Amtrak’s New Onboard Writer’s Residency Program

February 24, 2014 — Pat Bertram

In response to comments on twitter, Amtrak says they are planning to set up an onboard residency for writers. Select writers will get a free trip to give them time to write, and the only requirement as of right now is for the writers to send in a few tweets during the trip.

As soon as I heard of this plan, I tried to sign up, but there is no place to sign up yet, nowhere to submit a request. So far, only a couple of writers have been given a free ride to “test drive” the program, but so many people have professed an interest in a residency that they are currently formulating an outline to expand the program. The main traindrawback for Amtrak, of course, is that while the residency might be free to authors, the rail company will still have expenses, and they will need to recoup those expenses somehow. A drawback that they might not have considered is the sheer numbers of writers in this country. Millions of them. (I mean, millions of us. I tend to forget that I am a writer.) And who wouldn’t want a free train ride to wherever you wanted to go, as well as all that uninterrupted time to write? If they opened the residency to submissions, rather than just pick candidates on twitter (as they did with the first couple of writers), they would have to sift through hundreds of thousands of submissions, especially if they open the program to all writers: published, unpublished, self-published, journalists, bloggers. They would have to decide what would constitute a writer, and what that writer could do for their business. Although they are saying there would be no quid pro quo, they also admit they would be looking for writers with a strong social media presence.

I have a hunch such a program would end up being a lottery, where only a few lucky people would even be considered, either because they caught Amtrak’s attention or because theirs was the first possible request to be considered. Some writers are hoping Amtrak will consider an entire car dedicated to writers. I have a hunch that is a bit optimistic, but who knows — writers conferences are big money. Why not do a conference aboard a train?

I guess it’s just as well there is no place to sign up yet. The train comes through here at 3:00 in the morning, and although I’ve made many friends, no one is such a good friend that they would volunteer to get up so early to drive me to the tracks. And I do mean tracks. There is no train station here. I’d have to stand by the tracks in the dark and hope they stop to let me board.

Still, it would all be part of the adventure. So, Amtrak, if you are reading this, my hands are in the air, and I am waving them wildly, begging, “Choose me, please! I promise to blog about my trip.”

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Simulating the Future

February 23, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Fiction is a type of simulator, much like a flight simulator, where we can experience life at one remove. Just like a flight simulator, the situations we encounter in fiction (particularly fiction that poses dilemmas) seem real, and they have real effects on our minds. Although this is recent research, I have known it since I first learned to read. I never read fiction just for entertainment. It was more real to me than that — like practice for life. I didn’t see myself as the main character, rather I read myself into the story, trying to figure out how I would act in a similar situation. Unlike many of the youth of my generation, I never had to use recreational drugs to understand what could happen. I knew secondhand through books the possible consequences. I also knew the consequences of teen-age pregnancy, drunk driving, and whatever other trouble kids my age could get into, and it made me cautious. Maybe too cautious. Still, I never got into a mess I couldn’t get myself out of.

As I grew older, potential problems became more serious, and again, books simulated various scenarios I was able to sidestep. I might have continued to be too cautious, but I never saddled myself with avoidable problems such as overwhelming debt. (I was going to change this cliché, but I got an image of debt as a saddle with a banker as the person sitting on the saddle riding me, and I thought it was an apt image, so the cliché stays.)

Popular books, easy books, happily-ever-after books, books without major moral dilemmas never did much for me. In fact, if I read too many of these “junk food” books, I’d get depressed. Oddly, all books now depress me the way these books once did, perhaps because the situations in books no longer act as a simulator. I know I will never be an unwed mother, a single mother, or a woman struggling to handle a family and a career. I know I will never solve a murder, either as an amateur or a professional. I know how it feels to love. I know how it feels to lose the one man who made life worth living, know how it feels to take care of an aged parent, know how it feels to be the subject of a brother’s rage.

But I still have a “flight simulator” — my imagination. Although imagination isn’t as good a simulator as fiction since we tend not to be able to project our true feelings into the future, a life time of reading and living has trained me at least in a small part to imagine how I would deal with certain situations.

