Best Of, Blogishness, MFA Notes, Self Improvement / Healthy Living

Notes: Serving the Memory in Memoir

July 12, 2015 Michael Anthony

Serving the Memory

Why do we chose to write memoir instead of fiction?

Fiction: When you think you know it.

Memoir: When you want to figure it out.

Memoir: when did the real story being with me? The incident, the wedge moment, when things came together and began.

Example: If something inspires you to write about your childhood, then write about your childhood, but star with the incident which inspired you to write about your childhood–the incident can tell us and set the tone about why we’re reading about your childhood. (Think of the narrator for the TV show “How I Met Your Mother.”)

Memoir is about roots/routes: where we come from and where we go. This is why we write memoir, to explore. Memoir isn’t just remembering something, it’s also about coming-t0-terms with something.

Readers of memoir are like the audience at a magic show, they’re not merely there for the wonder of it all, they’re also looking for the “holes,” and how it’s done. The audience at the magic show: “Look it’s in his hands.” The audience reading a memoir: “Look, he couldn’t have remembered all that.”

*Credibility* The trust just isn’t the facts, it’s the spirit of the work.

Don’t be afraid of not saying something in dialogue. Sometimes what isn’t said says a lot. Capture the spirit of the conversation more than just the actual verbatim words.

Combining and using description: Michael Ondaataje, Running the Family, he describes his sick aunt and how invalid she is and combines it with the description of the overgrown grass, vine growing up the house, etc. (The house is dying and growing old/over grown, his aunt is dying and her mind is old and withered; but the house and the aunt have their own stories of how they came to be and lived). This is a great way to combine story/memory/and description. If you can’t remember all the details of a sign, then look if you can correlate it to anything else that would fit within the story and yet still carry it forward.

Think of Memoir as Dirt: The loam–soil–from which we come and grow. It can help us grow or smother us. It can lack nutrients or the nutrients can be plentiful. Soils change–drought, fire, etc–sometimes for better or worse.

Opinions must be in memoir writing: Opinions–know why you’re writing. Own your opinions. A memoirist must know if their characters are good or bad, so they must have their opinions.

*These notes were from one of my favorite professor and mentors at Lesley University: Rachel Manley.*

Click here to see more MFA Notes…

Recommended book for this section: Running in the Family, by Michael Ondaatje.

Picture: Flickr/Prathima

About these MFA Notes: Serving the memory in memoir

—

Recently, I graduated from Lesley University with an MFA in creative writing, and I decided that I wanted to share what I learned in a series of blog posts.

I decided to share for two reasons:

1) My notes, although not too detailed, could possibly help other writers.

2) Rewriting my notes forces me to re-read and re-think everything I learned, so it’s a win-win.

But before we dive in, please keep two things in mind:

1) These notes are neither complete nor perfect. The classes at Lesley were not typical lecture/note classes; the classes were filled with writing and thinking exercises and often this left no time for notes (in a good way). However, even with that, these sparse notes, I do believe, could still offer value.

2) I may, from time to time, include actual writing prompts from the classes, please bare with me, they’re first drafts and were done in the moment.

I hope you enjoy this series of notes and if you have any questions about the notes, Lesley University, or MFA’s, please feel free to contact me.

—

Best Of, Blogishness, Book Notes, MFA Notes, Uncategorized

Annotative Essay on the book: ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude,’ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

June 20, 2015May 11, 2016 Michael Anthony

The term ‘hook-line-and-sinker’ is the eponymous of the way a human reacts to something of interest. Simply put, if a person really likes something they are, “hook-line-and-sinker.” The term comes from fishing, and it relates to the way that if a fish eats a fisherman’s hook (sharp part holding the bait that locks them) the line (fishing string) and the sinker (weight that keeps the line from rising above the water) then the fish is surely caught. Whereas if a fish were to only take the hook, or just the hook and the line, then there is a chance that they might be caught, or might not be caught. The key, though, is all three, “hook,” “line,” and “sinker.” Miss one and you might as well miss all three.

“An author’s job should be to make things, in a sense, as simple for the reader as possible.”

The reason I bring this up and start my essay with this old colloquialism is because although One Hundred Years of Solitude had me hooked from the very beginning, though very well written, it failed to capture me hook-line-and-sinker. And even though the term is based on fishing, the same is held true for writing. A writer doesn’t merely aim to hook his reader; he wants to get them line-and-sinker as well. This, I believe, is where One Hundred Years of Solitude falls short, and it is from this which I learned the most from the novel.

Here are the ways in which I believed One Hundred Years of Solitude lacked a certain amount of joie de vivre.

For starters, from the very beginning I found myself wondering whose story it was that was being told. The novel first introduces us to the character Aureliano Buendia, but then he disappears and we are left with his father Jose Arcadio Buendia. Jose Arcadio then becomes the main focus of the text but only until we are then focused back on Aureliano and then another person and then another. The story moves from Aureliano Buendia to Arcadio Buendia back to Aureliano to Jose Arcadio, then Arcadio, then Aureliano Jose. On and on down the line, etc. The characters were made specific in their descriptions but as a reader because of the similar names I was confused, during some of the busier scenes, and was left wondering who was who, and again, whose story it was. I understood that the author may have been trying to get across a picture of lineage with the usage of repeating familial names but surely there could have been a less confusing manner. An author’s job should be to make things, in a sense, as simple for the reader as possible. Make things too hard and a reader will simply put the book down. Notwithstanding, an author should still challenge his readers; however, the challenge shouldn’t be in remembering a dozen similar sounding names, the challenge should be in finding different levels of depth within the text. By starting the book of with Aureliano and then ignoring him for dozens of pages only to bring him back later and then to toss him aside and then bring another character in with a similar name it only left me feeling jaded.

“What good is a well written sentence if it doesn’t drive the reader to read the next and the next and the next?”

The author initially had me hooked with the story of Aureliano Buendia and instantly I became curious as to the circumstance of his future possible execution, but the story and character of Aureliano Buendia became such a tease, and a story that seemed so far away, that even though I had been hooked, I stopped following the line. Right after I was hooked by the story of Aureliano, things jumped to someone and something entirely different and although there were glimpses of Aureliano and the future execution that would befall him, there was too much distance between the sinker and the hook. I was lost, confused, and most of all, and worst of all, bored. I stopped caring. In a book that encompasses seven generations, I was bored by the first generation and had to force myself through the remaining six. I believe this is specifically because the initial thing that had hooked me at the beginning was not strong enough to carry me through, and there were no further hooks that would have carried me through the entire novel.

The novel was perfectly written with not a single comma out of place; however, well written sentences are meaningless if they have no ends. What good is a well written sentence if it doesn’t drive the reader to read the next and the next and the next? What One Hundred Years of Solitude lacked was that special something that would keep me reading through the night, or would keep me thinking about it even as I fell asleep waiting to read more the next day. It is a book that I put down, and as all readers and writers know, once a book is put down, it often is never picked up again. As salesmen say, “Make the sale while they’re still in the room, because there’s a good chance that if they walk out that door they’re never coming back.” And even if the person is/does come back, each time you need to treat them as though they’re never coming back. You need to sell them every step of the way, with every word, sentence and paragraph. This is what I believe One Hundred Years of Solitude lacked.

“The sinker is what really gets the fish.”

