Chapter One
My wife and I have been reading books together during the pandemic.
Many of them have been James Patterson novels.
The books are time killers with short, punchy sentences, like the ones I’m writing here.
They also are mostly written not by James Patterson, but by his co-authors. Otherwise, he would have to work around the clock to write four books at once while dictating a fifth in his sleep.
Patterson’s co-authors are the people whose names are written in small print on the bottom of the covers. His name goes, really big, on the top.
Chapter Two
Most of these books have very short chapters.
Chapter Three
These short chapters mean you can say, “Just one more before bedtime” for an hour before you actually go to bed.
Because “just one more” is only a page or two, maybe three.
And before you know it, you’ve read another 50 pages.
Chapter Four
The paragraphs are also short, and about every third sentence is a fragment. Like this one.
Chapter Five
The characters follow a certain pattern. The protagonist is usually a loner with a tragic backstory.
A murdered family is a good motivator.
The protagonist swims against the current, career-wise. Maybe she is an FBI profiler who detects crimes nobody else does. Or a police officer fighting terrorists and moonlighting as a celebrity chef. Or a midwife exposing the Russian mafia.
It also helps if the hero has a tortured love life. If these people were happier at home, they wouldn’t be out fighting crime.
Chapter Six
My favorite Patterson novel so far has been “The Summer House.” Holly’s favorite is “Invisible.”
Chapter Seven
It may seem like I’m making fun of these books, but I’m not. They give us something to do besides binge-watch TV.
Plus, they’re the literary equivalent of chocolate donuts with sprinkles. Not healthy, but they go down easy.
About four months and 20 Patterson books into the pandemic, we changed it up.
We’ve now read some Harlan Coben. And some David Baldacci. And some Sandra Brown. By order of author, I’ve preferred “The Stranger,” “One Good Deed,” and “Lethal.”
Chapter Eight
I’ve read all these books aloud because I’m a bad listener. Plus, Holly bakes me cookies while I read.
It has helped me to absorb the sentence patterns and story structures. (The reading aloud, not the cookies. That’s a different type of absorption.)
After such concentrated exposure, I feel like these writers’ styles are part of my DNA. Especially Patterson's style. To the point that I’m contemplating a contemporary thriller of my own.
Maybe one about a high school teacher and his wife, stuck inside during a pandemic, reading and reading and reading. While the former writes shorter and shorter sentences.
Stop me if you’ve read that one before.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
Thursday, October 29, 2020
So, What About 'All This'?
O would some Power the gift to give us
To see ourselves as others see us!
— Robert Burns, “To a Louse”
Never in my 20-some years of teaching have so many non-educators asked about the school year.
What they really want to know about is “all this.” Imagine my index finger tracing a circle around my face where a mask perches while I teach.
“All this” also refers to social distancing, the disinfecting of desks after each class and the mental and physical wellness of kids and staff. I’m sure grocery store employees, doctors, nurses, and other workers whose day-to-day routines have undergone massive changes because of the pandemic field similar questions.
Well, “all this” in schools is going about as well as can be expected.
I’m sure it’s a challenge for younger kids, but high schoolers, by and large, have accepted mask-wearing as a way to resume a degree of normalcy. Occasionally I have to give a visual cue — a quick horizontal gesture of my finger beneath my nose — to remind an errant masker to pull it up. And some students take full advantage of the opportunity to slide down the masks and take loooong drinks, as if a Dunkin or Starbucks cup gives them carte blanche to go maskless for longer periods of time.
A song on the loudspeaker two minutes before the end of each period reminds students to stand while I pass among them, distributing paper towels and spraying disinfectant. Three squirts down the back and seat of the chair, three squirts on the desktop, accompanied by my verbal approximation of a Star Wars laser gun — pew! pew! pew! and then pew! pew! pew! again.
Students scrub to a variety of music — country, rap, rock. At first, we had only songs with “wipe” or “scrub” in the lyrics. Not many tunes fit those parameters, however, so the musical palette expanded. Two weeks ago, a few seconds of “Jump” honored late, lamented guitar god Eddie Van Halen, even though the snippet only featured him on keyboards. (Everybody’s a critic, right?)
The social aspects are also challenging. Modifications to extracurriculars, the postponement of dances, friends on the opposite day’s schedule (at least until we get back to all students, five days a week, in November) — all have contributed to student stress.
But kids are resilient and adaptable. They have an abiding belief, shared by their teachers, that normalcy will return, even if we don’t know exactly when or how.
