I’m Back in the Neighborhood for Work, and I Don’t Like How Much I Like It.

About two years ago, I published an article titled, “I’m Leaving the Neighborhood”. I was disillusioned with what social media had become. It was, and remains, a morass of AI-generated slop, thirst traps, angry political vitriol, and incessant targeted advertisements. Occasionally, one can see updates from friends and family, but that is the exception, rather than the rule. These apps are designed to keep their users glued to their phones for as long as possible, so they can sell targeted ads at the highest prices possible. 

I was fed up and walked away from an app that I had used daily since I joined Facebook as a college student in 2004. Facebook has devolved to the point that it is no longer recognizable, and Twitter/X and Snapchat are even worse. I did not like the doom-scrolling zombie that I become every time I made the mistake of clicking on that Facebook icon. 

Twitter/X and Snapchat remain deactivated, and both have been deleted from my phone. I do not miss them.

I wish I could say the same about Facebook. I left the neighborhood two years ago, but I am back in the neighborhood for work. It frightens me how much I enjoy it. 

I had every intention of staying away. 

As a classroom teacher, I had the freedom to disconnect entirely. My role at my independent private school was centered on instruction. I could blissfully ignore social media and be a better man for it. 

I got promoted. I still teach a few DE college courses virtually, but my primary role is now in administration. 

That means my key performance indicators (KPIs) have changed. I still am responsible for providing elite instruction in my classroom, but I also must advance my institution’s brand. I have a role to play in expanding our enrollment and ensuring that my school’s victories are seen by a broader online audience. 

More clicks. More views. More engagement. 

That equates to more inquiries, more applications, more visits, and eventually more students. 

I work at a private boarding school. Our potential students can be anywhere in the world. A major part of my job is helping them find us. 

I could do this job without social media. It’s much easier with it. Doing this job without social media in 2026 is like refusing to use email in 2006. It’s pretentious and does not deliver results. 

My school is very active on Facebook and LinkedIn. I had one real choice. I had to return to the neighborhood. I had to return to Facebook. 

It’s difficult. The problems are even worse now than when I left two years ago.

In many ways, Facebook has become similar to the minefield of Twitter/X. I can like and share my institution’s posts on my own newsfeed. I can view news articles and stay informed. I can scroll through posts from other schools and colleges to get ideas that can improve my own school and department.

That’s positive. The challenge is dodging the AI-slop, thirst traps, and political vitriol that pop up randomly among the posts I actually want to see. 

It’s exhausting. I have worn out the block button on my app in an attempt to change the algorithm that Facebook has for me, but an endless river of garbage relentlessly floods my newsfeed.

Facebook’s algorithm must assume that I like Game of Thrones, Nottingham Forest Football Club, Big Bang Theory, golf, and chess. 

I don’t like Big Bang Theory. I misclicked on a video clip a long time ago and now I not only see Big Bang Theory clips, but also Young Sheldon. 

That’s amusing, but the stakes for misclicks are now much higher than seeing too much of Dr. Sheldon Cooper. 

What happens if I accidentally hit the like button of one of the random videos of semi-nude women that appear on my newsfeed? That “like” could then appear on all of my friends’ timelines as well. That would be embarrassing. Unlike Senator Ted Cruz, I can’t blame a staffer for the mistake. 

In the past, you had to follow that kind of content for it to appear on your newsfeed on Facebook. Now it’s like Twitter/X. You’ll be scrolling through articles about education and updates from Grandma, then suddenly there’s a woman in a thong swinging a driver on the golf course. 

A minefield, indeed. 

What happens if I accidentally give a thumbs up to an inflammatory political article or post? That might be worse than the thirst trap. Educators have been fired for that kind of thing in recent months. 

As a jaded centrist, Facebook floods my newsfeed with various clickbait from the political left and right. That’s in the middle of all the other AI-generated slop, of course.

Navigating social media feels a lot like the virtual PE video clips that my young daughters like to watch on YouTube. In those videos, you jump over obstacles, dodge enemies, and collect coins and rewards. 

Now Facebook is the same type of activity. It’s more like a video game than the passive scrolling it once was. That’s what makes it so exhausting. Users are forced to stay sharp, or they risk hitting a digital landmine. 

I disliked Facebook when it was just doomscrolling. Now it’s worse.

My KPIs are dependent on positive social media engagement. I must actively dodge negative social media engagement. All while avoiding my own zombification. 

Facebook has a way of keeping you scrolling long after you are done with what you need to do for work.

The easy answer would be to delete the app from my phone, log on from my laptop during dedicated business hours, and stay offline as much as possible. 

How far do in-person employees advance in their organizations when they leave at 5:00PM sharp and actively avoid all team-building activities and happy hours? It’s possible, but much harder. 

Alas, I’m back in the neighborhood for work, and that includes the “digital happy hours” of engagement and comments. 

I simultaneously hate it and hate how much I love it. It’s nice to see updates from friends again. It’s nice to send my spouse funny video clips and memes that I stumble across. It’s also nice to get inspired by ideas that I see online and use them as springboards for successful projects at my school. 

Love it, hate it, or both, many of us are here in the neighborhood of social media together. If you’re around, come say hi. It’s been a while. 

The neighborhood is definitely worse than it used to be. That doesn’t mean we can’t make the best of it. If we have to be here, we can at least have fun and connect, which is what Facebook was designed to do way back in 2004. 

If you made it this far, you know what to do. Like, comment, share. Better yet, don’t do any of that and send a message instead. If we’re stuck in the neighborhood for work, connection and engagement with real people can make it more bearable for all of us.

Dr. Rudolph Lurz is an educator living in Spokane, Washington. He can be reached at rwlurz@gmail.com . 

Victor and the Monster in Scranton

RW Lurz

PREFACE: I provide the commands that I gave ChatGPT in bold italics so that others can attempt to replicate this story, or see how ChatGPT evolves and provides different outcomes for identical commands. ChatGPT builds on previous scenes within a chat, producing episodes with 3-6 acts (or however long the user wants it to be). There were some funny moments in this story, but the same kind of mechanistic bad prose that ChatGPT is infamous for producing. Enjoy.

Write a scene where Victor Frankenstein seeks a new start at Dunder Mifflin 

Victor Frankenstein had always been fascinated by the mysteries of science and the limits of human potential. He had spent years holed up in his laboratory, experimenting with the forces of life and death, until he finally succeeded in creating a creature of his own. But the monster he had brought to life had turned on him, leaving him with a sense of guilt and horror that he could not shake.

Desperate for a fresh start, Victor decided to leave his old life behind and seek a new career in a different field. He had heard of a company called Dunder Mifflin, which specialized in selling paper products, and thought that this might be just the change he needed.

As he walked into the Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch, Victor was struck by the cheerful atmosphere and the friendly faces of the employees. He approached the receptionist’s desk and introduced himself.

“Hello, my name is Victor Frankenstein. I’m looking for a job here at Dunder Mifflin. I understand you sell paper products?”

The receptionist, Pam, smiled at him. “Yes, that’s right. We’re a paper company. What kind of position are you looking for?”

“I’m open to anything, really,” Victor replied. “I just want to start over and try something new.”

Pam nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Well, we’re always looking for good salespeople. Would you like to speak to our branch manager, Michael Scott?”

Victor agreed, and Pam directed him to Michael’s office. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of apprehension. Would he fit in here? Would anyone accept him for who he was, after everything he had done?

But when he met Michael, he was surprised to find a kindred spirit. Michael was a man who also craved attention and recognition, and who was always looking for new ways to reinvent himself. He listened with interest as Victor explained his background and his desire for a fresh start.

“Well, Victor, I think you’ll fit right in here at Dunder Mifflin,” Michael said. “We’re all about second chances and giving people the opportunity to start over. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even come up with a new paper product that will change the industry!”

Victor felt a glimmer of hope as he left Michael’s office. Maybe this was the new beginning he had been searching for. Maybe he could find a new purpose in life, and leave his past behind. And who knows? Maybe he would even find redemption, in the most unexpected of places.

RW Lurz

Write a 2nd scene where Victor meets the staff at Dunder Mifflin and makes a new best friend and develops a rivalry in the same lunch hour.

Excited to start his new job at Dunder Mifflin, Victor Frankenstein made his way to the break room to grab some lunch. As he walked in, he was greeted by a group of employees, including a man with a cheerful smile and a friendly demeanor.

“Hey there, new guy!” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Jim. Welcome to Dunder Mifflin.”

Victor shook Jim’s hand gratefully, feeling a sense of relief at the warm welcome. He quickly introduced himself to the rest of the group, who seemed friendly enough.

As he sat down to eat his lunch, Victor felt a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time since creating his monster, he felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself.

But as he ate, he couldn’t help but notice another employee, a man who seemed to be staring at him from across the room. The man was tall and muscular, with a scowl on his face that seemed to be directed solely at Victor.

After a few minutes, the man got up and walked over to Victor’s table. “Hey there,” he said in a gruff voice. “I’m Roy. I heard you’re the new guy.”

Victor nodded nervously, feeling intimidated by Roy’s imposing presence. “Yes, that’s right. My name is Victor.”

Roy snorted. “Well, you better watch your back, Victor. This is a tough crowd, and not everyone is as friendly as they seem.”

Victor felt a surge of anger at Roy’s words. He wasn’t going to let this man intimidate him, no matter how strong he was.

As he stood up to face Roy, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Jim, his new best friend at Dunder Mifflin.

“Hey, don’t listen to him, Victor,” Jim said, smiling reassuringly. “Roy’s just trying to mess with you. We’re all on the same team here, right?”

Victor felt a wave of gratitude towards Jim, and a newfound sense of loyalty to his new colleagues at Dunder Mifflin. Maybe he had found a new purpose in life after all, and maybe he had even found a new family.

RW Lurz

Write a 3rd scene where Victor gets onboarded at hr with Toby and Michael 

On his second day at Dunder Mifflin, Victor Frankenstein was scheduled for an onboarding session with HR representative Toby Flenderson and Branch Manager Michael Scott. As he walked into the conference room, he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. He had heard that Toby was known for being a stickler for rules, while Michael was known for being… well, Michael.

“Ah, Victor! Welcome, welcome!” Michael exclaimed, standing up from his chair and shaking Victor’s hand enthusiastically. “So glad to have you on board, my friend. And don’t worry about Toby here, he’s a great guy. Just a little… bureaucratic, if you know what I mean.”

Toby rolled his eyes at Michael’s comment but didn’t say anything. Instead, he began to go over the company’s policies and procedures with Victor in a methodical and thorough manner.

“As a new employee, you’ll need to review and sign several documents,” Toby explained, handing Victor a stack of papers. “This includes our employee handbook, benefits information, and a code of conduct agreement.”

Victor nodded, flipping through the pages of the employee handbook. It was all pretty straightforward, and he was relieved that there didn’t seem to be any surprises.

After signing all the necessary documents, Michael took over the onboarding process, eager to show Victor around the office and introduce him to his new coworkers.

“So, Victor, let me give you a little tour of our humble abode,” Michael said, leading Victor out of the conference room and into the main office area. “Over there is the receptionist’s desk, where you met Pam. And over here is the break room, where we have some of the best coffee in Scranton.”

As Michael rattled off the various departments and introduced Victor to his coworkers, Toby followed behind them, making sure everything was being done by the book.

At one point, Michael even tried to demonstrate his “world-famous” impression of Frankenstein’s monster, which made Victor cringe but also laugh in spite of himself.

As the onboarding session came to a close, Victor felt a sense of relief and gratitude towards his new colleagues. They may have been a strange and quirky bunch, but they were also welcoming and supportive in their own way.

As he left the conference room and headed back to his desk, Victor realized that he was starting to feel at home at Dunder Mifflin. Maybe this was exactly the fresh start he had been looking for.

RW Lurz

Write a 4th scene where Victor gets started making sales calls, is teased by a member of the staff, and sees the ominous image of his monster watching him at a random unexpected moment.

After his onboarding session, Victor was ready to jump into his new role at Dunder Mifflin as a sales representative. He picked up the phone and began making his first sales call, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

As he spoke with the potential client, he suddenly heard a snicker coming from behind him. He turned around to see one of his coworkers, Creed, grinning at him.

“Hey, Victor,” Creed said slyly. “Is that your monster on the phone? Maybe you should tell him we don’t sell pitchforks here.”

The other coworkers around them chuckled at the joke, and Victor felt his face flush with embarrassment.

Ignoring the teasing, he finished the call as professionally as he could and hung up, feeling frustrated and embarrassed.

He needed to clear his head, so he went to the break room to grab a cup of coffee. As he poured the steaming liquid into his mug, he looked up and saw something that made his blood run cold.

In the window, he saw the reflection of his own face staring back at him, but with the twisted, monstrous visage of his creation superimposed over it. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the image remained.

He quickly left the break room and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that had settled over him. Maybe it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

But as he walked back to his desk, he saw it again. In the corner of his eye, he saw the hulking figure of his monster lurking in the shadows, watching him.

He froze in place, unsure if he should run or confront the creature. But as he turned to face it, he saw that it was gone.

He was left alone in the office, his heart pounding in his chest. Was he losing his mind, or was his creation really haunting him? He didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t let anyone else know about this.