What I believe was good about reading this book was that, although it was very well written, and although I wasn’t much of a fan, reading the novel taught me that in my own experience as a reader, things need to hook you right away and keep you hooked (a la hook-line-and-sinker). There have been plenty of books throughout the years that I have started reading only to have stopped because I became bored, and there are just as many books that I started reading and liked, but stopped reading and never picked up again because I found something else more interesting. And there are also books where I’ve showed up late to work, skipped class, or missed meals, simply because I was so enamored with the writing and story that I simply couldn’t put it down (Ex: All Quiet on the Western Front). This is where my lesson was learned.

The sinker is what really gets the fish. That’s how you know you’ve got them for sure. And for One Hundred Years of Solitude I was hooked and followed the line but never reached the sinker. I never got to that point. But through an in-depth analysis and meditation on my own writing I have seen how I have used this correctly and incorrectly in the past and how to better use it in the future. The key I believe it to hook the reader at the very beginning, preferably with the first sentence, paragraph or page, and then have them follow the line until they reach the sinker which has to be something big. Once you have them hooked the key is to not have too much distance between the hook and the sinker. If there’s too much distance a fish can figure out what’s going on and break free and a reader can become bored and move on. But the hook and sinker must be on the same line. For One Hundred Years of Solitude the hook went to a different line, I followed that line which only led to another hook, I followed that new line which only led to another hook, on and on down until the book was done and I realized that I had never been hooked-line-and-sinkered, and had only continued reading because it was a requirement for school. In my own writing I now realize that to keep a reader reading it is not enough to merely hook them and have them follow a line but I also need to have something big in the story that will keep the reader reading even if it means missing work or school. Now, how to do that, is the real question, and I will now look for it in the books that have done it to me in the past and that will do it to me in the future.

For more annotative essays and other book related stuff click here.

Picture: Flickr/jvoves

Best Of, Blogishness, ptsd, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Uncategorized

Military Discipline and PTSD

June 14, 2015May 11, 2016 Michael Anthony

What sets a combat veteran apart from others who suffer from PTSD is in the background of the trauma. While you don’t have to be in a war zone to have PTSD, the trauma related to a war zone is a far different one from other causes of PTSD. This isn’t to diminish the real life suffering and psychological effects of non-combat PTSD suffers; however, there is a far greater prevalence of PTSD as a result of combat than any other singular form of trauma.

Military lifestyle

One of the first major differences is in the entire lifestyle of those in the military. Regardless of what service you are attached to, be it Navy, Army, Air Force, or Marine from the moment you wake up to the when you hit the pillow at the end of the day (or days later) you have certain requirements that non-military people do not. Your life in the military is regulated every moment of every day; from when you can eat, to how your dress, to your physical fitness, to who you talk to and how you address other military personal. This is something that very few non-military people can relate to. Even in a combat zone, certain regulations must be upheld either as a security measure or as a result of a policy put in place by someone in command. For example, it is required that all lower enlisted soldiers stop and salute a higher ranking officer upon coming in contact with them. In a combat zone, this is not only frowned upon but can be seen as a hostile action towards the officer in questions otherwise known as “sniper checking.” The reason for this is that in a combat environment, you never know when a hostile enemy can be watching you. As a result this non-combat curtesy can let the enemy know who is a better target should they need to or want to attack. This is just an example of the many rules, regulations, and standard operating procedure that is the daily life of someone in the military.

Where lifestyle meets life altering event

While this strict regulation may seem harsh or unnecessary to those outside the military; this is the everyday culture that has been in place for many generations. However, when things go south these regulations kick in. The term conditioning comes into play a lot when it comes to the military and their training. The ultimate goal of any combat or even non-combat training is to make the process as easy and repeatable as possible. This way when a soldier enters into a high stress situation such as combat their instincts take over and the conditioning allows them to do whatever needs to be done with little or no thought towards what has to be done. This secondary high functioning brain as it may be called is like a back-up system. For many people, they will go their whole lives not having to deal with a situation that requires this need but for anyone that has to deal with life and death situations such as nurses, firefighters, or in this case a combat soldier, this secondary brain is the key to survival. However, as a result of this the primary brain has to deal with everything that happens when the secondary brain kicks in. Think of it in terms of a computer with two operating systems. In the event that the first operating system crashes, the secondary kicks in to get the primary back up and going. However, once the primary is back up you still have to deal with the issue that caused the crash in the first place.

Return to civilian life

This is where things start to fall apart for most combat soldiers. With the combination of factors addressed above on top of general societal factors; that can be all together foreign for someone who’s spent the majority of their adult life in the military, it is no wonder that many of these individuals have extensive problems once they are out. Even non-PTSD vets have a hard time adjusting to general civilian life. Add to it the stress, anxiety, guilt, etc. that accompanies having survived a combat related trauma makes it an almost impossible task for anyone to deal with alone. Additionally, because of the conditioning mentioned above, their brain can and sometimes does shift into secondary mode when there primary brain cannot handle a situation. This is often where “flashbacks” or violent reactions come into play for some people.

Conclusion

Suffering from PTSD is never a walk in the park for anyone. For a combat veteran it is a whole different ball game. Between the general PTSD trauma, the conditioning, and change in lifestyle from military to civilian many veterans suffer as a result. Thankfully there are a number of programs out there to address these individuals, however, until our societal views and beliefs related to psychological problems changes we can only do so much.

Picture: Flickr/DVIDSHUB

Best Of, Blogishness, Blogishness, Book Notes, MFA Notes, Politics / News, Self Improvement / Healthy Living

The Craft of Writing: Reliable Narrator, in an Unreliable World

June 8, 2015February 24, 2016 Michael Anthony

Reliable Narrator

In an

Unreliable World

“Some first lines are so powerful that you absolutely have to keep on reading.” –Noah Lukeman

If a writer cannot hook their reader within the first sentence, paragraph, and ultimately the first chapter, then all is lost. Like a car salesman who knows that he has to make the sale before the customer leaves; “They’ll never come back, make the sale now!” is often the motto. The same goes for writing. Once a book is placed down, there’s always a chance that it may never be picked back up. A writer’s best bet is to make sure that the book is never placed down. The best way to do that is to introduce a reader to a foreign, often unreliable world—which is somewhat implicit in memoir—and give them a reliable, trustworthy, narrator.

“How does the reader know that they’re going to be taken through a foreign world by a guide they can trust?”

In this annotative essay, the first chapters of great works will be discussed—particularly non-fiction—and how it is that the authors convince us that we’re being introduced to an unreliable/foreign world with a reliable, trustworthy, narrator. The books to be focused on: A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage by Elizabeth Gilbert, Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt, and Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

As stated, the beginning of a book has the biggest, most important, job. It sets the tone. The intensity. The plot. The characters. It introduces us to the world within the pages. If the world seems too bland, too predictable, too passé, then all is lost. No person begins reading with the intent to be bored, no person reads to learn something they already know; instead, we read to escape, to be entertained, to become informed. We can’t escape to the same world in which we live, we can’t be entertained from tired words, and we can’t be informed from which we already know. A book must introduce a reader to a foreign world, an unpredictable world, a world in which they can see a possibility for entertainment, mystery, escapism, and information. It’s often said that “truth is stranger than fiction,” and in non-fiction authors often have the difficult task of taking extraordinary, unbelievably true stories, and making them believable. From the man who was hiking and had to cut off his own arm, to the pastor who claims his child went to heaven, to the man who claims he slept with thousands of women. Books implicitly introduce the reader to a foreign world and once we enter this world, we need to know that we will have a trustworthy narrator to guide us through. Because if we don’t trust the narrator then we don’t trust the world they’ve created.

