Bobbing Around
Volume Three, Number Four
Bob Rich's rave
November, 2003
bobswriting.com/ anxietyanddepression-help.com/ mudsmith.net/
Bobbing Around
Volume Three, Number Four
Bob Rich's rave |
|
*About Bobbing Around
subscribe/unsubscribe guidelines for contributions *Ariana Overton Good-bye to a friend. *A thank you *Undone by a Fly An amusing educational for writers by John Holton. *Faces in the Locket A little romance story by Shelly Gail Morris. *Learn about e-books: Free e-book lessons by Candida Martinelli. Celia Leaman's course. *A Christmas contest *Interesting announcements Cheryl Jorgensen Celia Leaman Kristie Leigh Maguire Nina Osier *The Monster Within How to fight depression *Ergonomics: An automatic gas-heated kettle, by Jim Korios. *George W. Bush in Australia Some interesting emails. *Why I don't like diagnostic labels I am responsible for anything I have written. However, where I reproduce contributions from other people, I do not necessarily endorse their opinions. I may or may not agree with them, but give them the courtesy of a forum. |
Advice requested
Here are a couple of thoughts. Please let me know if any of them appeal to you, and let me know of any alternatives. Bobbing Around is COPYRIGHTED. No part of it may be reproduced in any form, at any venue, without the express permission of the publisher (ME!) and the author if that is another person. You may forward the entire magazine to anyone else. |
Good bye, AriAriana Overton burst into my life soon after my entry to the internet: she joined the first email list I belonged to, 'ANZ Authors'. She proved to be a comet of enthusiasm and energy, and invited other writers to send her promotional material she could use in her radio show in North Queensland.Very quickly, I learned to respect her wisdom. So, when she became the acquisitions editor of 'Clock Tower Books', a new independent publisher, I queried her with my latest book, Sleeper, Awake. She accepted it, and edited it herself. Due to her input, the book became an award-winner, carrying off the EPPIE Award for Science Fiction in 2001. Clock Tower authors were asked to review each other's books. When Ari's husband Max wrote a historical novel, set in much the same area as my 'Ehvelen' books though at a different time, I wrote a review. I also sent Max a few thoughts about possible improvements to the book. In response, Ari invited me to the editorial team at Clock Tower, and that was the start of my newest career. Our friendship deepened. Some years later, I found out that 20 years ago, Ari had cancer, was given a short time to live, but confounded medical predictions. So, when I wanted to write a book about surviving cancer, I invited Ari to write a section. Alas, I'll never receive her contribution. Recently, Ariana Overton died in her sleep. Ari, I never met you, except through the virtual link of email, but I have lost a real friend. And Max, life can go on. She will be with you until the day you also cross that mysterious divide. For now, your grief is a stone to drag you down into the depths, but in time, Ari's memory will be a strength and support to you, as her presence was during your many years together. |
Sending Bobbing Around off used to be a big job. Now, it's a matter of visiting an online form, then sending a single email, thanks to Atlantic Bridge Publishers. The least I can do is to offer this forum to Linda Eberharter, the publisher, for publicising her publishing business. Please visit her and look around. Here is an interesting book she recommends:
Believe If You Can
Irish, Spanish and Basque Legends and Tales by Richard Marsh.
Sixteen stories: nine Irish, three Spanish, two Irish-Galician, one Irish-Basque, and one Irish-Spanish-Basque.
While surfing the web the other day I came across an interesting statistic. It stated that in a recent Australian survey, 40% of people admitted that they were more afraid of public speaking than dying.
It seems far fetched to say the least, and I too would have dismissed it as mere hyperbole or a public relations exercise to sell self-help books on-line if it weren’t for the fact that until very recently I was a member of that quivering, seemingly irrational 40%.
My life as a public speaker began unremarkably. In 1974, at my first (and, as it turned out, last) elocution eisteddfod, I was to recite a poem entitled Noses. It was an uncomplicated little piece – four verses in length – rhyming couplets. I stood on the stage, filled my diaphragm, as I’d practiced so many times with my teacher, smiled at the throng of eager faces and burst into tears.
It was a humiliating moment for a ten year old with confidence problems. My teacher joined me on stage, held my hand, then recited the poem while I silently mouthed the words, wishing I was somewhere else, like South America, or any place where I could quietly live out my life without ever seeing any member of that audience again.