RW Lurz

Write a 5th scene where Victor makes his first sale, but is confronted by the monster. Michael Scott is his unlikely savior, but he knows this will not be the end of it.

Victor’s heart was racing as he made his first sale at Dunder Mifflin. He had been nervous about this new job, but now he was feeling more confident in his abilities. As he hung up the phone, he let out a sigh of relief and smiled.

Suddenly, he heard a deep voice behind him. “Victor.”

He turned around slowly, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the monster standing before him. It had found him, even in this new place. Victor stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground.

The monster advanced towards him, its heavy footsteps echoing in the empty office. Victor was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or speak.

Just as the monster was about to grab him, Michael Scott burst into the room. “What the hell is going on here?” he yelled, looking around wildly.

The monster turned towards Michael, towering over him with its massive frame. Michael stood his ground, a determined look on his face.

“Listen here, you big, ugly… thing!” Michael shouted, pointing a finger at the monster. “You can’t just come in here and scare people like that! We have a strict no-monster policy at Dunder Mifflin!”

The monster growled, taking a step towards Michael. But Michael wasn’t afraid. He stood tall, his arms outstretched in a defensive posture.

Victor watched in awe as Michael stood up to the monster, his bravery giving him the courage to act. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the door, grabbing a fire extinguisher on the way.

As he turned around to face the monster, he sprayed it with the extinguisher, blinding it momentarily. He took the opportunity to grab a nearby office chair and smash it over the monster’s head.

The monster stumbled backwards, dazed and confused. Victor and Michael took the opportunity to run out of the office, slamming the door behind them.

As they caught their breath in the hallway, Michael looked at Victor with a mixture of confusion and awe. “What the hell was that thing?” he asked, panting.

Victor took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “It’s… it’s a long story,” he said, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

Michael shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, we can handle it. That’s what Dunder Mifflin is all about, right?”

Victor nodded, feeling grateful for Michael’s help but knowing that this was far from over. The monster was still out there, and it would come back for him eventually. But for now, he was safe. And he knew that he had found a new family at Dunder Mifflin, one that he could count on in even the most dire of circumstances.

RW Lurz

Write a 6th scene where the monster vows revenge, and makes an unlikely friend

The monster watched as Victor and Michael ran out of the office, seething with anger. How could Victor betray him like this, after all he had done for him? He had given Victor life, and this was how he was repaid?

He knew that he had to take revenge on Victor, to make him pay for what he had done. But he also knew that he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help.

As he wandered through the city, he came across a homeless man sitting on a bench. The man was thin and ragged, with a wild look in his eyes. But there was something about him that drew the monster in.

He sat down next to the man, and they began to talk. The man told him stories of his life on the streets, of the hardships he had faced and the people he had met.

As they talked, the monster realized that he had found a kindred spirit. The man may not have been a monster in the same sense that he was, but he had been cast out by society just like he had. They had both been rejected by the world, and now they were together.

The monster made a pact with the homeless man, promising to help him in any way he could if the man would help him get revenge on Victor. The man agreed, his eyes lighting up with a manic gleam.

Together, they began to plan their attack. They would strike at the heart of Dunder Mifflin, the place that had given Victor a new life and taken him away from the monster.

As they plotted, the monster felt a sense of purpose that he had never felt before. He had found a new friend, a true ally in his quest for revenge.

But he also knew that this would be dangerous. He would have to be careful, and he would have to be smart. He couldn’t let anyone else get in the way of his revenge, not even his new friend.

As he set out to take down Dunder Mifflin, the monster knew that he was taking a risk. But he also knew that it was worth it, for the chance to finally make Victor pay for what he had done.

RW Lurz

Write a scene where the homeless man and the monster execute their plan on Dunder Mifflin. Include a strange twist.

The monster and the homeless man crouched behind a dumpster in the alley behind Dunder Mifflin. They had planned this attack for weeks, and the time had finally come to put their plan into action.

The homeless man pulled out a can of spray paint and began to tag the wall with the words “Frankenstein Must Die.” The monster watched, feeling a sense of satisfaction. This was just the beginning.

Suddenly, they heard a noise. Footsteps were approaching from the other end of the alley. The monster tensed, ready to fight if necessary. But as the figure came into view, they both froze.

It was Victor.

He had been out for a walk when he had heard the spray paint can and come to investigate. When he saw the monster and the homeless man, he backed away in fear.

The monster’s first instinct was to attack, to finally get the revenge he had been seeking. But as he looked at Victor, he saw something in his eyes. It was fear, yes, but also sadness and regret.

For the first time, the monster realized that Victor was not a monster at all. He was just a man, like himself. A man who had made mistakes and had been trying to make amends.

The monster turned to the homeless man, who was still holding the spray paint can. “Stop,” he said. “We can’t do this.”

The homeless man looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean? We’ve been planning this for weeks.”

“I know,” the monster said. “But revenge won’t solve anything. We need to find another way.”

As they talked, Victor approached cautiously. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you.”

The monster looked at him, seeing the regret in his eyes. For the first time, he felt something that he had never felt before. Forgiveness.

They talked for a long time, the monster and Victor. They shared their stories and their fears. And in the end, they both knew that they had found a friend in each other.

As they parted ways, the monster felt a strange sense of peace. He had come to Dunder Mifflin seeking revenge, but he had found something much more valuable. He had found forgiveness and friendship, and that was more than he could ever have imagined.

RW Lurz

Write a final comedic climax where Victor gets the monster a job at Dunder Mifflin as well, and the monster makes a new friend. 

Several weeks had passed since Victor and the monster’s reconciliation, and things had changed for the better at Dunder Mifflin. Victor had continued to make sales and had even earned a promotion, while the monster had found a new purpose in life.

As Victor walked into the office one morning, he saw the monster sitting at a desk, typing away on a computer. “What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.

The monster looked up and smiled. “I got a job,” he said. “Michael Scott hired me as a part-time receptionist.”

Victor shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. You’re working at Dunder Mifflin?”

The monster nodded. “It’s great. Everyone here is so friendly.”

As if on cue, Kevin walked by and gave the monster a high five. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “How’s it going?”

The monster grinned. “It’s going great. Thanks for asking.”

Victor couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The monster, who had once been his greatest enemy, had now become a part of the Dunder Mifflin family. It was a strange, but welcome, turn of events.

Just then, Michael Scott walked in. “Hey, guys,” he said. “I have some great news. We just landed a huge account, and I want to celebrate. Who’s up for a round of drinks?”

Everyone cheered, and they all headed to Poor Richard’s for a celebratory drink. As they sat around the table, Victor couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn of events. He had come to Dunder Mifflin seeking a new start, but he had found so much more.

As the night wore on, the monster and Kevin struck up a conversation about their favorite movies, and before long, they were fast friends. Victor watched in amazement as the two laughed and joked together.

It was a strange and unexpected ending to his time at Dunder Mifflin, but Victor couldn’t have been happier. He had found forgiveness, friendship, and even a new job for his once-mortal enemy. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

Office Snape

PREFACE: I provide the commands that I gave ChatGPT in bold italics so that others can attempt to replicate this story, or see how ChatGPT evolves and provides different outcomes for identical commands. ChatGPT builds on previous scenes within a chat, producing episodes with 3-6 acts. This story took a dark, surprising turn near the end, and had moments that made me laugh out loud. I enjoyed interacting with the AI on this story. Enjoy.

RW Lurz

Write a scene where Professor Snape gets a job with the cast of Office Space and has a dispute with Lumberg.

Professor Snape had never expected to find himself in a job interview at a nondescript office building in the suburbs. He had been transported to this strange new world through a mysterious portal, and he was still trying to make sense of everything around him.

As he waited nervously in the reception area, he couldn’t help but feel out of place among the drab cubicles and fluorescent lighting. But he needed a job, and he was determined to make the best of this strange new opportunity.

Finally, his name was called, and he was led into a small conference room where he was greeted by a man named Lumberg, who seemed to be the boss of the office.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Lumberg said with a forced smile. “I’m Bill Lumberg. Welcome to Initech.”

Snape nodded curtly, taking in the man’s obnoxious demeanor and ostentatious suspenders. He was already regretting his decision to apply for this job.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” Lumberg continued, shuffling some papers on his desk. “We’re looking for someone to oversee our compliance department, and your background in potions and dark arts seemed like a good fit.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see the connection between my previous work and this job.”

Lumberg shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just follow ’em. And in this case, the rule is that you’re the most qualified candidate we have.”

Snape narrowed his eyes, but he knew he needed this job. “Very well. I accept.”

“Great!” Lumberg said, beaming. “Now, I just need you to fill out some paperwork and you’ll be all set.”

As Snape began to fill out the forms, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about this whole situation. But he was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t notice Lumberg sneaking up behind him.

“Hey, Professor Snape,” Lumberg said, his voice dangerously close to Snape’s ear. “I’m gonna need you to come in on Saturday.”

Snape whirled around, his wand already in his hand. “Excuse me?”

Lumberg took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise. “I said, I’m gonna need you to come in on Saturday. We’re a little behind on some of our projects, and we need everyone to pitch in.”

“I have no intention of working on the weekend,” Snape spat.

Lumberg’s expression darkened. “Well, I’m afraid that’s not really up to you. We’re a team here at Initech, and we all need to do our part.”

Snape’s patience was wearing thin. “I am not some lackey to be ordered around by the likes of you, Lumberg. If you want to see true power, I suggest you tread carefully.”

Lumberg took a step back, clearly intimidated by Snape’s menacing demeanor. “Uh, sure thing, Professor. Whatever you say.”

As Snape gathered his things and strode out of the conference room, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He may have been in a strange new world, but some things never changed: he was still the most powerful wizard in the room, and no one was going to boss him around.

The insolence of this boss…

RW Lurz

Write a second scene where Lumberg gets mad at Snape for not coming in on Saturday.

Despite Snape’s warning to Lumberg, he still found himself dreading the Monday morning meeting where he knew Lumberg would bring up the issue of his refusal to work on Saturday. As the entire office gathered around the conference table, Snape kept his expression neutral, knowing that any show of weakness would be pounced on by his new boss.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get started,” Lumberg said, taking his place at the head of the table. “Now, as you all know, we had a little hiccup over the weekend when Professor Snape refused to come in and help out with some of our projects.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, already annoyed by Lumberg’s passive-aggressive tone. “I had already fulfilled my obligations for the week, Lumberg. I saw no reason to work on the weekend.”

Lumberg’s face turned red with anger. “Well, that’s not how it works around here, Professor. We all have to pull our weight, even if it means putting in a little extra time.”

Snape felt his own temper rising. “I will not be treated like a common employee, Lumberg. I have my own standards, and I will not lower them to meet yours.”

Lumberg leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Listen, Snape, I don’t care how powerful you think you are. You’re just another employee here at Initech, and if you don’t like it, you can take your potions and go somewhere else.”

Snape bristled at the insult. “I assure you, Lumberg, I could find employment elsewhere quite easily. But I have chosen to remain here, for the time being. Do not mistake my patience for weakness.”

The two men glared at each other across the table, the tension between them almost palpable. But as the meeting wore on, they both realized that they would need to find a way to work together, at least for the time being.

As Snape left the conference room, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. He had always been used to being in control, to being feared and respected by those around him. But in this new world, he was just another employee, subject to the whims of his boss and the company.

Still, he knew he would not be defeated so easily. He would find a way to rise above the petty squabbles of the office, to assert his own power and make his mark in this strange new world. And he would do it on his own terms, without bowing to the likes of Lumberg or anyone else.

RW Lurz

Write a third scene where Snape, Peter, and Michael scheme about how to get back at Lumberg and Initech

Snape, Peter, and Michael met up at a nearby coffee shop after work, each nursing a hot beverage as they discussed their latest office woes.

“I can’t stand Lumberg,” Peter complained, slamming his coffee cup down on the table. “The way he talks down to us, like we’re nothing more than mindless drones.”

Snape nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his own tea. “I agree. But the question is, what can we do about it? We cannot simply storm in there and demand that he treat us better.”

Michael leaned forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “What if we did something to mess with the company, to get back at them for the way they treat us?”

Snape arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

Michael grinned. “I was thinking, what if we managed to get access to their computer system and mess with their files, just a little bit? Maybe change some numbers around, or delete a few important documents?”

Peter looked hesitant. “I don’t know, man. That sounds kind of risky. I don’t want to get fired.”

Snape shook his head. “We must be cautious, yes. But I believe Michael is onto something. We cannot let Lumberg and his company continue to treat us like serfs. We must fight back, in whatever way we can.”

The three of them continued to brainstorm, coming up with more and more elaborate schemes to get back at Initech. They talked late into the night, fueled by caffeine and the heady rush of rebellion.

Finally, as the coffee shop was closing, they exchanged phone numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. Snape felt a sense of excitement, a thrill of danger that he hadn’t felt in years. This new world of cubicles and coffee breaks was strange and foreign to him, but he was determined to make his mark on it, to show that he was not to be trifled with.

As he walked back to his car, he couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of camaraderie with his new colleagues. Together, they would take on Initech, and they would emerge victorious. Of that, Snape was certain.

RW Lurz

Write a scene where Snape, Michael, and Peter put their scheme into action and strike back at Lumberg and Initech, using Snape’s skills with magic and Michael’s skills with computers.

