world.

It’s all the same advice we’d give to someone who’s experienced the death of a loved one, who’s been fired, whose car has been stolen, or who’s been dumped by a longtime romantic partner. We’re grieving right now as we look forward to the next four years of the Trump Reign, an era in which the re-hired Leader of the Free World now controls every single facet of the federal government. The once-and-future President of the United States will get to remake this holy land in accordance with whatever kingdom he imagines for it.

It’s no wonder so many of us are in need of psychological and emotional healing.

My hunch is this: many of us — maybe too many of us — are going to bury ourselves in fantasy worlds, preferring them to a coming real world that’s way too scary.

Take a quick look at this week’s New York Times fiction bestseller lists. Of the 30 titles therein, fully 15 are either SciFi fantasy or romance novels, genres that traditionally and by definition have nothing to do with the world revealed by the front page of the selfsame newspaper.

Of course, not that many people read the front page of the NYT anymore. The Pew Research Center tells us that fully 86 percent of Americans get their news from their smartphones or other internet-access devices.

Hell, millions of us have been running like thieves away from hard journalism and the cold reality as described by the old news media for decades now. In 2024, we subsist on a diet of clickbaits, misinformation, fabrication, hyperbole, Russian/Chinese/Iranian pranking, scary fairy tales, and other perversions of reality. Once upon a time, Walter Cronkite told us “That’s the way it is.” Now our screens scream “CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT THOSE EVIL FASCIST/COMMIE/TRANS/RACIST/ABORTION-PEDDLING/AMERICAN TALIBAN-ISTS ARE PLANNING TO DO TO US?!?!”

Trying to keep up with the day’s news now has become…, well, trying. It’s exhausting being bombarded with apocalyptic visions every time we attempt to be well-informed. The Trump Takeover, Redux may or may not spell the end of American Democracy although it’s a safe bet he’d be thrilled if it results in the end of the American Democratic Party. Our constitutional system may survive his malign machinations from now through January 2029 but few of us who voted for Kamala Harris would be willing to bet this is going to be a recognizably Free Country at the end of his sequel term.

Just watch. Those New York Times fiction bestseller lists, hardcover and paperback, as well as the lineup of top premium TV dramas as seen on Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, Disney, Hulu, HBO Max, and all the other streaming services over the next few years will become even more awash in escapist fantasy and romance. Otherwise rational adults already have been gobbling up everything from the Harry Potter series back in the early years of the 21st Century to Sarah J. Maas, Colleen Hoover, The Penguin on TV, and all those Marvel Universe blockbusters on the big screen.

Now that the real world has become excruciatingly unpalatable for some 50 percent of us, a huge swath of the populace is going to disappear in some unreal world of their choice.

That may help us survive with our sanity intact but this just might be the wrong time for us to check out from reality.

1146 Words: Sex & Gender — What We Know (and Don’t Know)

A few years back, Rebecca Helm, a biologist then working as an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina, wrote an X post encapsulating all we know these days about sex and gender. That is, what people who study human S&G, professionally and seriously, know about the stuff.

Scads of folks out there feel certain to their cores that they know all about it, but they don’t. What they know is a bunch of fuzzy chatter passed down through the generations, based on preconceptions, misconceptions, and outright bullshit, none of which helps them or us understand the true nature of our sexuality and gender self-identity.

Most people believe any and every human being is one or the other, female or male. That’s it. No argument tolerated. No uncertainty allowed.

If only it were that simple

Then again saying “if only…” implies things’d be better that way. Easier to understand, maybe. But better? No.

There are more than a few critters in this world who are both male and female. They include earthworms, moss animals (bryozoans), flukes (trematodes), snails, banana slugs, clownfish, certain types of wrasse fish, mangrove rivulus fish, and barnacles.

I suppose the social media pages shared by the Earth’s barnacles are not rife with uninformed pontifications on which one is a boy or girl since they all are both. See? Easy.

Recall how “gender reveal” parties were big among expecting parents a few years back? The future moms and dads’d send out invitations to all their friends and relatives saying, Wahoo, we’re gonna have a young’n! Let’s get sloshed and pig out on seven-bean salad. Everybody would come by and the parents would reveal the results of their fetal anatomy tests so that all the attendees would then know what color onesies to buy for the upcoming baby showers.

That fad seems to be either dying off or becoming something to be shunned, rather like those antebellum plantation dress up parties that were all the rage for a while. Here’s a thread from a website called what to expect, an all-around discussion forum and registry for expectant parents: “Gender Reveal Parties… Are They Even Still a Thing?” Comments range from “They are so FUN! Cupcakes or cake w fam and friends will never go out of style!” to “Gender reveal parties don’t reveal the gender of the baby, but the sex of the baby, AKA what their private parts look like.” 