It was six years before I faced my public speaking bogey again. Apart from the odd Christmas play where I’d mumbled greetings to a plastic baby Jesus, and a forgettable role as the nurse in a year 9 English class reading of Romeo and Juliet, I’d managed to keep pretty well out of the public eye. Then a Year 11 oral book report brought my whole, safe world crashing down.
A month beforehand the sleepless nights began. I counted the days like a prisoner on death row – but this was worse – much, much worse. It’s impossible to explain to someone who has never experienced it: the feelings of anxiety that pervade every waking hour, the constant nausea and bouts of diarrhoea, the overwhelming sense that this thing is out of your control – that the senseless jumble of words forming in your head will, at the decisive moment, vanish into the ether.
You don’t just count the number of sleeps, but the number of enjoyable diversions that stand between you and your nemesis. A simple outing to the cinema or a football match becomes two hours of not thinking about the event to come – a welcome escape from the real and terrifying world of the glossophobic (yes, there is a word for the condition).
The book report was a disaster. I slurred and stammered my way through a ten minute presentation where I reinterpreted (well, read) the jacket notes on the back of a novel adapted from the screenplay of Flying High, an excruciatingly lame comedy released earlier that same year. In question time a well-spoken, pony-tailed, five o’clock-shadowed, student and cinema buff named Brendan asked me who’d directed the film. Of course I had no idea – it was meant to be a book report after all.
I recently saw Brendan’s name as Producer on the credits of a well-received Australian film and cursed him retrospectively. When I began writing fiction a few years back I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. As far as I was concerned I’d found my perfect form of expression. I would write books, my readers would read them, and that would pretty much be the end of the transaction – everyone’s happy.
As it turns out, the moment your words appear in print, the world assumes you have something unbelievably interesting to say and, being such an interesting person, you will also be a riveting and charismatic presenter. So it was that I was reacquainted with my old foe.
The first few author presentations were torturous and I relived many of the symptoms of my younger years: the sleepless nights, panic attacks and frequent trips to the toilet. The bowel, without a doubt, is the ‘command-central’ of the nervous system. Given the modern obsession with irritable bowel syndrome and colonic irrigation people should seriously consider the homeopathic benefits of regular public speaking. Despite all the negatives, I always find it a cleansing experience.
As time went on things became easier. I was surprised to find that audiences actually showed interest in what I had to say. I began to rely less on prepared notes and was able to improvise on topics that were relevant to a particular audience. For the first time I was talking about something that only I knew about – me. The nerves were still there, but I was more in control.
It all came to a head at a recent writers’ festival, my first as a guest presenter. Despite an overnight panic attack in my hotel room and a shaky first session the following morning, that afternoon I came as close as I ever have to nailing a presentation. From the first word I had my audience. They laughed at my jokes, asked the right questions, and two hours disappeared in what seemed like ten minutes. Signing books afterwards, I was high on adrenalin. I wondered what it must be like for a stand up comic to have an audience laughing or a rock star playing to a packed auditorium of screaming fans. It was a huge breakthrough for the shy kid who had cried on stage all those years ago.
With a writers’ festival under my belt, I awaited the next ‘gig’ with great anticipation. This time I would work without notes, after all, I was an experienced presenter – I’d shaken the proverbial monkey from my shoulder. The world of public speaking was now my oyster.
And so I faced a room full of eager professional writing students at a regional Tafe Campus, relaxed and ready to strut my stuff. I launched into my presentation with gusto, went for a couple of early laughs to get the audience on side, then promptly swallowed a fly.
For those of you who have never swallowed a fly (and I hope you haven’t because, truly, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy) I will try to explain what it was like. The thing is, a fly doesn’t die simply because it’s inside your gullet. What it does do is attempt to escape via the same route it came in. I tried valiantly to drown the intruder with copious amounts of water, but every cough brought it closer to daylight and threatened to bring a roasted vegetable foccacia along for the ride.
After several brave attempts to continue my address I apologised, in what might have passed for fluent Dutch, and made a dash for the toilets, accompanied by fading laughter.
To my credit I returned – minus the fly – but the rest of the presentation was something of a shambles. Though empathetic and somewhat in awe of my tenacity, the audience were understandably distracted and fell to sporadic fits of unprovoked laughter. My new found self-confidence had exited along with the fly and I limped to the end of an unremarkable presentation.
The moral of the story? Don’t let one small victory go to your head. Never underestimate the enemy. Like Lex Luthor to Superman, Dr Evil to Austin Powers, my public speaking bogey man is out there, still ... waiting ...
