X by Sue Grafton

Sue Grafton starts her 24th book in the Kinsey Millhone series in classic form. We have a character: Teddy Xanakis, whose Greek last name and gender-neutral first name already grant some distinction and interest. We have a problem: "would have to" means it's necessary, unavoidable – there is some reason that makes the next verb a requirement. And we have some attractive precision: steal the painting.

Many delicious heists aim at art. We value art – a single painting or sculpture or manuscript can weigh little and yet be worth millions of dollars. At the same time, taking a piece of art doesn't leave anyone at risk of starving – we can more easily forgive a theft that moves an object of beauty than one that takes food or medicine or even money. Art has glamour to go with its value. Art looks good on film, if the book is ever adapted. Yet, art can be awkward to value and resell, so the thief will need extra cleverness to profit from it.

A plan to steal a painting has excellent possibilities for plot. Within the mystery or thriller genre, we are already thinking of ways we've seen this happen, and ways we've seen it go wrong. If a reader liked those other stories, they might very well want to see what happens in this one.

This first sentence is definitely a hook.

In the 24th book in a series, Sue Grafton might have relaxed the tension of her first sentence. After all, she had an established audience, a world and characters that already drew many repeat visitors, and her reputation and history as a reliable storyteller and bestselling author to draw in her readers. She didn't. By placing a character and a taut problem in the first sentence, she promises that the book will be exciting and tense.

Maybe that's how she gathered the audience that supported her long series.

The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

I read The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein the first time I was in college. I looked it up recently, to see if its first sentence appealed to me for analysis.

This one is a blunt instrument. It's a straight-forward statement, in the form that has started many autobiographies. There aren't many words to suggest extra meanings. I thought I'd give this one a pass.

Yet I kept thinking about it.

It's a simple sentence on its own. "I was born" – of course you were, or you wouldn't be writing. "In San Francisco, California" – that has a little more interest to it. Even by 1933, when Gertrude Stein published this book, San Francisco had a reputation. The Gold Rush and the earthquake and fire of 1906, and Mark Twain's writings had all spread news of San Francisco. It was a large city, already, and known for wild and wooly frontier behavior and more diverse than most American cities. Still, born in SF, CA is not as strong a setup for action as "saw San Francisco for the first time," as mentioned in my previous post. When born, we are not yet ready to take action, and don't yet know if we will conform or rebel to the place of our birth.

There is something a little old-fashioned and formal about writing out San Francisco, California, instead of abbreviating either one. So the sentence has established person (I), place (SF, CA), and a little tone. Without conflict, it is not a hook – it is beginning to open a window. Would this draw me on to read more? Probably not – unless I already knew more than this first sentence holds.

In college, I came to this book with a lot of context. The professor set the book in its time and set Gertrude Stein's place in the literary scene she anchored. We looked at the playfulness of claiming to write someone else's autobiography. We compared the voice here to Stein writing in her own voice. Stein is deliberately writing simply, directly, and factually, as a reflection – or affectionate ribbing – of her lover's voice. With such context, "I was born in San Francisco, California" changes from basic to nuanced, and a literature student might continue to read to see what a gifted writer will do with the conceit of writing as a plain speaker.

How much context would a writer want to assume their audience had for the writing? Gertrude Stein sold the first copies to friends and acquaintances. She could assume they knew a lot. A first time novelist might want to assume all their readers will know is the genre... or the language, English... or the great events of the novel's period....

Writers and readers collaborate. We need a shared language to reach each other. How much a shared language contains – only the 600 words of Basic English? acquaintance with Alice B. Toklas? – can vary widely for different books. If you have a first sentence that isn't grabbing interest, it's worth checking how much you expect your readers to already know.

(I apologize that I do not remember which of my literature teachers introduced this book to me. I hope, if they discover this, that they will enlighten me and take some comfort that I remember the book.)

Days of Anna Madrigal

Armistead Maupin's book, The Days of Anna Madrigal, is deep in his series about connected characters in San Francisco. That means that many readers will come to this first sentence already trusting the author, already connected to the characters, already eager to read.

Did that allow the author to open the door to his story with less urgency? This I cannot know. However, I will note that the first sentence of the first book of the series, Tales of the City, contains a person and their circumstance in more classic first sentence form: "Mary Ann Singleton was twenty-five years old when she saw San Francisco for the first time."

