Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

On New Year’s Eve morning

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In addition to the usual chaos at home, in addition to the additional chaos provided by my dad's epic final adventure, my new mother-in-law Duan is here. She's Thai, she's charming and she speaks pretty good English, but we're getting to know one another without the benefit of Cristie's Dad's facilitation and clarifications. (He's in Romania, attending a work-related crisis.) It's joyful—and it might be, actually, for the best—but it's exhausting, for all of us. 

And today Uncle Randall and Aunts Patty and Marty are coming the big party at our place. And that's not mentioning the frozen-tundra golf tournament tomorrow and my tryout a couple days later for the local women's pro football team ….

All to explain to you why I carved out a couple cozy hours this morning and skated down the frozen sidewalks to sit in the cavernous Mercury Cafe and read The New York Times and edit an out-of-work family member's resume. I brought my laptop down here, too, because on this New Year's Eve I feel a strong urge to take stock, to list some facts for reference next New Year's Eve.

• My daughter is what Thai people would call—I haven't memorized their word yet—a "sweet mouth."  What five-year-old, on your return from a trip away, lists the things she misses doing with you—cuddling, talking, wrestling, urban adventuring, reading? And why would that five-year-old be given to me?

• My wife and I, college sweethearts, still fight ferociously about all the small stuff, still agree wordlessly on all the big stuff.

• My dad remembers, when he was a very little boy, lying beneath his parents' dining room table and looking around the furnished house and doubting he would ever amass such wealth. Now it's with a similar sense of blinking wonder that he talks about my life—the unfathomable cast and the organic plot—and really, he doesn't know the half of it.

• The only thing I ever ask, I continue to ask: Dear God, if you are up there (and even if you are only in my head), keep the grindstones coming and make the work as useful as you can. I'll do the rest.

• And no matter what happens—whether I am cranking out copy in my upstairs office or counting out pills in my dad's kitchen—there is the Great Compensation. That's writing—and this blog, where have only to stick out my hand and I find someone to touch, and get touched back.

That's where things stand at the end of 2008. Recession, depression, or all-out cabin decompression, if all the above is intact at this time next year—and this is some pretty sturdy stuff—I'll be happy.

So Happy New Years: the last one, and the next one.

Onward, my friends, together.

More evidence that Obama’s speechwriter is too inexperienced for the job

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I'm catching up on reading a few odds and ends that didn't appear in the Middletown Journal this month.

An article in Dec. 18 Washington Post adds to the mountain of unwelcome information we already have about President-elect Obama's speechwriter Jon Favreau, who I'm starting to suspect is trying to get himself fired, so he can avoid wasting the rest of his twenties splitting infinitives ad infinitum with White House policy creeps.

How else can we explain the fact that Favreau is publicly sweating out the writing of the inaugural address:

He listened to recordings of past inaugural addresses and met with
Peggy Noonan, Ronald Reagan's speechwriter, to seek advice. One of
Favreau's assistants interviewed historians such as David McCullough.

Still more daunting is the list of things Favreau can't
think about as he writes the inaugural. He went for a run to the
Lincoln Memorial last month and stopped in his tracks when he imagined
the mall packed with 3 million people listening to some of his words. A
few weeks later, Favreau winced when Obama spokesman Bill Burton
reminded him: "Dude, what you're writing is going to be hung up in
people's living rooms!"

"If you start thinking about what's at stake, it can get paralyzing," Favreau said.

So your solution is to tell the Washington Post and the world how much pressure you're under? Like, too much transparency, Dude!

Jon, I speak for all communicators over the age of 30 when I advise you: Add to your list of pre-speech preparatory activities: Don't give any interviews during the writing (and don't give any afterwards, either).

One wonders why Obama hasn't come down on the young man yet. Bigger fish to fry, I suppose. But you heard it at Writing Boots first: No matter what kind of inaugural address Favreau writes (and I hope it's a doozy), he won't be around this time next year. And it'll be for the best—for everyone involved.

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Warning: yet another personal post

I realize my posts have been five-to-0ne personal-to-professional these days, but so has my life.

I have, however, tried at least to stick with communication as a theme (communication being a theme that stretches to fit).

But really, this post is nothing more than a proud and happy Dad thinking the whole friggin’ world wants to see his goofy daughter sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

I wouldn’t watch it if I were you. Seriously.

Merry Christmas, everybody, and Happy Chanukah too. Happy New Year’s, we’ll have to think more about.

https://writing-boots.com/2008/12/warning-yet-another-personal-post-i-realize-my-posts-have-been-five-to-0ne-personal-to-professional-these-days-but-so-has-m/