Don’t mistake this for a desire to abandon masks and social distancing before it’s advisable, however. Most teens understand, more than many adults, I’m convinced, the concept of shared sacrifice, how their masks protect others inside and outside the school, including teachers, family members and vulnerable members of the community.
As for how teachers are handling “all this” — well, I can speak only for myself.
Every now and again, I have a moment of clarity, when I realize the enormity of how the world has changed. I had one such incident the first week of school, when I looked out across a room of masked kids and made eye contact with a student I’d had a few years before. His eyes communicated nervousness and uncertainty, maybe because of the new school year, maybe because he was stuck with me for another semester, or maybe because that strip of cloth that covered his usual smile indicated this would be a year unlike any other.
I had to pause, take it all in and swallow hard with a gulp I hoped wasn’t too audible before proceeding. If he could carry on, so could I.
A similar revelation came earlier this month, after I saw myself on camera, speaking in front of a classroom. I looked and sounded like a gangly robot, my head moving only slightly as I spoke in monotone.
To the casual observer, it would have been hard to tell if I were happy, angry or bored. Facial expressions say a lot. So does the lack of them.
Since then, I’ve made efforts to be more animated, to speak more loudly, to laugh more heartily, to push my intentions through the mask and into the room. I’ve upped the goofiness factor by several degrees.
Maybe it’s overcompensation. Or maybe just a case of fake it until you make it during “all this.”
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
To see ourselves as others see us!
— Robert Burns, “To a Louse”
Never in my 20-some years of teaching have so many non-educators asked about the school year.
What they really want to know about is “all this.” Imagine my index finger tracing a circle around my face where a mask perches while I teach.
“All this” also refers to social distancing, the disinfecting of desks after each class and the mental and physical wellness of kids and staff. I’m sure grocery store employees, doctors, nurses, and other workers whose day-to-day routines have undergone massive changes because of the pandemic field similar questions.
Well, “all this” in schools is going about as well as can be expected.
I’m sure it’s a challenge for younger kids, but high schoolers, by and large, have accepted mask-wearing as a way to resume a degree of normalcy. Occasionally I have to give a visual cue — a quick horizontal gesture of my finger beneath my nose — to remind an errant masker to pull it up. And some students take full advantage of the opportunity to slide down the masks and take loooong drinks, as if a Dunkin or Starbucks cup gives them carte blanche to go maskless for longer periods of time.
A song on the loudspeaker two minutes before the end of each period reminds students to stand while I pass among them, distributing paper towels and spraying disinfectant. Three squirts down the back and seat of the chair, three squirts on the desktop, accompanied by my verbal approximation of a Star Wars laser gun — pew! pew! pew! and then pew! pew! pew! again.
Students scrub to a variety of music — country, rap, rock. At first, we had only songs with “wipe” or “scrub” in the lyrics. Not many tunes fit those parameters, however, so the musical palette expanded. Two weeks ago, a few seconds of “Jump” honored late, lamented guitar god Eddie Van Halen, even though the snippet only featured him on keyboards. (Everybody’s a critic, right?)
The social aspects are also challenging. Modifications to extracurriculars, the postponement of dances, friends on the opposite day’s schedule (at least until we get back to all students, five days a week, in November) — all have contributed to student stress.
But kids are resilient and adaptable. They have an abiding belief, shared by their teachers, that normalcy will return, even if we don’t know exactly when or how.
Don’t mistake this for a desire to abandon masks and social distancing before it’s advisable, however. Most teens understand, more than many adults, I’m convinced, the concept of shared sacrifice, how their masks protect others inside and outside the school, including teachers, family members and vulnerable members of the community.
As for how teachers are handling “all this” — well, I can speak only for myself.
Every now and again, I have a moment of clarity, when I realize the enormity of how the world has changed. I had one such incident the first week of school, when I looked out across a room of masked kids and made eye contact with a student I’d had a few years before. His eyes communicated nervousness and uncertainty, maybe because of the new school year, maybe because he was stuck with me for another semester, or maybe because that strip of cloth that covered his usual smile indicated this would be a year unlike any other.
I had to pause, take it all in and swallow hard with a gulp I hoped wasn’t too audible before proceeding. If he could carry on, so could I.
A similar revelation came earlier this month, after I saw myself on camera, speaking in front of a classroom. I looked and sounded like a gangly robot, my head moving only slightly as I spoke in monotone.
To the casual observer, it would have been hard to tell if I were happy, angry or bored. Facial expressions say a lot. So does the lack of them.