Even that latter comment, albeit semi-enlightened, reeks of old school twaddle. Private parts? Really?

Anyway, a certain swath of the populace now embraces the notion that gender and sex aren’t the same things and that the binary nature of the terms fails to accurately represent the reality of things. Those folks are labeled “woke” (in the pejorative sense) by another swath that says a boy’s a boy and a girl’s a girl and if you believe otherwise you must be a commie rat.

So, here comes the aforementioned biologist Rebecca Helm with her straightforward, indispensable take on what we oughtta know (her prose is cleaned and brushed here inasmuch as she’s a hard science nerd, not an English grammar and usage maven):

Lots of folks make biological sex seem really simple. Well, since it’s so simple, let’s find the biological roots, shall we? Let’s talk about sex.

If you know a bit about biology you will probably say that biological sex is caused by chromosomes: XX and you’re female, XY and you’re male. This is “chromosomal sex” but is it “biological sex”?

Human Chromosomes.

Well, turns out there is only one gene on the Y chromosome that really matters to sex. It’s called the SRY gene. During human embryonic development the SRY protein turns on male-associated genes. Having an SRY gene makes you “genetically male.”

But is this “biological sex”?

Sometimes that SRY gene pops off the Y chromosome and over to an X chromosome. Surprise! So now you’ve got an X with an SRY and a Y without an SRY. What does this mean?

A Y with no SRY means physically you’re female, chromosomally you’re male (XY) and genetically you’re female (no SRY). An X with an SRY means you’re physically male, chromsomally female (XX) and genetically male (SRY).

But biological sex is simple! There must be another answer.

Sex-related genes ultimately turn on hormones in specific areas on the body as well as reception of those hormones by cells throughout the body. Is this the root of “biological sex”?

Hormonal male means you produce “normal” levels of male-associated hormones. Except some percentage of females will have higher levels of “male” hormones than some percentage of males. Ditto “female” hormones. And if you’re developing, your body may not produce enough hormones for your genetic sex. Leading you to be genetically male or female, chromosomally male or female, hormonally non-binary, and physically non-binary.

Well, except cells have something to say about this. Maybe cells are the answer to biological sex? Right?

Cells have receptors that “hear” the signal from sex hormones. But sometimes those receptors don’t work. Like a mobile phone that’s on Do Not Disturb.

What does this all mean?

It means you may be genetically male or female, chromosomally male or female, hormonally male/female/non-binary, with cells that may or may not hear the male/female/non-binary call, and all this leading to a body that can be male/non-binary/female.

Try out some combinations for yourself. Notice how confusing it gets? Can you point to what the absolute cause of biological sex is? Is it fair to judge people by it?

Of course you could try appealing to the numbers. “Most people are either male or female,” you say. Except that as a biologist professor I will tell you the reason I don’t have my students look at their own chromosomes in class is because people could learn that their chromosomal sex doesn’t match their physical sex, and learning that in the middle of a 10-point assignment is just not the time.

Biological sex is complicated. Before you discriminate against someone on the basis of biological sex and identity, ask yourself: Have you seen your chromosomes? Do you know the genes of the people you love? The hormones of the people you work with? The state of their cells?

Since the answer will obviously be no, please be kind, respect people’s right to tell you who they are, and remember that you don’t have all the answers. Again, biology is complicated. Kindness and respect don’t have to be.

Note: Biological classifications exist: XX, XY, XXY XXYY, and all manner of variation which is why sex isn’t classified as binary. You can’t have a binary classification system with more than two configurations even if two of those configurations are more common than others.

Biology is a shitshow. Be kind to people.

I guess my buying into Professor Helm’s argument makes me a commie rat. Or just “woke.”

787 Words: The Greatest Show On Earth

This past couple of weeks I’ve been fortunate to track Comet C/2023 A3, also known as Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, alias Comet A3, from my little safe haven at the tip of the Paynetown peninsula on Lake Monroe.

That spot has been an almost daily refuge for me since I moved to Bloomington way back in 2009. The Loved One and I would bring Steve the Dog and Sally the Dog here while they were still alive. It got to the point that, every night at about the same time, Steve’d park himself next to me and grunt, as if to say, “Hey, what’s the matter with you? It’s time to go to the lake!”

Then, in 2016, when I was recovering from cancer, I’d go to Paynetown and just sit and gaze out at the ripples (and sometimes actual waves) in the water. It was calming and healing.

I told my pal Danny about it when he was getting the shit kicked out of him by cancer a couple of years later. His cancer, as opposed to mine, was metastatic, surely a knockout blow. His treatments, including chemotherapy and immunotherapy, only offered a brief stay of execution. Somehow, he kept a brave front and swore he’d beat the bastard Big C.