Snape, Michael, and Peter put their plan into motion. It was a risky scheme, but they were determined to get back at Lumberg and Initech for treating them like low-level employees.

Snape used his wizarding skills to create an invisibility cloak that would allow Michael to sneak into the office after hours undetected. He also conjured up a spell that would make sure the security cameras wouldn’t pick up on any of their activities.

Michael was able to bypass the security system and gain access to the company’s servers. They worked together, changing numbers and deleting files, making sure to leave no trace of their activities. Peter, who was always nervous during their planning sessions, sat by and kept watch.

They worked into the early hours of the morning, fueled by adrenaline and the thrill of their own rebellion. Finally, they finished their work and left the building undetected.

The next day, as the three of them arrived at the office, they could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed on edge, whispering to each other and glancing around nervously.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that they heard the news – Initech had suffered a massive data loss, with critical documents and files mysteriously vanishing from their systems. There was chaos in the office, with employees scrambling to figure out what had happened and how to fix the damage.

Snape, Michael, and Peter shared a look of satisfaction. They had done it – they had struck back at Initech and gotten their revenge on Lumberg. And they had done it on their own terms, using their own unique skills and talents.

As they went about their work, they felt a new sense of power, a feeling that they were not just cogs in a machine but individuals with their own agency. They were determined to keep up the fight, to push back against the forces that had oppressed them for too long.

As Snape looked around the office, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. He may have been an outsider, a newcomer to this world of cubicles and deadlines, but he had found a way to make his mark. And he knew that he was just getting started.

RW Lurz

Write a final scene where Lumberg and Bob attempt to get revenge on Snape and his new friends at Initech, and the employees must find a way to escape 

Lumberg and Bob were furious when they found out that Snape, Michael, and Peter had been responsible for the data loss at Initech. They immediately began plotting their revenge, determined to make the three of them pay for what they had done.

They knew they couldn’t just fire them – that would be too obvious. Instead, they hatched a plan to make their lives at Initech a living hell. They cut their salaries, changed their job descriptions, and gave them impossible deadlines, all in an effort to make them quit.

Snape, Michael, and Peter knew they were in trouble. They tried to keep their heads down, to focus on their work and not draw attention to themselves. But they could feel the eyes of Lumberg and Bob on them at all times, watching their every move.

One day, as they were working late, they heard a commotion outside. They looked out the window and saw a group of men approaching the building, led by Lumberg and Bob. The men were armed, and they looked dangerous.

“We have to get out of here,” Michael said, his voice shaking with fear. “They’re here for us.”

Snape nodded, his mind racing. He knew they couldn’t fight their way out – they were outnumbered and outgunned. But he also knew that he couldn’t let Lumberg and Bob win.

He pulled out his wand and began casting a series of spells, creating illusions and distractions to confuse their attackers. Michael and Peter followed his lead, using their own skills to create obstacles and traps.

They worked quickly and quietly, moving through the office and setting up defenses. They knew they couldn’t hold out forever, but they were determined to buy themselves enough time to escape.

As the attackers breached the office, the three of them made a run for it. They dodged through the chaos, moving as quickly as they could. They could hear the sound of gunfire behind them, and they knew they had to move fast.

They burst out of the building, running into the street. They could see a group of police officers approaching, responding to the reports of gunfire.

“Over here!” Michael shouted, leading the way to a nearby alley. They ducked down and hid, watching as the police arrived and began to engage with their attackers.

After a tense standoff, the attackers were subdued and taken into custody. The police interviewed Snape, Michael, and Peter, asking them to explain what had happened. The three of them tried to keep their explanations vague, not wanting to reveal too much about their involvement in the earlier data loss.

In the end, they were allowed to go home. They walked away from the chaos, feeling shaken but also relieved. They had managed to survive, to escape from the clutches of Lumberg and Bob.

As they parted ways, they shared a look of camaraderie. They knew they had been through something intense and dangerous, but they also knew that they had come out the other side.

Snape walked back to his car, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He had found a way to fight back against the forces that had oppressed him, and he had done it with his own unique skills and talents. He knew he would never be able to go back to his old life as a wizard, but he was okay with that. He had found a new purpose, a new way to make his mark on the world. And he was determined to see it through, no matter what.

ChatGPT Feb 13 Version. Free Research Preview. Our goal is to make AI systems more natural and safe to interact with. Your feedback will help us improve.

Is this a Lightsaber that I see before me?

PREFACE: I provide the commands that I gave ChatGPT in bold italics so that others can attempt to replicate this story, or see how ChatGPT evolves and provides different outcomes for identical commands. ChatGPT builds on previous scenes within a chat, producing what is essentially a 5-Act episode. For this story, it also includes a tantalizing surprise ending. Enjoy.

RW Lurz

Write a scene where Obi-Wan Kenobi begins training Macbeth to be a Jedi Knight 

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood before the brooding figure of Macbeth, a warrior from a far-off land. The two men faced each other in the sparring room of the Jedi Temple, surrounded by the hum of energy blades and the whirring of droids. Obi-Wan had been tasked with training Macbeth in the ways of the Force and the Jedi Order, and he was eager to begin.

“Macbeth, I am honored to be your teacher,” Obi-Wan said, bowing respectfully. “I know that you come from a different culture and may be unfamiliar with the ways of the Jedi, but I hope that we can work together to forge a new path.”

Macbeth said nothing, his dark eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. He was a man of few words, but Obi-Wan could sense a deep well of emotion simmering beneath the surface.

“First, we must begin with the basics,” Obi-Wan said, activating his own lightsaber. “The Force flows through all things, binding us together in a web of energy. As Jedi, it is our duty to harness this power and use it for the greater good.”

Macbeth watched as Obi-Wan began to move, his lightsaber flickering through the air with a fluid grace. Obi-Wan moved with a lightness that seemed almost otherworldly, his body in perfect harmony with the Force.

“Now you try,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing for Macbeth to join him.

Macbeth hesitated for a moment before igniting his own lightsaber. He had never held one before, but the weapon felt oddly familiar in his hand. He began to mimic Obi-Wan’s movements, his body awkward at first but gradually gaining confidence.

Obi-Wan watched as Macbeth began to find his rhythm, his blade tracing a fierce arc through the air. There was a raw power to Macbeth’s movements, a sense of deep inner strength that Obi-Wan could sense.

“You have a strong connection to the Force,” Obi-Wan said, nodding approvingly. “With time and practice, you could become a powerful Jedi Knight.”

Macbeth said nothing, but Obi-Wan could sense a growing determination in his mind. He knew that this would not be an easy path, but he was committed to helping Macbeth find his way.

Together, they continued to spar, their blades flashing in the light of the sparring room. Obi-Wan could feel the energy of the Force coursing through his body, binding him to Macbeth in a powerful connection. He knew that this was the beginning of a long and challenging journey, but he was confident that they could face it together, as teacher and student, and as Jedi.

RW Lurz

Write a second scene where Jedi Knight Macbeth is tempted by the Dark Side of the Force

Macbeth stood at the edge of the cliff, his lightsaber glowing in the darkness. He had been on a mission to the distant planet of Korriban, where he and his fellow Jedi had been sent to investigate reports of a Sith temple. They had encountered fierce resistance, and in the heat of battle, Macbeth had felt a power awakening within him, a dark energy that he had never experienced before.

Now, as he stood alone on the windswept cliff, he felt that same energy coursing through his veins. It was a seductive force, promising him power and control. He knew that he should resist it, that as a Jedi, he must always remain in control of his emotions. But the temptation was too great.

He raised his lightsaber, feeling the weight of it in his hand. He could feel the power of the Dark Side growing within him, and he knew that if he gave in to it, he could become more powerful than he had ever imagined. He could feel the anger and frustration that had been building within him, and he longed to unleash it.

But even as he stood there, torn between the Light and the Dark, he heard a voice calling out to him, a voice that he recognized as Obi-Wan’s.

“Macbeth, don’t do it,” Obi-Wan’s voice called out from the distance.

Macbeth hesitated, his grip on the lightsaber faltering. He turned to see Obi-Wan standing on the edge of the cliff, his own lightsaber raised, the blue blade casting a warm glow in the darkness.

“You must resist the Dark Side, Macbeth,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “It will lead you down a path of destruction and despair. Remember your training, and the teachings of the Jedi. The Light will always triumph over the Dark.”

Macbeth felt a surge of emotion as he looked at Obi-Wan. He knew that his mentor was right, and that he had almost succumbed to the seductive pull of the Dark Side. He lowered his lightsaber and took a deep breath, feeling the power of the Dark Side receding.

“Thank you, Master Obi-Wan,” Macbeth said, bowing his head in respect. “I almost lost myself to the Dark Side, but you showed me the way back to the Light.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes filled with pride. “You are a strong Jedi, Macbeth. But even the strongest of us can be tempted by the Dark Side. It is only by recognizing that temptation and resisting it that we can remain true to the path of the Jedi.”

Together, they stood on the cliff, watching as the sun rose over the horizon. Macbeth knew that the journey ahead would be long and challenging, but he was ready to face it, guided by the wisdom of his master and the Light of the Force.

RW Lurz

Write a third scene where Obi-Wan and Macbeth battle Darth Maul, and Darth Maul reveals a dark secret.

Obi-Wan and Macbeth stood back to back, their lightsabers ignited as they prepared to face their most dangerous foe yet: Darth Maul. The Sith Lord had been terrorizing the galaxy, and had become one of the most feared warriors in the galaxy.

As Maul stepped forward, his double-bladed lightsaber humming in the air, he spoke in a voice that dripped with malice. “So, you have come to challenge me, Jedi scum. You are fools to think you can defeat me.”

Obi-Wan and Macbeth remained silent, their eyes fixed on Maul as they waited for him to make the first move. And then, without warning, he charged, his lightsaber flashing through the air.

The two Jedi leapt into action, blocking Maul’s attacks with their own blades. The battle was intense, each combatant moving with lightning speed, their lightsabers clashing and sizzling in the air. But as the battle wore on, Obi-Wan and Macbeth began to gain the upper hand, their skill and training allowing them to outmaneuver Maul.

It was then that Maul spoke, his voice low and filled with dark secrets. “You think you can defeat me, Jedi, but you do not know the truth. I am not who you think I am.”

Obi-Wan and Macbeth paused, their blades still locked with Maul’s. “What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asked.

Maul laughed, a cruel sound that echoed across the battlefield. “You think you are fighting Darth Maul, but that is not my true name. I am someone else entirely, and you will soon know the truth.”

With that, he unleashed a flurry of attacks, his lightsaber moving faster than ever before. But Obi-Wan and Macbeth were ready, and together they managed to disarm Maul, sending his lightsaber flying out of reach.

Maul stumbled back, a look of fear in his eyes. “No, this cannot be happening,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan and Macbeth stood before him, their lightsabers still humming in the air. “Who are you, really?” Obi-Wan asked.

Maul hesitated for a moment, and then he spoke. “My name is not Darth Maul. It is…” he paused, as if struggling to reveal the truth. “It is…I am your brother, Macbeth.”

Macbeth’s eyes widened in shock, as he stared at Maul, who was now revealed to be his long-lost brother. Obi-Wan watched in silence, his mind racing as he tried to process this new information.

“How…how is this possible?” Macbeth stammered, his mind reeling.

Maul, or rather Macbeth’s brother, let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story, brother. But suffice it to say, I was captured by the Sith when I was young, and trained in the ways of the Dark Side. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. And now, I have come to pay for my mistakes.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, his hand extended. “Come with us, brother. Let us help you to find the path of the Light, and to make amends for the past.”

Macbeth’s brother looked at Obi-Wan, and then at Macbeth. He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with regret. “I will come with you, Jedi. But I fear there is much I must atone for.”

With that, they turned and began the journey back to the Jedi temple, Macbeth and his brother side by side, and Obi-Wan following close behind. The future was uncertain, but they knew that together

RW Lurz

Write a climactic scene where the witches from Macbeth reveal themselves to be dark Jedi and battle against Obi-Wan, Macbeth, and their new ally Darth Maul 

Obi-Wan, Macbeth, and Darth Maul were making their way through the dense forest when suddenly they heard a cackling laughter that sent shivers down their spines.

Out of the shadows stepped three hooded figures, their faces hidden behind dark robes. At first, the group thought they were facing the witches from Macbeth, but as the figures drew closer, they saw that they were dark Jedi.

“We have been expecting you,” said the lead dark Jedi, his voice dripping with malice.

Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber, ready to fight, but the dark Jedi were quick to strike. A fierce battle ensued, with the clashing of lightsabers and the crackle of Force lightning echoing through the forest.

Despite their best efforts, Obi-Wan, Macbeth, and Darth Maul were outnumbered and outmatched. The dark Jedi seemed to know their every move, and soon the trio found themselves backed into a corner.

It was then that Darth Maul noticed a strange amulet hanging from the neck of the lead dark Jedi. He recognized it as a Sith artifact, one that he had been searching for many years.

Without warning, Darth Maul lunged at the dark Jedi, determined to claim the amulet for himself. The other two dark Jedi were caught off guard, allowing Obi-Wan and Macbeth to fight them off.

