​It’s what happens after Donald Trump wins the Presidency that should concern the GOP. Trump won’t be the only big ego in Washington. Congress, even should it remain solidly in Republican hands, is not a mere rubber-stamping institution. Inevitably, some portion of Trump’s agenda will meet resistance from GOP legislators. It happens in every presidency: a president coming at odds with his own party.
 
How will Trump respond? Will there be collegial comments about their honest differences? Will there be talk of the necessity to compromise? Reconciliation? Or will Trump respond as he has responded to every confrontation and hurdle he’s faced so far in his presidential quest: with bluster and venom?
 
Or, to put it another way, how long will it be before President Trump, never one to politely brush off a conflict, calls Paul Ryan “a loser”? How long will it be before President Trump tells his supporters that he wishes someone will “punch” Senator Mitch McConnell “in the face”?
 
God bless Mitt Romney. Back in 2012, Trump was one of Romney’s most vocal and public supporters. I remember reading articles how Trump flew to Boston for what was supposed to be Romney’s 2012 victory celebration. Presumably, Trump thought Romney would have made a fine president. For Trump though, loyalty is fleeting. Those same articles about Trump flying into Boston for the victory celebration had Trump demeaning Candidate Romney by the end of the evening, once it became apparent Romney had lost the election.
 
Just today, Trump said, “Mitt Romney... was one of the dumbest and worst candidates in the history of Republican politics.”
 
A few months ago, Trump talked up his friendship with Senator Ted Cruz. Lately, however, Trump’s been dishing up a tweetstorm of unsavory and demeaning comments about Cruz.
 
Ted Cruz isn’t going to win the Presidency. But the downside for Cruz will come in 2018 when his Senate seat is up for re-election. You better bet those disparaging Trump comments will be used against Cruz—both in the primary challenges he’s likely to face and in the general election.  Mark my words: Trump has laid the groundwork for Cruz’s eventual 2018 Senate loss.
 
And so it will be with every other congressional GOP leader and subordinate who dares to stick up to Trump on even the smallest, most trivial matter.  Trump won’t contain his anger. Trump ain’t a flat-Earhter; he’s a scorched-Earther. He cares nothing for principle, nothing for the Republican Party.
 
Today’s Washington Post editorial states, “A political party, after all, isn’t meant to be merely a collection of consultants, lobbyists and functionaries angling for jobs.”
 
This speaks to a certain cynical transactional impulse, the idea that the Republican Party has come around and made peace with Trump’s candidacy out of hope that, when elected, their tacit support will be rewarded with sinecures and patronage jobs. Call it jobs for peace. Call it what you want.

But I call it misguided.

​What strikes me about this is the presumption that establishment GOP hacks might actually expect jobs in a Trump Administration. I don’t see that happening. I don’t see Trump hiring anyone within Washington for substantive positions. The reason he’s running for president is because he DOESN’T TRUST Washington. And Trump’s not a stupid man. If he’s running against Washington, as he has been, he’s not going to suddenly hire Washington once he’s elected.
 
Instead, he’ll hire his New York sycophants, however initially unsuited they will be for their tasks. He’ll hire the people who are solely owe their positions to him, not GOP party hierarchy.
 
Frankly, if the GOP party hierarchy was just a collection of political hacks “angling for jobs,” I would think they’d be smart enough to connive for a nominee who’d be most likely to guarantee them those jobs. But then again, it’s also probable, given how the GOP has botched the last couple of national elections, that Republicans just aren’t smart enough to realize just how disruptive a Trump Presidency will be to their long-term interests.

Readers of this blog may have noticed in my recent posts references to some novel revisions I've been making.

I've actually worked on-and-off with this material for several years. An agent who saw two drafts last year emailed me last month asking if I was still working on the novel, saying he'd like to see it again if I revised it. So, of course, I went back to it. Going back over the notes he sent in response to the previous two drafts, I was able to get a good feel about what more I needed to do. 

A few minutes ago, with some trepidation, I just emailed the latest revision to him.  I really like how the novel has changed, and how it's built to a more operatic ending. Hopefully, the agent will like it too.  Who knows? Maybe the third time is a charm?

Errata: My "Why We Need Snow Monsters" essay was published earlier this week in Entropy. It's a fun little piece, I think. Breughel and Neanderthals and Tolstoy, O My!  If you're interested in giving it a peek, click here.

Last night, working on one of my novels, I typed, "The preposterous was the last refuge of the desperate, a form of magical thinking to confront everyday futility."