Danny told me one day that he’d join me at Paynetown when he’d recovered so he, too, could look out at the water and feel calm and heal. I said, “Sure, Danny,” but I knew it’d never come to pass.

Every time I’m out there now I think of Danny and how he would have loved sitting at Paynetown with me, two grizzled vets, exchanging war stories.

I got a huge bonus of late with the appearance of the comet (and, for pity’s sake, why couldn’t the astronomers make up their minds about its name?) The first couple of days when it was supposed to have appeared in the dusk sky, near to the western horizon, I couldn’t spot it. I was joined by other skywatchers including a shy Chinese college student and a fireplug of a Bloomington native, both of whom set up timed exposures on their cameras. An IU Health Bloomington Hospital nurse named Scott also joined us, lugging his two kids by marriage. I’m happy to say the kids, each of whom appears about to enter adolescence, were giddy at the prospect of seeing the comet.

That’s heartening. You hear so much these days about kids burying their noses in their devices, not caring a whit about the world around them or the sky above them.

Finally one day I glimpsed the comet. To see it, I had to look out the side of my eye. Looking directly at it was no good. It would appear as the faintest smudge against an orange-blue sky that was about to turn indigo. I whipped out my astronomical binoculars, locked them into my tripod, and swept a small circle of sky I imagined the comet to be in. Each night for about a week, when the comet came into in my lenses, I’d blurt “Got it!” like a teenager.

Sometimes a jet would streak by, right there in my field of vision, looking like something out of a science fiction movie on a journey to the stars.

The comet didn’t move or dance or change colors. It sat there in the 8:30pm sky, a fuzzy nucleus surrounded by a fuzzier coma and trailing an even fuzzier tail. All three elements of it were white, as if some cosmic painter had dabbed at the sky with a swift brushstroke of thinned-out water color.

The comet was part of a triad of sky spectacular-ness. The brilliant planet Venus to its left and a bit further left stood the stately, faint white pillar of the Milky Way, its base on the southwest horizon.

I don’t have a long-exposure, professional-type camera like the two guys at Paynetown. I only have my memory of the scene night after night, from Sunday through Thursday. Here, though, is an image I found online:

This photo was taken in Hawaii, which is a little ways past Bedford. It’s a long exposure, too, likely five minutes or more.

It’s what I saw — albeit enhanced and minus the mountain — on those nights. The scene’ll stick with me until I die.

I’d have paid a hundred dollars — hell, a thousand! — for a ticket to the show if some entrepreneur had conjured a way to monetize it. Who knows? Maybe some day Elon Musk or someone like him will buy the rights to the sky and charge us to look at it. For right now, though, it’s free and there was no better show on TV, online, or on stage last week.

616 Words: Hear No Evil

I have begun my quadrennial embargo on news.

Every presidential election year, I turn off my radio when the news comes on at a certain point in the year because, for god in heaven’s sake, it’s not telling me a single thing that I don’t already know! In fact, my go-to radio news source, NPR’s “Morning Edition,” has been hammering the same goddamn things into my ears (and, subsequently, into my by-now poisoned consciousness) for the last three months.

Enough!

Me.

The solitary bit of news on the election front since January has been Joe Biden dropping out and Kamala Harris filling in. That’s it. That was a day’s worth of news. Otherwise, leftovers.

Were I a TV news junkie, I’d be switching off that medium as well but, as loyal Pencillistas know, I forewent TV news — how long has it been? — for pity’s sake, 30 years now! Yep, soon after George HW Bush’s Line in the Sand War in Iraq (shout out to “The Big Lebowski”) I realized TV news did nothing but make me profoundly uneasy and unhappy. It was obvious to me, even three decades ago, that the purpose of TV news was not to inform me and enhance my appreciate of humanity but to reach deep into my reptilian brain and make me…, well, a junkie. A real live, addicted as all hell junkie. TV News wants me to fear, to be hyper-vigilant, to panic, to be desperate for the next minuscule morsel of information that will either scare the bejesus out of me or cause me to relax for a precious few moments.

So, way back then I said enough to CNN and ABC News and all the rest.

Since then I’ve been following the tragic opera that is The World via newspapers (online, of course — I’m not a complete Luddite, after all) and the aforementioned NPR morning show. But the radio end of that combo ain’t happening right now. My embargo likely will continue for at least a good week after the election (that is, unless my gal wins — in that case, I’ll be gobbling up every single news tidbit like a dog waiting under the dinner table).

