Grow More Stuff to Help the Environment

IMG_2330.JPGI’ve got a theory: We should grow more stuff.

The other day I was reading an article from a conservative Republican meteorologist concerned about climate change. His impassioned arguments made me want to do more to be environmentally friendly. I started thinking of things I could do and I was coming up blank. I already do a lot—recycling as much as possible, using re-usable containers and bags, trying to minimize water and electricity use, etc.—and something like getting a more fuel efficient car or furnace isn’t a choice you get to make every day.

But then I started thinking about my yard. I have a pretty low impact yard (i.e., I’m lazy). I don’t use any gas-powered tools or harsh chemicals. So my yard isn’t doing much harm. But is it doing any good?

I started thinking about all the good that plants do. They replenish oxygen, absorb carbon dioxide, clean the air, reduce heat in the summer and block wind in the winter, reduce noise, stop erosion and create habitats for wildlife (never mind the less tangible benefits, like the aesthetics and enjoyment we get). So more plants seems like an all around good thing. Grow more plants and you’re doing more good for the environment, theoretically.

I also theorized that the more you grow, the better. The larger the surface area of the leaf the more it can do to clean the air. So a tree is going to have a bigger impact than a patch of grass. A shrubbery might have less impact than a tree, but it’s going to do more than the grass it replaces. And a pot of flowers is doing more than bare concrete. We may be talking about minute amounts, but it’s still something.

So I’ve decided I want to start growing more stuff. Which is kind of funny for anyone who knows me. I have the opposite of a green thumb. Thankfully I’m approaching this with the idea that anything is better than nothing. So even if I plant a few pots and they die off in a month or two, that’s better than nothing. I don’t know if we’ll actually plant a tree (my yard is pretty small), but there are plenty of spaces where a small bush or even a small plant might do more good than some grass (or creeping charlie, as it is). We have plenty of concrete and deck space that we can reclaim with a potted plant, adding more green area and doing more good.

To start this little experiment I got a rain barrel and started a compost bin. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, but it always seemed silly when we didn’t do any gardening of any kind. Now we’ll have a purpose for the compost and stored rain water, and hopefully that will encourage more planting and green growth.

I don’t know what will come of this little experiment. Maybe it’s silly. Maybe I’ll get bored with it. But I kind of like the idea that my yard could be doing more to help the environment. It’s one thing to minimize impact by recycling or using less. But it’s another thing to be actively improving things.

Lessons from Coca-Cola

I’ve been doing a lot of reading this year. Mostly I’ve been finding books at the library, but I also decided it might be time to actually read some of the books on my book shelves. We had a bit of a used book addiction when we were first married and amassed quite a library of books that we had no hope of ever getting around to reading. Though if my reading habits of this year keep pace for a while, I could get there.

Anyway, one of the books I picked up cheap a while ago was For God, Country and Coca-Cola: The Unauthorized History of the Great American Soft Drink and the Company That Makes It. The title’s a mouthful and so was the book (up until that point I’d been reading two to three books a week—it took me two and half weeks just to get through this book), but it did offer some engaging insights into the history of a an American icon.

A few interesting moments from Coke’s history:

  • The initial Coca-Cola business involved selling syrup to soda fountains that added the carbonated water and ultimately mixed the drink. The company was not interested in bottling Coke and selling it in bottles or cans at the grocery store, to the point that when enterprising and persistent bottlers came to Coke, the company practically gave away the bottling franchise in a perpetual contract that would cause them headaches for decades to come. As you can imagine, the bottling business soon surpassed soda fountains.
  • The familiar Coca-Cola bottle was developed and trademarked as a way to discourage imitators who kept trying to borrow everything distinctive about Coke–the red color, the diamond-shaped label, the scripted font and even the words “coca” and “cola”. While the company’s efforts to trademark each of these components met with some limited success, trademarking the bottle was a brilliant and effective move, cutting off the imitators.
  • During World War II, Coca-Cola was considered vital to the war effort as a morale booster to the troops. So much so that Coca-Cola men were given technical observer status and Coke and the Army partnered to build bottling plants behind the advancing Allied troops, all to keep the Coke flowing to the men in uniform.
  • While Coke adamantly refused to develop other drinks until the 1950s and 60s, Fanta was developed during World War II by the German branch of Coca-Cola that was nationalized by the Nazis. The drink was created to fill the gap left by sugar shortages and take advantage of what scarce resources were available, namely fruit.
  • Coca-Cola had at least three opportunities to outright buy Pepsi Cola and shut down their primary competitor (a tactic they employed on other occasions). They never did. While this seems like an enormous mistake, it’s likely some other competitor would have filled Pepsi’s shoes. Also, the rivalry with Pepsi is credited with spurring the company on to greater creative heights.
  • The New Coke debacle of the 1980s when the company dared to change the formula of America’s soft drink gets detailed treatment. While the new formula seemed like a sure success, beating both Pepsi and old Coke in blind taste tests, the company didn’t pay attention to its own research that said Coke drinkers hated change.