Pacific Crest TrailI’ve been writing lately about my idea of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. I have been hiking small sections of the trail (some of my typos crack me up — I just wrote “trial” instead of trail, and that is apropos at times of hiking the PCT — a real trial). These Saturday hikes give me a small taste of the dream. But more than that, talking/writing/thinking about walking up to Seattle expands my mind the way reading a good book used to.

If it sounds as if I am backtracking (instead of backpacking), the truth is that as much as the idea intrigues me, I really don’t think I could do it. It’s way too dangerous for someone who isn’t fit and has no camping experience. Besides, I cannot see me wielding an ice axe to keep from falling off a narrow icy trail, cannot see me coming face to face with a grizzly who wants to wrestle me for my scant food supply, cannot see me “out packing” bags of used toilet paper, carrying the stinky package for hundreds of miles until I came across a place where I could dispose of it. Nor am I interested in doing something that takes such massive planning — the preparation takes longer that the 2650-mile hike itself. I want to be spontaneous, just take off walking and keep on walking, and that is so not possible on the PCT. It’s also expensive — hikers typically spend $4000 to $8000 for the 5-6 month jaunt.

Still, I want an epic adventure someday, and I want it for real, not second hand from books — if not the PCT, then perhaps something that stems from this particular simulation. I’ll keep imagining, keep throwing myself into the future, and see what happens.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail

February 22, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Sometimes I have to laugh at my pretensions. Yesterday I half-jokingly told my sister I was thinking of walking up to Seattle to visit her, a mere 2,500 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail. She, like almost everyone else to whom I have talked about my dream of hiking the PCT, mentioned Cheryl Strayed’s book.

I’d never heard of the book before the idea of hiking the PCT took hold of me and I started telling people about my dream, and I must admit, I was disappointed to discover how much of a bestseller Strayed’s book was. I’d planned to keep a journal of my adventure, posting it to my blog when I reached the major towns along the way (El Cajon, Idyllwild, Big Bear, Aqua Dulce, Tehachapi, Kennedy Meadows, Mammoth Lakes, South Lake Tahoe, Sierra City, Chester, Burney, Mount Shasta, Etna, Ashland and White Pass). And perhaps, someday publish it as a book. A bestselling book, of course.

But, as I told my sister, since Strayed’s book is already published, on bestseller lists, with a movie about to come out, my book would merely seem a “me too,” as if I were as if I were riding on her coattails.

And here is where I had to laugh at myself. What does her book and her success have to do with me? I have never written a single word about my journey because, of course, there is no journey. I haven’t walked a single step on my way to Seattle. I don’t know if I will ever walk a single step. (I have hiked approximately 14 1/2 miles of the trail, but I wasn’t going anywhere, just walking with a group of Saturday hikers.) Unlike Strayed, I am not a young woman. I don’t know if my body or any parts thereof would hold up to such a grueling feet. (I know that’s a misspelling, but I kept the typo because . . . how perfect!) Even if I were to hike to Seattle or at least a part of the way, I don’t know if the story of my travels would lend themselves to a book — you need more than just a recounting of adventures to be readable. You need heart, soul, uniqueness, growth.

Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to read Strayed’s book, but the truth is, I want my own epic adventure, not an echo of someone else’s. Still, I have been doing research for the journey. And what I’ve been reading has given me pause.

Some of the worst weather in the country can, and does, occur on the Pacific Crest Trail, so you always have to carry equipment for foul weather, even during the summer. You need an ice axe, and knowledge how to self-arrest to keep from sliding into oblivion. Waterways can be too swollen to cross. (My feet got soaked last weekend just from trying to cross a tiny rivulet, not much more than a puddle.) Long stretches of the trail have no water source at all — none — though it is recommended that hikers drink a gallon of this non-existent water a day. And even where water is plentiful, you need a water purifier that is effective against giardia and bacteria. You need wilderness permits. You need a bear canister to protect your food in bear territory. (Yep, long sections of the trail wind through bear country.) And you need food, lots of food — a through hiker, one who travels the whole trail or long sections of it, needs up to 5000 calories a day, and you have to be prepared since there are few places to replenish supplies — sometimes you have to hike more than 200 miles in the wilderness before crossing any sort of road.