“This doesn’t mean that the narrator is boring, simply instead that we can trust them.”

How does the reader know that they’re going to be taken through a foreign world by a guide they can trust? Imagine going to a museum and there’s two tour guides that you can choose. Tour guide number one is a nineteen year old, high school dropout, named Frank. Frank’s a slacker who always wears his t-shirt too big and pants too low, he only gives tours so that he has enough money to buy drugs. Tour guide number two is a sixty-five year old, retiree, named Blake. Blake has a Ph.D. in art history, and only works as a tour guide because he’s loves art and needs something to do while he’s retired.

If you were going to have a tour of an art museum, and if you had a choice, which tour guide would you prefer? The answer is easy… Blake, of course.

We chose Blake because we trust him. We trust the bow-tie that adorns the collar of his nicely ironed shirt, we trust the Ph.D. that follows the word “Blake,” on his nametag. We trust the kind hearted voice of a man who’s poured over books of art, who’s seen the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, and who’s gazed up at the Sistine Chapel. We trust Blake because when he doesn’t know something he tells us he doesn’t know. He isn’t here to be your friend or get you to like him or go out on a date with him he’s only here to tell you everything he knows about art. Everything about Blake, from the way he looks, to the way he talks, is what we would expect. He’s congruent with himself.

“Dostoyevsky’s narrator may be a horrible, miserable person, but he’s a horrible, miserable person that we instantly trust as our narrator.”

Frank, on the other hand, we don’t trust. He seems unreliable. He calls it the Sixteen Chapel instead of the Sistine Chapel, and he knows more about Kim Kardashian then Pablo Picasso. Frank is covered in tattoos but tries to hide them with long sleeves. Frank contradicts himself. At one point he tells you that he’s been working at the museum for six months, and at another point he says three months. He leaves out information about paintings during the tour; he pretends to know more than he does, he misleads you purposely, sometimes for his own amusement, sometimes just to get an easy laugh. Frank gives tours in a certain way because sometimes he’s trying to impress some pretty ladies that are in the group and sometimes he’s just trying to get a bigger tip. Frank’s intentions as a tour guide are never altruistic, he’s never reliable or congruent, and frankly, Frank is a tour guide that we simply cannot trust.

The key to presenting a reliable narrator in an unreliable world is to make sure that they are more like Blake then Frank. This doesn’t mean that the narrator is boring, simply instead that we can trust them. If we look at the beginning of Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky:

“I’m a sick man . . . a mean man. There’s nothing attractive about me. I think there’s something wrong with my liver. But, actually, I don’t understand a damn thing about my sickness; I’m not even too sure what it is that’s ailing me. I’m not under treatment and never have been, although I have great respect for medicine and doctors. Moreover, I’m morbidly superstitious—enough, at least, to respect medicine. With my education I shouldn’t be superstitious, but I am just the same. No, I’d say I refuse medical help simply out of contrariness. I don’t expect you to understand that, but it’s so. Of course, I can’t explain whom I’m trying to fool this way. I’m fully aware that I can’t spite the doctors by refusing their help. I know very well that I’m harming myself and no one else. But still, it’s out of spite that I refuse to ask for the doctors’ help. So my liver hurts? Good, let it hurt even more!”

“We need to know that the narrator is a real person, not an amalgamation of different people or ideas, not some idealized version of a person, but a real, flesh and blood, faults and all, person.”

We see that what Dostoyevsky does is set up a strong intense tone of the narrator. He creates a character that has such a unique intensity that the reader is drawn forward to read more. And what’s more, he keeps up the intensity throughout the whole first chapter, and ultimately the whole book. Like Blake, he admits when he doesn’t know something, “I don’t understand a damn thing about my sickness,” he admits his mistakes, “I shouldn’t be superstitious, but I am just the same,” his vulnerabilities, “I’m a sick man . . . a mean man,” Dostoyevsky’s narrator may be a horrible, miserable person, but he’s a horrible, miserable person that we instantly trust as our narrator. Everything that we read and hear in that first paragraph is congruent with the portrait that the narrator is painting. We can see him. Similar to how Blake’s bow-tie matches his shirt, pants, and personality, so too does everything that we see of the narrator match up with the picture being painted. But the most important part is that we can actually see the narrator. It’s easier to trust a narrator that we can see.

In just the first paragraph of Notes from the Underground we get the sense of a man who is hurting, pleading, who is on bended knees baring his soul. This is another way to let a reader know that they’re dealing with a reliable narrator: vulnerability. By being upfront and admitting the faults within ourselves and our story—“I don’t understand a damn thing about my sickness; I’m not even too sure what it is that’s ailing me.”—the reader knows beforehand what they’re getting themselves into, and with whom; they know that the narrator’s not trying to pull one over on them, that they can be trusted. It is the man adorned in armor who needs it the most. But a man who takes his armor offer is a man unafraid, and it is the man who doesn’t hide that we trust. So even though the narrator that we’re being introduced to seems to be a horrible, miserable, loser of a narrator, he is also a trustworthy narrator, he is a narrator that we feel safe with, in the sense that we can see that he’s hiding nothing. He is vulnerable and we keep reading because we trust that vulnerability.

“We trust this vulnerability because she’s opening herself up, showing us her wounds, she’s not trying to hide, protect, or paint a perfect picture of herself, and it is vulnerability like this which makes a story great and a narrator reliable.”

Another way in which a narrator can set up a tone of reliability is with relatability. If a narrator is too far out-there, then they’ll be seen as unreliable and untrustworthy. If a character is set up as smart and intelligent but keeps doing dumb things, things that we know no real, normal person would do, then the narrator loses our trust. We need to know that the narrator is a real person, not an amalgamation of different people or ideas, not some idealized version of a person, but a real, flesh and blood, faults and all, person.

Dostoyevsky follows all these steps perfectly in Notes from the Underground. The first thing that he does is he sets up the main character, the narrator. He sets up the narrator so well and so succinctly that with each word, though, idea, and phrasing, the character becomes more and more alive, more relatable. Within a few sentences we’re no longer reading a book, we’re now hearing a story from the person sitting next to us. The words suddenly have eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, and fingers, and a beard, and a bald head. Next he shows us that not only is this narrator a real person who’s sitting next to us, but also that this narrator isn’t like our typical neighbor, co-worker, family member, or stranger on the bus. This narrator is sick. He’s depressive. He’s paranoid. He’s a man so stubborn, so defiant, that he refuses medical care out of spite. Spite for crying out loud! He neglects his own health for vengeance against and unknown, unnamed enemy. He’s “out-there” but not so far out-there that we would write him off as an untrustworthy, unrelatable, narrator. He may be telling us that that he’s crazy but we trust him when he tells us that he’s crazy. His actions are all congruent with who he is as a narrator. Then combined with the vulnerability we have a narrator who we can see, relate to, feel for, and who we trust to be our tour guide through the pages. We have our Blake!

Vulnerability, congruence, relatability, a narrator that we can actually see; these are the four things which most convince a reader that they’re dealing with a reliable narrator, and which ultimately keep them reading. And now that these four traits have been identified in Dostoyevsky’s work, we will look at several other successful, and not so successful, attempts at creating a reliable, relatable, vulnerable, and congruent narrator in non-fiction.