Since then, I’ve made efforts to be more animated, to speak more loudly, to laugh more heartily, to push my intentions through the mask and into the room. I’ve upped the goofiness factor by several degrees.
Maybe it’s overcompensation. Or maybe just a case of fake it until you make it during “all this.”
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
Lord of the Flies is breakout debate star
The star of Wednesday night’s debate between Mike Pence and Kamala Harris was the fly that alighted on the vice president’s head and lodged in his hair for two minutes like a large piece of soot from the wildfires out west.
This intrepid columnist was fortunate to score an exclusive interview with the fly, which hopped an airplane back to Cleveland shortly after his extended cameo.
Below are some highlights, translated from Basic Fly through Google, which may account for inaccuracies in the fly’s responses.
Chris Schillig: So, Mr. Fly …
FLY: Call me Brundle. Everybody does.
CS: Brundle, you’ve had a couple of interesting days. Tell me how you ended up on the vice president’s head.
FLY: To be honest, I thought I was late for practice. It wasn’t until I got onto stage that I realized it was the actual event.
CS: Are you saying YOU were the vice president’s debate-prep partner?
FLY: Yes. The campaign didn’t want to overwhelm the big bzzzz (untranslatable), and I had open dates in my schedule.
CS: What qualified you?
FLY: I have a long history in show biz. I was an extra in that Jeff Goldblum movie in the 1980s.
CS: The ’80s? But surely flies don’t live that …
FLY: BZZZZZZZZZ
CS: OK, since the ’80s, then. Where have you been for the last three decades?
FLY: I fell on hard times. I flew into a brewery in the late ’90s and found myself in the bottom of too many vats, if you know what I mean. (Brundle winks one of its three eyes and attempts to nudge me with what passes for its elbow.) When the economy tanked in the 2000s, I had some lean years where I couldn’t even find any suitable bzzzzzzz (untranslatable) to land on.
CS: The Internet was abuzz (sorry) with your appearance since you were not wearing a mask.
FLY: I wear a mask when I need to. I’ve worn many masks, but they’re too small to see with the naked eye and I take them off as soon as I can. I’m not like Joe Biden. That guy would wear a mask even if he were 20 feet away from you.
CS: Brundle, you’re starting to sound suspiciously like the president.
FLY: Am I?
CS: Have you been tested for COVID? Have you been in close proximity to the president?
FLY: I travel with him, actually. You may have seen me at the rallies if you look closely. I’m the hairy little guy in the MAGA hat.
CS: To be fair, that doesn’t description doesn’t exactly make you stand out.
FLY: Good point. But as for COVID, no, I’m good. Plus, you can’t live your life in fear, you know? I’m already awfully old for a fly, so I guess the way I look at it, I’m willing to die if it means others can be free and the economy can come back.
CS: You’re willing to sacrifice yourself on the altar of economic prosperity?
FLY: Oh bzzzzzzz yeah. I mean, I do have a rather small brain, but still.
CS: Is it true that you were whispering answers to Pence on stage Wednesday?
FLY: Complete falsehood. The only thing I kept repeating was, “Act like you care” and “plausible deniability.” There’s a reason that guy looks like he’s kept in the dark, and it’s because he’s kept in the dark.
CS: What about Senate Republicans’ timeline to confirm Amy Coney Barrett before the Nov. 3 election? Where do you stand on that?
FLY: Look, elections have consequences. The president gets to pick, and the party in charge is the party in charge. I was in the Rose Garden when the president announced her as his nominee.
CS: You mean the super-spreader event?
FLY: It was a fly smorgasbord. I stayed off camera at that one.
CS: Do you worry that Barrett’s confirmation will move the Supreme Court to the right for the next several decades?
FLY: It sounds like you've been poisoned by the left-leaning media.
CS: What about climate change? And the Trump administration’s rolling back of so many environmental regulations.
FLY: If people not being able to breathe and wildfires burning out of control are the price we have to pay for the 1 percent to get richer, then so be it. Plus, it’ll all trickle down to the rest of America. Eventually.
CS: Wow, you are a MAGA fly, aren’t you?
FLY: Trump 2020!
And with that, the fly departed, presumably to prep for his next appearance Oct. 15 in Florida.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
This intrepid columnist was fortunate to score an exclusive interview with the fly, which hopped an airplane back to Cleveland shortly after his extended cameo.
Below are some highlights, translated from Basic Fly through Google, which may account for inaccuracies in the fly’s responses.