With the amulet in hand, Darth Maul felt a surge of power coursing through him. He turned on Obi-Wan and Macbeth, his lightsaber glowing red as he declared his loyalty to the dark side.

Obi-Wan and Macbeth were shocked and saddened by Darth Maul’s betrayal. But even as they faced a new enemy, they knew that they could not give up the fight for the light. They drew their lightsabers once more, ready to take on Darth Maul and the dark Jedi, knowing that the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance.

RW Lurz

Write a climactic scene where Obi-Wan and Macbeth battle Darth Maul, the witches, and Hecate.

Obi-Wan and Macbeth stood back to back, their lightsabers ignited and ready for the final battle. Darth Maul had joined forces with the witches, and now Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft, had emerged to lead them.

The dark side had never been stronger, and it seemed that all hope was lost. But Obi-Wan and Macbeth knew that they had to fight to the bitter end.

The witches began casting spells, and Obi-Wan used the Force to deflect them. Macbeth charged forward, his lightsaber cutting through the air with deadly precision. Darth Maul met him with a fierce attack, but Macbeth held his ground, fueled by the light side of the Force.

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, battled Hecate, using his lightsaber to block her dark magic. He could feel the weight of the battle bearing down on him, but he refused to give up. He knew that the fate of the galaxy was at stake.

The battle raged on, with the combatants locked in a deadly dance of lightsabers and spells. But in the end, it was the light that triumphed.

Obi-Wan and Macbeth stood victorious, their lightsabers glowing brightly in the aftermath of the battle. Darth Maul and the witches had been defeated, and Hecate had vanished back into the shadows.

It was a hard-fought victory, and Obi-Wan and Macbeth knew that there were still many challenges ahead. But for now, they could rest easy, knowing that they had done their part to protect the light side of the Force.

Together, they looked out over the landscape, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. They knew that the dark side was always lurking, waiting for its next chance to strike. But they also knew that they were ready to face whatever came their way, knowing that the Force was with them.

RW Lurz

Write a final scene where Macbeth reports to Duncan and discovers he’s actually a Sith Lord

Macbeth had returned to report to his master, King Duncan, on the successful defeat of the dark side. But as he stood before him, he could sense a strange energy emanating from the king.

“You have done well, Macbeth,” said Duncan, his voice laced with a strange darkness.

Macbeth could feel the fear building inside him. He knew that something was not right.

“My lord,” he began, “I sense a disturbance in the Force. Is everything okay?”

Duncan chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. “You are a fool, Macbeth,” he said. “I am no mere mortal king. I am a Sith Lord, and you are nothing but a pawn in my game.”

Macbeth’s heart sank as the truth dawned on him. He had been deceived all along, his loyalty to the light side exploited by the very man he had sworn to serve.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I want you to serve me,” said Duncan, his eyes narrowing. “Together, we will rule the galaxy with an iron fist. The light side will fall, and the dark side will reign supreme.”

Macbeth knew that he could not let this happen. He had fought too hard and too long to protect the light side, and he would not let it fall now.

With a swift movement, he drew his lightsaber and lunged at Duncan, determined to put an end to his tyranny. But Duncan was no ordinary Sith Lord, and the battle that followed was long and fierce.

In the end, it was Macbeth who emerged victorious, his lightsaber plunging into Duncan’s heart. He knew that he had saved the galaxy, but at a great cost.

As he looked out over the horizon, his heart heavy with sorrow, he knew that the fight for the light side would never truly be over. But he also knew that he was ready to face whatever came his way, knowing that he had the power of the Force on his side.

The end

ChatGPT Feb 13 Version. Free Research Preview. Our goal is to make AI systems more natural and safe to interact with. Your feedback will help us improve.

Something is Rotten in Equestria

PREFACE: I provide the commands that I gave ChatGPT in bold italics, so that others can attempt to replicate this story. ChatGPT builds on previous scenes within a chat, producing what is essentially a 3-act episode. Enjoy.

RW Lurz

Write a scene where Hamlet joins the cast of My Little Ponies and gets advice on how to deal with Claudius 

Hamlet found himself in a strange and colorful world. He looked around and saw ponies of every color imaginable. They were all so happy and cheerful, singing and dancing around him. Hamlet felt out of place, but he was determined to find some guidance on how to deal with Claudius.

As he was walking, a small pink pony with a curly mane approached him. “Hi, I’m Pinkie Pie!” she said with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hamlet,” he replied, still feeling a bit disoriented.

“Well, Hamlet, welcome to Equestria! We’re always happy to make new friends,” Pinkie Pie said. “What brings you here?”

“I need some advice,” Hamlet said, looking at her with a serious expression. “I’m dealing with a difficult situation, and I’m not sure how to proceed.”

“Ooh, I love giving advice!” Pinkie Pie said, bouncing up and down. “What’s the problem?”

“I have a stepfather, Claudius, who killed my father and married my mother. I don’t know what to do,” Hamlet said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Pinkie Pie’s expression turned serious as she listened to Hamlet’s story. “That’s a tough situation,” she said. “But I think I know what you should do.”

“What is it?” Hamlet asked eagerly.

“You should talk to Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Pinkie Pie said. “She’s the smartest pony I know, and she can help you figure out what to do.”

Hamlet nodded, grateful for the advice. “Thank you, Pinkie Pie. Where can I find her?”

“She’s at the Castle of Friendship,” Pinkie Pie said, pointing in the direction of a castle in the distance. “Just follow the path, and you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Hamlet said, bowing his head in gratitude. “I’ll go see her right away.”

Hamlet followed Pinkie Pie’s directions and soon arrived at the Castle of Friendship. He was greeted by a purple unicorn with a tiara on her head.

“Hello, I’m Princess Twilight Sparkle,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Hamlet,” he said, bowing to her. “I need your help. I’m dealing with a difficult situation, and I’m not sure how to proceed.”

Twilight Sparkle listened carefully as Hamlet told her his story. When he finished, she looked at him with a thoughtful expression.

“That’s a very complex situation,” she said. “But I think the best thing you can do is to gather more information. Talk to people who knew your father and Claudius. Try to find out what really happened.”

Hamlet nodded, feeling relieved to have a plan of action. “Thank you, Princess Twilight Sparkle. I’ll do that.”

“Remember, Hamlet,” Twilight Sparkle said, as he was about to leave. “The truth will always come out in the end. It may be painful, but it’s the only way to find justice and closure.”

Hamlet thanked Twilight Sparkle and left the castle, feeling more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the situation. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he had the support of the ponies in Equestria. And he knew that with their help, he would be able to confront Claudius and find the truth.

Hamlet could probably use a hug.

RW Lurz

Write a second scene where the ghost of Hamlet’s father and Twilight Sparkle inform Hamlet of the truth of what Claudius did.

Hamlet had spent weeks gathering information and speaking to people who knew his father and Claudius. It was a difficult task, but he was determined to uncover the truth. One evening, he was walking in the gardens of the Castle of Friendship when he saw a familiar figure in the distance.

“Father?” Hamlet said, approaching the figure cautiously. “Is that really you?”

The figure turned around, and Hamlet gasped in shock. It was the ghost of his father, dressed in his armor and carrying his sword.

“Hamlet, my son,” the ghost said, his voice deep and solemn. “I have come to speak with you.”

Hamlet fell to his knees, his heart pounding in his chest. “Father, what do you want to tell me?”

“I have come to reveal the truth, Hamlet,” the ghost said. “The truth of what happened to me and what Claudius did.”

Hamlet listened as his father recounted the events of his death and the treachery of his brother. His heart filled with rage and sadness as he realized the extent of Claudius’s betrayal.

“But what can I do, Father?” Hamlet asked, feeling overwhelmed. “How can I bring justice for your death?”

“That is something you must decide for yourself, my son,” the ghost said. “But you have the support of Princess Twilight Sparkle and the ponies of Equestria. They will help you in any way they can.”

At that moment, Twilight Sparkle approached them, her expression serious. “Hamlet, we need to talk,” she said. “I have information that will help you in your quest for justice.”

Hamlet stood up, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “What is it?” he asked.

Twilight Sparkle took a deep breath before speaking. “I have uncovered evidence that Claudius was responsible for your father’s death,” she said. “He poisoned him and took the throne for himself.”

Hamlet’s eyes widened in shock, but he also felt a sense of relief. “Thank you, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” he said. “Now I know what I must do.”

The ghost of Hamlet’s father nodded in approval. “Go, my son, and do what you must,” he said. “I will be watching over you.”

Hamlet left the gardens of the Castle of Friendship, his mind racing with ideas and plans. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to confront Claudius, but he also knew he had the support of his friends in Equestria and the memory of his father to guide him. He was ready to face whatever came his way and bring justice for his father’s death.

RW Lurz

Write a climactic scene where the ponies of Equestria help Hamlet defeat Claudius, but Discord joins the fight on Claudius’s side

Hamlet had rallied the ponies of Equestria to help him defeat Claudius and bring justice for his father’s death. They had spent weeks planning and preparing for the final battle, and the day had finally arrived. Hamlet and the ponies marched towards the castle, ready to face Claudius and his army.

As they approached the castle, they saw that Claudius had already mobilized his forces. His army consisted of a strange assortment of creatures, including dragons, griffins, and changelings. But the ponies of Equestria were not intimidated. They stood tall and proud, ready to defend their friend and ally.

The battle began, with both sides charging towards each other. Hamlet led the charge, his sword flashing in the sunlight. The ponies fought bravely, using their unique abilities to take down Claudius’s army. Rainbow Dash flew through the air, raining down bolts of lightning. Rarity used her magic to create shields and barriers. Fluttershy called upon her animal friends to join the fight. Applejack bucked and kicked her way through the enemy lines.

But just as it seemed like victory was within their grasp, a loud cackling interrupted the battle. Discord, the mischievous spirit of chaos, had joined the fight on Claudius’s side.

“Hello, everypony!” Discord said, grinning from ear to ear. “I couldn’t resist getting in on the fun!”

Hamlet narrowed his eyes, his grip on his sword tightening. “Discord,” he growled. “Why are you helping Claudius?”

“Oh, it’s simple, really,” Discord said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I love chaos and disorder, and what’s more chaotic than a battle between ponies and creatures from all over Equestria? Plus, Claudius promised me a new statue of myself for my collection.”

Hamlet’s blood boiled with anger. “You’re helping a murderer for a statue? How could you?”

Discord shrugged. “I never said I was a hero, Hamlet. I’m just here to cause some chaos and have a little fun.”

The battle resumed, with Discord causing chaos and confusion on both sides. He turned ponies into stone, created illusions, and even summoned a giant rubber chicken to attack the ponies. But the ponies of Equestria were determined to not let Discord’s tricks get in the way of their goal. They fought harder than ever, using their friendship and love to overcome Discord’s chaos.

In the end, it was Hamlet who faced Claudius in a one-on-one battle. Hamlet’s sword clashed against Claudius’s, and sparks flew in every direction. But Hamlet’s determination and anger gave him the upper hand. With one swift stroke, he disarmed Claudius and knocked him to the ground.

As Claudius lay defeated, Hamlet turned to face Discord. “You may have caused chaos and confusion, Discord,” he said. “But you can’t defeat the power of friendship and love.”

Discord grumbled and muttered under his breath, but he knew when he was beaten. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The ponies of Equestria cheered and embraced Hamlet, congratulating him on his victory. Hamlet felt a sense of relief and satisfaction wash over him. He had avenged his father’s death and brought justice to the kingdom. And he had done it with the help of his friends in Equestria.

Fade to Black as Credits Play

RW Lurz

John Henry vs ChatGPT

In elementary school, I remember studying tall tales and legends. One of those stories was about John Henry, who died with a hammer in his hand after defeating a steam-powered drill in a contest.

Society could witness another John Henry-esque contest emerging in modern times. Skilled laborers building tunnels for the railroad are not in the crosshairs of technological progress in this story.

Writers are. 

ChatGPT has surprised experts with its proficiency. It has left academia scrambling to defend academic honesty against technology that can pass MBA and law school exams with a single click. I have already caught honors students using the software to complete literary analyses and short writing assignments.

Realtors are simplifying their business by using ChatGPT to respond to client inquiries. Customer service phone lines could become a relic of the past. The software has even written sermons, alarming a rabbi who noted that such technology might have talent with the written word but could not possibly demonstrate empathy.

In the near future, ChatGPT will lay down the gauntlet against writers around the world. 

Will we face the fate of John Henry and watch our livelihoods vanish, with pens in our hands instead of hammers? Do we have a chance against technology that learns from millions of interactions each day?

I don’t think our fate will be so dire. 

I signed up for ChatGPT soon after it came out. As an educator, I wanted to see what it could do. Plugging in potential prompts and questions would help me discover dishonest students who used it to cheat. As a writer, I was curious about what it could do. Plugging in weird questions and seeing what ChatGPT would write could be fun. I don’t have time to chase down every lark of an idea that comes into my head.

But ChatGPT does.

After playing with the technology for a few weeks I have made a few conclusions. I think my livelihood is safe, but also think how we work will likely change.

1. ChatGPT is not a good writer

The prose it produces is repetitive and formulaic. The plotlines are simple. It will not produce twists worthy of M. Night Shyamalan. ChatGPT’s creative writing is at the level of a “book smart” 8th or 9th grader. There’s very little nuance to what it spits out. No matter how ridiculous your commands are, it is fairly predictable how it will respond.