The memoir A Three Dog Life, by Abigail Thomas, begins:

“This is the one thing that stays the same: my husband got hurt. Everything else changes. A grandson needs me and then he doesn’t. My children are close then one drifts away. I smoke and don’t smoke; I knit ponchos, then hats, shawls, hats again, stop knitting, start up again. The clock ticks, the seasons shift, the night sky rearranges itself, but my husband remains constant, his injuries are permanent. He grounds me. Rich is where I shine. I can count on myself with him.”

“But its objective moments like this, where we may not actually believe that the narrator had the worst of the worst of upbringings, we may not believe that an Irish Catholic upbringing is the worst, but we do believe that the narrator believes it’s the worst.”

Immediately we’re shown a woman “my husband,” older “a grandmother,” who is stuck in a changing, “This is the one thing that stays the same…” never-changing, rut. The one place where she’s grounded, that lets her count on herself, is the one place that also gives her the most misery: her husband Rich. She invites us into her world, shows us the tedium of everyday life, and she, ultimately, spends the entire first chapter showing us how vulnerable she is: “I got stuck with the past and future. That’s my half of this bad hand. I know what happened and I never got used to that.” We trust this vulnerability because she’s opening herself up, showing us her wounds, she’s not trying to hide, protect, or paint a perfect picture of herself, and it is vulnerability like this which makes a story great and a narrator reliable. She is taking the armor off, and like a man at a strip-club, it’s the removing of the clothing which is the most alluring. She’s showing us her tattoos not hiding them under her sleeves.

The narrator of A Three Dog Life is immediately consistent with the picture being painted. She’s congruent. From the image of an older women, to the talk of her knitting, to the fact that she has only a twenty-seven inch TV. Most kids nowadays have iPads that are twenty-seven inches. But not her. She’s older. A writer. A reader. She lives in a “cozy house,” with “pretty furniture,” where “Time passes here.” She sits quietly with her husband, plays with her dogs, talks to her grandchildren. She immediately becomes a person that we can see and relate to. We recall images of older women we’ve met or seen on TV. Wives, mothers, grandmothers, friends, co-workers, the narrator shows us a glimpse of her life and it’s something that we can immediately relate to; a woman who is simply living her life as best she can in the face of tragedy. These all help us to see the picture of a woman, and when the picture matches up with the words and actions, combined with vulnerability, congruence, and relatability, then we have a reliable narrator, one that we believe we can trust. This narration is kept up throughout the book and on every page we see a narrator who is giving herself to us, who we can see, relate to, trust, and care about. This is why Stephen King called A Three Dog Life, “The best memoir I have ever read.” This means another Blake!

Let’s look at one more good example—Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt—before moving onto an example where the author doesn’t set up a reliable narrator. Angela’s Ashes begins:

“My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene barley one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone.

When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood; the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.

People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years.”

In the first few pages, McCourt sets up a narrator that we can see. Irish and Catholic we can see those rosy white cheeks and blue eyes. We can see the tough-as-nails kid with a hard upbringing and a just as hard look at life. We can see this rough narrator and rough lens which he views the world. What is set up is a narrator who thinks that he had it the worst; that his upbringing wasn’t just the worst of the worst, it was the worst of the worst of the worst. We know that this is a narrator who is going to tell us about how bad things were for him, and he does. But its objective moments like this, where we may not actually believe that the narrator had the worst of the worst of upbringings, we may not believe that an Irish Catholic upbringing is the worst, but we do believe that the narrator believes it’s the worst. And that’s all that really matters. Memoir isn’t about perfection, it’s about point-of-view. We’re reading about a person, their thoughts, feelings, action, and in-actions in life. We need to see them and know their thoughts, no matter how faulty we may see them as. We’re not looking to see our reflection but theirs.

“It is hard to trust a narrator that we cannot see. And even harder still when said narrator has covered themselves in armor.”

Like everyone’s infamous Uncle Larry who always says he’s going to stop drinking. He might mean it every month when he says it, but we all know the truth. We know that every month he says he’ll quit, then will quit for a few hours, a day at the most, and then is right back at it. We don’t have to believe everything Uncle Larry says, or the narrator, but we do have to believe that we can trust the narrator. And just as we trust Uncle Larry to keep at it, so too do we trust the narrator of Angela’s Ashes to keep up with the voice that is set up. Frank McCourt gives us a reliable narrator.

Throughout the whole first chapter the narrator of Angela’s Ashes is shown as a man with a hard upbringing. From the stories of his father being hunted by the Irish Republican Army (“a price on his head,”) to the stories of poverty (“dad loses his job,”), alcoholism, and death (“he died of the drink,”). He shows us that he meant what he said. That he had a tough upbringing. He didn’t tell us that he had a tough childhood and then begin telling us about how rich his parents were and how much he loved them and them him. We see a narrator as a person who saw things not for better or worse but simply for what they were. This is another clear-cut example of a narrator allowing themselves to be vulnerable on the page and stay congruent with the voice and image that they’re presenting.

Most people have dealt with troubles in their life and if we see a narrator who has dealt with similar troubles, whether directly mirroring ours, or in a deep enough sense compared to ours, we will make the connection and relate with the narrator. If this is combined with vulnerability, congruence and a portrait, then we will once again experience the feeling of having a reliable narrator.

To look at something that isn’t the best of examples of the above mentioned techniques we will look at Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage a memoir by Elizabeth Gilbert. Committed starts off:

“Late one afternoon in the summer of 2006, I found myself in a small village in northern Vietnam, sitting around a sooty kitchen fire with a number of local women whose language I did not speak, trying to ask them questions about marriage.

For several months already, I had been traveling across Southeast Asia with a man who was soon to become my husband. I suppose the conventional term for such an individual would be “fiancé,” but neither one of us was very comfortable with that word, so we weren’t using it. In fact, neither one of us was very comfortable with this whole idea of matrimony at all. Marriage was not something we had ever planned with each other, nor was it something either of us wanted. Yet providence had interfered with our plans, which was why we were now wandering haphazardly across Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Indonesia, all the while making urgent—even desperate—efforts to return to America and wed.”

Although well-written, Committed, lacks several of the tenants which I believe make a reliable narrator, and ultimately, a good story.

For starters, though, we will look at what works well within the story: congruency. Gilbert comes across as a confused, though congruent narrator. She is in love with a man, wants to be with him, but doesn’t want to marry him—these feelings fluctuate, but we are shown a narrator who fluctuates, so we can trust those feelings. We can (at first) picture a young woman, in-love, who is going back and forth on her decision. But even this congruency eventually works against the reliability of the narrator.

Does she, though, paint a picture of the narrator? No. She does not. What we see is the image of a generic, rich woman (middle-aged?) who is a writer. We don’t see her wrinkles. The burn marks on her skin, the cigarette between her lips and drink in her hand. We see nothing. A generic woman who has a slight problem. It is hard to trust a narrator that we cannot see. And even harder still when said narrator has covered themselves in armor.

“A reliable narrator is someone who puts themselves into the pages. They strip off all armor and make themselves vulnerable.”