Why the Ending of The Hunger Games Sucked

With The Hunger Games movie coming out this week it seems like a good time to talk about why I think the ending sucked. Such a topic is obviously going to be spoiler laden, so consider this your SPOILER ALERT.

I read The Hunger Games series last summer in an intense burst, much like everyone else. It’s a unique and engaging story and I liked that it was doing something different. It’s also interesting to see such a dark tale be so popular.

I loved the first installment of the series, but I think it should have ended there. Throughout the book Katniss and Peeta have this awkward relationship. He loves her but the rules of the game mean that they are opponents—to the death. But this gets upended when they change the rules mid-game and Katniss and Peeta can work together. They do and their relationship blossoms, if only for the watching cameras.

Then at the very climax of the ending the rules are changed once again on poor Katniss and Peeta and they’re forced to battle to the death. Katniss refuses to play by their rules and chooses suicide, an action that would be witnessed on live TV and threaten to overturn the brutal regime.

There’s a moment there where she’s going to follow through, she’s going to do it. And in that moment The Hunger Games had the potential to be brilliant. It was a decidedly Romeo & Juliet moment and it would have been the perfect ending.

But no.

The gamemakers step in, they realize what she’s about to do, what it will mean, and they stop her. They declare both her and Peeta winners and an uneasy peace is formed. Katniss and Peeta have survived, but now they’re political targets. They’ll live to see another day… and another installment in the series.

Call my cynical, but that’s what I see in this ending. Instead of ending with a perfect moment, a powerful statement and killing off the main characters and letting it be an ending, we get a lesser ending so the story can be turned into a series. I know that’s what sells in the industry right now. I know that’s the latest rage and it makes economic sense as well. But I think it sucks. I think The Hunger Games goes downhill with the two sequels, Catching Fire and Mockingjay. It turn into this whole political game and it’s not nearly as engaging. It sells more books certainly, but they’re not as good.

As a reader, I want a good ending. And The Hunger Games had the potential to have an amazing ending. I wish it would have ended in that moment. It’s nice to see more of your characters, but sometimes you need to let it end. Sometimes it’s better to let us imagine what happens instead of showing us (sounds like a lesson we should have learned about the Star Wars prequel).

It’s still a great series and a good book and I’m hoping to go see the movie. I just wish it could have been more. Sometimes less is so much more.

Dealing with Mistakes

I hate making mistakes. Yesterday I made a mistake, sending an email to a few thousand people with a broken link. Doh. I had to spend a few hours scrambling and doing damage control, sending out a second email fixing the problem and dealing with some fallout from people using the broken link. It wasn’t a huge deal—nobody got hurt, nobody lost money—but it did cause some problems.

As much as I hate making mistakes like that and feel bad that it happened, there are always lessons to be learned.

Find Solutions
First and foremost, the best way to respond to a mistake is with solutions. Whenever my daughter is complaining about something I tell her to fix the problem or stop complaining. There’s no sense standing around whining about something. Either fix it or shut up (though I try to be a little more diplomatic than that).

As soon as I realized what happened I emailed my team and proposed a few solutions.

Be Responsive
I think the next thing you can do is be responsive to what needs to be done. I was going to say act fast, but I don’t think speed is always what’s needed. Sometimes we overreact to mistakes because we respond too quickly without thinking. But you do need to be responsive—answer emails, explain what’s going on, get on the phone if you need to. Be prepared to respond.

I spent the morning dealing with this, putting aside other projects so I could respond to questions as they came in.

Stop it From Happening Again
Once you’ve responded and fixed the problem, it’s important to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Is there anything you could have done to stop it? Sometimes we create layers and layers of checks to avoid mistakes and it gets to be too much. But sometimes a simple double-check can avoid the headache.

Look for the Silver Lining
Sometimes good things happen because of a mistake. In this case we found a bug thanks to the broken link. Sometimes it’s as simple as you learn to be more careful next time. But there’s always a lesson. I have another project that’s shaping up to be a failure (well, maybe not a failure, but it’s far from a success), but instead of shaking our heads and pointing fingers, we’re learning a lot of lessons.

If you’re not learning from failures and mistakes, well, you’re in trouble.

Lessons from a Reader: What Happens Next?

One of the most disappointing things as a reader is getting completely engrossed in a story and then it ends. You were completely into the story and following the characters and the plot finally resolves itself and it was amazing.

But then it’s over.