That doesn’t mean writers are necessarily safe. It plays on all the hallmarks of crappy writing. Characters will grit their teeth with determination. Protagonists will grin and smile at each other while nodding or shaking their heads. Everyone is always looking out windows or staring at the horizon.

That’s not surprising. ChatGPT draws from everything available online, and there’s a lot of crappy writing online. It challenges writers to look in the mirror and realize when we’re committing these venial sins of composition. I think I speak for many writers when I admit that such nodding, staring, and teeth-gritting can be seen in my first drafts.

Unlike writers, ChatGPT cannot edit. It produces a response and that response is the final draft, no matter how repetitive and lame it is. That leads me to my next point.

2. ChatGPT is more about coding than it is about writing

In my doctoral coursework at the University of Pittsburgh, I took several classes in quantitative methods with Dr. Shafiq. I performed well in those courses, despite mediocre skill with the advanced statistics and mathematics required for them. 

I did well because I knew which questions to ask and how to input those questions in the STATA statistical software. I played STATA like a rudimentary RPG (role playing game) on my computer. I would plug in my commands to see what would happen, and if the result didn’t work, I’d try a different combination. I’d take meandering pathways down multi-step projects. 

I thought it was fun. I found out that many of my colleagues did not think it was fun, and found it maddening to wrestle with the numbers.

I mention this because Dr. Shafiq required us to save and submit our command logs in STATA for each assignment. He wanted to see how we came to our conclusions. More importantly, Shafiq wanted to teach us how to use the software. Maintaining those logs was key to improving our proficiency with coding, and ultimately becoming better quantitative researchers. 

ChatGPT, much like that statistical software, will often produce error messages if just one or two words in the command is off. However, just like with STATA, good command sequences can be replicated. 

Unlike STATA, ChatGPT will learn from its inputs and build storylines based on what you have previously submitted. It’s more like a robot puppy or simplistic user-adaptive video game than an advanced calculator or stats program. It becomes smarter the more you use it and the more familiar it becomes with you.

The potential for story outlines, along with comedic output, is exponential. 

You can make ChatGPT write scenes that could never exist in real life. If it produces something interesting, it can spark ideas for actual screenplays, TV pilots, or novels. I plan on using it to brainstorm. It’s like a friend in the room with endless patience for all of your “what if” questions. 

It will never defeat a skilled writer in a Henry-esque contest. But it could help that writer come up with some interesting ideas.

3. ChatGPT will change how we teach students. That is not necessarily a bad thing.

On my education consulting page, I discuss the importance of teaching students how to think. Assignments and programs of college study should be more than a list of tasks to complete. Higher education institutions should not be job training centers, because a majority of the jobs of the future haven’t even been created yet. Students should leave school with a flexible mind that gives them the power to navigate that unknown future. 

If that’s the case, why are we assigning work that can be copied and pasted from online summaries? 

That’s the essential question at the center of the fear of ChatGPT. Educators don’t want students to cheat on assignments.

If you don’t want students to cheat, then make assignments that require more than a quick Google Search or ChatGPT command. 

Portfolios, projects, and in-class essays all build intellectual capacity and curiosity much more than mundane prompts and notes. Small group discussions with hard copies of novels are more interesting than endless reading comprehension questions. 

If an assignment can be completed with ChatGPT, then maybe teachers should assign something else. 

The factory model of American education is in dire need of reform. Perhaps this is just the spark we need.

4. Final Thoughts

Ask my friends, family members, and spouse. I am not an optimist. I frequently criticize optimism bias and sunny outlooks. 

That said, I am cautiously optimistic of the path forward through AI technology in my fields of writing and education.

I plan on publishing blog posts with fun ChatGPT commands to show its potential. I hope to engage colleagues and strangers in discussions about both the written word along with the ethical labyrinth produced by this technology.

I believe my fate will not mirror that of John Henry. The world will change, but that change will not result in our extinction as writers and educators. 

It will result in our evolution.

Billions of Heroes

“You can’t scare me, I’m a parent.”

I heard this often in my adult life from friends and acquaintances with children. Sometimes it would be in response to how difficult something would be, other times it was a reaction to current events. 

I always thought it was a ridiculous statement. How could making a baby possibly warrant the same kind of language used to describe the heroism of first responders? After all, billions of people have kids. That kind of superhuman bravery couldn’t possibly be ubiquitous.

I didn’t understand. Now that I’m a dad, I get it. The statement is accurate. This is the hardest job I’ve ever had and it consumes every fiber of my being. 

I heard a great explanation of what parenthood was like from an unlikely source. I was driving in Chicago in June 2019, just before my first Father’s Day, listening to sports radio. The young co-host told his gruff, chain-smoking colleague that he would soon be a father. The guy with the raspy voice responded (paraphrasing, it’s been a while)-

“Welcome to the most fulfilling and beautiful journey of your life, my friend. Everything you didn’t know you were missing will emerge from your soul every time you hold your child. Love you didn’t know you could possess will fill your heart whenever your beautiful son stares up into your eyes. You and your wife created life, and life will never be the same again.”

(Long pause)

“Alright! Looks like Lester gets the start tonight, which means the Cubs can expect an opposing lineup filled with right-handed bats. Let’s see if he can recover from the shellacking he took last time he took the mound…”

(Rubbing tears from my eyes) “That was beautiful, Smoker Cough Sports Guy. I’m not crying; you’re crying.”

This article was originally titled, “Life, Death, and Why I’m Not Writing”. I designed it as an outlet for my emotions in describing the challenges of parenting while simultaneously coping with the death of my father. I wanted to tell my readers that I hadn’t disappeared, but was simply on a writing hiatus as I dealt with a new set of challenges.

Then Covid-19 happened.

My parenting journey entered a new level of difficulty. My hero doctor wife always had long days at the hospital. That’s why parenting was really challenging for me, because I had to shoulder the role of primary caregiver while also working full-time as a teacher and coach. I’d come home from a long day and immediately start my second, much harder job of solo dad to a demanding and smart daughter. I worked my ass off trying to keep up with her, waiting desperately for question mark o’clock when my wife would finally come home. 

During the Covid Quarantine, there was no morning commute. There was no 11-hour day teaching and coaching. There was no commute home. There was no nanny for the hours I was regularly at work. 

There was only my daughter. I also had to continue teaching and grading the work of all 115 of my students while trapped in a studio apartment alone with my daughter.

I don’t know how we survived. 

It’s hard to describe to those who aren’t also swinging bottles in the parenting arena, but I’ll do my best. I remember seeing grim-faced mothers carrying their kids around in public, and thinking, “Damn, that lady is pissed!”

I know now that the look I thought was anger wasn’t anger at all. It was focus. Parenting is a constant barrage of low-level calculations that run through my head at all times. Where is my daughter in the cycle? Sleep. Eat. Play. Learn things. Wind-down. Nap. Bottle. Play. Learn stuff. Big eat. Bath. Wind-down. Big sleep. 

How successful were each of these steps? Any C+ or worse score in any of those fields has the risk factor of making all future activities really suck, potentially leading to a full-on scream fest. Ace them all, and there will be peace. Kid will be happy. Dad will be happy. Maybe I’ll even get something done other than holding my baby. Maybe I’ll even get the chance to tidy up and make my apartment not look like a hybrid between a dysfunctional daycare and the smelly hovel of a disgusting college kid. 

Is there somewhere she has to be, like an appointment? Do I have to journey with her to run errands? That’s hard enough to do in non-Covid times. Now it involves keeping us safe in a world that feels like Beetlejuice’s terrain right outside the house’s door. All while managing that cycle and trying to hold everything together.

Trying to do work while doing that? Honestly, the work of parenting itself isn’t that intellectually rigorous. It just occupies a crap ton of mental energy. It’s like a computer with all these processes running in the background. I try to load a new process like…

RUN PROGRAM: MY EFFING JOB

(Warning Message from Program)

“My Effing Job runs best on this configuration. Please close all background processes and continue.”

(Clicks IGNORE)

(RUNS PROGRAM ANYWAY)

(PROGRAM LAGS AND EVENTUALLY CRASHES)

One difference-in real life, I don’t have the option of control-alt-deleting my way out of that. I have to continue trying to run my life on that slow-ass Windows 7, jacked-up laptop with all those background processes slowing it down…

Forever. 

Crazy thing is, I’ve become really good at keeping her happy. Most days she does just fine. I just end them completely exhausted with a to-do list that expands exponentially with each passing day. A particularly exhausting part of it is how mechanistic the daily tasks of parenting are, while simultaneously the heart feels such a strong emotional bond with my daughter. I’ll sing through gritted teeth when my little girl is crying because I know that pulling that lever will eventually stop the waterworks and the heart-wrenching noise.

There is zero joy in that song after verse 7.

My Avery goes over the ocean….my Avery goes over the seaaaaa

(Continued Screaming)

…my Avery goes over the ocean….so bring back my Avery to meeee. Bring back (pat her back twice) bring back (pat twice) bring back my Avery to me, to me…

That is a sequence I’ve repeated for hours on end. The delta between the love in my heart and the mechanistic nature of parenting actions is one of my primary sources of exhaustion.

It is an additional challenge to decide whether I want to do basic tasks with one hand, or as quickly and efficiently as possible, hoping my child doesn’t freak out, fall, or get into trouble.

Basic tasks like mixing a bottle of formula together, going to the bathroom, or pouring a cup of coffee are much more complicated with a baby. Do you enjoy the feeling of being in the TSA line at the airport? How fun is it to do basic tasks like taking shoes on and off, or putting laptops and toiletries into bins, all while under pressure to do these tasks as quickly as possible with a full line of people waiting behind you?

That’s life as a parent. You’re one-handed or you’re in a permanent TSA line. I’ll often choose the one-handed option. Even though I’ve become pretty skilled at the baby TSA line (the key is to move efficiently, minimizing movement, and not fast, because fast=mistakes). 

Imagine taking a piss while holding a 25-pound squirming bowling ball. Or dropping a deuce while trying to keep a child entertained. You can always just put the kid in the crib while you do these tasks. But then you gotta do the math of whether it’s worth it to calm the kid back down when she scream cries because you’re out of sight. Is that 30-second piss worth 30 minutes of soothing and calming? Is the 3-minute deuce? I’ll be honest, I’ve sacrificed and accepted a 30-45 minute soothe session after the crib for a 5-minute coffee break. These are the choices I make minute by minute. They’re exhausting.

Another source of exhaustion is feeling utterly alone all the time, despite the fact that I never have a moment to myself. The nature of my wife’s work compounds that problem. There are days when she comes home, and it feels like that moment in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers when Gandalf appears on the horizon during the climatic siege, and rides in on his white horse to defeat the orcs and save the day. 

However, some days my wife would get home and hold the baby around 8 or 9PM (when she left home at 530AM), and I’d finally breathe and start dinner, rejoicing because I had free hands. Within minutes, her pager goes off. 

“Sorry, babe. Level one trauma. I gotta go back.”

(She leaves).

(Internally screaming NOOOOOOOO)

It’s like Gandalf appears. He fulfilled his promise! 

At dawn, on the 5th day, look to the East…

There he is! There’s Gandalf! We’re saved! 

(Gandalf stops his horse right before the charge. Checks his pager. Shakes his head and rides off in the direction he came, leaving me alone with the orcs.)

What can I say. I know her job is much harder. But that doesn’t mean my job isn’t also really freaking hard. I have all the time in the world to just sit there and think about stuff. I think about all the stay-at-home moms and dads out there who are also just sitting on the couch, holding a baby, thinking about stuff. The amount of talent and intellectual depth of thought that is occurring across the nation at any given moment is mind-boggling. Just in my own circle, I know a high school valedictorian, a theologian, a brilliant lawyer, an education professor and former candidate for public office, a MENSA member, a talented chef, and a bilingual scholar of library science, among many others, who are just sitting on their couches thinking about stuff, holding babies.

Want to know why we’re always on social media? Because that’s our freaking lifeline to the world. There’s only so much kids TV I can watch before I have to scroll through something with intellectual rigor beyond shapes and colors. I’ll make the claim that there are few groups in American society who are more well-informed than stay-at-home parents. 

I’ll close this treatise (that I’m writing on my phone, pardon the typos) with three sets of lists. My survival kit of things I use almost daily in solo dad life, people I respect, and people who really annoy me.

Survival kit: 

Phone. Coffee. NBC. Local News, then The Today Show. I will admit, I know the theme songs and side effects of all of those pharmaceutical ads for people who poop too much, people who can’t poop, and people who have skin problems and can finally wear tank tops again. Bottle Warmer. Pepto Bismol, because I don’t have time to cook for myself, eat like a drunk teenager, and there definitely is no time for my stomach to be jacked up. Something musical to occupy my daughter that she might play a while in her corner and give me some blessed moments alone. The Octonauts on Netflix Kids. Netflix and Amazon Prime Video for when she’s asleep and Dad can watch something other than Peso the Penguin and Captain Barnacle. Her Jumper-when she was younger she would stay in that thing for over 20-30 minutes. Her Bouncer when she was a newborn. Binky clips. Rice puffs and teething biscuits to keep her occupied and happy when she gets fussy before it’s even close to nap time. Whisky for when wife finally gets home. 