John Holton is a writer from Lake Eppalock in central Victoria. His short story collection, Snowdropping, was runner-up in the 2001 Steele Rudd Award. He currently teaches short story writing at B.R.I.T. and is a feature writer for the Bendigo Advertiser.
I first 'met' him when he did very well in a short story contest I was judging. This is a regular event for him: he is one of Australia's most successful professional short story contest gladiators.
I strongly recommend that John join Toastmasters, where his speaking skills, and confidence before an audience, will blossom to new heights.
Ruby charged out of the California courthouse and watched her newly ex-husband rush into the arms of his girlfriend. The girl embraced him, grinned at Ruby and held up her fingers in the shape of an L while mouthing "loser." Ruby smirked. The poor, unsuspecting chick had the loser all right. She turned on her heel and strutted to her car.
She loved the feel of her Great-grandmother Jewel's nineteen sixty-three Cadillac convertible. She'd walked away from the divorce penniless, but she had been able to keep this splendid machine. That awful thing called her marriage was finally over. She laughed triumphantly, thrilled to be free.
Quickly, she shifted into first gear and screeched away from her old, pathetic life. She was headed-well, she didn't know where she was going, only that she wanted to begin her adventure in Las Vegas. She might as well try her luck at living a little.
She turned on the radio as the wind coursed through her long brown hair. The warm breeze was intoxicating and awakened her intuitive senses. Turning off the six-lane highway onto a smaller four-lane road, she saw the desert ahead and looked forward to driving through the peaceful, desolate area. She would gather her thoughts, ponder her future and maybe come up with some idea of what she was going to do with herself after she'd unwound in Vegas.
Chuckling, she considered the unusual parting gift her great-grandmother had given her, which lay in the passenger seat. Jewel was a bit confused at this stage in her life, but she'd always possessed incredibly clairvoyant ideas, even calling Ruby an old soul. Ruby respected and loved her. The present was a baggie filled with cereal, buttons and old ribbon. As she glanced at it, she saw something sparkle. Placing the baggie in her lap, she opened it, dug around and felt something unusual. Pulling it out, she was astonished to find a dainty gold locket. It appeared extremely old, but she needed to take a closer look. As the road changed to two lanes, she pulled into a gas station and stopped.
As she was examining the locket closely, it suddenly fell open. There were pictures inside. On the left was a photograph of a woman with a contented smile on her face. She wore a high-necked dress with a black cameo at the base of her throat. On the other side was a photograph of a handsome man. His face held a unique expression of adoration. Were these relatives of hers? Maybe it was Jewel in her younger years-but something made her doubt that. It just didn't look like Jewel.
The couple seemed to belong together. She sighed, realizing she would probably never know who these young lovers were.
The heavenly blue sky had begun to take on a garnet glow as she hung the locket from the rearview mirror and pulled back onto the deserted two-lane highway.
As the miles passed beneath the wheels of her automobile, the faces in the locket haunted her. The sky began to fade into an enchanting amethyst, and a spark of loneliness rose inside her. Suddenly, she noticed a man kneeling on the side of the road next to a dusty motorcycle. She was not about to pick him up, but as she neared him, her heart began pounding fiercely in her chest. Blood raced through her veins and the air left her lungs. The desert spun around her. She stomped on the brake, and the car screeched to a stop. She closed her eyes and placed her head on the steering wheel, struggling to regain her composure.
"Miss? Miss, are you alright?" a masculine voice asked.
Ruby slowly opened her eyes. "What happened?"
"I believe you lost control of your car."
She looked up to see an incredibly handsome man leaning over her with a genuinely worried expression. There was something charmingly familiar about him. She grabbed the locket and urgently opened it. Astonishment crept through her as she realized that the man who stood smiling before her looked exactly like the one in the locket. She turned closer attention to the picture of the woman. It was her!
"I sure am lucky you happened by," he said. "My motorcycle started making this puttering sound and completely stopped."
Ruby met his gaze. Memories of him lingered in the depths of her mind.
He pointed to the motorcycle. "I don't have much money, but if you'd let me throw her in your trunk, and give us a lift to the next gas station, I could give you this."
He dug into his pocket and produced a stunning black cameo.
"My Great-grandmother Jade gave it to me. She predicted I'd need it soon, and I guess I need it now."
Ruby felt her face melt into a smile. "Sure. Hop in."
This story is extracted from Shelly's book Ordinary Women, Not, published by Zumaya.