Readers of this global communications colossus might think that because my Big Talk radio interview program is on WFHB, I’d have been listening to news sources like Democracy Now!, which airs daily at noon on 91.3 FM. Just between you and me (don’t tell Jar Turner and Kade Young), I find it almost as uncomfortable to listen to Amy Goodman and Juan González as I do to Anderson Cooper or David Muir. Whereas the Democracy Now! duo brings us tons of unvarnished, relevant news about our government and our planet, pretty much everything they report is fatalistic and disparaging of the United States. That is, of us.

There’s plenty of evil that goes on in Washington, in the Pentagon, on Wall Street, and in the statehouses and city halls all over this 21st century empire but to be fed a strict diet of it all can result in a malignancy of the soul. So — shhh! — that’s why I listen to NPR news.

As for my online newspaper consumption, it’s easy as hell for me to skip over the latest polls; the most recent Trump verbal defecation; the feature about the wife and husband who are voting for Harris and Trump, respectively; or the interview with the oddball who’s four-square in favor of a Jill Stein presidency. It’s NPR’s news programs that I’m banning from my home transistor and my car AM/FM.

Sorry, Steve Inskeep and crew, but I don’t need your warmed-over canned hash anymore this election season. I’m on a mental health diet.

850 Words: The Smartest Person On Earth

I’ve been writing up my notes for tomorrow’s recording of Big Talk. My guest will be Terry Sloan, a poet who also spent 40 years as an engineer at Indiana University’s Cyclotron.

In case the word seems foreign to you, a cyclotron is is a type of particle accelerator, speeding minuscule subatomic bits of matter on spiral journeys toward each other where they crash into each other and create new, even teensier subatomic particles. The cyclotron was invented by the brilliant physicist, Ernest O. Lawrence (you might remember him from the 2023 movie blockbuster “Oppenheimer”), way back in 1930, the dawn of the atomic age. Within ten or so years, the smartest people on Earth were hard at work trying, with the help of cyclotrons, to design bombs that would conceivably fry all of humanity.

Somehow, we have avoided — to this date, at least — incinerating the surface of our planet. There are bigger and better particle accelerators than the cyclotron today; they’re called synchrotrons. The cyclotron is still a thing, though. There are nearly 1500 of them on Earth, creating the stuff used in nuclear medicine. Some of them are the big, scary machines that cancer patients sit in every day for weeks at a time in the hope that the linear beams of subatomic particles the machines emit will kill their tumors.

IU, as I say, once had its very own cyclotron. The gizmo here in Bloomington produced its first usable linear beam in the fall of 1977, spurring protons to a speed of 200 MeV, which I’m told is very fast indeed although I have no idea if that means they can outrace my Prius. According to the IU press room, the cyclotron here delivered its last batch of protons in a beam on December 5, 2014. Prior to that date, scads of people from around South Central Indiana came here to get their tumors bombarded, including a lot of prostate cancer sufferers.

Not only that, physics geeks attending IU got to fiddle around with the device for research purposes. Formally called the Indiana University Health Proton Therapy Center, the lab and its assorted machines comprised the first such site in the Midwest.

Now the nearest proton therapy setup is in Cincinnati, operated by the children’s hospital there. If you’re an adult and you have get tumors zapped by protons, you’ll have to trek up to Chicago or eastward to Columbus, Ohio.

One day researchers and inventors likely will come up with cancer treatments that don’t entail cyclotrons and nuclear medicine, which has been likened to swatting a mosquito with a sledgehammer. The linear beam is largely focused on the tumor but there’s plenty of stray radiation that floods the body. The basic idea is, if you have the misfortune of catching cancer, your oncologist and radiation therapist will bring you to the edge of death, hoping the tumor dies first. Like I said, sledgehammer and mosquito.

Anyway, in delving into all this arcana, I came across the name Fabiola Gianotti, a great Italian moniker if I’ve ever heard one. She’s the director-general at CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research, home of the Large Hadron Collider. That’s a 17-mile in circumference underground tube where physicists in  2012 found the long sought-after Higgs Boson, AKA the God Particle. Many of the world’s physics geeks saw the God Particle as the most basic piece of matter in existence. It’s probably not, inasmuch as there always seems to be a smaller, more basic brick in the wall of physical existence. Not only that but physicists hate the term God Particle, even though Nobel Laureate Leon Lederman coined it in 1993.

Gianotti.

Lederman was as much a jokester as a scientist. That’s a healthy combination when you consider the fact that particle physics may yet result in the end of us all. May as well die laughing, right?

Fabiola Gianotti is the first woman to be named Big Boss at CERN, a landmark she reached in 2016. Imagine that! As recently as the 1950s, women were still seen as invisible in the most daunting scientific fields.Perhaps it’d be more accurate to say they were unseen. Not only is Gianotti a topnotch experimental particle physicist, she calls the shots for the thousands of people — still mostly men — who do their thing at CERN.