So Maupin knew the form and chose to do something else here.

Let's see what we have here. He starts with the weather! He makes the bold choice to start with the most widely shared topic of conversation. Weather is a polite topic. Everyone experiences it, everyone has some interest, and yet no one becomes exercised over it. So we can kindly exchange a few words about it, extending a social interaction, at very little risk of acrimony.

Weather, in other words, unless extreme, is the opposite of dramatic.

The words up to the comma are common. Summer temperatures do vary, and, as averages have been trending hotter, there's nothing unusual about a summer that's warmer than usual. This is an ordinary observation, that any acquaintance might express to another.

Do we feel bored by that? Or do we feel at ease with it?

After the comma, the language becomes stronger. "Heat" is more than "warmth" and "throbbed" is more intense than either. It's a distinctive word, seldom applied to weather. I'm quite a bit less likely to tell my neighbor "Throbbing day today, isn't it?" Throb is a word associated with pain or passion – my neighbor might find that question odd or laden with innuendo.

Then there's the poetic phrase "coaxing pale fingers of fog." That's four uncommon words in a set of five. "Coaxing" is normally something people do, as "fingers" are something people have – this makes it as if both the East Bay and the fog are human. At this point, we've left the direct, commonplace language of the first clause entirely.

Any self-assured city might be "the city" to those who live in its orbit. Adding summer fog and "the East Bay" outlines San Francisco.

Altogether, this sentence gives us a location, starts conversational, and moves into poetry. It's promising the pleasures of company and language. Instead of grabbing, it seduces.

Red, White & Royal Blue

Another term for the first sentence is the hook. The idea here is that a first sentence must capture the reader and draw them in. The most obvious hook is a person facing a high-stakes conflict. There's none of that here.

Nonetheless, Casey McQuiston has written an intriguing sentence, and Red, White & Royal Blue was a bestseller, won a Goodreads award, and appeared on multiple best-of-the-year lists.

There's more than one way to draw in a reader, and problems are not the only pleasure of fiction.

What this sentence does have is narrative, description – we might even call it world-building – and music. Authors of previous centuries could more often capitalize words. Whenever they did, that word gains an emphasis. Three terms gain that stress here: White House, Promenade, Solarium. The last two fall at the end of their phrases, and White House near the end of its phrase, creating three sections ending in heavier beats. It's a lovely waltz.

The White House is a potent symbol. Knowing that the story takes place there adds some intrigue. Then, there are carefully chosen details in savory words to bring that location into brighter focus. Notice how specific "tucked" and "loose paneling" are. Plus, I didn't even know the White House had a Promenade and a Solarium. These facets of the scene add the pleasure of vicarious travel.

Finally, there's a small contrast between "White House" and "loose paneling." There's a bit of mystery in why the most prestigious address in the nation would need a small repair. That might imply someone who loosened the panel or someone who needs to fix it – and bring in the person with conflict – but those possibilities remain in the background.

I'm hooked. I want to read more pleasurable sentences and discover what else I will see in this powerful location.

Photo credit: Peter Griffin, CC0

Miranda in Milan

Katharine Duckett has laid the strongest word at the end of this first sentence, giving it extra emphasis. Monster carries danger and wrongness. It's interesting here to have someone find herself to be a monster. Why did Miranda not know until she came to Milan? Or was it only the gaze of the Milanese who found her monstrous, when she had been innocent before? The conflict here is Miranda versus Milan – and perhaps Miranda versus herself, as, now that she's found she is a monster, she must choose whether to embrace that or try to stop being one.

For those who are familiar with Shakespeare, the three words "Miranda," "Milan," and "monster" will strongly recall his play The Tempest. All of these words are uncommon, and important in the play, so finding the three of them in close company here is enough to tie this work to the play. Duckett further ties her story to The Tempest by including two quotes from it before the story begins. The play ends with Miranda expecting to go to Milan. So the author is also placing this book after and responding to Shakespeare's play.

The sentence has one intriguing meaning without knowing the play, and adds another level when connected to the previous work. Duckett has offered the drama of "monster" to draw the reader in and the promise of reflecting on Shakespeare to attract those who dabble in literature as a conversation over the centuries.

