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History Happens Here

Since I stopped commuting to downtown DC daily, something interesting has happened: I appreciate the city more. Every trip downtown I see something new and exciting happening — a cool new restaurant, a great neighborhood rising out of space that ten years ago was borderline depressing. Together, the sum of all Washington’s parts is a city vibrating with energy. It may be the Great Recession elsewhere, but for DC it’s boom times– which may say something unfortunate about mortgaging our futures in the name of ever bigger government, but it sure makes for an exciting and beautifully liveable city. I happened to have two dinners to go to this past weekend, both in DC, although in widely dispersed parts of the city. The first dinner took me by a park  I passed every day when I worked at the Post, McPherson Square. The usual Sunday scene of a few homeless men and their bundles spread out on the wood benches had transformed into what at first looked like a field sprouting with Gore-Tex mushrooms, but resolved into a village of domed pup-tents, crowded edge to edge three blocks from the White House. Occupy DC revolutionaries milled about, their fervor swirling around them like fog. There were signs all over, with slogans and whatnot, but my favorite was one that said: WE NEED TOOTHPASTE.  Throw in some deodorant while your at it.

The next night we were heading to Southeast, and that took us on Independence Avenue alongside the Tidal Basin. Suddenly we saw a huge field filled with the aftermath of what looked like another inauguration. There were police barricades and thousands of discarded cardboard boxes and stages and . . . what had just recently happened here?

And then we rolled past these four huge marble slabs, and as we passed by, the mountainous image of Martin Luther King Jr. emerged from one of the slabs, looking sternly down on us. Of course — it was the day of the dedication of the newest national memorial — a very big deal, rivaling in impact Lincoln’s little tribute just down the Mall. And the crowd was still streaming out of there . . . we’d missed the ceremony by an hour.

So two nights out in the nation’s capital, and two serendipitous brushes with history — the kind of things that will appear as iconic images for generations to come; a park populated with young people in need of toothpaste who believe that their beliefs alone have the power to change the world; a gathering to inaugurate a shrine to a man whose belief DID change the world, a shrine that had waited half a century for this one day of dedication.

And oh yeah, both dinners — one at a New Orleans place, one at a Greek place — were superb.

I’d love to live in Paris some day, but living in DC ain’t half bad.

 

A Slave to Language

Politicized language can be annoying. “Politically correct” is not exactly a term of admiration. That  irritation is justified to the degree that a change in language is meant to alter, rather than reflect reality. A perfect example of the bad kind of politically correct: “Deferred success” in place of “failure.” Very 1984 “War is Peace” type of thinking there. On the other hand, “Native Americans”  for “Indians,” is inarguably an example of the good kind of linguistic shift — mistaking the Americas for India was the biggest geographical gaffe in history, and its stubborn perpetuation is a metaphor for European arrogance and ignorance.

But recently I encountered an even more potent word change –all the more powerful because the word in question did not stick out as absurdly as “Indian.” It was a short, common word that I had never thought to question: “slave.” My wife and I were walking around a preserved colonial plantation when I noticed an interpretive sign that repeatedly used a novel (to me) phrase that almost knocked me over. Although this had been a Southern plantation, the word “slave” never appeared. It had been replaced, in all instances, by some form of  “enslaved man.”

My bias is always in favor of plain speaking. And slave, as ugly as the concept is, was at first glance a very honest word. But the more I thought about it, the more of a lie it became — a pernicious one at that.

Being a slave is something you are, an intrinsic state of being. Being enslaved is something that has been done to you, and has no bearing on your essential being. Calling someone a slave is instantly rendering that person as something other. The constant repetition of the alternative on the historical plaques — enslaved man, enslaved woman, enslaved people — had a surprisingly compelling effect. It made the condensed history of that plantation anything but the boilerplate that would have issued forth without that subtle edit — exponentially more awful, more real. 

And that’s exactly what words should do.

Top Secret Becomes Top Seller

Dana Priest and Bill Arkin’s Top Secret America: The Rise of the New American Security State, edited by moi, hit the New York Times bestseller list this week at #14 (and made #6 on the Washington Post bestseller list).

A Tip of the Cap

Next week it will be a year since the Macondo well was finally killed and sealed safely in it’s tomb of concrete. The media attention paid to all the books about the disastrous blowout last April 20th in the Gulf of Mexico shut down a lot faster than Macondo did. We were quickly on to other disasters, other obsessions, other anniversaries. But out of the blue (so to speak), in the new New York Review of Books dated Sept. 29, comes this retrospective of oil spill/blowout books by Peter Maass.  He says some very gratifying things about Fire on the Horizon. He calls it “a rough gem” and “an excellent book that wraps concise explanations of technology into a fascinating story of danger and tragedy on the rig.”

That last phrase is the most concise possible formulation of exactly what Fire on the Horizon was trying to accomplish.