As a rule, I don't publish romance stories. This is because they are part of the myth-complex of society that leads to so much unhappiness. But I found Shelly's little story so charming that I found myself smiling at the end.
Candida Martinelli
Celia Leaman
If you are simply interested in downloading and reading ebooks, then Candida Martinelli's new online lessons titled, "How to Get Etexts and Ebooks Free" is an excellent place to start. If you own an epublishing business, you may want to point your customers there for an easy way to train them on using ebooks: http://home.wanadoo.nl/cecilia.mccabe/instructions.htm.
The six free lessons offer step-by-step instructions for the computer novice on how to find and download etexts, ebooks, and ebook readers, and how to use / manage them on their PC. Please have a look to see if they might interest your site visitors.
I have asked Candida, and she assures me that, as far as she has been able to ascertain, none of the sites she recommends gives away copyrighted material for free. This is not a pirating exercise.
Visit Canadian author Celia Leaman's webpage at www.devonshirebabe.com/ebooks.htm where you will find information regarding a course about ebooks, and a direct link to enrolment with the Surrey Continuing Education District, British Columbia, Canada. This course is loaded with information and links of interest both to readers and writers. Celia also tutors for Writer's Online Workshops, and you will also find a link on that webpage directly to WOW, which will explain the course 'Focussing on the Short Story', scheduled to begin in January 2004.
BooksWeLove is conducting a Christmas contest beginning November 15th, 2003. The grand prize is an eBookman 911 with accessories, total value over $300.00. This will go to the entrant who purchases the largest number of books from our Bookstore between November 15 and December 25. Additionally, there will be twelve first prizes who will receive a book from their choice of a BooksWeLove author. Second prize will be 12 names drawn from the remaining entrants who will receive an ebook from the BooksWeLove author of their choice. All you have to do is go to the site and find the graphics for the twelve days of Christmas as described. To find complete information, go to: www.bookswelove.net and click on the Christmas tree at the top left of page. Good luck and merry Christmas!
Cheryl Jorgensen
Celia Leaman
Kristie Leigh Maguire
Nina Osier
Cheryl Jorgensen
At the Brisbane Writers' Festival on October 5, an anthology I edited called "You're A Legend!" was launched. It is a collection of writing by Secondary School students and adult high-achievers about people who have inspired them. It is a delightful collection of mainly short biographies and some poems which gives a fascinating insight into the history of the place we live (Queensland), and our hopes and concerns. Ciaron O'Reilly, a peace activist who spent a year in detention in Pecos, Texas, for dismantling a B52 bomber on its way to the Gulf War wrote for us from Dublin, where he is awaiting trial for dismantling yet another war machine at Shannon airport. Playwrights, sporting heroes, a businesswoman, Indigenous writers, actors, TV personalities, teachers, radio announcers, musicians, priests, politicians (a State Premier and a Mayor) are just some of the busy people who graciously put fingers to keyboard to write an accolade about someone who had made a difference to their lives. It is a truly inspiring read and it retails for $Aus25.00, (P&H a few dollars extra.)
People interested in this book can contact Cheryl or purchase the book from Dymocks and other Brisbane bookshops.
Over the last decade Cheryl has been writing novels, short stories and articles -- and the occasional poem. She has had a lot of short fiction published, won the Dymock's Writer's Award in 1995 for her first novel, was a runner-up in the National Book Council HarperCollins Prize in 1996 for her second and had her third novel published last year. However she was very unhappy with this and withdrew it. It is being republished now, with her Young Adult novel "Morag Bane".
Celia Leaman
Canadian author Celia Leaman would like to announce the release of her second Gale Island Book, Deceitful Hags http://www.twilighttimesbooks.com/DeceitfulHags_ch1.html. First, came Unraveled where Millicent plucked up the courage to take control of her life. Now, in Deceitful Hags, she and Hazel find a way to teach Pug (her estranged husband) a lesson for being so mean and greedy (oh, and what sweet revenge!). With each purchase of the ebook, readers receive an invitation to join the Deceitful Hags Club, hosted at Smartgroups.
Kristie Leigh Maguire
1. Romance magazine Affaire de Coeur has announced the winners of its 2003 Internet Reader/Writer Poll. Author Kristie Leigh Maguire won the Best Up and Coming Author of the Year category. Maguire’s novel, Desert Heat, won the Romance of the Year category. To see the complete list of winners of the Affaire de Coeur 2003 Internet Reader/Writer poll, go to: http://www.affairedecoeur.com/.