Yikes. No wonder more people have scaled Mount Everest than have through-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.

And yet, the idea still appeals to me. So what if I have to hole up in one of the few towns along the way until the snow melts? It shouldn’t be a problem for me since I wouldn’t even attempt such a thing as walking to Seattle until/unless I were completely free, and I’m not. I still have responsibilities.

But one day, when I have nothing else to do . . .

Perhaps.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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In Every True Woman’s Heart

February 21, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I used to be a guest on various internet radio shows, but I got burned out on the whole idea, so I haven’t been accepting any invitations. When the shows were less than an hour and focused mostly on me, they were fun, but so many of the shows featured several guests and a couple of hosts, so it was hard to know who was supposed to be talking. Also, shows with many guests to be very long, and I am not fond of talking on a phone for any length of time.

Still, when Shannon Fisher invited me to be the first guest on a new show she will be hosting, I immediately agreed. I’ve never met Shannon in person, but we are good friends. We’ve often talked about life and death via Facebook and this blog, and I admire her greatly. She’s on the board of directors of UniteWomen.org, director of Unite Against Rape, and active in various other organizations. And now she’s accepted a position as host of a show on Authors on The Air.

A Spark of Heavenly FireNot only was I invited to be Shannon’s first guest, but A Spark of Heavenly Fire was chosen to be the first book featured on her new show: “The Authentic Woman – with Host Shannon Fisher – Perspectives on the Female Experience.”

Washington Irving wrote: “There is in every true woman’s heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity.” As I read these words a decade ago, I could see her, a drab woman, defeated by life, dragging herself through her days in the normal world, but in an abnormal world of strife and danger, she would come alive and inspire others. And so Kate Cummings, the hero of my novel A Spark of Heavenly Fire was born. But born into what world?

I didn’t want to write a book about war, which is a common setting for such a character-driven story, so I created the red death, an unstoppable, bio-engineered disease that ravages Colorado. Martial law is declared, rationing is put into effect, and the entire state is quarantined. During this time when so many are dying, Kate comes alive and gradually pulls others into her sphere of kindness and generosity. First enters Dee Allenby, another woman defeated by normal life, then enter the homeless — the group hardest hit by the militated restrictions. Finally, enters Greg Pullman, a movie-star-handsome reporter who is determined to find out who created the red death and why they did it.

Kate and her friends build a new world, a new normal, while others, such as Pippi O’Brien, Greg’s fiancée, think of only of their own survival, and they are determined to leave the state even if it kills them.

The world of the red death brings out the worst in some characters while bringing out the best in others. Most of all, the prism of death and survival reflects what each values most. Kate values love. Dee values purpose. Greg values truth. Pippi, who values nothing, learns to value herself.

The women drive the book, their sparks of heavenly fire lighting up the bleak world of quarantined Colorado, showing us love in all its guises: caregiving, motherly love, friendship. romantic love, love of life.

It’s fitting that that this book is being highlighted because Shannon herself is a true woman who embodies the spark of heavenly fire the world so desperately needs.

So look for me online on March 2, 2014 at 8:00pm ET at “The Authentic Woman – with Host Shannon Fisher – Perspectives on the Female Experience.”  I’m sure Shannon and I will have much to talk about!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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The Logistics of a Life on Foot

February 20, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Although I’ve been Dreaming of Life on Foot, hiking around the USA on the National Trails System, the logistics seem unmanageable. To hike just the Pacific Crest Trail would take a minimum of six months, assuming I could walk 10 to 20 miles a day through often-rugged terrain. And that assumption is very optimistic. I get exhausted just walking a mile or two up steep hills. Still, if walking were a way of life, I could walk a mile, rest a while, walk another mile since there would be no reason to hurry to finish the trail. Well, that’s not true. There is one reason — winter. People try to finish the trek in six months so they don’t have to deal with inclement weather — neither the heat of desert summer nor the harsh climes (and climbs) of mountain winter.