The problem with the narrator is that ultimately, throughout the book, we don’t trust the narrator. Which means that even though the “voice,” may be congruent with the image that’s being present, we don’t trust that voice, so the image doesn’t matter. There is no vulnerability in the pages. She is wealthy, in love, and simply has to decide whether or not to marry a man who she claimed “…loved each other unreservedly,” and which she had already made a life-long pact, “We had even sworn lifelong fidelity to each other already…” She gives us nothing. Her most famous memoir, Eat Pray Love, was a more personal book, something that showed her vulnerabilities. But those vulnerabilities are lacking in Committed. We don’t see a real person with a real problem—a woman getting over an awful divorce, like in Eat Pray Love. Now, her only problem is that she is wealthy, in a loving, committed, relationship with a rich, good-looking, tall, dark, and handsome Brazilian, someone whom she loves and has pledged her life to. And yet, her big problem is that she’s hesitant on getting married again. And these feelings teeter back and forth. She wants to get married. She doesn’t. Maybe she can find another way around this. Get married. Don’t. Etc. This is a situation that isn’t that relatable. There’s no vulnerability, so there’s nothing really for us to relate to and this is where she loses us.

Vulnerability and relatability is in the details. Like Thomas talking about her 27in TV in Three Dog Life. It just seems so pathetic. So lonely. So perfect. Or like McCourt in Angela’s Ashes. The hard childhood. The alcoholism. The deaths. The Irish Catholic guilt. He doesn’t skirt the issues. He doesn’t skirt the facts. He gives it to the reader. Gilbert does not. She gives a vague problem, doesn’t let us see her, and then gives no real details to the story, or about herself. Gilbert is the Frank of narrators. She hides her tattoos and doesn’t let us see her. We have no choice but to not trust her and cast her off.

As the New York Post wrote about the book:

“Ironically, Gilbert’s heart does not seem to have been in this book…

The book is more filler than anything, just pages and pages of rambling encounters with poor Asian people who talk to her about marriage and teach her things, then some Wiki’d historical facts, then some paeans to her worldliness and personal growth — all the while continuing to evade any real personal disclosures.”

A reliable narrator is someone who puts themselves into the pages. They strip off all armor and make themselves vulnerable. “This is me, blemishes and all.” No one wants to read a book that is layered in chain-mail. We see nothing, only manufactured goods, we don’t see the flesh and bones and blood, which is what we want. To create a reliable, memorable, trust-worthy narrator, someone who we want guiding us through the foreign world of a book, we need someone who is vulnerable, relatable, congruent, and who we can see. Someone who we may not like, but who we can trust.

Picture: Flickr/mpclemens

Best Of, MFA Notes, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Uncategorized

AJ Verdelle – Revising Your Writing

June 1, 2015 Michael Anthony

Type A Revision – with A.J. Verdelle – How to Revise Your Writing

Write → Review → Tighten → Clarify → Reorder → Seek nuance → Move the story forward →

How do you know when your story is finished?

Finished: When you’ve said all you have to say.

Finished: When there’s a clear beginning, middle, and end.

Remember: “You don’t get the book you wanted, you get the book you get.” – James Baldwin

Sometimes a revision is simply an addition. If your addition doesn’t add tension, drama, or explain something, then maybe you don’t need it. Whatever you keep, make sure it serves the narrative.

Eliminiate excess! “The good shit wants to play with the good shit!” – Thomas Sayers Ellis. (Get rid of anything that isn’t “Good Shit.”)

Clarity is non-negotiable – Don’t make readers have to guess, don’t confuse them.

Get rid of redundancy: “The sun rose this morning.” Great. But the sun rises every morning, everyone knows that. The sun doesn’t rise at night. Revision would be “The sun rose.” (This is, of course, unless you’re writing some dystopian story where the sun doesn’t usually rise, etc.)

Revise only when the work is finished, when there’s closure. Don’t revise when you’re still working on it; don’t revise an unfinished piece of work. You need to be finished before you revise because you need to know where you want to end up before you figure out how to get there.

Rise above your work.
Circle the verbs (if they’re not necessary, then kill them!)
We want action and drama in our stories!
Action and reaction go together.

Think about killing your verbs: “Dan came into the room, clumsily.” VS “Dan came into the room late, like always.” Ask yourself if the verb is actually serving the story. Focus on accuracy. “The building appears…” A building doesn’t just “appear.”

When revising ask yourself: Why did I write this work?

(What did I intend to write? VS What did I actually write?)

*Look at places where you can get rid of the word “it” (more often than you think).*

*You need to be able to say what you’re writing about in 18 words or less.*

*Look at any word longer than 8 letters and make sure it’s doing it’s job.*

*These notes were from one of my favorite professor at Lesley University: A.J. Verdelle.*

Click here to see more MFA Notes…

Recommended book for this section: The Good Negress: A Novel, by A.J. Verdelle.

Picture: Flickr/Katie Sadler

About these MFA Notes: Revising your creative writing

—

Recently, I graduated from Lesley University with an MFA in creative writing, and I decided that I wanted to share what I learned in a series of blog posts.

I decided to share for two reasons:

1) My notes, although not too detailed, could possibly help other writers.

2) Rewriting my notes forces me to re-read and re-think everything I learned, so it’s a win-win.

But before we dive in, please keep two things in mind:

2) I may, from time to time, include actual writing prompts from the classes, please bare with me, they’re first drafts and were done in the moment.

I hope you enjoy this series of notes and if you have any questions about the notes, Lesley University, or MFA’s, please feel free to contact me.

—

Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Uncategorized

4 Ways to Spice Up Vegan Date Night

May 27, 2015 Michael Anthony

Are you vegan/vegetarian?

Could your date night use some spicing up?

Then keep reading…

—

“How come we never go out anymore?” My girlfriend, Emily, asked, for the third week in a row. It was a rhetorical question, something not to be answered immediately, if at all. But she was right, we never went out anymore.

When we had started dating years ago, the question of “What do we you want to do tonight?” seemed like one that needn’t be asked; because we were always on some type of adventure: hiking, sailing, cooking classes, ghost tours, etc. But as the weeks, months and years of our relationship carried on, our dates began to dwindle. Before we knew it, routine engulfed us and weeks and months would pass without even the casual dinner and a movie. Eventually, we had decided to try the all too typical approach of weekly “date night,” but even that, after years, came to a standstill. Television became our life and each night was a rerun: we made dinner, watched repeats of Seinfeld, and then slept. We were on the precipice of the worst thing that could happen in any relationship: boredom.

Time and time again we tried to implement the infamous “date night,” but it never seemed to stick, things had always felt too forced, too contrived. And both of us being vegan certainly didn’t help. In fact, as we finally talked it through one night, we realized that it was only after we had become vegans that we had started to have trouble with our weekly “date night.”

After we had both become vegan suddenly even dinner and a movie seemed like a chore:

“Did you check out that restaurant, are they vegan friendly?” “Yes. I checked online, everything looked fine.” “Well, call ahead anyways to double check.” “Ok. I called. They’ve got a special vegan menu: we can get either pasta or salad.” “That’s it? Oh God. Let’s just stay home…”

“There’s this new great Vegan restaurant opening…but its ninety minutes away. Do you still want to go?”

“Do you want to go see a movie?” “I hate that movie theatre all I can smell is butter when we’re there.”

For a long time we tried to consolidate the idea of being vegans and being able to have a fun, easy date night. We fought, we laughed, we cried and then finally, after days and weeks and months of bad date nights, we came up with an unbeatable plan for unforgettable vegan date nights.