The elation of reading such a thrilling story is now countered by the disappointment that it’s over. So one of the greatest things an author can do is slowly pull you back out of the engrossing world of the story.

Sometimes it doesn’t require much. But the longer your story, the more it’s necessary. My all-time favorite example is the Scouring of the Shire at the end of Lord of the Rings. After following Frodo for 900 pages of walking, ring whining and orc gutting, the story can’t just end. And Tolkien gives his readers one last adventure. You know the story is over, the tension that carried you through those 900 pages is over, but you still want more. And Tolkien delivers with one last hurrah.

Ashfall by Mike Mullin delivers a more common example. It took 400 pages to reunite Alex with his family after a volcano erupts in Yellowstone and the story could have ended there. But instead we get another 50 pages that wind the story down, giving us closure (and nicely leaving room for the sequel).

These closing scenes let us emotionally process the story. After the climax, you need things to wind down a bit, to know where these characters are going to go. It doesn’t have to be long, but one last glimpse of where they’re going is gold.

PS, an epilogue is a cheap and rushed way to do it. Especially if your epilogue leaps forward in time to conveniently tie off questions like who marries who (J.K. Rowling, I’m looking at you).

Let’s Watch More Star Wars!

That’s what Lexi exclaimed when the credits for Return of the Jedi rolled. It makes a father proud.

We’ve been watching the Star Wars series the last few weeks. It happened by accident. I felt like watching a movie in the basement with the fire going and I decided it’d be Star Wars. I’ve always wanted to watch these movies with my kids, but Lexi is still freaked out about the bad guys in Disney princess movies and if she can’t handle a weird, cartoony sea witch, she’d be no match for Darth Vader. My earliest movie going experience is watching Vader through my hands. The intensity can be pretty scary for a little kid.

So I didn’t expect Lexi to sit down with me and watch the first Star Wars movie. I didn’t expect Milo to sit around either. But they did. They missed parts here and there and I think that helped to break up the intensity, but we watched Star Wars together. There was much hiding under blankets and even a teary goodnight with thoughts of the Rancor, but no matter how many times I suggested we shut it off if it was too scary, they refused.

It helped that Princess Leia is mentioned in the opening crawl of A New Hope. Suddenly it became a princess movie and Lexi was hooked.

And no, there was no consideration of starting with the prequels. That’s not even a question. Though as Lexi talked about watching more Star Wars, I did reluctantly tell her about the prequels. Of course we don’t own them and I’m not rushing out to get them, so she’s safe for now. Besides, I don’t think she’s ready for the intensity of Anakin going bad. Not that she even knows who Anakin is: “Who’s that guy with the thing on his face?” (Darth Vader) “Is that guy Luke’s brother?” (Han Solo) “Where’s the princess?” (during a scene where Han & Leia kiss) “Where’s that Empire guy?” (The Emperor) “Hey! We have a Lego of him! (Yoda).

Though though they did love the Ewoks (Milo: “Look at the teddy bear!”) and Milo thought it was hilarious when the Ewok steals the speeder and spins upside down. Lexi also pointed and laughed during the celebration scene when the Ewoks use stormtrooper helmets as drums (which is frightfully morbid when you think about it). Both of which reminded me how much these movies were made for kids with the necessary humor built in to relieve the tension. I also couldn’t help but feel smug when Lexi was confused by the scenes of galactic celebration that George Lucas added to the end of Return of the Jedi. You shouldn’t muck with a good thing, George.

If you can’t already tell, these movies are deeply ingrained in my psyche and I’m thrilled to finally share them with my kids. I never thought it’d be in such a random, slipshod fashion, but it works. Sometimes it’s better to let these moments sneak up on you.

 

Lessons from a Reader: Show the Expertise

I’ve shared a few lessons from readers and it struck me that it would also be helpful to include some positive ideas. Complaining about every book I read makes me sound like quite the jackass.

One thing I love to see in books I read is expertise. When you can tell that somebody knows what they’re talking about, when they can describe something with such detail that they’ve clearly become an expert—that rocks. It doesn’t matter if they’re actually an expert or they’re just really good at faking it. However they do it, I love it.

One example is in Ashfall by Mike Mullin. And it happens several times throughout the book. I may not believe him about the weight of ash, but he shows his expertise in other areas. The main character, Alex, knows his taekwondo. He knows how to handle a bo staff and knows how to take down a much larger opponent. And it’s presented in a realistic, I-learned-in-a-safe-class type way. He’s horrified when he accidentally kills an opponent and compares striking someone in the face to hitting the punching bag. Not only does the writing describe these skills in a way only an expert could, but he works in those details in a realistic way that’s authentic to the character (Note: Don’t work in details just to show off your research).