Like other through-hikers, I could probably send food ahead so that I wouldn’t have to cart a wagonload of provisions. I could probably map out the watering holes (and from what I have heard, some of these holes are little more than stagnant puddles). I could perhaps even get in shape for such a trip (though the trip itself would get me in shape). But so many other problems seem insurmountable. For example, what would I do with my car? Do I park it at the trailhead and hope it is still there (and the battery still charged) when I return? And if so, how do I return to the car? Would it be better to put the vehicle in storage, and hope I can find a ride to the trailhead? Or do I sell it, and use rental cars in between jaunts? (Since I don’t have a charge card, renting cars isn’t really an option.)

And what about connectivity? I suppose I could just take off and forget about computers and phones and such, but this blog is important to me. I could write my blogs on the trail, and then post them when I got back to civilization, but that could be many weeks, or even months. I could get a solar charger, which would probably be necessary since a working phone would be nice to have in an emergency, but I have a hunch most of the trail(s) would be off the grid anyway.

And what about mosquitoes? Mosquitoes love to feast on me, but my body hates them. I get sick from even a single sting. And I’m allergic to mosquito repellent, even — especially — citronella oil. Until my current (temporary) relocation to the desert, I have always had to be careful to be inside by dusk. It’s only because this seems to be a mosquito-free area that I’ve been able to go walking at night with the Sierra Club. So the idea of camping out in bug season is a bit ludicrous. Can’t you just see me, trying to hike, swathed in yards and yards of mosquito netting?

And what about my eyeglasses? Do I need to have extra pairs with me or stashed in my sent-ahead supply boxes? The same with shoes. Do I break in two or three pairs of shoes, and have those packed in the supply boxes, too? I am not on any medication, but I do take supplements to keep me healthy. Do I forgo those and hope I don’t get colds or allergies or pains that don’t go away?

I thought my original idea of living on the road — perhaps sampling the trails or visiting all the national parks and in between staying at motels or extended stay hotels — was complicated, but that plan seems simple in comparison to a life on foot. I would be out in the wilds for just a few days at a time, I would be not too far from my car (which would provide emergency shelter or an emergency getaway), and I would be able to access my blog and recharge my phone every few days. I could even pass out gifts with information about my books to everyone I see. That was the original purpose of an extended trip — to promote my books — but the idea seems to metamorphose the more I think about it.

And there is a lot to think about. Of course, since my current responsibilities might not end for several years (I am looking after my 97-year-old father, and there is a good chance he could live to be 100), I have plenty of time to wonder, and dream, and prepare for whatever the future might have in store for me.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Dreaming of Life on Foot

February 19, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Once upon a time when I was going through a rough patch in my life, I considered just taking off and walking the length of the Pacific Crest Trail. I figured by the end of the hike, things would be different, or I would.

The rough patch passed, as bad times often do, but I have retained that image of hiking the length of the trail. I don’t remember why I chose the Pacific Crest Trail since I was also enamored with the idea of the Appalachian Trail. Perhaps I was confusing the Pacific Crest Trail with the Pacific Coast Highway, and envisioned a walk along the trailscoastline. Surprising to me now is that although I lived in Colorado, I wasn’t aware of the Continental Divide Trail, or if I was aware of it, perhaps it was too close to home to seem romantic.

And that’s what the idea was — romantic. I know this now. Recently I’ve been on a couple of short hikes on the Pacific Crest Trail (a thrilling taste of that old dream), and I’ve been hearing all sorts of stories, suggestions, cautions from my fellow hikers. For example, my idea of hiking without any sort of preparation, just finding the start of the trail and heading out, is not practical. Through hikers, those who hike the entire trail from top to bottom (or rather, bottom to top — they generally start out at the Mexican border and walk up to the Canadian border) often spend months in preparation, drying foods, mapping water holes, sending ahead care packages to themselves at various places along the trail. They need to be prepared for emergencies, all weather conditions, and whatever might overtake them on the trail. (Apparently, most through hikers make the trek alone, so my idea of walking solo was not too farfetched.)

Someday my current responsibilities — looking after my 97-year-old father and dealing with my perhaps bipolar brother — will end, and then what? What will I do? Who will I become? I’ve been checking out various trails in the US, and if I were so inclined, I could spend the rest of my life on foot. Thirty different trails comprise the National Trails system, and many states seem to have additional trails, such as the Oregon Coast Trail that extends for 400 miles from the Columbia River to the California Border, and the Colorado Trail that runs 486 miles from Waterton Canyon southwest of Denver to Durango.