Angel's Island

Walter Mosley is most known for his detective fiction. He also ventures into science fiction, and this first sentence comes from one of the stories in his collection, Futureland.

The main driver of this first sentence is subtle wrongness. At first take, this is a straight-forward description. Then, wait – in what circumstances would six naked men walk in together? That's not a feature of most homes or workplaces or public venues. Nakedness, in our society, is mostly reserved to private rooms with only one or two people in them.

Next, there's a weak circle of light. To see a weak circle of light, we need a very dark background. The circle would disappear without contrast. On a stage, we see very bright circles show up against moderate lighting. Is this a stage? If so, why isn't there more light around the circle? What does it mean that the light is weak and surrounded by darkness?

Then there's "a corner of the great chamber." This weak circle is part of a large room. Many eyes could be hidden in the rest of the large chamber. These naked men are subject to the view of others they can't see. This is a subtle placing of them at the bottom of a hierarchy. They don't have the protection and celebration of standing on a stage. They can't see who might be watching them. And they are unshielded by clothing.

Look at the three adjectives: naked, weak, great. That progression, too, shows the men as unprotected and powerless and surrounded by something large and unknown. This sentence begins to outline a conflict between individuals and the system around them.

Finally, the sentence has lovely grammar. The basic subject and verb elements which create a sentence are complete in the first four words: Six naked men walked. Then, a series of phrases, each starting with a preposition, adds rhythm and motion. I'll divide the remainder of the sentence with dashes to show those breaks: into the weak circle – of light – in a corner – of the great chamber.

Walter Mosley can break the rules of grammar when he wants to. This sentence shows that he knows them and can take advantage of them as well.

The Lake

If I had been imagining the textbook form of a first sentence, it might have come out like this.

At its core, a story is a character with a problem. Tananarive Due establishes both character and problem in a single sentence here, and adds a location as well.

We have Abbie LaFleur. The name tells us a little already. She's young enough to prefer the -ie ending to the -y ending. That's a mark of informality. LaFleur has me wondering – is she of French descent? Or is the author signaling that she is in someway like or unlike a flower?

Next, we learn her family has been in Boston for three generations, and she is newly arrived in Graceville. Graceville sounds like the southern U.S. to me – possibly due to echoes of Graceland and Louisville – it's a place different from Boston, and clannish enough that the people there see the new arrival as an outsider.

The hyphen in third-generation shows some thought. It's a small detail, and makes the grouping of those words with "Bostonian" easier to follow. As an editor, I appreciated the effort. These bits of craft add up.

Finally, there's the word "warned." It points to a danger that someone should have warned Abbie LaFleur about, and didn't. Since we are working within the genre of horror, failing to warn could have been a sin – the type of moral failing that leads to someone dying gruesomely. Abbie has a problem, and she doesn't know it yet.

In one sentence, the story is wound up and ready to spring.

"The Lake" is one of the stories within The Monster's Corner, edited by Christopher Golden, as well as the first story in Due's own collection, Ghost Summer, and available online at tor.com.

Go Tell It on the Mountain

This time, I'm looking at a first sentence without having read the rest of the book. That's just what a potential reader would do! What has James Baldwin already set up, in one sentence?

We have a person, John. He hasn't grown up yet. John is a common name, and the name of one of Jesus' apostles, so it fits as the name for the son of a preacher. (James, the author's name, shares the first letter, the popularity, and the connection to an apostle as well.)

We also have the people who surround him. The narrator calls them "everyone" and they share a single opinion; the word "always" implies a long history and no breaks; "preacher" places him in a religious community; and finally, we hear his heritage: "just like his father."

That's one John against the full weight community, history, and family. James Baldwin is already promising me the story of how John rebels or finds himself against these forces. I'm interested.

I like the rhythm of this one, too. Try reading it aloud. It rolls.

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Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand

I read Samuel R. Delany's Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand in college, and I remembered it as a wash of gorgeous language with interstellar travel and struggles with one's own desires. Today, looking for a strong first sentence, I reopened it and found this absolutely chilling line.

Delany clearly knows the extra weight a word gains at the end of a sentence. This entire opening hinges on the word "slave." Almost all the other words are simple, work-a-day, single syllable words that we use in many contexts until they are worn to neutrality. "Honesty" is a little less common, and usually refers to a virtue. "Of course" is a relaxed way to say something is normal. So here we have normality and virtue hitting the appalling concept of "slave." All the apparent banality suddenly turns into horror.