Chris Schillig: So, Mr. Fly …
FLY: Call me Brundle. Everybody does.
CS: Brundle, you’ve had a couple of interesting days. Tell me how you ended up on the vice president’s head.
FLY: To be honest, I thought I was late for practice. It wasn’t until I got onto stage that I realized it was the actual event.
CS: Are you saying YOU were the vice president’s debate-prep partner?
FLY: Yes. The campaign didn’t want to overwhelm the big bzzzz (untranslatable), and I had open dates in my schedule.
CS: What qualified you?
FLY: I have a long history in show biz. I was an extra in that Jeff Goldblum movie in the 1980s.
CS: The ’80s? But surely flies don’t live that …
FLY: BZZZZZZZZZ
CS: OK, since the ’80s, then. Where have you been for the last three decades?
FLY: I fell on hard times. I flew into a brewery in the late ’90s and found myself in the bottom of too many vats, if you know what I mean. (Brundle winks one of its three eyes and attempts to nudge me with what passes for its elbow.) When the economy tanked in the 2000s, I had some lean years where I couldn’t even find any suitable bzzzzzzz (untranslatable) to land on.
CS: The Internet was abuzz (sorry) with your appearance since you were not wearing a mask.
FLY: I wear a mask when I need to. I’ve worn many masks, but they’re too small to see with the naked eye and I take them off as soon as I can. I’m not like Joe Biden. That guy would wear a mask even if he were 20 feet away from you.
CS: Brundle, you’re starting to sound suspiciously like the president.
FLY: Am I?
CS: Have you been tested for COVID? Have you been in close proximity to the president?
FLY: I travel with him, actually. You may have seen me at the rallies if you look closely. I’m the hairy little guy in the MAGA hat.
CS: To be fair, that doesn’t description doesn’t exactly make you stand out.
FLY: Good point. But as for COVID, no, I’m good. Plus, you can’t live your life in fear, you know? I’m already awfully old for a fly, so I guess the way I look at it, I’m willing to die if it means others can be free and the economy can come back.
CS: You’re willing to sacrifice yourself on the altar of economic prosperity?
FLY: Oh bzzzzzzz yeah. I mean, I do have a rather small brain, but still.
CS: Is it true that you were whispering answers to Pence on stage Wednesday?
FLY: Complete falsehood. The only thing I kept repeating was, “Act like you care” and “plausible deniability.” There’s a reason that guy looks like he’s kept in the dark, and it’s because he’s kept in the dark.
CS: What about Senate Republicans’ timeline to confirm Amy Coney Barrett before the Nov. 3 election? Where do you stand on that?
FLY: Look, elections have consequences. The president gets to pick, and the party in charge is the party in charge. I was in the Rose Garden when the president announced her as his nominee.
CS: You mean the super-spreader event?
FLY: It was a fly smorgasbord. I stayed off camera at that one.
CS: Do you worry that Barrett’s confirmation will move the Supreme Court to the right for the next several decades?
FLY: It sounds like you've been poisoned by the left-leaning media.
CS: What about climate change? And the Trump administration’s rolling back of so many environmental regulations.
FLY: If people not being able to breathe and wildfires burning out of control are the price we have to pay for the 1 percent to get richer, then so be it. Plus, it’ll all trickle down to the rest of America. Eventually.
CS: Wow, you are a MAGA fly, aren’t you?
FLY: Trump 2020!
And with that, the fly departed, presumably to prep for his next appearance Oct. 15 in Florida.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
Thursday, October 8, 2020
Trump's COVID test could change the coronavirus equation
President Trump’s positive COVID test could affect far-right math on the coronavirus pandemic.
Up to this point, the equations have not been difficult to solve. With every problem, the economy is valued more than human lives.
This “economy first” mindset was on full display in this week’s presidential debate.
Trump did note 204,000 Americans have died so far of coronavirus and related conditions, saying “even one person [dying] is too much.” But then he pivoted back to the economy, asserting “people want their schools open” and “they want their restaurants” and “their places open. They want to get back to their lives.”
Of course they do. But the majority of them want to do so safely, something made more difficult by the president’s uneven endorsement of mask-wearing and social-distancing guidelines.
When pressed, the president will say he supports both. But in reality, his campaign stops have often violated local and state health authorities, to the glee of many Trump supporters.