A friend of mine recently bought a motor home, and she plans to live on the road until she finds a place to settle down. That, too, is a romantic idea (also practical), but not for me. I prefer to be less cumbered, to go lightly through life. But so lightly as to live with only that which I can carry or send on ahead? I don’t know. Still, I can’t help wondering. And dreaming . . .

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Doorways and Exploding Eggs

February 18, 2014 — Pat Bertram

So often, it seems, we get up from our chairs in front of the computer to do something or get something in the next room that seems relevant at the time (yes, there is life away from the computer!!), but when we get where we are going, we have forgotten why it was so important to go there in the first place. Sometimes, if we go back to where we were when we got the inclination to do or get that something, we can remember, but other times the memory has completely disappeared.

Gabriel Radvansky, Sabine Krawietz. and Andrea Tamplin, a team of researchers at the University of Notre Dame, have shown that walking through a doorway makes us forget. They postulate that our brains are wired to keep the most relevant information handy until the need for it expires, and then oudoorr brains purge those details in preparation for new “need-to-know” information. (Please excuse this tangent, but I am laughing and had to share the joke. I just checked synonyms for “information” on MSWord, which I am using to write this post, and the only synonyms MS gives are: “in order,” “in sequence,” “in turn,” “in rank,” and “in a row.” Apparently, MS thinks “in formation” is a single word. Or maybe they think information is in such scant supply that we don’t need a synonym.)

According to the Notre Dame researchers, going through a doorway signifies that whatever information being held at the ready in our brains is no longer vitally important, and so our brains purge that information. In other words, we forget. Makes sense — we can’t keep every thought at the forefront of our brains, especially since a lot of what we learned in the past is no longer relevant. For example, we no longer have to remember how to crawl or how to let our mothers know our diapers need to be changed. Nor, in this digital age, do we need to remember where to put decimal points when multiplying percentages. For that matter, we don’t even need to remember how to add and subtract.

I have a hunch hallways are much like doors. Cross a threshold, walk down a hall and through a doorway into another room, and we are lucky to remember who we are, let alone what we were doing.

In the past couple of weeks, I have managed to blow up two pans of eggs I was hardboiling. Yep. Blew them up. Loud cracks of explosions. Bits of egg all over the kitchen. I do know how to make perfect hardboiled eggs, of course. The problem is that I do not have the patience to stand around waiting for the water to boil (I know for a fact watched pots do boil, it just seems like they don’t). I planned to set the timer, but the timer was next to my computer where I left it the last time I used it (because that’s where I was when the timer was set to go off, of course. What I said above about there being life away from the computer? Ignore that. I spend so much time online, I’m not sure it’s true.)

To set the timer, all I had to do was walk from one room, down a hall, and into another, and in those few seconds, I completely forgot about the eggs. Forgot to set the timer. It wasn’t until I heard the loud cracks of the explosion and went to investigate that I remembered. (I’m not sure why the eggs exploded. The water had long boiled off, so perhaps the heat conducted by the stainless steel pan was so great the moisture inside had turned to steam, and since the shell couldn’t expand with the steam, the egg exploded.)

The explosion wasn’t my fault, of course. It was the fault of a faulty memory system that doesn’t allow us to retain a thought from one room to the next. Yeah, that’s it. Not my fault at all.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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One More Post About Philip Seymour Hoffman (Or Rather, Philip Hoffman)

February 16, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I hadn’t intended to write about Philip Hoffman — there have been more than enough blog posts written about him — but I’ve been thinking of the first time I saw him in a movie, so here is one more post about the deceased actor.

One of my favorite movies is the 1993 film My Boyfriend’s Back. The first time I ever saw Philip Seymour Hoffman was in that black comedy, though back then, he only called himself Philip Hoffman. Of course, that was long before he got his reputation for being such a great actor, so perhaps two names were all he needed. Still, his small role made MyBoyfriendsBack_a big impression on me. Made a big impression on his head, too. In the film, the hero, Andrew Lowry, comes back from the dead because the prettiest girl in school had agreed to go to the prom with him. (He’d saved her life, so what else could she do? Besides, he was dying . . .)