 

 

 

Top Secret America’s Secret is Out

Top Secret America, the Rise of the New American Security State – the expansion and elaboration of the Washington Post series by Dana Priest and Bill Arkin – a project that took up most of my winter and spring, has gotten off to a blazing start days before it’s official publication date.  It’s already at 120 on Amazon, and a major Frontline special on it won’t air until Sept. 6. The challenge for this was always to take a groundbreaking and informative newspaper series and make it into something more. A book has to engage and involve a reader in a way a newspaper project never can. The strategy was to back out from the investigative conclusions summarized in the series and approach it the way Priest and Arkin did themselves in two years of reporting; to make it a journey of discovery where the readers reach the disquieting conclusions bit by bit as they feel the massive haunches, the rope-like trunk, the solid mass of the belly of the beast and only slowly realize they are dealing with a mastodon — the uncontrolled, even metastatic growth of invasive, redundant and ruinously expensive security measures, the very overreaction that terrorists count on.

The skeptical take on this book project, which I heard a lot as we labored on it, was that, after the massive three part series in the Post, nothing was left to be said. The very first reader review was very reassuring on that point:

I generally take a very jaundiced view of books that emerge from Washington Post columns I have already read, but this book surprised, engages, and out-performs the columns by such a leap that I have to rate it at six stars (10% of what I read and review), and call it a nation-changing book.

Here’s the early review from Kirkus.

 

 

It will be interesting to see where it goes from here.

How to Become a Bestselling Author in Four Hours

If you’ve ever asked yourself, “Self, what does it take in the current market  to become a best-selling author?” you would be well advised to carefully study the following description, from today’s Times, of the oeuvre of megabestselling author Tim Ferriss:  Mr. Ferriss has risen to mass popularity by explaining to readers how to get the most change in their lives for the least amount of effort. His books promise to help readers lose pounds through “safe chemical cocktails” and odd food combinations, gain muscle in a month with only four hours of gym time, produce 15-minute female orgasms, and sleep two hours a day and feel fully rested.

I felt the guide to producing 15-minute female orgasms was particularly inspired, though he might want to try to get that down to FIVE minutes in the next edition.

Miami Hunt is ON

Hunt fans won’t have to wait until next June for a fix. The Herald has committed to the first Miami Hunt since 2009 for Sunday Nov. 13. This will be a Dave-Tom production, as opposed to the Dave-Tom-Gene Washington Hunts. Though we DO let Gene have the opportunity to trash all our ideas along the way. It should be a very novel Hunt, in that the venue is the public space surrounding the brand new, perhaps not even 100% completed, Florida Marlins stadium, where the Orange Bowl used to be. It’s very dramatic architecturally, and dramatic architecture is always a good inspiration for Hunt puzzles. Plus, as I remember fondly from attending Orange Bowl events, the surrounding neighborhood has EXCELLENT cafe Cubano and mango batidos.

Don’t Jump!

Stay with me here: I promise, this DOES have something to do with writing.

The other day a tennis partner told me that he’d recently reworked his serve. “I was trying to jump when I serve, the way the pros do, but at 37, I’m getting too old for that.”

Here’s the thing: despite the visual evidence above, the pros don’t jump. In order to hit a serve in excess of 125 miles per hour, they have to use the most powerful muscles in their bodies. Those are, by far, the muscles in their legs . So what a pro is trying to accomplish when he is serving is to use his lower body to thrust up, driving the upper body, including the arm holding the racket, into the ball with maximum force. It is perhaps a subtle distinction, but an important one. That their feet leave the ground on the serve is a byproduct of the forces at work, not the point of them. Amateurs who see the pros on TV will see the leap and try to imitate it by jumping first, then hitting the ball. This creates a serve that is almost impossible to time correctly, and does nothing to increase the force of the serve. They jump, then swing. Little or none of the force of the jump transmits to the service motion.

As soon as this occurred to me, I realized its connection to my previous post.  I was talking about why it is that when a writer is trying to write powerfully, that writer fails miserably.  Good writing is simply the ability to focus on a powerful idea or image and find the most effective possible way to convey it. The power is in the idea itself, and only purpose of the writing is to insure that that power is conveyed fully and succinctly to the reader.

In an almost identical sense, the impressive leap skyward of a great tennis serve is not about leaving the ground, but the ability of that upward thrust of hamstring, quad and calf muscles to communicate power to the swinging arm. In fact in tennis, just as in writing, the less tension and conscious effort in the motion, the bigger the serve.

 

August Nieman Editors’ Roundtable

The August Nieman Editors’ Roundtable is up discussing a terrific story about a 20-something man masquerading as a teenage high school hoops star. Go to: http://bit.ly/qLBbx4

Just Communicate

Leo Tolstoy: He had something to say.

A client sent me a first chapter to a book. I don’t want to say it was awful, but it just wasn’t working on any level. After receiving my critique, the client sent me a long message of explanation. The message was clear, funny, insightful and fun to read. It had me hanging on every word. How do you explain that? Actually, I think embedded in the explanation is the secret principle for all good writing. The root problem with the chapter was that the writer had never figured out what the story was. In the absence of a clear idea, she just tried to WWrite around it. That’s trying to be a writer with two cap Ws, big fancy words, flashy sentence structure, metaphors out the wazoo, with the net result something that is overly cute, trying too hard, and still, since the root problem was not knowing what the story was, meaningless. But when she was trying to explain her difficulty to me, she knew exactly what she was experiencing, which allowed her to do nothing with her writing except attempt to communicate that to me in the best possible way. Since she was talented, the result was everything I describe above. So that’s something to remember: the key to good writing is, first and foremost, actually having something significant and interesting to communicate. Once you have that, forget about everything else but communicating that thing in the most effective way possible. Easy peasy.