For more information on Kristie Leigh Maguire and her works, go to: http://clik.to/Kristie.
2. Kristie Leigh Maguire is the featured author for the month of November at Aspire2Write. Aspire2Write was founded in 2002 with support from the UK's charitable organization, The Prince's Trust. Published writers discuss their work and their lives in exclusive Aspire2Write interviews. Previous interviews include Stephen Coonts, author of over ten New York Times best-selling novels, and Gwyneth Jones, winner of two World Fantasy Awards. To view Maguire’s interview, go to: http://www.aspire2write.com/Interviews.htm.
Nina Osier
Nina M. Osier anticipates the 2004 re-release of her Frankfurt eBook Award nominated scifi novel, Rough Rider by Double Dragon Publishing. Information and pre-release reviews can be found at http://www.geocities.com/nina_osier/RRFrontPage.html.
Depression is a monster, a wicked incubus who lurks within me, waiting his chance. His aim is to kill me, and in the meantime, to wreck my life.
I have defeated him. Oh, he is still with me, within me, and will be for the rest of my life. He hides in there until something gives him a chance. Then I crash, and nothing is worth while, and I know I am useless, worthless, valueless, and the world is a bleak place and will always be so.
Then, after some suffering, I remember. These are not my thoughts. These thoughts are being planted by the monster, and he is so well practised at copying my voice that they sound and feel like they came from me.
I once saw a woman belt in a nail with a piece of broken brick. I asked her, "Haven't you got a hammer?"
She looked thoughtful, then surprised. "I believe there's one in the garage," she answered.
There was.
That's me, in the grip of my depression, my enemy. I have all the tools for trouncing it yet again, and I forget about them. A tool is useless unless used.
Once I remember, I chase the monster back to his murky depths, and life goes on.
When I was a teenager and young adult, my bouts of depression lasted months or perhaps years. Now, I have myself back in control in a matter of hours. All it takes is to remember that I have the means to fight back.
Everyone has different vulnerabilities, so your depression will whisper different lies to you than mine does to me. As Aaron Beck discovered some thirty years ago, everybody has a set of 'core beliefs', ideas about yourself and the world around you that were acquired in childhood. Many of them may never have been put into words, and they are, of necessity, childish beliefs: all or none, good and evil, superstitious. They are not unconscious in the Freudian sense, but simply beliefs that never come to consciousness. They are too basic, too deeply ingrained. They may be 'good' or 'bad'. Examples are:
When the circumstances are right, a core belief is activated. As a result, you will behave in certain ways -- ignore the rejection and try again, put another coin in the poker machine, defend your bully of a son, nurse your dying mother at home, and so on, good and bad consequences of having that particular core belief.
People susceptible to depression have core beliefs of these three types:
Your behaviour will have accompanying thoughts. Beck calls these 'surface thoughts', and they are the clues you can use to deduce what the core beliefs are.
When something happens in your world that activates these patterns, you crash. This is not a question of believing some authority, or acting on faith. It can be proved or disproved by observation. I defeated my depression using this approach, and get my clients to do the same. You systematically track the thoughts that immediately preceded the onset of depression, and look for the trigger for the thoughts. Eventually patterns emerge, allowing you to put into words the second-level thoughts, then once you have several of these, you can deduce deeper-level generalisations. Core thoughts are typically third or fourth level.
Often, once a core thought is verbalised, it loses its power. It's too ridiculous when viewed from an adult perspective… until the next time. But all it takes is to remember the evidence.
My particular monster focuses on the core thought: "I always stuff up." I know where it came from, can now clearly remember a number of childhood experiences that I had forgotten, but which still poisoned me. And this core belief is simply false. Even in a weakened form it's false. I usually do very well at whatever I try. But when something goes wrong, when the world is unkind, I crash, and I just KNOW that I always stuff up. What's the use of trying?
Is there no hope?
Let me tell you a secret. There is NOBODY on the planet who is not sad sometimes. There is nobody on the planet who is not sad sometimes, despite the absence of a severe environmental cause like grieving for a loss. If you like, all human beings are depressives, what varies is the frequency and severity.
You can't kill your depression. But you can weaken him to the point where you can cope, most of the time, to the point where you are no worse off than the overwhelming bulk of other people, all the people you envy and admire.
Part of the depressive makeup is to strive for absolutes, all or none. Reject this, like you reject everything depression tells you. You can't have perfection. But you can have it better, a lot better.