I always prefer to see the glass as half full so I think it’s great that in the 61 short years since Rosalind Franklin was cheated out of a Nobel Prize by Crick & Watson for her work in identifying the helical nature of the DNA molecule, a woman could be put in charge of the world’s most complex scientific lab. Then again, were I a woman, I might say it’s a goddamned shame members of my gender had to sit in the back of the science bus, as it were, for centuries. And I’d be rightly infuriated about it all.

Let’s just say the name Fabiola Gianotti should be known by schoolchildren around the world. It isn’t of course, but that has to do more with our contemporary disrespect of science and knowledge than simple sexism. Either way, she gets cheated.

 

Big Talk Un-Miked: Claire Arbogast

Two of Claire Arbogast’s books have been published. One is a memoir and the other a novel. She’ll be talking about and selling both at the Writers Guild at Bloomington‘s Local Authors Book Fair, Saturday, November 2, 2024. Claire is one of 31 authors corralled by organizer Molly Gleeson for the event. As far as I can tell, Claire has taken the most labor-intensive route to getting her books into readers’ hands. That’s because she has a background in public relations, communications, and marketing and has a lot of experience dealing with the buying and selling of books. This is the fourth installment in my little series on authors who’ll participate in the Book Fair. Three of them — Claire, Molly, and Rebekah Spivey — have appeared on my WFHB radio interview program Big Talk. They and Keiko Kasza were key sources for my soon-to-be-published Limestone Post article on the Fair. All four happily provided me with more information than could fill a dozen articles and show episodes so I started this limited series. I just couldn’t let all the great tips, insights, revelations, epiphanies, setbacks, triumphs, and inside scoops I got from them fall, as it were, on the cutting room floor.

MG: Your memoir Leave the Dogs at Home got good reviews and sold well. Was it easy for you to get publishers interested in the novel If Not the Whole Truth?

CA: The publishing world has contracted so much over the years. I knew it would be hard. The top twelve most popular fiction genres are:

  • Fantasy
  • Science Fiction
  • Dystopian
  • Adventure
  • Romance
  • Detective and Mystery
  • Horror
  • Thriller
  • LGBTQ+
  • Historical Fiction
  • Young Adult
  • Children’s Fiction

The nature and topic of If Not the Whole Truth is serious. It’s got politics in it. No vampires, no speculative worlds, not uber adventure, not gooey romance, not a cozy-murder, detective mystery, no monsters, no heroes battling organized crime forces, there IS a LGBTQ+ person in the book but it’s not a key part of the story, not a traditional historical fiction novel, not for YA, and certainly not a children’s book!

It’s the kind of book an established author like Barbara Kingsolver, Kristen Hannah, or Jodi Picoult might get published. Or a professor or scholar, a debut younger writer with a key-market attitude (color, immigrant-related, recent MFA, LGBTQ+) with the potential to write many more books over the decades might get published.

I’m an old privileged white woman without credentials, so I knew it would be tough.

MG: How did you prepare for the process?

CA: I took classes on how to query agents and publishers, hired professionals to help me with my query letters, and queried 130 agents and 81 small presses.

Querying is a long, slow process. Nothing happens fast, and often a pass is a no response. While I was pitching and waiting, I learned as much as I could about self-publishing and book marketing, and worked on expanding my network, especially with other authors, staying engaged with the readers of my blog and previous book, and marketing my previous book. All these things I’ve continued to do.

I did hear back from one publisher who loved the book, but had just published a similar book and passed on mine to keep their small catalog more diverse. And, I heard back from the Santa Fe Writers Project 2023 Literary Awards (winners get their books published). They too loved the story but passed because they wanted more of the 2022 era in the story.

MG: This isn’t overnight success stuff!

CA: I gave myself a deadline of January 2024 to quit trawling for an agent or a publisher. (She began writing the book in 2020).

MG: What things did you do to get the word out about If Not the Whole Truth?

CA: A hundred million thousand things, but I also had to do a ton of marketing myself for the Leave the Dogs at Home (published by Indiana University Press). Unless you are a big name author, you’re gonna be doing marketing.

(Claire provided me with what she calls “a short, incomplete list” of steps she took to market her novel; you wouldn’t be too wrong to conclude it’s as hard to publicize and market a book as it is to write it.)