What we’ve learned:

1) Save up. Instead of forcing ourselves to go out once a week for “date night,” we realized that it can be better to plan just one really special date night per month, something that we could really look forward to. No one looks forward to dinner and a movie every week—especially if you’re vegan and your restaurants are severely limited. And since dinner and a movie once a week can certainly add up. Instead, save up that money and use it all on one special date night. Do something out of the ordinary. Something a little more expensive—since you saved all your date night money for one night instead of four. Go to a spa together. Go to the theatre. Or mine and Emily’s favorite: Drive to that really great vegan restaurant that’s two hours away and stay at a nice bed and breakfast for the night. It’s better to have one unforgettable date night per month than four forgettable ones.

2) Stay in. We all know that cooking can be a chore, especially the cleanup afterwards; but we often forget how much fun it can be; there’s a reason why every cheesy romantic movie has a scene in a kitchen with one person playfully putting frosting or flour on someone else’s nose. It’s because cooking is fun and can be a very sexual, sensual thing. Put some soft jazz on and by the time the kitchen fills with the scents of seasoning and fresh foods all your stresses will have washed away. Surprise each other with different meals. Try the new recipe that you read in The Vegan Villager. Make a sampling of foods for each other and wear blindfolds—the blindfolds could be used for after dinner fun, too. For dessert have some strawberries covered in dark chocolate. Additional option: Make the food and take it to a drive in movie theatre.

3) Start something. The fact of the matter is, most vegans aren’t activists—although that’s how it’s often portrayed—but most vegans DO want to be more active in the community. Join that vegan society or go to that vegan Meetup group together. Grab a cup of coffee and leaflet your local college campus. It might not seem like a fun date night, but a crisp fall evening, with a warm cup of tea, on a beautiful college campus, talking to people about issues near and dear to your heart, it can be a life changing night. Kill two birds with one stone: have a fun, unusual vegan date night, and change your community.

4) Shelters. Go to an animal shelter. Although the idea might seem like a depressing date night it can also be really fun and memorable. An old brother of mine has volunteered for years at a shelter and when single he would take his dates to the shelter with him. Animal shelters often have large grassy areas near them and my brother and his date would take several dogs for a walk, play with them in the grass, and then have a picnic with the dogs. We can’t save all animals, and you might not be able to save all the animals in the shelter, but an afternoon spent playing catch with a half dozen friendly dogs, and then a picnic in the grass—bringing treats for your furry friends, too—it’s a vegan date night that will leave a lasting impact. And, of course, you could always take one, or two, or three of the puppies’ home with you afterwards…

Bonus tip: If you want to surprise your loved one with a fun vegan date night, tell them that you’ve got an amazing surprise date night planned for them in one month. Then ask them to guess what it is. In reality, you won’t have anything planned…yet. But as they tell you all their idea of what would make an “amazing surprise date night,” you’ve already got a head start on what you should do.

Picture: Flickr/Alex Proimos

Best Of, Blogishness, Blogishness, Book Notes, MFA Notes, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Uncategorized

Annotative Essay on the book: ‘Let The Great World Spin,’ By Colum McCann

May 20, 2015May 11, 2016 Michael Anthony

McCann grabs you… at first. Starting with a tale of a man on a tightrope, he leads the reader through an interweaving story of human nature and internal and external connectedness. This beginning, and complex weaving of storylines, has shown me certain opportunities, and weaknesses in my own writing, and many ways in which I can improve. However, like all my readings, I’ve learned that every author has weaknesses, which can teach as much as his strengths.

“I see the characters. I feel them. I care for them. I want to know what happens to them.”

One thing that came up for me about the story’s, beginning, middle, and end, was that nothing about the story or plot actually captured me. A man is tightrope walking, so what? A priest is trying to find himself, so what? A mother misses her son, so what? Each theme is somewhat interesting, and each plotline somewhat intriguing, but enough so that it would keep me reading? No. Not for me. What did keep me reading, though, was the writing itself—and what was written between the lines. Although the pages weren’t dripping with philosophy and thinking points about life, there were enough moments scattered throughout which made me stop and think about life and death, and the meaning of everything. And that’s all a writer can ask for; to make his reader stop and think. In the military we say “Mission first, but soldiers always.” In writing this is best parlayed as, “Entertainment first, but thinking always.” McCann’s philosophical readings gave the book a deep ethereal feel, but his real strength is in his descriptions.

A man walking a tightrope across two buildings doesn’t interest me, at all, really. Even if the man’s life is at stake and there’s a chance he could die. Who cares? But… if I had a friend who was tightrope walking across two buildings and his life was at stake, then I would care. And that is McCann’s true strength. Through his physical and emotional descriptions he connects you to his characters. Someone, an event, that typically would not, and should not, interest me, suddenly compels me forward, to read more and more. This happens because of connectedness. I see the characters. I feel them. I care for them. I want to know what happens to them. This is why I continued reading. I didn’t care about some stupid story about someone walking across a tightrope or some stupid woman who lost her son; but it wasn’t just a man walking across a tightrope or some mother missing her son; it was my friend walking across a tightrope, my mother missing her son.

Combined with somewhat intriguing plotlines and inviting, inventive writing of emotional and physical descriptions, and the occasional thinking points, collectively, Let the Great World Spin, comes together to form a truly enjoyable book. Now, on to the lessons learned.

“The power isn’t in the story itself; because the story isn’t unique or original; the power of the story lies in the way it’s told and the way it’s written.”

McCann started his book with a man tightrope walking across two buildings. It wasn’t the best, most intriguing idea, but the writing was so descriptive that I was drawn forward to see more and find out what happens. Then, when I got to the next section, and scant a word was mentioned about the tightrope walker, I was mystified. At first, there appeared to be no connection, and I thought that perhaps the book was merely a collection of short non-conjoining stories. It wasn’t until deep in section three that the tightrope walker was mentioned again, and that I would begin to see how the story would take shape. And seeing how the author was going to connect the pieces, I became even more intrigued; not by the story itself, but by how everything was going to unfold.

In most books I read, and in my own writing, things are written in a linear format of a, b, c and d. There’s the occasional flashback and future whispers, but mostly things are written from point A to point B. But McCann has written his own indirect alphabet. Slowly things began to reveal themselves. And although, once I was done reading the book, I appreciated the uniqueness of it and loved how it was written, had the writing not been so descriptive and inventive and inviting, even a tiny bit less, I would not have finished the book; nor would I have gotten to the point where I would have realize that the stories were connected. What this went to show me is that there is no certain way in which stories need to be told or information to be given. There are other ways and other points of view. Had McCann written his book in the typical linear format then surely it wouldn’t be as highly praised or widely read.

The power isn’t in the story itself; because the story isn’t unique or original; the power of the story lies in the way it’s told and the way it’s written. As mentioned early, the book wasn’t mainly driven by its plotlines, and what really kept it going was the writing. Descriptions went on and on, sometimes too long, but still they somehow managed to capture my eye. Typically, I would find such writing as blowhard and overly verbose; however, McCann’s writing had a different nature to it, once in which I wish I could capture. His words and ideas flowed; because he combines the internal descriptions with the external ones. This can best been seen in an example from the beginning of book two.