And now we have questions. Who could so casually tell someone they will be a slave? Does the person called "you" have any choice here? Why would that person find themselves at this bleak point? What happens next?

I was drawn to reading on, and continued several pages before I remembered I only came for the first sentence.

Fifth Season First

Here's the sentence that starts the first trilogy ever to win the Hugo for all three books. N. K. Jemisin had several series completed before she began this one. That's good news – more books to read if you are newly discovering her.

What does a first sentence need to do? Set the scene, make a promise, open a door into a story, entice the reader to continue. This sentence rocks it. "End of the world" raises the stakes to the top of the scale. We know this is an apocalyptic situation – this story will take place at the end and with enough scope to cover the entire world – a strong setting, a strong promise, and a strong draw to see what happens next.

But the end of the world on its own could seem overdone. Look at how the narrator undercuts that. "Let's start" – what could be after the end of the world? That creates more curiosity and drive to continue. Then "why don't we?" – a phrase that shows a certain attitude from the narrator to the audience, a little archness or playfulness, an assumption of familiarity.

Yes, I definitely want to read on after this sentence. The combination of high stakes and defined voice, in just a few words, shows writing craft at a very high level.

First Sentences – Something New

Let's play with words!

The first sentence of a book is critically important. It can be a writer's only chance to gain a reader. It sets the tone for the book and makes a promise that the following pages must deliver on.

Writing teachers call the first sentence "the hook." They recommend that authors lavish attention on it. Here, if anywhere, an author needs to be enticing.

That's quite a burden to bear!

I've been thinking about first sentences. How better to understand them than to gather some examples and take a closer look at them? As I was considering the project, I found this lovely sentence in Eloisa James' historical romance When Beauty Tamed the Beast, and I couldn't resist making it the first sentence to observe. Will it be the first of many? Time will tell.

I love this first sentence. It has rhythm – try it aloud, and it falls into these divisions: Beautiful girls / in fairy stories / are as common as / pebbles on the beach. Each of those, at least in my reading, has two strong syllables. It's a very breathable, rolling rhythm, with enough variation to sound natural and enough form to sound polished.

Then, the meanings: beautiful girls – ah, yes, that's what we come to read about in a romance; in fairy stories – oh! will this be a fairy tale then? Or will it show us how it is _not_ a fairy tale?; are as common as – a little self-awareness here, and an interesting tension – surely we would not be as interested in beauty if it was common; and finally, as pebbles on a beach – not the expected grains of sand on a beach, but pebbles – something fresher and also less comfortable. Look at how the earthy details of common pebbles contrast against the ethereal beautiful tales. There's a tension here, and I want to see how it resolves – all without directly mentioning any character who has a problem.

This is a subtle, beautiful example of a sentence that draws me in. Kudos to Eloisa James!

At the Foot of a Waterfall, a Still Pool

We are in the midst of a pandemic and many activities we took for granted are suddenly off the table. My husband had a stroke, and all the rituals we practiced together each day are on hold. Suddenly, I found myself driven to gather pictures of waterfalls on Pinterest. 

You'd think the chute of water would symbolize how out-of-control my life had proven to be. There might be something to that interpretation of why I found myself drawn to waterfalls. Yet, when I gathered them, I felt relief. As I found more examples, I started being more discriminating about the ones I kept. Slowly, I told myself what I was doing. 

The pictures of waterfalls I loved gave me a feeling of peace. 

I have a long history with rivers. The modest and lovely Chewaucan river runs through the town I grew up in. In July and August, particularly, many of us would go to The Falls, the favorite swimming hole another mile upstream from the mill. The drop where water rolled over tall stones was only a couple feet. We could scramble up, if we wished, or swim against the current to create minutes of play in a tight space. We could wade a little farther downstream, cooling off on hot afternoons, or drape ourselves on rocks to gather sun. 

The only area deep enough to swim was just past the waterfall. That small chute had dug out a deep pool. 

I feel like this is truth: great force leads to great stillness. The fastest moving, strongest currents create the deep, still pools. Activity and rest alternate, however much we resist one or the other. 