  • I researched book designers and networked with several until found the one that seemed right for me.
  • I worked with several professional editors to be sure the book content was as perfect as it could be.
  • I researched Amazon’s algorithms of Amazon and learned how to use key words to get as much visibility as possible on its site, using Publisher Rocket.
  • I requested early book reviews from other authors and key places such as Library Journal, Chicago Book Review, Kirkus Reviews, etc. and am still sending the book out for reviews.
  • I created an early reader group to read the book in advance so they could start leaving reviews on Amazon the day it was released.
  • I published through both IngramSpark and Amazon KDP to have the best distribution system possible, and had to learn how to navigate both of their systems so they will play well together.
  • I purchased ISBNs, bar codes, and QR codes.
  • I hired specialists to write the Cataloging-in-Publication block required for a library to process a book. It must have a cataloging block printed on the back of its title page. The cataloging block contains essential information about the book including the title, author, edition, ISBN and other metadata.
  • I created an If Not the Whole Truth “sell sheet” which is a specific flyer book distributors distribute to commercial bookbuyers.
  • I designed my website, postcards, bookmarks, and social media promotions.
  • I made, and am still making, in-person contacts with about 25 bookstores and libraries, including bookstores in related museums. 
  • I entered vetted book fair events like the Indiana Historical Society’s 2024 Indiana Holiday Author Fair and the Indianapolis Public Library Meet an Author, Be an Author Fair. 
  • I developed If Not the Whole Truth press releases, both general and tailored to specific individuals in the regional media.
  • I have a few online groups that have okayed the discussion my book release, including the 1969- 1970 Atlanta Pop Festival group and the email list of my Howe High School class. 
  • I have six If Not the Whole Truth book events in the works, and plan to do more – all with their own promotions:
    • Burning Convictions Double Book Release Party on September 15 at Backspace Gallery — a multimedia event
    • Author Conversation with Shayne Laughter at Morgenstern’s Bookstore & Cafe September 30
    • A joint event with two poets put on by the Indiana Writers Center In Indianapolis in November
    • A Women Writing for (a) Change event with Rebekah Spivey in November
    • A booktalk in November, moderated by Linda Whikehart, Juniper Gallery
    • A yet-to-be set event at Indy Reads with a local Indy journalist

(And you thought just writing a book would be hard work! Claire Arbogast already is contemplating her next book. When I first contacted her, she was driving around Indianapolis, visiting bookstores, spreading the word about her new novel. As she drove, she told me, she was formulating the idea for her next book in her head. Learn more about Claire:

Please read previous Big Talk Un-miked editions on this global communications colossus, The Electron Pencil:

And, whatever else you do, just read, period.)

951 Words: Celebrity

Bob Dylan has been a world-renowned star for some 60 years. Chappell Roan has been one for about six months.

New to the game or an old vet, every celebrity struggles in a way you and I can’t imagine. “Fame,” wrote clinical psychologist and journalist Donna Rockwell, “is a dangerous drug.”

Way back in the 1980s when Madonna burst onto the global scene, she was quoted as saying she dreamed of becoming a star as a small child, and had dedicated her life to that end ever since. She didn’t mention dreaming of being a singer or a dancer or an actor or a  songwriter or any of the things she eventually became famous for. No. She dreamed only of being famous. That other stuff was detail.

We hear similar things all too often when some loon opens fire in an elementary school or takes a shot at a political candidate or explodes a bomb outside a public building. Investigators, sifting through the suspects’ diaries and social media posts, find that he’d done his awful deed because he wanted the world to know who he was.

The world. Eight billion-plus people.

I might add to Rockwell’s characterization of renown that it is also powerful. Perhaps it’s as potent as heroin or fentanyl. Maybe even more so.

So alluring is fame that people happily devote their lives to getting and keeping it. I doubt anybody out there taking her or his first hit of fetty thinks, “Golly gee, I hope I get addicted to this shit real soon!”

Addiction is the unintended consequence of using for a lot of mind- and mood-altering substances. When it comes to that other dope, fame, addiction all too often is the goal.

I’ve often wondered why anybody would want to be President of the United States. You can’t take a walk, on a whim, down to the corner for an ice cream cone. You can’t spent an aimless Saturday afternoon browsing at a flea market. You’re constantly surrounded by Secret Service agents, aides, advisors, and hangers-on. For pity’s sake, you can’t even move your bowels in utter private. A whole gang of people is bound to hear your ministrations. Yet, should you be elected POTUS, you’re guaranteed to be one of the two or three most famous people on the planet.

Seems like a crappy trade-off.

I bring this up because I read this morning that Chappell Roan, the newbie to this fame stuff, just cancelled a big appearance this weekend at a two-city festival called All Things Go. She would have been one of the star attractions, if not the headliner.

When promoters put together a huge shebang like this, they’re banking (literally) on all the scheduled acts showing up. Chappell Roan dropping out is one of the entertainment business’s mortal sins. The show, the saying goes, must go on.