Ohioans saw this firsthand last month. When Trump appeared in Vandalia, crowds booed Lt. Gov. Jon Husted for suggesting they should wear masks. They similarly decried Gov. Mike DeWine, calling him “RINO” — Republican In Name Only — presumably because his policies, especially in the early days of the pandemic, put people ahead of profits.
During Tuesday’s debate, Trump also mocked Biden for wearing a mask too frequently.
Given the president’s positive COVID test, this mockery is tinged with irony, not to mention concern. Friday’s diagnosis carries an existential danger to the president. He is in the high-risk demographic for the virus and its most serious effects because of his age. His weight, too, is a factor.
Maybe the next few days — weeks? — will give him only more opportunities to tweet half-lies, to cast more doubt, largely without evidence, on the integrity of mail-in balloting, the peaceful transfer of power after the Nov. 3 election, and his ongoing grievances with a press he feels has been unfair to him.
But imagine a scenario where he admits he has been wrong and urges his followers to don masks, to stay away from large gatherings, to stay home when sick.
Imagine a scenario where these followers do exactly that, realizing their decision not to wear a mask affects more than them, that it impacts their families, co-workers and friends. Where they decide going into a place of business without a mask is not an example of don’t-tread-on-me patriotism but callow insensitivity.
Imagine a scenario where this single positive COVID diagnosis has a ripple effect throughout the country, where it allows us to change the calculation and do what many health experts say we could have done last spring and summer with a more unified governmental response: beat the virus.
Hey, I’m an eternal optimist, or maybe just hopelessly naive. In any event, I harbor no personal ill-will toward the president. He has been a liability for this nation, without a doubt, but I hope he and the first lady make a quick and full recovery.
I just hope that with it comes a new appreciation for the stakes. An empathy he has so far seldom exhibited would also be welcomed.
However, given the president’s track record of learning from his mistakes instead of doubling down on them, I’d say the odds are not in the public’s favor.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
Up to this point, the equations have not been difficult to solve. With every problem, the economy is valued more than human lives.
This “economy first” mindset was on full display in this week’s presidential debate.
Trump did note 204,000 Americans have died so far of coronavirus and related conditions, saying “even one person [dying] is too much.” But then he pivoted back to the economy, asserting “people want their schools open” and “they want their restaurants” and “their places open. They want to get back to their lives.”
Of course they do. But the majority of them want to do so safely, something made more difficult by the president’s uneven endorsement of mask-wearing and social-distancing guidelines.
When pressed, the president will say he supports both. But in reality, his campaign stops have often violated local and state health authorities, to the glee of many Trump supporters.
Ohioans saw this firsthand last month. When Trump appeared in Vandalia, crowds booed Lt. Gov. Jon Husted for suggesting they should wear masks. They similarly decried Gov. Mike DeWine, calling him “RINO” — Republican In Name Only — presumably because his policies, especially in the early days of the pandemic, put people ahead of profits.
During Tuesday’s debate, Trump also mocked Biden for wearing a mask too frequently.
Given the president’s positive COVID test, this mockery is tinged with irony, not to mention concern. Friday’s diagnosis carries an existential danger to the president. He is in the high-risk demographic for the virus and its most serious effects because of his age. His weight, too, is a factor.
Maybe the next few days — weeks? — will give him only more opportunities to tweet half-lies, to cast more doubt, largely without evidence, on the integrity of mail-in balloting, the peaceful transfer of power after the Nov. 3 election, and his ongoing grievances with a press he feels has been unfair to him.
But imagine a scenario where he admits he has been wrong and urges his followers to don masks, to stay away from large gatherings, to stay home when sick.
Imagine a scenario where these followers do exactly that, realizing their decision not to wear a mask affects more than them, that it impacts their families, co-workers and friends. Where they decide going into a place of business without a mask is not an example of don’t-tread-on-me patriotism but callow insensitivity.
Imagine a scenario where this single positive COVID diagnosis has a ripple effect throughout the country, where it allows us to change the calculation and do what many health experts say we could have done last spring and summer with a more unified governmental response: beat the virus.
Hey, I’m an eternal optimist, or maybe just hopelessly naive. In any event, I harbor no personal ill-will toward the president. He has been a liability for this nation, without a doubt, but I hope he and the first lady make a quick and full recovery.
I just hope that with it comes a new appreciation for the stakes. An empathy he has so far seldom exhibited would also be welcomed.
However, given the president’s track record of learning from his mistakes instead of doubling down on them, I’d say the odds are not in the public’s favor.
chris.schillig@yahoo.com
@cschillig on Twitter
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