There is considerable prejudice in the high school against “dead kids,” and Philip Hoffman tried to kill Lowry — Chuck, Philip’s character, wasn’t exactly the brightest kid in school, so it never occurred to him he couldn’t kill someone who was already dead. Still, he took the axe from the emergency box on the wall (um . . . please tell me no one actually puts axes in schools anymore!). He swung the axe back to get momentum for a good swing, and because he was holding the axe backwards, he axed himself in the head. It doesn’t sound funny as I write this, but then, so often that is the nature of black comedy — the humor is in the moment.

The writer, Dean Lorey, penned some great lines.

For example, Dr. Bronson, who examines Chuck tells Big Chuck, Hoffman’s father, “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your boy is very sick. He’s lost a massive amount of blood, and his pulse and retinal response are poor, and as you can see there’s an axe sticking out of his head.

Big Chuck: He’s not sick, you idiot, he’s dead!

Dr. Bronson: Oh, everybody’s a doctor. You think maybe I could make the diagnosis?”

Missy (the prettiest girl in school) tries to renege on her promise to go to the prom with the dead kid, and Lowry responds. “You may not know this, Missy, but I ate Chuck for YOU!” Missy’s friend tells her how lucky she is: “God, my boyfriend won’t even pump gas for me.”

I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, except that all the talk about Philip Seymour Hoffman reminded me of this movie, and it makes me smile. As great an actor as Hoffman is purported to be, he still had to start somewhere, and his “somewhere” was in a little known, badly acclaimed, poor money maker that is one of filmdom’s hidden gems.

It reminds me that no matter how serious we are about our writing, there is always room for a bit of humor, even black humor. It’s what makes our writing — and characters — memorable.

(An odd little mystery — Traci Lind, who played Missy, seems to have disappeared, at least disappeared from movies and the internet. Wherever she is, I hope she is happy. I always enjoyed seeing her.)

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Wishing You Life and Love

February 14, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Mahatma Ghandi said, “Where there is love, there is life.” On this day set aside for celebrating love, I wish you a life filled with love.

I love you

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

February 13, 2014 — Pat Bertram

“There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.”

This quote is usually attributed to Mark Twain, and in fact, he did use it in his biography, but he himself quoted it. Twain’s actual words were: ‘The remark attributed to Disraeli would often apply with justice and force: “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics”.’ But Disraeli’s biographer claims that the renowned statesman never used that particular phrase.

Some people postulate that Twain heard the phrase from Leonard Henry Courtney, a British economist and politician who said, in an August 1895 speech in New York, ‘After all, facts are facts, and although we may quote one to another with a chuckle the words of the Wise Statesman, “Lies – damn lies – and statistics,” still there are some easy figures the simplest must understand, and the astutest cannot wriggle out of.’ Courtney didn’t attribute the saying to Disraeli, and in fact, “wise statesman” might not even refer to a specific person, but a way of attributing the phrase to . . . whoever.

The earliest instance of the phrase found in print is from a letter that seems to indicate the saying was in common usage before Courtney’s speech, and was so old no one knew anymore who said it.  The letter dated June 8, 1891 and published June 13, 1891 states: “Sir,–It has been wittily remarked that there are three kinds of falsehood: the first is a ‘fib,’ the second is a downright lie, and the third and most aggravated is statistics. It is on statistics and on the absence of statistics that the advocate of national pensions relies…..”

I don’t suppose it matters who said “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” I don’t suppose it matters if there are, in fact, three kinds of lies, though I do know statistics can’t truly be a kind of lie. They are simply bits of data that have been compiled from a large sampling. People, of course, use these bits of data to bolster whatever truth or falsehood they happen to be peddling, and they are able to do this because of the very nature of statistics. For example, although everyone in the United States knows how abnormal this winter is, statistics show that on average, this is simply a normal winter — the warmth and dryness of the west balances the cold and snow of the east, giving us the lie of a normal winter.

Lucky for me, I happen to be on the warm, dry end of the “lie.” For all of you who are living on the opposite side of the land, be safe and try to stay warm.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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