But it won’t with Chappell Roan today and tomorrow.

She announced her withdrawal yesterday, the last minute as it were, on Instagram. She wrote:

I apologize to people who have been waiting to see me in NYC & DC this weekend at All Things Go, but I am unable to perform. Things have gotten overwhelming over the past few weeks and I am really feeling it. I feel pressures to prioritize a lot of things right now and I need a few days to prioritize my health. I want to be present when I perform and give the best shows possible. Thank you for understanding. Be back soon xox.

Scads of CR fans’ll be devastated by the news. The promoters likely are chewing their fingernails. When I read about this development I thought, “Good for her!”

The sudden fame that has descended upon the legally-named Kayleigh Amstutz and all the responsibilities and worries that accompany it just might have killed her had she not come to the conclusion that she has to take a break. Seemingly every celebrity memoir includes chapters on the authors’ pill-popping, booze-gulping, needle-plunging self-medication to keep up with the demands of touring and recording, the endless string of personal appearances, and the burden of keeping the shows on schedules because so many people’s livelihoods depend on them.

Celebs from Elvis Presley to Michael Jackson to Prince to Lady Gaga gobbled substances to pump up their energy for each show and then to wind down and get to sleep afterward. Lady Gaga, for instance has been quoted as saying:

I was smoking up to 15, 20 marijuana cigarettes a day with no tobacco. I was living on a totally other psychedelic plane, numbing myself completely.

Fifteen to 20 spliffs a day! Jeez, I love my little herbal pastime but 15-20 such nails would last me months! Then again, I don’t have to grapple with the rigors of fame.

Celebrity and its accoutrements indeed are dangerous. I’d say just ask Judy Garland, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, John Belushi, Matthew Perry, Tom Petty, Chyna, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Heath Ledger, Chris Farley, River Phoenix, Keith Moon, Brian Jones, and Marilyn Monroe, only they’re dead. And not of old age or cancer or any of the things that kill non-celebrities.

They’re all dead, to be sure, for reasons particular to each of them. But each of them appeared to be coping with that most powerful and dangerous drug, fame. One drug led to another. And another. And…, well, you get the idea.

If Chappell Roan is slamming the brakes on her speeding fame freight train in order to get her life under control, then she is admirable. I don’t know if she’s been doing drugs, legal or not, to handle the pressure but — guaranteed — the allure has to be there.

Perhaps she has concluded that fame really sucks.

Big Talk un-Miked: Keiko Kasza

Here’s the third installment in my Pencil series on The Writing Life. So far I’ve delved in to the works and philosophies of Molly Gleeson and Rebekah Spivey. This time I’ll shine the spotlight on Keiko Kasza. All three and more will be featured in my Limestone Post story on the Local Authors Book Fair, sponsored by the Writers Guild at Bloomington. That piece will run some time within the next several weeks. Gleeson and Spivey have appeared on my WFHB radio interview program Big Talk. Sadly, Keiko did not wish to come on the show because she’s self-conscious about her accent — she was born and raised in Japan. Despite her fears, she is articulate and passionate about her art and would have made a good guest. She’s the author of 23 children’s picture books including A Mother for Choco, a bestseller that was made into an audio presentation featuring the voices of actors Paula Poundstone, Mary Tyler Moore, and Bea Arthur. Kasza’s book, My Lucky Day, was a selection of Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library.

MG: Was it hard for you to get published the first time?

KK: Not really. I’ve been very lucky in that sense. The first book was in Japan. I was living with my husband in Tokyo at the time. I think I was 29 years old. My boss knew some editor. He said, “Do you want me to introduce you to this guy?” I said, “Yes!”

(Keiko worked as a graphic designer at an advertising firm. She began drawing and writing children’s picture books as a hobby when she and her husband lived for a while in Ecuador.)

My boss took me to the meeting with the editor. Right there, sitting around the coffee table, the editor said, “I’ll take it!” I could not believe it!

MG: Is the Japanese publishing industry similar to the one in the US?

KK: Yes, Of course. All publishers want to make money.

In Japan, I would say, they are more into morals and lessons that books can bring to children. In the United States, there could be lessons but it could be just pure fun.

MG: You have said that when you’re creating your stories you’re an actor, you’re being the animal.

KK: Exactly. The character. Let’s say I’m working on My Lucky Day. That’s my best selling book in the United States. I become those two characters when I’m writing and illustrating.

MG: The fox and the piglet.

KK: Yes, yes! How would I feel or act or say in this situation. I’m in the mind of the fox.

(Keiko writes her story first, then illustrates it.)

MG: How long does it take you from the original idea to a finished manuscript?

KK: Two years. Wake up. Have breakfast. Drink strong coffee, and go to my studio.