Folks I Respect

My Own Parents And In-Laws. Good God. They kept us all alive when we gave them years and years of this treatment. No wonder parents get crazy drunk at 10am when they get a vacation to themselves. I understand now. 

Parents with more than one kid. I’m having all of these problems on rookie mode. You guys are on expert. Bless you.

Single moms/dads- I get few breaks, but they do happen. You guys …bless you. 

Parents of children with special needs- Love and hugs to you. If multiple kids or single parenting are expert modes, you all are on superhero mode. I salute you and tell you, you’re doing great. 

Folks coping with infant loss, miscarriages, and infertility. I cannot even comprehend your sacrifice and pain. I understand my daughter is a blessing. I pray for you all regularly. I want you to experience, as that sports broadcaster noted, all of the love, fulfillment, and challenges associated with this amazing journey. 

My Nanny- We’re moving away. I’ll miss her. She’s incredible. I don’t know how she spent 12 hours alone with my daughter and kept the place clean…all with a joyful smile. Nannies out there, you’re an essential part of the parenting equation. Lots of love and respect.

Folks Who Annoy Me

The “You Asked for This” Schadenfreude Jerks- You enjoy watching us struggle? You happy that you don’t have a kid? Or do you also have a kid and are enjoying being miserable with friends? 

You don’t have to go out of your way to express that to us when we’re on the struggle bus. “This is what you signed up for!” is not a helpful statement. You feel that way? Fine.  Keep your Schadenfreude to yourself. If you go out of the way to post that comment or make that contribution to the conversation, I might either ignore you or nod politely. Internally, I’m thinking about how much you suck right now.

The Judgy McJudgersons- I understand this one a little more than the Gleeful Schadenfreuders. It’s hard not to judge when a kid on level-18 funkout enters your orbit. Like, damn, why is that kid here? You brought your kid on a plane/to a restaurant/to the store/etc.

I was ignorant. I’ve done all those things. There’s no choice in many of these cases, especially the plane ride. 2.5 hours of awful definitely beats an 11-hour drive and diaper rash. As for the bar/grill (at least in Pre-Covid times) that was necessary for sanity. It was also a place my daughter really enjoyed. She loves looking at all the different TVs and people. 

You don’t like my kid there? Sorry. If you’re childless I understand. You’re ignorant about this reality. I was once you. Maybe some day you’ll get it. Maybe not. 

If you’re a parent and you’re in this category, you’re even worse. You’re not ignorant; you’re a Pharisee. You do understand how it is, but you’ve either forgotten or consider yourself to be superior. “Oh, I praise you, God, that I’m not like that parent over there. MY child is a little angel. MY parenting techniques would never allow this travesty of misbehavior to occur. Those parents are such sinners”.

Stuff it. All y’all can judge somewhere else. Show some grace, please. Or at the very least, silence. 

The Unsolicited Advice Givers- Lots of time that we parents are complaining, we’re just venting. We need a place to just release some tension. If I’m venting to you, I consider you a friend. I trust you. 

Don’t ruin that moment with random advice. I get the impulse. But I’m not looking for that. If I want advice, I’ll straight up ask for it. If I’m telling you about how much things suck right now, the right response is simply, “Wow, man. That sucks. Sorry, bud.”

Take this scenario-

“Dammit, my kid just won’t sit still during diaper changes. It’s like, don’t touch down there, girl! I only have 6 wipes left in this box!”

“Oh, that’s on you, bro. If you sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in the key of E-major and rub her feet softly, she’ll be still and compliant. Everyone knows this.”

Long pause.

“Thanks, guess I’ll try that.” (Internal voice: What a pompous ass).

Oh, and if you’re a non-parent who feels compelled to give this advice? Like Walter says in The Big Lebowski, “Donnie, you’re out of your element!”

If you’re a parent, I know you want to jump in with your secret remedy here. I love talking parenting strategies as well. But if you do that, you’re not making us feel better in this moment. You’re changing the conversation from “It be like that sometimes” to “You are failing as a parent and this is your fault”.

The former is a much better conversation. 

The “My Pet Equals Your Kid” Crowd

No. Just no. Don’t even start with that noise. I don’t want to hear about how Whiskers missed the litter box that one time. You and I are not the same. 

Final Thoughts

I know how blessed we are. Our child is healthy and happy. We have a roof over our heads and jobs to pay the bills.We have two parents and a nanny. In all possible quantitative parameters, we are incredibly privileged. 

That doesn’t mean that this isn’t really, really hard. 

“You can’t scare me; I’m a parent” is a true statement. No matter how hard it gets, we’ve seen some things and we are all emotionally and physically exhausted. 

Heroism is indeed more ubiquitous than I thought. Everyone sacrificing a part of themselves to make the world a safe place for the next generation is a hero. 

There are billions of heroes existing every day alongside one another. 

Let’s do our best to show each other some grace and a modicum of respect. In this contentious age, we have more in common than we realize. 

{RL}

{

 

Holes in the Wall

Istvan’s Story

The evening air was cool. It was a relatively clear night. Istvan could see the half-moon through thin clouds. That was a bad thing. If he could see the moon, the moon might help the guards see him and his friends.

Istvan crouched with his friends near the fence. The wooded terrain was rough and muddy. He nodded silently at Anton. No words were necessary. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to form them. Fear, anxiety, and hope made it feel like his heart would leap out of his throat. He rubbed his hands together. His palms were sweaty, despite the cool night air. In a matter of hours, he might taste freedom for the first time in many years. In a matter of minutes, if Anton was wrong, he’d be dying in the mud with a bullet in his back.

Istvan watched Anton run his hands along the fence. It wasn’t much of a barrier. It was 1955. The Iron Curtain had quite a few tears and worn spots, especially in this secluded region near the Austria-Hungary border. Anton’s hand stopped. Anton looked at his watch, and then peered at the distant guard tower. Anton nodded, and peeled back the broken stretch of chain-link fencing. Istvan went through, followed by Adam, and then Anton.

Istvan and Adam looked apprehensively at Anton. Anton tried to flash a quick smile to soothe their nerves. It didn’t work. The time for smiling would be on the other side of the border. The Austrian side. The side without Communism. The side without oppression.

Anton slapped Istvan on the leg. “Follow me,” he whispered. Anton shuffled at a crouch, then ran low and hard into the darkness. Istvan followed, with Adam behind him. Istvan could feel his lungs burning. He waited for the flash of floodlights on the treeless clearing. He waited for the sound of the rifles. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, waiting for the bullets that would follow the sound. Their entire plan was dependent on this moment. Anton claimed to know when the guards changed shifts. At the shift change, the guards’ attention would be on reports and forms, not on the clearing below them. If Istvan and his friends were to escape Hungary, they had less than 90 seconds before the guards’ eyes would be back on the border.

Where they’d see three scared men running for their lives.

Istvan saw a cluster of bushes at the edge of the clearing. He saw Anton through the thin shrubbery, motioning for them to join him on the other side. Istvan slid past the bushes and shuffled to join Anton in a crouched position behind the largest of the shrubs. He heard Adam clumsily bust through the bushes behind him.

“Quiet down, you oaf,” Istvan whispered fiercely.

“Sorry,” replied Adam, gasping for air.

Istvan felt sweat trickle down his forehead. Floodlights didn’t illuminate the area. The guard towers were silent. They made it to their first waypoint. Istvan looked eagerly at Anton. Beyond Anton, he saw a rough wooden sign with warnings written in both German and Hungarian.

DANGER! MINES!

The skull and crossbones and exclamation marks accentuated the point. Just ahead of them, death lurked once more. An explosion would certainly attract the attention of the guards, and likely take a few limbs from Istvan and his friends. The pain would be temporary, because they would be shot.

Istvan shuddered. Maybe not. A Hungarian without a leg wasn’t a threat; he was a source of information. Death might be preferable at that point. If he was captured, he would be tortured. He thought of Edna, his sister, sitting at the dinner table back home. She would never leave Hungary, even while it was ruled by an oppressive Communist dictatorship.  But if Istvan were captured, the police would come for Edna. They’d torture her, just for sport. Istvan gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let that happen.

Anton removed a small piece of paper from his pocket. Istvan peered over his shoulder at it. He expected to see a map. Anton promised a map. Instead he saw a few scribbled words.

Clusters in center. Heavy clusters on right. Keep left. Left mostly clear.

“What the hell is that?” whispered Istvan fiercely. “You said you knew where the mines were!”

Anton shrugged and tried another smile. “This tells us where the mines are. Let’s keep to the left and watch our step, eh?”

Anton slapped Istvan on the leg and moved forward at a quick shuffle, crouching low to avoid drawing attention to their position. Although they were out of immediate danger, a guard with a keen eye would still be able to spot movement from the tower.

Istvan grunted and followed closely behind Anton. From what their sources told them, the mines in this field were likely inept. The few that were present had been there for years and were cheaply made at the end of World War II. That thought was of little consolation to Istvan. A cheap landmine could still blow off his foot. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, looking for any wires or metal, jutting up from the soil below. After what seemed like hours, he reached the edge of a concrete embankment. Below them was murky sludge and muddy water. It was a poor man’s moat, designed to serve as a barrier to American and British tanks.

Past the moat was Austria. There was no fence on that side of the border. They had no reason to keep people trapped in the country like animals.

Anton smiled at Istvan. “See, I told you. Left was good.”

“Yeah, yeah, left was good. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he replied.

“Right,” said Adam behind him. “On with it, Anton. You first.”

Anton hopped down. The water and mud came up to his waist. “Come on in, guys, the water’s fine!” he said.

“Shut up,” replied Istvan, sliding into the water. Water was a euphemism. This stuff was semi-solid and smelled like shit. He came to the sickening realization that it was likely the run-off trench for all the sewage coming from the guard post.

“Oh, God!” whispered Adam, making his way through the muck. “Who shit their pants?”

“Will both of you shut the hell up?” grumbled Istvan, doing his best to breathe out of his mouth. It didn’t help. Smelling it was preferable to tasting it. He strode purposefully through the sludge. He could see the tree line in the distance. Austria was within sight.

After ten grueling minutes, the trio reached the other side. Istvan reached up and grabbed Anton’s hand. Anton pulled him up out of the concrete trench. Istvan helped Adam do the same.

They made it. They were in Austria.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Istvan could see the first glimmers of daylight emerging from the east. He was exhausted and smelled terrible. He glanced at his wristwatch, a gift from his deceased father. After 6AM.

They’d emerged from the forest after several hours, and were following a rough road, hoping to find civilization.

Hoping to find freedom.

Istvan patted the plastic bag in his pocket, containing his identification papers and a letter requesting asylum. He hoped it would be enough. Even after crossing the border, they were still not out of danger. If they ran into a Communist sympathizer, they might get pointed back to the border instead of the asylum office. If the asylum office turned them down, they’d get shipped on the next train back to Hungary.

Istvan shuddered at that thought. What if this were all for nothing?

Anton patted him on the back. Istvan nodded and put his hands in his pockets. Anton was good at reading emotions. He could tell that Istvan was anxious. Anton was probably anxious as well. He was just better than Istvan at hiding it.

Istvan saw the shadows of buildings ahead. He clenched the plastic bag in his pocket. This was the moment. In the far distance, he saw the umbrellas and picnic tables of a beer garden. His stomach rumbled. What he wouldn’t give for a sandwich and a beer right now!

A middle-aged man emerged from a side street and looked at the three men skeptically. He scratched his beard. Istvan waited for him to break the silence. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat again.

“Ungarn?” asked the man curiously, pointing the three of them. He pointed past them, toward the southeast. “Ungarn, ja?” he repeated.

“Ja,” said Istvan, recognizing the German word for Hungary. Istvan pointed at his compatriots. “Wir…Ungarn….” he said, doing his best to keep calm.

Istvan tried a smile. He waited eagerly.

“Gut!” said the stranger. He waved them onward. “Komm mit mir!” The stranger pointed at the beer garden. “Frühstück!” he said.

Istvan patted his stomach. “Ja, Frühstück!” he said.

Istvan and his friends followed the stranger to the beer garden. Their first taste of freedom would be breakfast at an Austrian beer garden.

 

The Problem with “Waiting in Line”

My grandfather was one of the bravest and most decent men I ever knew. He was also an illegal immigrant. He didn’t wait in line or apply for a visa. For my grandpa and others who believed in liberty and democracy in mid-1950s Hungary, that wasn’t a real option. Applying for a visa meant exposing his family to danger. The countries that bordered the Iron Curtain, such as West Germany and Austria, recognized the resource of asylum-seekers like my grandpa, and did their best to help them. Talent and Youth were escaping Communist countries, and it was the duty of democracies to bring them in and light their path. The losses of Hungary, Poland, and East Germany were victories for the West.

After his escape from Hungary, my grandfather built a life. He served in the military, training service dogs near Freiburg, Germany. He eventually found his way to Canada, where he raised a family and had a prosperous career selling appliances. His friends on that treacherous night created lives for themselves in Arizona, and their children and grandchildren are prosperous and productive American citizens.

My grandfather died a few years ago, surrounded by friends and family. His life was a testament to the man he was, and his legacy lives on in each of the lives he touched. As I said at his funeral service, his life was a triumph of the human spirit. I do my best in my own life to honor his memory, treat people with kindness, and pass on the lessons he taught me.