Doug is doing very well for someone who had a stroke. I called the ambulance for him on April 30th. He went to rehab on May 18th, no longer needing constant monitoring and ready to rebuild himself for new challenges. Is everything happening on the schedule I'd wish? No. Yet the new pool built by this cascade will have its depth, its loveliness, and its peace. 

Thirty Next Sentences: A Writing Exercise

I've been thinking about how in a conversation, there are actually many paths leading from each sentence.

Combine that with an idea from Lois McMaster Bujold that she may throw away her first three ideas for what happens next, and I realized I had a writing exercise on my hands. I'm going to try it here. My plan is to write one line of a conversation – a somewhat banal one – and then see if I can come up with at least thirty different next lines.

Here's the starting line, "I really like your dress."

All these lines are different choices for what the next line might be.

"Thanks, I made it myself."
"It's a Siriano, don't you love him?"
"What, this old thing?"
"Hold on, I'll just change and give it to you."
"You should have seen the one that didn't fit."
"I wanted the original, but this knockoff isn't bad."
"Do you like the shoes?"
"You're just saying that because you want to take it off."
"I'm not sure this color really works for me."
"My mom chose it."
"I like yours, too!"
"I'm trying a new style."
"Please take my card."
"Buy me a drink?"
"It's a sample of a new line. Here's our website."
"Look at the time. I really must be going."
"It's lovely, but it will dissolve at midnight. Truly fast fashion, you know?"
"The Renaissance Fair always gives me a good chance to express myself."
"The shoes are killing me."
"It took me four hours just to close the corset."
"I did want to wear something special to our anniversary dinner."
"Only the best for you."
"Only the best for me."
"Wait until you see my jacket."
"I borrowed it from my sister. Good thing we are the same size."
"Thank you."
"Silk, it's always perfect for evenings."
"Did you know that witches prefer pockets?"
"If only I lost a few more pounds, it'd hang better."
"Ah! Only my true love sees a dress instead of these prison swabs."

That's 30!

What's cool about this is that other writers would create a different list. Some of these might be in anyone's list. Some are likely to be in very few lists, whether from the particular words I chose or the relationships and stories that come to my mind when I brainstorm like this. I like how the second speaker can have a variety of attitudes. There's a big difference between replies that accept the compliment and replies that brush it off. The speaker could be happy, or defensive, or take many other stances. In even one line, I can start to imply a world other than our own. And the next line might not really relate. People do talk past each other sometimes. For story, that seems to need more context to work.

I also like how much difference a single word can make. I find the changed slant between "Only the best for you," and "Only the best for me," tasty. What if the speaker borrowed her dress from her grandmother, roommate, or brother instead?

All in all, I like this exercise. Help yourself if you want to do it, too! What other starting line might you choose?

People Who Aren't Getting Anything Done Are Helping Me Out

I'm always alert for my sister paradoxes. And here's a lively one: people who aren't getting anything done are helping me out.

First off, of course, staying home has been of major assistance in reducing the intensity of the coronavirus pandemic. It looks like a good portion of regions have started flattening the curve. Here in Washington state, we may yet keep acute cases from overwhelming our hospitals and especially our supply of respirators. May it be so! We'll need to continue the efforts and we might just assure that everyone who needs intensive care can get it. Other well-governed regions are managing as well. This massive achievement comes largely from not getting anything done: not going out, not meeting up, not traveling, not doing the work and play we usually do within coughing distance of each other.

Second, while staying home has made a hit to my productivity, a number of generous souls have also admitted they aren't getting anything done. I particularly liked this tweet from author and book reviewer Gabino Iglesias:

"Everyone has a book in them, but it takes a special kind of freak to leave the Land of Laziness, cross the Plains of Procrastination & Insecurity Mountain, kill the fear demons, find the Blade of No One Made You Do This, & use it to slice their chest open and yank that book out."

He's new to me, and his Twitter feed shows a rich way with words.

Then there's Neil Gaiman, long one of my favorite authors, talking about failing to write a book, failing to write a screenplay, and failing to identify chickens. He looks a bit down, and as usual, he's giving gifts: https://twitter.com/neilhimself/status/1247477244332654595?s=20

At first, I was underwhelmed by this offering, and it continued to grow on me. If one of the world's most celebrated authors can not act... so can I.