Every book I work on, I’m in love with the main characters. Every few years I change my lover!

MG: Why did you start working on children’s picture books while you were in Ecuador?

KK: I could not speak Spanish. My husband was busy doing his research (he is a retired Indiana University professor). I had no job, no kids. What am I going to do with my time? I didn’t know what to do with myself. I got two picture books as a gift from a friend in Tokyo.

(One of those gift books was the classic, Frederick, by Leo Leonni. The other was a Japanese title.)

I was so engrossed by both books. It was the right time. I have an art background and I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was a child. Seeing those two arts combined in those incredible picture books, I said, “Maybe I’ll try it.”

My first attempt was so bad.

MG: In your view or others’?

KK: I’m sure in everybody’s view. That particular one, I still have it somewhere in the attic.

MG: You’ve said you never liked art classes, even as a little girl.

KK: I hated it. I was not a bad student. I was getting good grades in math and Japanese and whatever, and then art? (She makes a retching sound.)

I just didn’t know how to draw. I was terrible at it. The reason why I chose graphic design when I came to the United States as a college student is because I didn’t think I could compete with American students if I majored in literature. I took an easy way; I chose graphic design. It’s not painting or drawing. Graphic design uses a lot of photographs — now computer graphics — and does not demand too much English language skills.

And then once the art classes started, I started to like it.

MG: What was it like growing up in Japan at the tail end of the post-World War II US occupation?

KK: The scars of war were visible everywhere. Some people were dying of malnutrition back then. That’s how I grew up. The parents are just busy bringing food on the table. I have to say, that’s kind of good, looking back. I grew up without much adult interference. I and my friends in the neighborhood just played every day until dinner time comes. Nobody is taking us to soccer practice. Kind of left on our own. During that time I developed ideas about how people think. What makes you angry or sad. In other words, social skills I learned. So many of my childhood memories are in my books.

MG: One of the defining moments of your childhood came while you were playing hide and seek. How old were you?

KK: Four. Running around with the neighborhood kids. I hid so well and then I started to get worried: “Oh my goodness, nobody’s finding me! Am I going to spend the night here? Or just come out and be a loser?” That struggle was written into one chapter of the book, Dorothy and Mikey.

A better one is The Rat and the Tiger. This is about bullying. Tiger is so big and I was the rat when I was growing up. From kindergarten to second grade, I had this nasty girl who bullied everybody in the class. The frustration that I felt growing up, it’s in that book.

MG: Your work was a form of psychotherapy.

KK: (Laughs.) That’s true! I didn’t have the guts to tell her off. In the book, rat tells the tiger off.

MG: Your drawings are vivid and natural and precisely executed. The animals look true to life. It looks as though you use pen and ink and watercolors.

KK: Uh uh. It is gouache. It is more opaque; watercolor is more transparent.

(Keiko is working on a new book but is having difficulty getting editors and publishers interested in it.)

MG: I would think publishers would see you as money in the bank.

KK: It’s not happening. I don’t understand. I sent the newest one to my editor; I haven’t heard from her.

One thing I can think of is I do my illustrations by hand. I’m not using computer graphics. Some publishers say, We do not like hand-painted pictures.

MG: Is that because the kids don’t want to see hand-painted pictures?

KK: It’s technically easier for them. If you create art in computer, all you have to do is send a file and they send the file to the printer. Simple. If it is original art, they have to scan it. The original has to be shipped. So many extra steps it would take.

But I think you’re right. I think children’s taste is changing so that they prefer computer-created art.

MG: Your target market is two to eight years old. It’s hard for adults to write children’s stories because our vocabularies are so advanced.

KK: I think that’s such an advantage for me because English is not my native language. I don’t have a huge vocabulary like you do. And secondly, as I said, growing up with the neighborhood kids, that social experience really helped me to write for children. When I’m ready to write I think back, What made me so angry when I was five years old? And then I write the story. So I have an advantage, being a foreigner.

MG: You have two grown children. Did you ever write a book specifically for them?

KK: No. But for The Rat and the Tiger my second son was about five years old. His friend came to our house and they are playing and playing. Then the friend got mad at my son. He said, “I’m out of here! You’re not my friend!” And he walked away. I stole that line for this book!

(A Mother for Choco won the Indiana Young Hoosier Book Award. Wolf’s Chicken Stew won a notable citation from the American Library Assiciation. It also won the Kentucky Bluegrass Award.)

KK: You don’t have the biggest news. My Lucky Day was picked up by Dolly Parton! She made it into a children’s play. She created music. I was invited to Dollywood, the premier on stage. I was there! I was on stage with Dolly Parton! Eight or ten years ago.

MG: Thank you.

KK: Thank you.