I stopped, paused, considered what I wrote. I am not in the habit of crafting artistic statements of intent, but it struck me as the perfect mission statement for most of the characters I write about.

And about myself. Here I am, well past the age when you would expect me to know better, and I'm still trying to craft the one perfect novel that-- gasp!-- might save the world. 

Yeah. Preposterous. Preposterous that, in this age of video gaming and declining patience with the written word, reasonable people might still think that it is the novel that can save the world. And preposterous, given the many times I've come up empty on this endeavor, that I still think I might be able to write that novel. 

Within the past 48 hours, I've talked with at least two other writers who, in varying stages, are deciding whether, in the face of rejection and debate about the efficacy of writing, they should still press on. One has published a couple of novels. The other, a poet, revealed to me that she just won a fairly major award that she still can't publicly announce. We've all, through our careers, have received just enough encouragement, just enough acceptances and wider acclaim to have reason to believe we're reasonably talented. (I say this knowing that, of the bunch, I'm probably the least decorated of the three). We write because of our own internal rewards we receive when drafting decent sentences, crafting decent images, and (as preposterous as this sounds) constructing meaning within our work.

But it's still preposterous. Years ago, like many others, I believed that if only I could land a story in X Journal, if only editor Y would take notice in me, if only Agent Z would represent my work, somehow the heavens might part and, lo and behold, a wider audience would take notice of me.

It still hasn't happened. 

Years ago, while interviewing a former business associate of baseball star Lenny Dykstra (in conjunction with a nonfiction piece I was writing), I came across one of Einstein's lesser-known theories: the theory of insanity. According to Einstein, insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Each time I begin a new project, I think of that. As in, "Hey Dumbass! How many novels have you tried to write? Why do you expect this to be any different?"

Efficacy issues. That's what I sometimes battle against. I suspect many others do, too.  As in, if the net result of spending hundrends of hours writing a novel is rejection, wouldn't it be wiser to invest that time in something more sensible? Like looking at silly cat videos on YouTube? 

I remember reading TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD in high school. I remember the spirit of suspense as I tore through it, and the idea that I was reading a form of extended wisdom that wasn't exactly available through other mediums. Our teacher told us the novel's history and its supposed impact on race relations and civil rights in this country. It was a novel, we were told, that helped change the preposterous Jim Crow laws, helped bring about greater equality, helped make the world a better place.

I took FOUCAULT'S PENDULUM with me on the one and only time I visited Europe. I knew little about the book so it still surprises me that I took it along with me. Perhaps I thought it was thick enough to fill my two-week vacation. My wife and I were going to Italy, a vacation capped off with a whirlwind 24 hours in Milan. I didn't even know that Milan was the primary locale on Eco's novel. And yet, as we crammed in visits to La Scala, The Duomo, The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, and the Santa Maria Delle Grazie (the convent where Da Vinci's THE LAST SUPPER still hangs), it was like I was experiencing a sense of deja vu-- I had read about these places and inhabited them so thoroughly through Eco, it was like I was visiting old lost friends for the first time.

These two touchstone literary moments are among the many that have formed me, as a person, and as a writer. I suspect anyone who's ever tried to write a poem, a short story, a novel, an essay has similar moments. I suspect I'm not the only one grieving Lee and Eco's loss today. But I'm also filled with hope-- not that I perhaps might offer through my writing a similar touchstone moment to others, but the hope that the next book I pick up to read will again provide that touchstone moment for me.

ADDENDUM: I should add, I haven't read GO SET A WATCHMAN, Harper Lee's early MOCKINGBIRD draft that was released last year as a sort of sequel to her classic. Rather than being the fair-minded attorney who is bent on seeing that Tom Robinson (an African-American) gets a fair trial before an all-white jury on a trumped-up rape rap, GO SET A WATCHMAN portrays Atticus Finch as a racist who attended Klan meetings.

Most reviewers panned GO SET A WATCHMAN for its politics. However, reviewers also pointed out that, when compared to MOCKINGBIRD's lucid and lyrical prose, GO SET A WATCHMAN just was not very well written. When I read this, it made me love Harper Lee even more. The book that came out as GO SET A WATCHMAN was written before TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD.  To borrow Anne Lamott's pungent phrase, it was a "shitty first draft." And yet, rather than give into Einstein's insanity theory and abandon the project, Harper Lee must have worked tirelessly at her second draft to make is shine so wonderfully. 