I began to feel better as others told their stories of not getting anything done.

Third, when I do need to go out, empty streets, clean air, and half-filled supermarkets have all made it easier to gather food and pick up prescriptions. Thank you to everyone who wasn't driving or shopping at those times.

I could extend this list indefinitely. I'm getting less junk mail, and I appreciate those who aren't sending it. I'm liking seeing more hobbies in my social media. I'm glad emissions are down, if only temporarily, and we have pretty pictures of cities without smog. Let me finish up with the most consequential reason people who aren't getting anything done are helping me out.

Fourth, I and we are getting a look at how much we do that we don't really need. It has been easy for me and us to pile up activities and push for more, and more, and more. Because I was doing them, I didn't stop to think if I needed to do them. And, partly due to the current slowdown, I discovered I was fatigued and overextended and not enjoying this lifestyle very much. Maybe others are seeing that now, too.

I'd really like for us to continue doing fewer things in favor of making sure everyone has the basics. We are ambitious – we'll probably continue to extend what "the basics" are over time. Even so, this has been a great sanity check on what we really need. And that might just be the enlightenment we need to refocus on making sure everyone has it.

A Change of Pace

I'm reading quite a bit of Twitter posts and articles about the novel coronavirus pandemic. It's a riveting story, the more so as I'm part of it. So far, my family is well. Narrowing my daily activities has worn on me some. For some reason, I felt particularly anxious when the new advice to wear masks came out. Still, we have made some at home and are doing our best.

I lost track of who called this The Great Pause. I like that name for our time of staying home more and slowing the economy. My own work has fallen quite a bit. I work from home normally. I connect with clients through email and video calls – much like more people are doing now. I did have one company that was sending me a significant portion of my work end the project I was working on. So I have fewer hours and reduced income.

My slower schedule is a good time to review my direction. Do I like the work I've been doing? Yes – I have been helping authors complete better books, both by helping them organize the work of writing and by editing. Authors are among my favorite people to work with. Most of the ones I work with want to help other people. They write books that offer wisdom and tips and hard-won experience. Or if they aim to entertain, our current situation is showing how very important good art is. Stories and images give me my most pleasant moments. Food and water and shelter and utilities are necessary; art makes dreary days bright.

When I support these authors, I help their audiences indirectly. I like spreading those ripples of help. I might like to do more directly.

On a larger scale, our society also has a chance to review our systems. A lot of them are letting us down now. We are particularly falling down on taking care of people who live in more polluted and poorer neighborhoods, people who work at minimum wage, people whose health care depends on their job – and these people are disproportionately people of color. Their extra vulnerability shows in sharp contrast right now. We rely on minimum wage workers to harvest, shelve, and ring up our food. We are closely connected to them, and to the homeless people in our neighborhoods. COVID-19 doesn't respect bank balances, and if we want food, we need the people who work to bring it. We urgently need to see that everyone in our community has a living wage and quality health care. Our diseases will be common even if our resources aren't.

I am hoping that we'll take this chance to notice our interconnection and work for a more equal society. I'm hoping that we will let go of rigid systems that we thought we couldn't do without until the pandemic came.

I don't know how high the chances are for my hopes.

On a small scale, Doug and I are living well. We are healthy, we enjoy our cats, we are eating well, we have shelter. I wish that much at least to all of you.

The Common Endeavor

I no longer remember in what book the narrator's father used the phrase "the common endeavor." I remember wondering what he meant by that. He used it to explain why he chose an action – something about being part of or contributing to the common endeavor.

What threw me, I think, is that I seldom see everyone working on the same project. Here we have people teaching classes, and there we have people stocking groceries, and here we have people refining oil, and there we have massage therapists, and here we have science fiction authors, and there we have baseball coaches. What single project could we all be working on?

Still, the phrase stuck with me.

It has something of the flavor of the phrase "a more perfect union" in the US constitution, or "member of a civilization" in the discussions of David Brin. There's an idea that we are all part of something, or, even more, we are all working to create something.

So the words "the common endeavor" kept working on me, and eventually, I realized that civilization is the common endeavor. All our own projects affect this larger entity that we are a part of. In fact, the common endeavor may be more than that – it could be our efforts to create a better civilization.