Bob, I won't be able to do a funny piece like your correspondent about the neck tie. One of my pet hates is wasting energy. I know you're a greenie, too.
It is a huge waste to heat water using electricity. To boil a litre of water using electricity uses up about 3 times the original energy source compared to boiling it using gas. The trouble is that an electric jug is so convenient, when compared to a gas flame. You can have it turn off automatically when it reaches boiling point. The best you can do with gas is to have it whistle at you, and that's only until the whistle part breaks down. And also, my hearing is not what it used to be 30 years ago.
I am not an engineer, but seems to me it shouldn't be too hard to have a gas-fired jug that does the same: clicks off when a thermostat shows the water to be boiling.
Jim is an elderly gentleman who has lived through two world wars, and is still learning. The internet is a new adventure for him.
Recently, George W. visited his little mate Johhny Howard, Prime Minister of Australia, and to my mind this country's shame. During the American President's address to Parliament, Senator Bob Brown and his Greens Party colleague heckled him, until they were ejected.
An Australian member of EPIC (electronically published internet connection) expressed disgust and outrage at this behaviour.
I disagreed with her, and said so publicly. In part I wrote: 'I applaud Bob Brown for standing up for his principles, which I share.'
Few people outside Australia will have heard about Bob Brown. Some thirty years ago, the Government of the day intended to dam up the Franklin River in Tasmania, in order to put in yet another hydroelectric scheme. At this time, Tasmania already had so much unused electricity that there was talk of an undersea cable across the Bass Straight in order to sell it on the mainland. And the Franklin flows through unique, beautiful, irreplacable wilderness.
Bob Brown spearheaded the campaign to save the Franklin. We won. The result was a change in Government (if only for a while), a new environmental consciousness that still has effects within the Australian community, and eventually the establishment of the Greens political party, with Bob Brown as its leader. He has been a Senator ever since.
How could a person with this history NOT speak up when facing a war criminal?
Every day, the news tells me of another attack on foreign troops in Iraq. As John Gorman has written previously, Iraq is now an occupied country, where armed resistance is not 'terrorism', but a fight for freedom. And every American or allied death is the personal responsibility of the man who figureheaded that invasion. Remember 'The buck stops here'?
I expected to be roundly codemned for bringing politics into the annals of a writers' list, and for people to attack my opinions. It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, when three other members, all Americans, sent me emails expressing support and agreement.
One of them has declined to allow me to reproduce her letters. The second has not replied to my request for permission to do so. However, one publicly stands by her opinions.
Here is a copy of this correspondence. Responses, either in agreement or disagreement, are welcome, but be polite. Do not confuse the person with the opinion.
Me, to the list:
Pamela, at the risk of getting onto politics, if I happened to be in the same space as George W, I'd find it impossible not to be rude to him. I consider him to be a criminal of the same ilk as Stalin and Hitler. He is no better than Saddam.
I applaud Bob Brown for standing up for his principles, which I share.
All the best,
Bob
Cynthia:
While Bush is not a mass-murderer like Stalin and Hitler (nor intelligent like they were) he is a murderer. When he was governor of Texas, a man accused of a rape murder was proved innocent, since the semen of the culprit on the victim was demonstrated by DNA testing not to be the accused's. Bush had him put to death anyway. And he lied to the world about why he wanted to go to war in Iraq. And he has permitted treason to be committed in the White House with the outing of a CIA's operative's name. As for being civil to him, even being civil to him while expressing one's disagreement can be dangerous to one's career. He threatened one Republican Congressman so that the Congressman switched to being and Independent. Before that when he was first installed in office (after having stolen the election -- mine was one of the 67,000 Florida votes not counted in the last presidential election) the public was allowed to line up to shake his hand. When one woman got her chance, she said to him "Mr. President you are doing a terrible job." The next day at work her boss called her into his office and asked her why she swore (used the F word) to the President and that he had been asked to fire her. She explained what had occured and fortuneatly was not fired. And no, she did not work for the federal government. And I won't even get into Bush's efforts to destroy the environment.
So wish us luck in getting rid of this criminal! We need it. So far he has gotten away with every criminal act he has committed.
Cynthia
author of Zollocco: A Novel of Another Universe and New Myths of the Feminine Divine.