“He surfs the thin metal platform as the train jags south out of Grand Central. At times he gets dizzy just anticipating the next corner. That speed. That wild noise in his ears. The truth is, it frightens him. The steel thrumming through him. It’s like he has the whole train in his sneakers. Control and oblivion. Sometimes it feels like he’s the one driving. Too far left and the train might smash into the corner and there’ll be a million mangled bodies along the rail. Too far right and the cars will skid sideways and it’ll be a good-bye, nice knowing you, see you in the headlines…”

One simple paragraph, yet it so powerfully captures the moment. This is the power of the writing and the book. McCann’s ability to combine the description of a speeding train with the internal feelings of one of its passengers; this allows us to see the train and the person, but more importantly to feel them both. In my writing I feel as though I would typically do one or the other; describe the physical aspects of the train, describe the physical aspects of the person, describe the feeling of the train, describe the feeling of the person, etc. But like the whole story itself, McCann combines them, he interweaves the physical aspects of the train and the person, the feelings of the train, and the feelings of the person, just as he weaves each individual story with the stories of the whole. He does this per paragraph. This is what I’d like to do in my own writing.

Like my stories, my own descriptions tend to be linear. The house is red. The man is fat. The house feels haunted. The man feels ashamed. Et cetera. How do I combine the descriptions and feelings of both? This is not a rhetorical question, either; please answer in your response with how I can better do this. Examples would be helpful, too.

For more annotative essays and other book related stuff click here.

Picture: Flickr/Matthew Allard

Politics / News, Politics / News

6 Interesting Facts about the Iraq War

May 10, 2015 Michael Anthony

Interesting Facts about the Iraq War

(for the average reader)

While many people hear about the “War on Terror” as a catch phrase thrown around on propaganda filled, politically biased, lie-filled news stations most people couldn’t even point to the country in question. A lot of misinformation is thrown around in regards to the Iraq War either for sensationalistic purposes in an attempt to please corporate sponsors with better ratings or for politically motivated agendas. In reality a lot of people have no real idea why the war was fought, who against (IE: who’s doing the actual fighting), or in some cases where it all is even taking place. There is a lot of information about the Iraq War beyond what can be found in conventional sources.

Fact #1. Many of the “terrorists” are young, well-educated college students (and some aren’t even “terrorists,” they’re just paid thugs)

The general depiction of middle-eastern terrorists is of the equivalent to what we in the United States would consider a redneck. Generally older, “gibberish” speaking, bearded suicide bombers. While movies like Team America, True Lies, or Iron Man don’t help this stereotype in all actuality most of the extremists are attending, or were enrolled in prominent universities. They are between the ages of 20 – 27, male, and often know multiple languages including English in some cases. Much like the radicals seen during the 60’s in the United States or the Occupy Wall Street movement of 2011. Additionally, the motives of these Iraqi fighters are not “death to America” as often is depicted but more out of a religious extremism also seen with certain factions of Christians in the United States. What sets these individuals apart from some of the more radical elements in the United States is nothing more than semantics more often than not. Furthermore, in our briefings before going to Iraq, we were informed that a lot of the fighters in Iraq and Afghanistan were just paid thugs. The terrorists/insurgents would go out and find impoverished people, maybe just a young man trying to feed his family, and the terrorists would offer him money to maybe place a bomb on a street, or fire a few mortars on an American base, etc. Even suicide bombers are not always “fanatics.” There have been many reports of terrorist groups, various people, and even entire countries, offering money, as high as 25,000, for anyone who will wear a suicide vest (the money would go to their family of course). This many seem ridiculous that someone would do it for the money, but in war-torn countries where the life expectancy is already lowered, and fighting is an everyday occurrence, the thought of being able to provide for your family can be and overriding feeling (and I’m sure there’s still a little religious fanaticism involved, but there’s a good bet that a lot of these people wouldn’t have worn the vests without money going to their families).

Fact #2. Believe it or not: the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are two different things

While these two wars often get lumped together they are two separate conflicts. The war in Afghanistan was a result of the hostile actions taken against the United States by a militant group believed to have originated and was currently in control of Afghanistan: Al-Qaida. On the other hand, the war in Iraq occurred as a result of, then believed, the countries possession of weapons of mass destruction IE: chemical, biological, nuclear based weapons. While over time these two conflicts have merged into a universal conflict they did not have a singular theme at the time of the United States involvement

Fact #3. Believe it or not: Iraq and Afghanistan are not geographically connected, or even that similar

Much like the specific conflicts and their origins, many people consider the countries as one place or even geographically connected. This is far from the truth. Iraq and Afghanistan are over 1000 miles apart, separated by Iran. Additionally the cultures of both countries are vastly different. Iraq’s economy is almost entirely based on the oil industry that is responsible for almost 90% of the world’s oil. Afghanistan, on the other hand, is agrarian at best with the majority of Afghan citizens living below the poverty line (and a lot of profits actually come form poppy fields–in fact to keep tribal leaders happy, some U.S. military units were actually tasked with protecting the poppy fields from the Taliban). Afghanistan is far more similar to rural places in Africa than it is to Iraq.

Fact #4. The actual Iraq War lasted a little over a year

Despite popular belief, the most recent Iraq War ended in 2006 with the death of Saddam Hussein–with many prominent American’s even declaring it over at that time. After Saddam’s death a new government was put in place, however, there has been constant infighting between the two dominate Islamic religions, Sunni and Shiite, for control of the country. Combine this with various actions on the part of smaller, more extremist groups vying for control. As a result of this chaos, the United States along with many other countries and international organizations have had to moderate the violence within the country. The ongoing struggle is a direct result of the conclusion of the war.

Fact #5. The whole country isn’t constantly in a state of Chaos

A lot of the pictures and videos we see coming from Iraq are of various bombings and shootings, etc. However, outside the city of Baghdad and a few specific locations the majority of the country is relaxed and living life like any other day. Similar to what you would see in the United States after a major natural disaster. While citizens in places near the coast of Florida can be seen trying to pick up the pieces after a hurricane, residents in unaffected areas of Florida or even other states go about their lives like they would normally. Most Iraqis get up, go to work, and come home, repeat just like we do.

Fact #6. The prominent threat is homemade bombs

We see a lot of gun fighting and such on TV and in movies related to the Iraq war but the major problem isn’t from one on one combat but from Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). These can range from a plastic jug of gasoline with a fuse to cell phone detonated explosives. The issue with these compared to standard gun fights are that the extremists using them do not have to be present when they go off or even been within trigger range in some cases. Much like landmines during WWII, these are often set it and forget it type of weapons that can result in casualties and fatalities for both the intended target and any unintended personnel. Additionally, since they can be made out of anything, finding and defusing these devices is akin to finding a needle in a hay stack–a needle that will explode if you don’t find it.

Picture: Flickr/The U.S. Army

Blogishness, Blogishness, ptsd

What is Kratom? And how can it help veterans with PTSD?

May 4, 2015February 24, 2016 Michael Anthony

PTSD and the herb Kratom

In this day and age of pharmaceutical giants peddling a new drug every week and then spending the next several decades in court over litigation related to the drug, it’s hard to trust some of these medications. However, with the growing boom of home remedies and homeopathy more and more people are turning to natural cures. While some of these remedies for pain and other issues are still illegal or require a very specific prescription, there are other options on the market to help relieve suffers. Kratom, for example, is one of these newer natural remedies.

What is Kratom?