There's something old-fashioned about "the common endeavor." It comes to me with the rustle of tweed jackets and the smell of pipe tobacco. It resonates with a time, perhaps mythical, when people had a broad agreement on what a better civilization would be – when we joined together to build highways and go to the Moon. Maybe it's those broad vowels and open syllables. I often take abstract words like these and recommend making them more specific, making sure the concepts are tied to their objects. Common to who? Endeavor to what? How could he say "the common endeavor" as if we all knew who all was working on it and what they were working for?

It sounds like a phrase from a less partisan, more idealistic time. It sounds like the speaker could take for granted that all of us were working together, and we all aimed at the same goal.

What does it take to believe all people work to the same end? Trust? Blindness? Faith?

Humans have done amazing things when we have a common goal. I think it might be time to emphasize again the work that makes the world better for all of us.

How I End up with Stashes

Today I felt the urge to go shopping for yarn. Doug and I recently started taking a free local crochet class together. We like the company, the activity is peaceful and potentially useful, and it's something we can do together.

At this point, my actual production is half of a scarf, a decorative heart, most of a rose, and the first few rounds of a hat. In other words, I haven't done a lot and most of my projects are unfinished. I have been reading every crochet book that appeals at the library, and a good number additional from Kindle unlimited, plus I have a few that I found very inexpensively at thrift stores. I'm beginning to grok how crochet works.

I'm also beginning to look at projects and say, "Ooh!"

So today I noticed that this is an action pattern for me. I love to have ideas and make plans. In our civilization, it is almost as easy to shop as to imagine.

(Plus, I have a reading superpower. So it's not unusual that I have read more than a dozen books about crochet in the two months since we first took a class.)

The part of completing a project that takes more effort and traction begins after shopping. It's easy for me to imagine a project, purchase the materials, and then bog down before completing the project. Voila! Stash!

I have stashes for reading (of course, the unread book pile, even with my superpower), origami (somewhat trimmed before our last move), and jewelry-making (including a variety of rings for chainmaille and a wide selection of beads, especially in the seed bead categories). All of this is perfectly normal for someone who likes imagining and planning and lives in a civilization like ours that provides a beautiful abundance of materials.

I have the power of walking to my bead stash and selecting from one hundred and fifty shades of Delicas to make a harmonious colorway for a kaleidocycle! Can you imagine how much more freedom that gives me than someone who has to make their own beads? Or can only trade for perhaps six different colors, twice a year when the merchant comes to town?

I do love the abundance our creative, diverse, and vast markets have given us. I also recognize that my time will limit how many projects I complete, and my enjoyment of an orderly home will limit how much I can stash for the support of future projects.

So for the moment, I'm resisting swelling up a stash of yarn.

I tell you, though, that book of crochet flowers is mighty tempting, and would also require about 8 colors of yarn in each of three different weights to complete. We'll see how I manage.

Kisses, Drama, Politics

Back when we lived in Portland, I had a romance writer as a next-door neighbor for a while. She loaned me a copy of her latest, and when we went to discuss it, she asked if I'd noticed what was missing.

No? We had a hero, a heroine, some obstacles which they overcame, and a happy ending. I didn't see what was missing.

There was no kiss, she said.

That was my first introduction to the idea that a kiss could be an important turning point.

In my usual leisurely fashion, I noted other kisses over the last two decades and let that thought germinate.

Last fall, I read Alice Archer's male/male romance Executive Decision (available free here) and something clicked. The kiss is very often the moment when a relationship moves from platonic to romantic. And the more social pressure there is against that change, the more fraught the kiss is. In our society, a kiss between men can mean crossing not only the boundary from friendship to eros, but also from socially expected (depending on the milieu) to lightly, moderately, or extremely censored.

Right now, the danger of two men showing affection in public varies. In some areas of the US, any people around you will smile – in others, gay men risk a violent response. We have made progress on accepting that love is love, and I hope we will continue to. No one should be in danger because of who they love. (And no one's desire should be forced on someone else.)

But lingering attitudes can raise the stakes on a kiss – not only a kiss between two male lovers, but for interracial loves, other LBGTQIA pairings, intercultural loves, and other categories. With the rise of supernatural romance, there are a large number of interesting possibilities.

Here's where my political desires and my writing needs diverge. I want the world to let all love be acceptable. Yet to make compelling stories, the more fraught the kiss, the better!