I've been leaning Hillary for months. Last night, walking to my car after attending a literary reading, I realized why: I trust her to fight. I trust her to battle, wage war, get what she wants to get. Not just in the intra- and inter-party skirmishes between now and November, but for the entirety of her Presidential term.
 
Eight years ago, like many progressively-minded Democrats, I was bamboozled by Obama, thinking that because he was more authentically left-leaning than Hillary, he’d be a better candidate. But Barrack, as relatively good has he's been, was not a fighter. He wasn't even, really, an idealist. Or a utopian. Bernie, at least, is an idealist. But I don't think he's a fighter, a brawler, a take-no-prisoners crusader. Anyone can jump on a soapbox.
 
We like to believe that Presidents are made in November. That’s a lie. Presidents are made on Inauguration Day and what comes afterwards. Presidents aren’t the sum total of their campaign promises; they’re the sum total of their accomplishments. In order to accomplish things, you need to be willing to take a punch. You need to be willing to fight. Hillary’s that fighter. No one has taken as many punches, and withstood them all as admirably, as Hillary Clinton. And no one in the Democratic Party is willing to fight as ruthlessly as Hillary Clinton.
 
 
Many Hillary supporters perceive electability as her greatest asset. However, for me, that’s a non-issue. I'm not convinced Bernie would lose in November—most of the polling data shows Bernie would likely win in a straight-up race against Donald Trump—but he'd lose just about every legislative battle during his term. He’s not built for a brawl. And he's not made for the ugly business of coalition building. He's not made for reaching across the aisle and nailing down an expedient single-issue commitment from an adversary who otherwise disagrees with him on almost every other issue imaginable.
 
A couple of years into his presidency, Obama pretty much shirked the battles he should have been waging. I think he was genuinely taken aback by the intransigence of Republican legislators and the animosity he provoked in many sectors of the country. His oratory was fine, at times even fiery, but too often he wrung his hands and opted for non-confrontational high roads. Or moan that his powers to affect change were limited vis à vis the political realities he faced. I respect Obama. I respect his intelligence. But hand wringing ain’t the most effective trait when called upon for leadership.
 
I can’t ever imagine Hillary wringing her hands.
 
Bernie, I’m not so sure about. Yes, on the campaign trail addressing cheering throngs of like-minded voters, Bernie expressions passion, concern, and a powerful left-leaning vision for change. But a Presidency isn’t a campaign trail speech. The Presidency requires a day-in, day-out battle.
 
Hillary is battle-tested. For many many years, she has been one of the most aggressively progressive figures on the national stage. For 20+ years, she’s stood up to the Republicans’ foulest slurs, their worst and most idiotic conspiracy theories. The reason Republicans fear her is that they know she has the intelligence, and the persistence, to stick to her guns and effectively strategize routes towards legislative accomplishments.
 
Let’s be honest: as compelling an agenda as Bernie Sanders lays out, how many people believe he’ll be able to translate that into effective change? Will there be enough legislation victories to balance out all the utopian ideas that don’t stand a snowball’s chance?
 
To put it another way: Hillary’s going to be able to accomplish a lot more than Bernie. You know that. I know that. Her vision isn’t as far-reaching as Bernie’s, put she’s got more brawl and a finer, more astute political skills.
 
The other thing to consider is money. And coattails.
 
As I mentioned earlier, I believe Bernie is electable given that his likely Republican opponent will be an odious bully. But just because Bernie can win a November election does not mean he’ll have the down-ballot coattails to sweep other Democrats into office. Because of the perceived taint of Sanders’s “socialism,” Democratic candidates in purple and red states will distance themselves from him. Republican attack ads with paint viable Democratic congressional candidates as being Socialist Dupes. That’s not going to help our party’s chances in taking back the Senate.
 
Money.
 
Fact: No one—but no one—raises money like a Clinton.
 
Bernie’s people like to believe money is a dirty word. To some extent, I agree with them.
 
However, a sitting President becomes his or her party’s Fundraiser-in-Chief. They don’t just raise money for themselves; they raise money for the good of the entire party. As the Democratic Presidential nominee, Hillary will be called in to raise money in Senatorial, House, and Gubernatorial races. Bill and Chelsea, both effective fundraisers in their own right, will be out there, raising money and winning races for Democrats.
 
Money, sadly, matters. Coattails matter. But, more importantly, what happens next January after Inauguration Day matters most. That’s why I’m supporting Hillary.
 