Later Alex encounters Darla and she knows her way around the farm. When she skins a rabbit, jury rigs a toilet, or makes a homemade smoke house, it’s completely believable.

I remember another example from Open Heart by Frederick Buechner that I read an excerpt of in college. It so perfectly captured a high school classroom that years later I had to track down the book and read it. I first read that passage more than a decade ago and I still remember it. Expertise doesn’t necessarily have to be skills, it’s the experiences that make your writing completely believable.

I could read good expertise writing all day long. It doesn’t matter if the skill is accounting or unloading a truck, if you do it right it can be mesmerizing.

Lessons from a Reader: Faith is Tricky

Another lesson I learned from Life As We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer is that tackling faith is tricky. And this comes from someone who writes for religious audiences for a living and has read quite a lot of Christian fiction.

One of the secondary characters in Life As We Knew It is a Christian. She’s preachy, self-righteous and irritating. Now we can argue about whether or not that’s a stereotype. But I can live with it—Christians often come across that way. But you have to make it believable. It doesn’t help that you’re already going off on politics, now religion too?

What sunk this sub-plot for me was the stilted dialogue when the main character and this preachy Christian interacted. They were supposed to be long time friends, but every time they talked the dialogue suddenly became stiff and memorized and the Christian character preached to her friend and urged her to come to Jesus. Now maybe those conversations are stiff and memorized. But they’re also awkward and difficult and have a very realistic quality to them. Even a Lifetime special has more realistic conversations about serious, weighty topics. People get flustered. They don’t know what to say. They’re passionate, but never perfect. It should move in fits and starts. And if you’re going to use cliches (people use them when they talk, so that’s fine in dialogue), you have to poke holes in them (because that’s what people do in real life).

The worst mistake in handling faith came later in the story when [SPOILER ALERT] the Christian character had died and the main character was confronting the reverend who inspired the Christian character’s stiff faith. While everyone else is starving to death (including the now-dead Christian character), the reverend was plump and healthy. Here we go: The age old bad preacher bit. This is such a tired stereotype. Once again, I get it. It happens in real life. But give it a purpose in your story. In Life As We Know It it didn’t seem to have a greater purpose. It was just a swipe at religion.

As a writer, you should be better than that. If you don’t like religion, that’s fine. But write a real diatribe against it. Don’t set up straw men you can knock down.

Fun With Lego

Kevin's TowerIt started just before Christmas. I had a small stash of Legos in an old cigar box in my office. I haven’t played with them a in a while, but for some reason they came out and Lexi was playing with them. But we needed more.

Then Abby brought home a bucket from school, several hundred bricks. That’s when the addiction set in. It was enough to start building, but not enough to actually create anything. We didn’t have enough of one color or enough of the right pieces.

At Christmas just about everybody in the family got Legos. We spent most of our Christmas money buying more Legos online and by January we had to start sorting our Legos by color.

And so the building began. Houses, skycrapers, cars.

I’d forgotten how fun Legos can be.

Lessons from a Reader: Don’t Be Dumb

One of the most frustrating things as a reader is when I watch a character make dumb mistakes for no reason. Now maybe they’re a dumb character so they’re going to make dumb mistakes. That works if you know they’re dumb, like Joey on Friends. But for most characters if they make a dumb mistake, it’s because the writer is being dumb.

Case in point: Trapped by Michael Northrop. Seven teens are trapped in their high school when the mother of all snowstorms blows through, dumping more than a dozen feet of snow. After an appropriate amount of time the students realize they’re trapped, alone and rescue isn’t coming. They need supplies: Light, heat, food. They raid the cafeteria, so food is covered. They find blankets in the nurses office. A radio in the office. Eventually they’re forced to create a fire barrel using material scavenged from metal shop.

But that’s it. No flashlights. No candles. No extra batteries. The students never bother to scour the rest of the school for supplies. They can’t even get all the food out of the cafeteria because it’s too dark and the cell phones they’ve been using as flashlights are all dying. There should be a flashlight in every teacher’s desk. Somebody surely has candles. The home economics room should be a goldmine. The janitor’s closet and boiler room, normally off-limits to students should be tempting and well-stocked. And when it gets really bad, they could start breaking into all the lockers. Surely they’d find more winter gear, batteries, flashlights, lighters, snacks, medicine.

But no. Rather than thoroughly scavenge for supplies, they huddle around the second story windows desperate for light.

But they’re not dumb students. That’s dumb writing.

(I feel a little bad calling a professional writer’s work dumb. Northrop told an otherwise solid and gripping story. I give him props for that. But this oversight crippled the reality of the situation. And it’s an easy fix. I’m just calling it like I see it as an annoyed reader, in hopes that I don’t make the same mistakes.)