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What Is Hate?

St. Augustine tells us that all sin is disordered love. Socrates had a more basic approach to this question. He said that no man seeks what is bad because he thinks it is bad. He seeks it only because he thinks it to be good. It is his nature and his habits that are disordered. People, even nature itself, are fallen. Bent. Distorted.

St. Thomas Aquinas goes further, explaining that hatred is caused by something that which is the deprivation of good, that is, by an evil. Is caused by something that hinders us from attaining a good. It would seem, though, that hatred itself can be a hindrance to achieving a good. It can be that evil which deprives us of good.

What could we possibly love, even in a distorted way, that would attract us to hatred?

To continue the parade of philosophers, I’m reminded of Aristotle’s definition of anger. He says that anger is a pain caused by a real or apparent slight, accompanied by a pleasure at the thought of potential revenge. He brilliantly accounts for that self- lacerating joy we experience when we embrace wrath. We love the rush of it all: the fist- clinching self-righteousness, the clear-eyed vehemence, the puff and bluster that leaves us victorious and alone.

As with all evil, hatred is ultimately self-destructive.

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Morning Commute

Life in the DMV – that’s Delaware, Maryland and Virginia to you out-of-town folks – has improved dramatically this month. My day job has gone to 80% telework, meaning I only have to go into the office on average once a week. This pay period, I’m checking both boxes by teaching a 2-day class, so I’ve been enjoying a week and a half long telework binge, falling right after 2 weeks of vacation. Getting up at 6:15 to get on that train was almost novel enough to be fun.

The novelty wore off, however, by the time I reached Union Station, transferred to the Metro and stepped off into a cool 71° but a soggy 98% humidity. I moved to the right and rode the escalator up to the surface, willing the sweat to stop trickling down my back.

Halfway up, a burly young man in black pants and an unbuttoned white Oxford bustled by carrying a disheveled satchel and muttering something about “those of us who grew up in the country.” Guess only City Slickers ride the escalator.

Almost as quickly as my ego jumped to defend my apparent laziness, I realized that moral judgments about escalator riding were not foreign to my character. And though I’ve never voiced my thoughts, I’ve certainly been guilty of basking in smug superiority while striding up in the fast lane.

It’s easy to do, jumping to conclusions. Your mind and body are in a hurry to get to work, you’re uncomfortable and generally not thrilled about the process. The whole exercise is about taking shortcuts: avoiding traffic, deciding whether the MARC train or the Metro will be the best bet this morning, shaving angles as you walk obliquely across streets and around buildings. Stands to reason that one’s mind would fall into the same rut. That guy standing on the escalator? Must be lazy. Lacking in ambition. Or just pathetically out of shape, a consequence of said laziness and complacency.

Metro Riders, too, play their roles. The guys in paint-stained work pants and boots carrying hard hats. Women in business skirts and tennis shoes reading their Kindles. The summer interns, hoping they’ve dressed the part. The scented oil hucksters, bandoliers of multi colored bottles across each shoulder, smoothly peddling their wares through the car. The panhandlers’ various poses: ingratiating, pathetic, confrontational.

Alerted to this somewhat shameful process of categorization, I look at myself, as introverts are want to do. What do people see? The tailored pants and Brooks Brothers shirt, the more casual slip-on leather Skechers. The service academy ring. Slightly balding and slightly receding gray hair. The leather courier briefcase. Do I really look that put together? Where am I in all this?

Maybe in my sunken eyes they can see the four kids at home, clothed, fed, housed (if compactly), guided, cajoled and loved. Maybe my slight stoop betrays the tuition bills and the months of rent my tenant owes and the divorce debt. Maybe they can discern in my rigid stance the work before me this day – teaching for the first time in 6 years. Maybe my hurried gait implies impatience or anger or worry or drive or purpose or inertia.

Taking the time to observe, to see the possibilities that just graze the surface. Sometimes the morning commute is a writing exercise in itself.

A Quick Update

Just a brief scribble to catch you all up on the progress I continue to make.  With the first draft complete several weeks ago, I have moved on to the editing phase, pushing the word count nearly to 66,000 in the process.  Scenes needed to be moved and then coherence restored.  Lost storylines of minor characters needed to be restored.  Typos needed to be corrected.

With that work behind me, I am analyzing the structure of each scene, using Victoria Lynn Schmidt’s Story Structure Architect: A Writer’s Guide to Building Dramatic Situations and Compelling Characters.  She lists some very useful heuristics for each of the 55 prototypical dramatic situations she describes, and I’ve already made some minor yet important changes and additions.

Once this process is complete – which I hope will be within the next week – I will chug through all the “tk” in the document, and then shift to hardcore proofreading.

For those of you unfamiliar with “tk,” it’s a shorthand for “to come,” meaning a detail that needs research to be filled in later.  So, why not “tc” then?  Well, that letter combination does appear in English (“catch,” “watch,” “catch,” etc.), whereas “tk” never does, making it easier to find in a document using the “Find” function.  There’s lots of “tk” in the draft, so even thought each one may take only a few minutes to flesh out (How far is it from the Greek isles to Alsace?), it may add another week to the process.

But, with “tk” and proofreading behind me, the draft will be ready for readers again.  I have three waiting with baited breath (so they assure me), and will be looking for a fourth (so don’t be surprised if I hit you up!).

I’ll keep you apprised of my progress in the coming weeks, and also fill you in on the next project.  Till then, cheers and Happy New Year!

JFH

A Big Step

So, today I took the plunge, and reached out to the man who inspired the novel:

To: Donna@fourhourbody.com

From: hussey@1993.usna.com

Subj: A Four Hour Novel

Hi Donna,

I’m a first-time novelist, and a long-time fan of Tim’s (I know, I know…but it’s true), and I’m nearing completion of a book that he should know about.  It chronicles the life of a government wage slave who manages to escape his cubicle with the help of The 4-Hour Workweek.  I’m writing to discuss permission to quote from Tim’s book.

Although it would be possible to limit myself to referencing Tim’s work, and thereby avoid any copyright issues, I feel that a handful of quotations would greatly enhance the dramatic quality of the book.  One scene in particular – when the main character discovers and then pulls an all-nighter reading 4HWW – depends upon quotations to move the main character from skepticism to enthusiasm to action.

My plan is to publish this novel via Kindle by early Spring.  If this project sounds like something Tim would be interested in supporting, then I can provide excerpts for your review, including the sections that quote from 4HWW.  I can be contacted at this email address (hussey@1993.usna.com) or by phone at <bleep!>.  I look forward to hearing from you.

Cheers!

The first line follows a cold-call formula used by Timothy Ferriss, author of The 4-Hour Workweek, hence the joke.

So, this is it.  As the email indicates, it would be possible to rework the draft and only reference Ferriss’s work – and entrepreneurial advice in general – but doing so would limit the dramatic effect of that one scene.  I guess we’ll see.  But with the draft more than 75% complete, it was time to broach the subject.  I’ll keep you posted.

JFH