Errata #1: Last night, Aubrey Hirsch gave a fantastic reading at Virginia Tech’s Moss Arts Center. Reading selections from her short stories and her nonfiction pieces, I was impressed by the range of her work. One audience member commented that he thought the voice Hirsch uses in her nonfiction and fiction remains constant. I didn’t see that as much. Instead, I was impressed by how remarkably different, tonally, her approaches were between the genres. Hirsch employs a wonderfully quirky dazzle in her short fiction.  But in non-fiction, her voice and vision struck me as more penetrating. Both are amazingly compelling.
 
Among the pieces she read was a short story-in-progress about a kidnapping. The piece seemed so real, and so complete, with a perfect arc. And yet, she explained it was only a first draft. I was startled to learn afterwards that, in its present form, it was only about 500 words long. A piece of flash fiction. As she read it aloud, I had in my mind’s eye a perfect vision of the story, its characters, and its emotions. To accomplish all that in 500 words is truly amazing.
 
Errata #2: Another piece of my non-fiction (“Why We Need Snow Monsters”) will soon be appearing in Entropy. It’s a mash up of Yetis and Breughels, complete with digressions about depression and Tolstoy and phantasmagoric short fiction. I’ll post a link next week when the essay’s online.

(2/22/16 addendum: The link to my Entropy/ "Why We Need Snow Monsters" essay is here.

​Last week, while praying an “Our Father,” I got to the “...and lead us not into temptation...” part, it occurred to me that the biggest temptation I yield to is engulfing myself in a sense of hopelessness. So this year, for Lent, I’m giving up the sense of hopelessness that’s been dogging me for years. It’s really been doing me no good, and it’s about time I shrugged it off, no?
 
Errata: I’ve been writing what I hope will become a series of essays about my earlier indulgent attitudes towards fine cooking and how these attitudes have changed since having children and becoming under-employed. Just yesterday, Entropy published the second essay in the series—“Escarole.” The first—“Chicken in a Pot”--appeared (also in Entropy) a few weeks earlier.
 
As some readers of this blog know, many years ago, before my wife Alison and I had children, we had, materially-speaking, a pretty good life. We both earned good salaries. We spent freely on ourselves, took nice vacations, and ate really, really well.
 
Today, we have three children and downsized incomes. It’s really hard sometimes for me to fathom the lifestyle we once enjoyed, how immodestly we spent on things that, to my present self, seem like frivolous luxuries. The disparity between my past and present lifestyles is just so vast.
 
I’ve been working more on the novel I spoke about in my previous blog entry, but I’ve also been playing with the next essay in this series. As long as I don’t allow myself to succumb again to that evil sense of hopelessness, hopefully both will be completed in the coming weeks.

Read the comment sections on online blogs. Whenever there’s a discussion of something that Michelle Obama or Hillary Clinton said, people come out of the woodwork with the cruelest insults, calling Hillary a ‘fat old cow’ or criticizing Michelle’s butt rather than actually addressing what Hillary or Michelle said. It’s sickening, really. And anyone who dares comes to Hillary’s defense is met with the same cruel insults. What must a young woman considering a career in public service think when she sees stuff like that? I mean, why would anyone willingly want to go into the public arena and try to make a difference in this world if it just means submitting yourself to junk like that? And I swear, as divisive as Trump or Barack Obama might be, I’ve never once seen someone attack them for not being Hollywood handsome.

I've been working on a novel, again, that examines the role of gender politics in the 2008 Presidential election cycle, so these thought have been on my mind a lot lately. It's disheartening to see that, at some level, the problematic sexism that existed in 2008 is still with us in the Hillary v. Bernie campaign. There's a really good Vox article about this that I just came across. 

ERRATA #1: I was thrilled that Entropy chose to publish a piece I wrote about when  Hurricane Isabel plundered through my neighborhood. If you'd like to read "Hurricane Night, 2003," the link is here.

ERRATA #2: So this novel I'm working on (see above). I've been working on it for years upon years. Different drafts have examined the material from a variety of different angles. I've added characters, emphasized different things, but the second half of the novel has remained fairly consistent throughout the many drafts I've churned out.  Someone who's seen two of these different drafts has asked me to pursue the material further. Last night, it finally occurred to me that the entire second half of the novel (i.e., the part of the novel from which the rest of the novel developed) just ought to be jettisoned. I just wished I had come to this realization, say, a few years earlier!