Here in the United States in 2018, we face a crisis of identity. Are we the beacon of hope that lit the path for my grandfather’s escape to freedom? Or are we a country that separates asylum-seekers from their children? Are we a country that creates “tender age” detention centers, where babies and toddlers scream for their mothers? Are we a nation that abandons its position and leadership role on the UN Human Rights Council, just as we’re committing human rights violations? Are we a nation that turns away battered mothers and their children from entering the country as asylum-seekers, along with victims of gang violence? Are we a nation that invokes Scripture as rationale for building de facto internment camps for modern poor and huddled masses, yearning to breathe free?

It is very easy to sit on our sofas and callously demand folks to wait in line and apply for visas. It gives us the emotional rationale to shift the blame from our government to the asylum-seekers for the separation and internment of children and babies.

That rationale is flawed. I think about my grandfather and wonder about the humanity in making such a demand. Would a police officer in Mexico who refused to accept a cartel bribe in Mexico have the luxury of waiting in line when he was threatened with torture and death? Should a journalist in El Salvador be told to apply through the proper channels and wait 18 months after he publishes an article exposing government corruption? What about an informant whose testimony led to the arrest of a cartel member, who discovers that his entire family is now on a hit list?

Defending this separation policy is callous and inhumane. We can treat people with dignity during the asylum process and keep them together during the duration of that process. The President can end this brutality with an executive order and a phone call. Instead he’s content to use thousands of children as a bargaining chip for his immigration policy goals, which include a border wall.

This shouldn’t be who we are as a nation. We shouldn’t cheer the President when he uses the brutality of Mexican cartels and MS-13 as a political punchline, and then hands a death sentence to those fleeing that exact brutality in Mexico and Central America. We are a nation of immigrants and can enforce our laws with a measure of humanity. I wouldn’t exist today if my grandfather and his friends found a 30-foot concrete wall on the other side of that muddy moat on the Austrian border. The correct response to tyranny and brutality is to stand as a beacon of liberty and strength, providing those escaping oppression a pathway to become the next generation of Americans. It certainly isn’t callousness, inaction, internment camps, and ripping children from their mothers’ arms.

We can enforce the law. We can continue to deny entrance and deny asylum to those with criminal records. We cannot continue to claim to be the leader of the free world when we abandon our history and march down the path of authoritarianism, blindly parroting the positions of the President and vigorously defending everything he does, even when his Administration defies our foundational principles.

Modern versions of my grandfather are making their own journeys to freedom right now. They should be given breakfast instead of bondage when they arrive at the asylum office.

 

Dr. Rudolph Lurz holds a doctorate in Administration & Policy Studies from the University of Pittsburgh. He lives in Virginia with his wife and cat.

 

Thoughts, Prayers, Sound, and Fury

May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

 

As a teacher, hearing the news of last week’s massacre in Florida hit me hard. All school shootings affect me in a similar manner. Even lockdown drills create a crippling feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I huddle with my students against the wall in the dark, contemplating oblivion, I wonder how we have fallen so far as a society.

I wrote a blog post almost two years ago under my semi-anonymous pseudonym, the one I use mainly for political commentary. I discussed how much better life has become in the 21^st century, despite the uptick in domestic terrorist attacks. I offered some practical solutions, and called for civility in policy discussions.

I had a semblance of optimism then. After another two years of pain, vitriol, and random terror, I don’t have that optimism anymore. As dozens more cities and schools have become hashtags, and more dates on the calendar have been stained black, stoic fatalism has replaced that hopeful naivety.

There are practical measures we can institute to reduce the casualty count. However, it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to stop the violence completely. In American society, these events will continue to take place. When I sit with my kids in the dark during lockdowns, I pray that our number never comes up.

That helpless feeling haunts me.

My despair is not assuaged by policy statements from the right or left. Well-meaning people who haven’t set foot in a school have put forward ideas, imagining them to be panaceas. As someone who has studied education policy for six years earning a doctorate, and spent a decade in classrooms, it’s annoying to see people claiming to solve our nation’s problem of school shootings with a Facebook meme. Let’s break down these basic arguments, moving right to left on the political spectrum.

A.) Arm the Teachers

Argument: Gun free zones invite lunatics armed with guns. If these lunatics knew their teachers had guns, they wouldn’t try to shoot up their schools. Allow teachers with concealed carry licenses to carry in schools. Or offer teachers a stipend to carry a pistol. Throw that gun-free zone sign into the trash, because recycling’s for pansies. Counter force with force. You bring a gun to school, and your calculus teacher will end your life.

Breakdown: Do me a favor. Imagine your 11^th grade math teacher. Now imagine your school librarian. Now imagine your 9^th grade English teacher.

Imagine a hallway filled with screaming kids, running from a lunatic with an assault rifle. Is old Mr. Fuddlesticks going to step into that hallway and win that firefight with his .38 special? How about Laura the Librarian with her 1911?

Unlikely. This is a bad idea. In the firefight described above, CSI would have the gruesome task of figuring out which holes in the bodies came from the AR-15, and which came from Mr. Fuddlesticks’s  .38. Additionally, a nervous teacher would kill an unarmed kid before one would heroically prevent a massacre.

Arming teachers would increase the body count without preventing a single tragedy.

Well, what if we just arm teachers with military experience? They’re trained!

Great. If we limited the arming option to veterans, they’d be much less likely to draw and fire on an unarmed student. But would they win the firefight described above? No. They’d have the discipline to duck back into their classroom and realize they didn’t have a shot. Or, on a vast open campus like Douglas High School, they might be in a different building 3 acres away from the site of the carnage.

This option assumes that the only place a lunatic would fire is in the classroom with a clear line of sight for the teacher to draw that .38 and end the threat. But that’s not where these massacres usually take place. It’s in the hallway before school starts. It’s in crowded cafeterias and libraries. It’s outside the school after the fire alarm has been pulled.

ANALYSIS: This is a bad idea all-around. Body Count: unchanged, maybe even higher.

B.) Beef Up Security

Former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich was one of many who wrote in favor of additional security measures at schools. Using familiar rhetoric of “good guys with guns” and denigrating “Gun-Free Zone” signage, he pushed for a hybrid system of a few teacher “air marshals” who’d carry, and an increased uniformed police presence on school campuses.  He believes that these additional security measures would serve as a deterrent to school shooters, and keep students safe.

I think Mr. Gingrich is half-correct. More security on campus would keep students safer. It would also bring the first rapid-response officers much closer to the scene, because they would be on campus instead of at the local PD.

It wouldn’t stop the body count. As stated before, those teacher “air marshals” would have problems in a firefight in a crowded hallway against AK-47s and AR-15s. As for the additional police on campus, Mr. Gingrich acts as though Douglas HS and Columbine were defending their campuses solely with Gun Free Signage, and didn’t have SROs (School Resource Officers).

They did.

How many more would have stopped the massacres from happening? If a school has a 7-acre campus with over a dozen buildings, are you going to put uniformed police officers in each spot? Even if you do, if a kid is willing to die in the massacre (and most wind up killing themselves after they’re cornered; the Douglas HS shooter was one of the first I’ve seen who managed to evade the initial police dragnet), all you’ve done is bring the police closer to the scene of the massacre.

Even if a school has officers in each building, a student can draw and open fire in a crowded hallway between classes, or on kids outside during fire drills, or in the middle of a packed cafeteria, or in the library, or in the bus loop before school.

ANALYSIS: More cogent proposal. Expensive. Body count reduced, but not eliminated.

C.)Fortified Campuses with Security Measures at Building Entrances

Do you love TSA lines at the airport? Well, let’s bring them into schools. Radically restructure open campus schools nationwide into single-building entities with a security checkpoint at the entrance(s). You’ll probably have to spend billions creating covered connections between buildings. Along with billions more for hiring screeners and equipment for them to monitor each backpack and student entering the building.

I hope you enjoy getting to school at least one hour early. For schools as large as my alma mater (Sarasota High School) or Douglas HS, you’re going to have lines. 2,000-5,000 students/faculty will take a long time to get screened. Creating walkways to connect 12-18 buildings over 7 -15 acres, and then constructing checkpoints, will be crazy expensive.

Have you made the school safer? Maybe. During school hours, once everyone’s entered the fortress. But you have created a giant target outside the fortress, as all those students and teachers line up to get through the checkpoint every day. And what are you going to do for football and basketball games? You going to set up TSA checkpoints outside the stadiums as well? Or are sports and concerts and any after-school activities going to be the next sacrifices?

ANALYSIS: Expensive as holy heck. Body Count- Unchanged. Schools-radically altered. Those who tout this plan must picture a high school as it appeared in Back to the Future’s depiction of 1959. One building, one entrance, three stories. They should do research before spouting nonsense.

D.) Patriot Militia on Campus

This is a popular idea I’ve seen pop up on right-leaning social media. For no cost, veterans and former police officers will patrol our country’s schools and protect our children. They’ll volunteer on their own time and instead of the expensive uniformed security presence proposed by Mr. Gingrich, we get trained, local, free patriots to protect children. They’ll volunteer for background checks, of course.

Sounds awesome.  It’s filled with American can-do spirit, which rises to the challenges faced by modern society, and preserves 2^nd Amendment freedoms. Matter of fact, it takes those 2^nd Amendment freedoms and shoves them in the face of the bad guys! It just makes you want to fist pump and start singing Toby Keith songs.

But we’ve got the same problems we had with Mr. Gingrich’s proposal. The patriot militia will likely be faster than local PD’s rapid-response teams, since they’re already on campus. But they won’t stop the hallway shootings between class, the bus loop before and after school, crowded cafeteria and library, etc.

Reduced body count, but it still happens. Also, when the police do arrive, they have the added difficulty of differentiating between the school shooter(s), the patriot militia members, and terrorized students running in fear.

As a teacher, I also worry that some members of this patriot militia, especially if they’ve got kids on campus, could turn into vigilantes. What if they hear that someone is bullying their kid? Instead of scanning their zones for security threats, they’re cornering some 8^th grade boy in the bathroom to put the fear of God in his heart, while showing off their .44 Desert Eagle. As a teacher, I sometimes deal with helicopter parents who flood my inbox asking about their kid’s missing work, or schedule a lot of parent teacher conferences to express issues with test and quiz grades.

I’d get a lot more nervous if an armed patriot militia mom or dad just “dropped by” my classroom to “have a chat” about little Johnny.

ANALYSIS: Similar to Mr. Gingrich’s proposal but cheaper. Likely a reduced body count. But doesn’t eliminate school shootings. Also adds the complication of vigilantism/reprisals against students and teachers.

Let’s move on to the proposals coming from the Left.

A.) Ban Assault Rifles (and maybe more?)

Many mass shootings are committed with assault rifles. During the 2012 and 2016 Republican primary debates, no event or person other than 9/11 was mentioned more than Ronald Reagan. Republicans elbow each other out of the way to claim the title of Reagan’s successor.

Ronald Reagan supported expanded background checks, waiting periods, and a ban on assault rifles. Joe Biden recently noted that the US Government already limits 2^nd Amendment freedoms, by restricting access to weapons of war like grenade launchers and bazookas. Wouldn’t assault rifles be the next logical step? Aren’t those also weapons of war? If Joe Biden and Ronald Reagan are on the record agreeing on something, shouldn’t we be able to get that bill through Congress?

Let’s assume you can. Let’s say we get a reprise of the 1994 Clinton-era assault weapons ban passed. Let’s say the Freedom Caucus in the House has a come to Reagan moment and joins forces with moderate Republicans and Democrats to get it done.

No assault rifles means no school shootings, right?

Doubtful. The Columbine massacre of 1999 happened in the middle of Clinton’s assault weapons ban. Some of the weapons used during that slaughter could be classified as conventional. The Virginia Tech mass shooting, one of the deadliest in US history, was committed with a humble 9mm handgun.

Ok. Let’s repeal the 2^nd Amendment and ban all firearms, unless you’re retired military or police.

Let’s assume you can actually do that. Would that completely stop the violence? In 2015, we passed a dark milestone in the US. There are more guns in this country than there are people. Over 357 million of them. Any weapons ban that doesn’t involve confiscation is toothless. Any confiscation attempts would require significant re-interpretations of the 2^nd Amendment, or its outright repeal.

Good luck with that.

Ok, how about issuing a buy-back program? Heck, make it mandatory if you have any felony on your record! If we can restrict felons’ rights to vote, we can certainly restrict their access to firearms, right?

Make the price high enough, and you might get 50% of them. Maybe. But are you going to get them all?

It worked in Australia!

Australia didn’t have 357 million guns. Australia didn’t have a 2^nd Amendment that most conservatives can quote more readily than Scripture.

Give people $5,000 for assault rifles and $2,500 for handguns and you might reduce the number to around 100 million. Refurbish the guns you receive and give them to National Guard units and local police departments, and you might be able to justify that cost.

You’re not going to get them all. 100 million is still a lot of firearms. Are you going to go door to door to confiscate them all and turn every 10^th house on the block into Ruby Ridge or Waco? I don’t want to be in this country when you try to do that. It’s going to be awful.

The toothpaste is out of the tube on this one. While I like the idea of an assault weapons ban, and I think stopping production on all new AR-15s will be useful, it won’t stop the violence.