Kratom, is a leafy plant indigenous to parts of Southeast Asia. This plant is often used for pain relief and to reduce and assist with the withdrawal symptoms from opioids. Kratom works in a very similar fashion to morphine. While the plant is chewed recreationally it does not produce heavy psychoactive or other major side effects. Additionally Kratom use has been tied to an increase in overall mood. Typical users in Thailand have been said to start around 25 and continue through the rest of their lives.

Kratom side effects

While general use of Kratom doesn’t produce major side effects, chronic use has been known to lead to such things as:

constipation
darkening of the skin color of the face
loss of appetite
weight loss

Additionally the addictive properties are not fully known but reports of those who inject opioids becoming addicted to Kratom have been noted.

More studies required

Currently there is little to no studies related to Kratom as its use is only just now becoming more prevalent. To add insult to injury many countries have taken legal action in regards to Kratom despite no evidence for or against its use. It is believed that many of these countries are over-reacting due to archaic and draconian beliefs related to similar substances. There are even those that believe the regulation and overzealous reactions are tied to extensive funding from pharmaceutical entities in an attempt to continue to monopolize the health care industries. While some of these beliefs are unfounded the truth of the matter is currently Kratom, its effects and use are not fully understood by the scientific community

Kratom for PTSD

Compared to most PTSD or other anti-anxiety drugs, Kratom shows considerable promise in the treatment and management of the condition. While, like many psychological conditions, it will not cure the user it does allow them to retain a normal life while getting treatment. Unlike typical pharmaceutical treatments that can have a range of devastating side effects from agitations, hallucinations, or even increase in suicidal thoughts, Kratom is by far a greater option. However, as mentioned further study is still required, Kratom currently tends to work far better and have lesser side effects compared to traditional treatments. Most users describe the feeling as being in the moment. The past and future become irrelevant as you only focus on the here and now. It allows you to let go of any past trauma or any future worries. You only think about what needs to be done to improve your current situation. For people with PTSD this can be like coming out of a fog on a dark, overcast day to a world full of sunlight and smiling faces.

Kratom + therapy

As mentioned Kratom does not cure psychological problems like PTSD however, it does allow its users to better work though their past traumas objectively. This allows them to better understand the core of the trauma as well as address any potential underlying issues without the inherent anxiety or fear that is often prevalent when addressing the trauma. Compared to pharmaceutical remedies that, as mentioned, can have severe side effects in addition only help to mitigate issues tied to the trauma not help deal with the drama; it’s no wonder that some people believe the pharmaceutical industry is behind the blacklisting of this herb.

Conclusion

PTSD is a complicated psychological ailment with ties to other related psychological issues such as, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, etc. Dealing with one element of this all-consuming condition is akin to replacing the flat tires on a car with a busted engine. While pharmaceutical treatments do help mitigate some of the issues tied to PTSD they often only cover one maybe two per individual drug. In many cases people end up having to take 3 or more different drugs just to try and live some semblance of a normal life. Kratom, on the other hand deals with a lot of the issues tied to PTSD, while both causing minimal adverse effect as well as enhancing standard therapeutic treatment. Despite the misinformation campaigns and misguided anti-drug laws Kratom deserves a fair shot if for no other reason than to provide the peace of mind that all PTSD suffers long for and many cases outright deserve.

Picture: Flickr/Ahmad Fuad Morad

Politics / News, Politics / News, ptsd, Self Improvement / Healthy Living, Uncategorized

Is PTSD Genetic? Can PTSD be passed onto my children?

April 25, 2015February 24, 2016 Michael Anthony

Is PTSD Genetic?

Can PTSD be passed onto my children?

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a psychiatric ailment that affects many people around the world. This stress disorder can affect anyone and it is typically caused by uncontrollable or unpredictable traumatic events. In most cases, PTSD symptoms appear after several days or hours of certain event. However, there are times that it takes up to few months or weeks for the symptoms to manifest themselves. Common PTSD’s causes may be because of sudden death of loved ones, assault, car or plane crashes, rape, war, natural disasters, kidnap, childhood neglect, physical abuse and other traumatic events.

“Avoiding being reminded of the event, including becoming detached from friends and becoming emotionally withdrawn, is another sign of PTSD.”

But can we tell just by taking a simple blood test if we are predisposed genetically to PTSD? This question has been the biggest issue internationally. International researchers have found a genetic marker that is linked to PSTD in the blood samples of the conflict zone based Marines. This team of researchers is studying to figure out who is more resilient to PTSD, and who is more at risk for PTSD.

Women are more likely to develop this stress disorder than men. Signs tend to cluster into three main areas. One is when a person relives the event through vivid images and nightmares together with an extreme reaction like heart palpitations, uncontrollable shaking and chills. Avoiding being reminded of the event, including becoming detached from friends and becoming emotionally withdrawn, is another sign of PTSD. The last main signs of this disorder are when a person is hyper aroused, irritable, startled easily, and/or has difficulty concentrating and trouble sleeping.

The idea that your genes play a role in whether you develop this stress disorder has been a famous focus of frequent research. Scientists have actually discovered, in mice, the genes that regulate fear. The lack of a brain chemical that is regulating the fear (which is called peptide that releases gastrin), led to fear response that is greater among rodents. In another study, mice that do not have a protein that is necessary to form the so called “fear memories”, have less tendency of freezing up and willing to explore unfamiliar spaces (think of the cartoon Tom and Jerry, and how Jerry (the mouse) wasn’t afraid of Tom the cat. This could have, realistically, been because Jerry lacked a certain protein in his brain that would’ve told him to be afraid of Tom). This is important to note because many people believe that PTSD is an unnatural response, but PTSD can often be a natural response to a somewhat unnatural situation. The brain is almost wired to respond in such a way.

“It’s been said that a single person with PTSD infects/affects/effects up to seven individuals with symptoms.”

There are also studies on twins which show that heredity is accounting for about 30 percent of the differences responding to trauma. Identical twins are much more likely to develop this stress disorder than the fraternal twins. Another research has looked into the role of inherited mental disorders, brain differences or tendencies of addiction.

An unusual research avenue is the contribution of our immune systems to the development of the symptoms of PTSD or if it has also a big role in this development. Prior studies showed that people who have been diagnosed with PTSD as compared to individuals without PTSD suggest that their differences in their genes in relation to inflammation, plays a role.

Therefore, there is a tendency that PTSD can be acquired genetically, however, there is no positive result as researchers are still going on progress of having some clues as to what may predict resilience and risk.

One thing to keep in mind about PTSD, is that even though it may or may not be genetic, a father or mother can still pass on PTSD to their children, and loved ones, through proximity. It’s been said that a single person with PTSD infects/affects/effects up to seven individuals with symptoms. Think of it as the flu. A father gets sick with the flu: he’s lethargic, has a fever, diarrhea, and he’s nauseous. Several days pass and the father’s son gets sick. The son has all the same symptoms as his father, he’s lethargic, nauseous, has diarrhea, etc. Then, the next thing you know, the sister gets sick, the mother, and the whole house is laid up in bed. Now, take that same scenario and imagine a man with PTSD. He’s irritable, short-tempered, has trouble sleeping, is anxious, and is emotionally withdrawn. How long do you think it’ll be before his short-temper and irritability is passed along to his wife and children?

In a sense, it’s the old nature vs nurture debate. Are we predisposed to PTSD or brought up into it?

Picture: Flickr/Ilona Meagher