Bob:
Cynthia, Bush is a murderer and a war criminal in his own right. All the American and allied servicemen who died or were wounded in Afghanistan and Iraq were there at his orders, doing something that has 0% chance of success. I am not even going to mention the thousands of civilians in those countries who were killed.
The tragedy is that the 'war against terrorism' is actually going to increase it. The best way to increase recruitment into the terrorist movement is to create more martyrs for them to follow.
Terrorism is the result of ideas, and you can't fight ideas by attacking countries.
All the best,
Bob
Cynthia:
Hi Bob,
While I would disagree with you about Afghanstan because Congress approved that war, since the Al Queida were and are lurking there, you are absolutely right that wars do not change ideas and yes Bush's wars will increase terrorism. Now he has given people in those countries a reason to really hate Americans. I don't think there is any statue of limitations on treason, so I hope some day Bush will be charged, tried, and convicted of treason and then handed over to the World Court for crimes against humanity.
hi bob
i read an article of yers about the "boarderline sociopath" that doesn't really exist. hmm i'm 17 and i'm fairly sure i am exhibiting major 'sociopathic' tendancies. I think i may be one. my parents have refused to get me the help of a trained psychiatrist, so i need to find out. is there a test or anything you can recommend? i have been this way all my life, its not a mood or a phase. when my parents yell at me or ask me "what is wrong with you?" i wanna be able to tell them the truth can you help me?
'PJ' was referring to one of my answers to a cry for help at Queendom.com. Here is my answer to him:
pj
pj, a 'sociopath' is someone who supposedly has no desire to obey the rules of society at all. You could go to the library of your nearest University where either Psychology or Medicine is taught, and look at 'DSM IV'. That will give you the official diagnostic criteria.
However, I REALLY dislike such labels.
Suppose you do things that the Police disapprove of. We can describe this by saying you are suffering from Sociopathic Personality Disorder. OK, then you say, 'I broke the law because I am suffering from Sociopathic Personality Disorder'.
This has explained nothing. It literally says 'I am the kind of person who breaks the law because I break the law. DUH!
However, it's a wonderful way of avoiding responsibility. 'I am not evil or bad or irresponsible or weak. I am FAULTY and can't help it. Please pity me while I kill your kid or wreck your property.'
You have a behavior pattern: what you do. You are responsible for your actions, whether they are given a label or not.
OK, I am a dry chocaholic. I used to eat large quantities of chocolate. Then I decided that I didn't want to be a slave to any habit, not even this one, and I stopped. I chose to get rid of a habit.
If you have had a set of habits involved with breaking the law, and now no longer choose to do so, you can. It's difficult, you'll have relapses, but you can do it. You will lose some things, like excitement, but gain rewards too.
If you received a copy of Bobbing Around and don't want a repeat, it's simple. Drop me a line and I'll drop you from my list.
There is another way: send an email to bobbingaround-request@atlanticbridge.net, Subject: Unsubscribe
You may know someone who would enjoy reading my rave. Bobbing Around is being archived at http://mudsmith.net/bobbing/, or you can forward a copy to your friend. However, you are NOT ALLOWED to pass on parts of the newsletter, without express permission of the article's author and the Editor (hey, the second one is me.)
If you are not a subscriber but want to be, email me. Subject should be 'subscribe Bobbing Around' (it will be if you click the link in this paragraph). In the body, please state your name, email address (get it right!), your country and something about yourself. I also want to know how you found your way to my newsletter. I hope we can become friends.
Again, another way is to send an email to bobbingaround-request@atlanticbridge.net, Subject: Subscribe.
Contributions are welcome, although I reserve the right to decline anything, or to request changes before acceptance. Welcome are:
* Announcements, but note that publication date is neither fixed nor guaranteed;
* Brags of achievements that may be of general interest, for example publication of your book;
* Poems or very short stories and essays that fit the philosophy and style of Bobbing Around;
* Above all, responses to items in past issues. I will not reject or censor such comments, even if I disagree with them.
Submission Guidelines
It is a FALSE RUMOUR that you need to buy one of my books before your submission is accepted. Not that I cry when someone does so.
Above all, contributions should be brief. I may shorten them if necessary.
Content should be non-discriminatory, polite and relevant. Announcements should be 100 to 200 words, shorter if possible. Book reviews, essays and stories should be at the very most 500 words, poems up to 30 lines.
Thanks to the new distribution method provided by Linda Eberharter of Atlantic Bridge, I can now also include graphics. They should be small file size gif or jpg.
Author bios should be about 50 words, and if possible include a web address.