It will slow it down, but it will continue.

ANALYSIS: Sound and fury. Brothers grabbing brothers’ throats on Facebook feeds and blocking Grandpa on Twitter. Record levels of vitriol in political process. Maybe violence in the streets if you try the confiscation angle.

Body count in schools-slightly lower. Weapons of choice might change, but kids will still die.

B.) Raise the Age for Gun Purchase, Expand Background Checks, Close Gun Show Loopholes, Restrict High-Capacity Magazines (30+), Fund Mental Health Facilities, Raise Taxes on Ammunition, Restrict Access to Firearms for Everyone with History of Domestic Violence and/or Status on No-Fly Terrorist Watch Lists, Charge Parents of School Shooters with Negligent Homicide if They Allow Their Firearms to be Taken by Underage Children

These are the ideas that have a chance at denting the violent epidemic of school violence. They are supported by Democrats and even a few Republicans who aren’t getting their talking points directly from Dana Loesch.

As President Obama said last year, it’s lunacy that American citizens who’ve been on ISIS websites and have been identified by the FBI as risks to public safety…can simply walk into a gun show and buy a weapon of war. Everything else on the Bill of Rights has limitations. Why is the 2^nd Amendment regarded as ironclad? Why is everyone who suggests any of these measures instantly portrayed as tyrannical as King George III?

Perhaps the tide is finally changing. Maybe we’ll get a few of these reasonable measures passed. If President Trump can serve as a broker and absorb some political heat from his base, perhaps GOP legislators will follow.

The NRA will offer a ban on bump-stocks. That’s nothing. They want this to go away. They want the Douglas HS Students to go away. They want people to “stop politicizing” tragedy. As in, just shut up, accept your fate, and die if your number is selected. If people are loud enough, and persistent enough, some of these measures could get passed.

It won’t be enough. The numbers will be moderately reduced, but to me, it’s a math equation that can be done on a napkin. 320 million Americans. 357 million firearms. Let’s assume that just one in a million is deranged enough to shoot up a school. Or a theater. Or a McDonald’s. Or a church.

That’s 320 people with at least one gun and the desire to kill random people. We’ll still have at least 1-2 school shootings a year.

ANALYSIS: Body count moderately reduced. Incidence Number=reduced. Best ideas on paper that we have so far.

FINAL THOUGHTS

The moments after school shootings feel like an American rendition of the dystopian Hunger Games. We are all glued to our TV sets. We hear stories of the carnage. We admire the heroes. The faces of the fallen are displayed on CNN and Fox News.

And we do it all again next time.

As a teacher, I used to be filled with righteous anger at the callous nature of American society. This volume of school shootings doesn’t happen anywhere else in the civilized world. Western democracies look at us with horror. Canada looks down at us and wonders, wtf, eh?

French philosopher de Maistre noted that every nation has the government it deserves. As I stated previously, the toothpaste is out of the tube. This is what we are. This is what we’ve accepted. Every morning when I show up to work, I play a twisted lottery game, and hope my number won’t be selected at the next American Reaping.

During the moment of silence each day, I pray for my students. But my thoughts aren’t enough. My prayers aren’t enough. My words aren’t enough. It’s going to continue to happen. And I have no faith in my leaders to change anything, because as a policy analyst, none of the options I’ve seen can stop this carnage.

After the Las Vegas massacre, Bill O’Reilly callously opined that mass shootings were “the price of freedom”. As much as it pains me to say it, at this moment, he’s right. That is what we’ve chosen to accept as a nation. It’s disgusting. It’s also disgusting when policy actors like Ben Carson blithely tell students to attack the guy with the rifle, as he did after the Oregon community college shooting when he said, “I would not just stand there and let him shoot me.”

No, Mr. Carson. You’d be running in terror, like any normal human. Or frozen in place, which is also a natural reaction. When someone has the drop on you, there isn’t much you can do. When given time to prepare, maybe you have a chance. But you’re also going to die. As I’m putting the finishing touches on this blog post, I’m presently sheltering in place at my own school, first in line in the corner of the room, armed with a kettle of boiling-hot water and a pair of scissors. If that door is opened by anything other than an administrator or police officer with a key, 80% of us are likely to be cut down, and I’ll be the first to die.  But I guess 80% is better than 100%, right?

We’re sheltering in place because there’s a rumor a kid brought a gun to school, and the police are investigating. Yesterday, at another school in the district, a 7^th grade boy actually did bring a loaded gun to school, ‘on a dare’.

How sick are we as a society? One of the most triumphant talking points that the far-right brings up is the fact that the commonly quoted figure of 18 school shootings in 2018 is misleading. In actuality, it’s three or four, depending on your interpretation.

So, experiencing at least one deadly shooting a month, perhaps two, is supposed to put my mind at ease? Would my anxiety be soothed if I was wounded by an “accidental discharge” from the firearm of a 12-year-old girl, who gravely injured a number of her peers in California a few weeks ago? Is it supposed to be heartening that some of the school shootings reported are actually students committing suicide in bathrooms? Thank God! Students are so depressed that they’re just killing themselves instead of others. Darn those liberals who count those in their stats of shootings committed on school campuses.

Whether you are left, right, center, or somewhere on the fringes, we all have to face the realization that there is something seriously wrong with our country right now. You can’t just repeat one or two of these common talking points and triumphantly sit back in your chair and believe you have the answer. Or maybe you can.

I can’t. I’ve got to play the Hunger Games every day. The music from those films plays in my ears every time I step on campus in the morning.

I hope that the odds are in my favor, and that today isn’t the day that my kids and I are chosen as tribute to this madness.

 

Dr. Rudolph Lurz is a teacher and education scholar living in Roanoke, Virginia. He received his doctorate in Administration & Policy Studies from the University of Pittsburgh in 2017.

 

 

 

 

 

Getting Some Strange

Getting Some Strange

The Challenge of Convincing Complete Strangers to Buy Your Novel

 

Over 1,000,000 authors published a book this year; 300,000+  were released in the United States. My dystopian novel, Realms of Glory, was one of these new novels.

I spent the weekend of my novel’s release eagerly refreshing my Internet browser, and examining my sales rank on Amazon Author Central. I got encouraging feedback from my friends on Facebook. I felt warm and happy. I imagined my novel ascending the bestseller charts, overcoming its small publisher label, and becoming an overnight success. I theorized about which actors would play which characters when I inevitably sold the movie rights to a major studio. I was on Cloud Nine, which should be renamed Cloud Delusion.

Shortly after its release on Amazon, sales dissipated. To be more accurate, they flatlined. Enter darkness. Enter despair. I’m the worst author ever. My novel sucks.

(Hits refresh on sales figures on Author Central).

My novel still sucks. I suck. I’ll never be a writer.

About a month later, the cheaper e-book was released on Amazon, and I saw a brief bump in sales. Those also flatlined. I came to a sobering realization.

Writing is hard. Selling might be harder.

With so many options out there, visibility is minimal. The general public didn’t care about my book. Millions of potential readers were out there, but they didn’t even know my book existed. How could they? Even if they narrowed down their browsing by genre, there are still tens of thousands of books to scroll through in the United States alone.

So here we are. Six months later. It’s winter, but my sales have picked up a little bit. Not through any marketing miracles. Not through a random tweet with a link going viral. No. To sell a book, an author has to grind it out the hard way through old-fashioned work and a lot of patience.

The Facebook Well Will Run Dry

The first thing that happened between Point A and Point B was annoying my Facebook friends with numerous posts about my novel. I was advised by my author friends to keep my book posts to under 10% of my total posts.

The problem is-that’s still a lot of posts. You’re also advised as an author to stay active, engage with others on social media, post a lot of thoughts, and talk about your life. If you’re posting multiple times a day, 1/10 posts will still add up. I’ve likely been muted by a lot of my friends, and rightly so.

I created a new author profile, and an author FB page. I did my best to push most of my book stuff to those locations. But I still would sneak in an occasional share to my main personal page. That’s the one with over 800 people that I’ve friended since I first created a profile as a college sophomore in 2004. I don’t know how Facebook’s algorithms work. Maybe a girl I went on a few dates with a decade ago would see my book, and buy it out of curiosity. Maybe some random bro I met at a random party during graduate school is a huge fan of dystopian fiction, and after clicking the link and reading the book preview, would immediately rush-order a copy on Amazon Prime.

Those were daydreams. The facts are these. Most family, friends, and friends of friends who will buy your book will buy it during the first month or so that it’s on the market. I was annoying everyone else.

I’m also really sorry about that. Many authors are shy people. I’ve grown more introverted over recent years. Authors are self-conscious about their work and hate trying to promote it. I also really would like to do this for a living, so that leaves me in a Catch-22. If I want to do this for a living, I have to increase the visibility of my book. To increase the visibility of my book, I have to engage with people online and post about my book. Which means I have to talk about my book and overcome my self-conscious doubts about the strength of my writing.

In short, sorry to anyone who’s been annoyed by those posts. That well is dry. I realize even that recommended 10% mark on book posts is too high. To increase visibility, the pathway isn’t bombarding your Facebook friends. Within a month or so, they’re well aware you’ve published a book.

The pathway is getting some strange.

Getting Some Strange (Readers/Potential buyers)

I am still very much a novice in this department. But I’ve been getting some slow, steady sales using a few methods that will hopefully give my poor Facebook friends a break.

 

A.) Face-to-Face on the Road

I made a hundred business cards. When I travel, and hit up local bars/restaurants, I have one handy. If I talk to someone, and mention my book, I can give them a card and tell them to check it out. People are more likely to buy a book if they have a personal contact with the author. I’ve made a few sales (and a few friends!) by stepping out of my shell and talking to people directly.

B.) Providing Samples to Indie Bookstores & Libraries

This one will sting a little, because it costs money. But it’s vital to get books on shelves. I’m mailing out free signed samples to small bookstores across the country. Included in the package is an order form for them to buy more copies if those books sell. I’m also providing books to libraries, to get them in the hands of new readers. Trips to the library were a treat for me as a teenager. I’d like to spark some of that same excitement by getting my book on the library shelves. While most of my business has been via the Internet (especially Amazon), growth opportunities for me (which will hopefully boomerang into more online sales) are physical copies on bookshelves.

C.) Pushing all my Book Posts onto my Facebook Author Page, and Creating Sponsored Ads

A former student helped me set up my author website, and showed me how to create posts and sponsored/boosted posts. I’m still learning how to narrow my targeting to get my book in front of the readers who are likely to click/buy, but this is a cheap way to increase the visibility of the book. Much cheaper than buying physical copies and mailing them to bookstores/libraries.

I’ve seen my page visits go from a few dozen people (my loyal friends/family who actually enjoy my annoying posts enough to like my page), to over 5,000 a week. That’s still not where it needs to be for any tangible sales, but it’s resulted in a few. I noticed a small sales spike after two old Canadian ladies made snarky comments about my sponsored post, calling it “nonsense”.

Any publicity is good publicity. When they called my book link “nonsense”, they put it in front of the eyes of all their Facebook friends. Maybe they have a grandson who wants to piss Grandma Crankypants off by reading my nonsense novel. Either way, I increase the visibility of the book, avoid annoying my beleaguered friends and family, and reach new readers. It’s actually really fun as well to select the exact metropolitan areas/target demographics to put my book in front of. It turns an annoying task (marketing) into a game.

The game is simple. If 1-500 people will click, and of those people, 1-25 will buy, I need to get it in front of several thousand people every week to get those sales. I’m still figuring it out, but I don’t hate it. This part is fun.

D.) Twitter

Twitter isn’t an effective way to actually sell books. Authors who buy followers and create profiles that blast their books 24/7 are muted quickly. Or straight-up unfollowed.

What it’s given me is a community. By engaging with other authors, I learn about the industry, marketing, writing, and even get to talk with a few literary agents, who could provide the ticket to mainstream success.

Writing is lonely. Selling is lonely, and also makes me feel slightly dirty. Talking to other writers provides humor, encouragement, and education about this field. While I’d prefer a community in my town, and the ability to talk about books over coffee/pints of beer, Twitter erases state and national borders. My community is everywhere my phone is. I can’t emphasize enough how valuable that’s been to me.

E.) Time

Patience is necessary. For my book to reach commercial success, I need strangers to buy my book, talk about it with other strangers, engage with me on my social media sites to reach more strangers, and create enough interest for bookstores to make orders. That’s the path for me to eventually get signed by a literary agent and secure a contract with a mainstream publisher.

I’ve already sold more copies than most indie/small press first time authors, despite all my bumbling and mistakes. That tells me that I have a good story, in spite of my self-conscious doubts.

I have control over A-D on this list, but E is the variable that will provide the most impact.

In conclusion, writing this book was a personal journey, and attempting to sell it has been an educating and humbling process. I really hope to get some strange (sales) soon, and get my book in the hands of new readers. If any of you older, wiser authors (or younger and wiser authors!) have any tips, I’d be happy to hear them. For any of my fans out there who are looking for advice, I hope that this post has been helpful to you.

To all of you out there reading this, have a joyful holiday season. My cat is crawling all over me and meowing, and might soon eat this computer, so I’m going to publish this post and sign off now.

Happy Writing!

 

[RWL}