I also don't like a plot that feels contrived – which in this case, would be one where the kiss was made dangerous for reasons that feel forced or unbelievable.

Fortunately for telling interesting stories, we still have situations where a kiss can have high stakes. And we have historical, fantasy, and science fiction scenarios to play with. A kiss can have weight and meaning because of who the characters are, what they mean to each other, because of burdens they may bring from their past, and in many other ways.

I've gained a new perspective on what a kiss can mean, and for that, I thank my previous neighbor, the love is love activists I've known, and Alice Archer!

We Can Be Heroes

What needs to happen to make the United States carbon neutral within ten years?

Every vehicle needs to run on carbon-free energy. This means replacing every gas or diesel fueled car and truck in the entire nation within the next ten years.

Every appliance needs to be electric. This means replacing every gas and oil appliance with an electric appliance within the next ten years.

To provide the electricity for those new vehicles and appliances, we also need to supply enough carbon-neutral energy to power them. This means building solar, wind, hydroelectric, geothermal, wave-powered, and whatever other sources of energy we can create to replace all current gas, oil, and coal plants within the next ten years. It also means improving the electric distribution systems to handle the new sources and storage systems to match the load to the generation within the next ten years.

All agriculture needs to be regenerative rather than carbon-emitting. This means changing our farming techniques to add carbon to the soil rather than release it, and taking care of run-off. It means reducing livestock methane emissions.

This is a huge project. It is a mobilization on the scale of World War II.

Of course, we have mobilized that way before. And how do we think of the Americans who went to work to win that war? They are heroes. They faced the truth – that lives and liberty were at stake – and set out to do what needed to be done.

Lives and liberty are at stake now. Climate change is already killing people, and the people displaced by drought and the war it brings are hardly free. It's not liberty to face a vastly reduced future from the one we have now. We owe it to future generations to leave them as rich and habitable a planet as we have now.

(And by the way, our neighbors are not asking us to save them. Indigenous people know how to keep the land and water healthy. People of color see the pollution we've created in their backyards. Youth know that we are leaving them less than we had. They want us to listen, help them, and clean up our own messes.)

It's time for us to take on the climate crisis with the energy and scope and creativity we used to beat Hitler. We can be heroes, like the Greatest Generation, who stepped up to take on the challenge of their time.

(This truly would make America great again. No one needs to be unemployed or doing meaningless work. We need all hands on deck.)

(And when we brought everyone into the effort, and worked for the good of other nations as well as our own, we gained decades of prosperity and international respect.)

What can we do?

Envision the future and take steps to match it.

Vote for candidates who will face the climate crisis and act on it.

Take the carbon out of our own households, transportation, and food.

Divest and withdraw our money and energy from organizations that don't join the fight.

Speak up. March, rally, write, talk to family and neighbors.

Give our money and labor and creativity to creating a carbon-neutral or carbon-storing economy.

The race is on. Let's win it.

My Next Round of Vegan Efforts

I picked up a couple used vegan cookbooks recently. More inspiration, more examples, more normalizing of a plant-based diet are all useful. I started reading The Vegan Table by Colleen Patrick-Goudreau.

I had actually encountered quite a few jokes about rude, in-your-face vegans without meeting such a person. Unfortunately, this cookbook author has broken my streak. She has a disparaging tone that irritates me.

Topically, Seth Godin wrote about taking learnings from people who rub you the wrong way today. I was already planning to sift the cookbook for useful info before I read Seth's post, but it was nice to have some support for that plan. I have found a number of the recipes attractive. There are lots of appetizing pictures. And then I found some ideas for making vegan dishes satisfy the urge to have a main dish – which is exactly what I was seeking in a previous blog post.

This list of ways to make a dish more of a focal point is inspired by her list, and adapted to my own needs:

Present it: stuffed into a vegetable or in individual serving dishes
Raise the protein level: choose ingredients high in protein, such as beans, greens, tofu, tempeh, seitan
Wrap it: in a crust, leaf, tortilla, or bun
Make it richer: add sauce or garnishes for more eye appeal
Form it: make loaves or patties to give it shape

I can't recommend the book. I think the language is more likely to turn people off than help them. But I'll grind through it for what I can salvage before I pass it on.