This Is Why Freedom Of Speech Is Vital

I Pray I Am Wrong

So many pundits give us their reasons for why Donald Trump and Kamala Harris are ahead of each other. My personal feelings will be revealed later. This week, I watched the Vice Presidential debate and saw the polished young lawyer JD Vance overcome the moderators’ attempts to rattle him as Vance destroyed his opponent Walz with finesse and pure logic. The days following were loaded with excitement by the right-wingers who were anti-Kamala. The right wingers unanimously proclaimed that the totally unreal Kamala had lost points in the debate. Pundit after pundit proclaim her reluctance to engage with the public and her in ability to effect any argument that is not pre-written and pre-memorized. Her inability to engage spontaneously and extemporaneously will be her downfall.

I am skeptical about the whole spectacle. Even though she is a moron, that she has lost her debates, that she doesn’t engage with the press, and she speaks words that seem to be incoherently put together, she will win this election. There is only one way Donald Trump can win. He must win by a landslide so great that the clever democrats cannot sneak enough illegally garnered votes to overcome the numbers, and they cannot themselves deny that they lost.

Why do I feel this way? It is simple. Kamala Harris is a feminine copy of Obama. They have too many things like each other not to win. I watch interviews of the man on the street asking questions of people about Kamala, and their responses are senseless. They like her smile, they like the way she talks with her hands, they like the way she speaks. . . . Most of the respondents are young, very young. They see her as a needed change in leadership. They fail to recognize, however that she shows no signs of leadership what so ever.

The latest news bit I watched was Kamala addressing people affected by the hurricane. They watched their houses wash down a flooded river, their possessions gone with them, and their vehicles smashed and piled into trees and posts. They have nothing left: no clothes, no housing, no food, no water, no help from Uncle, and Kamala so powerfully proclaims that the Federal Government will give them each $750. “You heartless bitch” is all I could say to myself. If you had leadership skill the size of a mustard seed, you would have said “I will go to Congress and beg for money to help you rebuild.”

Even after this stupid disastrous $750 dollar slap in the face she will win. All I can say is that I pray I am wrong, because if she does win we will all regret it. All I will have left is to say “I told you so,” as I watch inflation rise, and my retirement fund shrinks daily because of the money the democrats will spend on stupid things.

Lazy October Day

This day started great. I woke up, went for a brisk walk, then ate a small breakfast of pastrami and cheese on rye toast. Then, I made it in time to pick up my rejuvenated hearing aids. I arrived home by 10:45 all proud of myself for having such a great start. I had a fresh cup of coffee and attacked the pile of papers on my desk. Then, the trouble began. I called the literary agent about my manuscript. I felt like all life had been sucked out of me.

He read a single editorial comment from the story and it frightened the daylights out of me. My worst fear has been recognized. Even with years of practice, I still have a proclivity to tell a story rather than to “show” it. What this could mean to me is a complete rewrite. This scares me because I put my heart and soul into the first draft and would consider the second draft as work rather than pleasure. It means hours at the computer sitting and thinking about how to “show” the story. I haven’t yet committed to having this company publish the work, and now I have this weird insecure feeling that life will be much better if I just trash the piece and go on living my normal do nothing life. Or, maybe, I’ll take a nap and come back refreshed to attack the problem ahead. It all boils down to whether or not I believe the story is as good as I think it is. It is good, but like all authors working on their first serious work, I am scared that it isn’t.

I am finally beginning to recognize what showing a story is all about when I read a fictional novel. I can see the story unfolding in my mind, but I can still not write in a showy fashion. This is the most challenging project I have ever undertaken; it is time for the nap.