That’s something to consider, and it was some time ago when I wrote about advertisers attempting to get writers to mention their products in books they were writing. Some writers see no problem with this. I am not one of them, unless the product makes sense. For instance, if the book takes place in Detroit and one of the characters work at a car factory, it might make sense to give the factory a name. Of course, the carmaker may then want to avoid that kind of attention in today’s lackluster industry. I don’t really have an issue if a character buys a wedding gown from Vera Wang, but if the book is littered with product placement, I feel the story will be compromised and is nothing more than a sellout. However, with that in mind, there is a book about to be published that is downplaying it is a roman à clef and one wonders why it is taking that strategy in this hungry-for-sales publishing industry.

The publicity for Kathryn Walker’s debut novel, “A Stopover in Venice,” is subdued: the book jacket shows a classic painting and a luggage tag, and an about-the-author blurb plays up Ms. Walker’s academic chops (Harvard graduate work, a Fulbright fellowship) and acting credits (Broadway shows and an Emmy for a PBS series).

 

Nowhere does the publisher, Alfred A. Knopf, mention that the book is a roman à clef that includes James Taylor, or that the author used to be his wife.

Hmm, perhaps the publisher purposely didn’t mention it while making sure someone leaks the info to give the impression that the author was trying to be discreet about her subject matter. I wouldn’t put anything past this business. Let’s stir some interest by pretending we don’t want this leaked, which will result in curiosity that lead to…sales!

One thing is for certain in our society, we are manipulated, but as long as we get paid for it, we tend to look the other way.

Either way, if heaven does exist, I’d like to believe that we are all equal, especially since here on earth that is not the case. For those who have met horrific standards of living here probably depend on a heaven in the hereafter in hopes of escaping their present dire situation that they consider to be hell. The idea of a heaven is comforting with that in mind, but it can also be nothing more than wishful thinking. The thing is, instead of hoping that there is equality in that ambiguous place known as heaven, why don’t we work to make it happen here in the now? We are a diverse people and instead of hating each other’s differences, let’s celebrate them. Perhaps then, death with the possibility of heaven won’t have to look so enticing.

The book reveals that the C.I.A.’s tactics included waterboarding, among other torture devices like sleep deprivation and continuous deafening sounds.

I’m sure The Dark Side is going to be dismissed by this administration, which is what they like to do. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain strategy is their forte. When did the United States lose its honor, its glowing reputation, its comforting, welcoming bosom?

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

When we lower our standards to those who believe torture is acceptable, we need to take a closer look at ourselves. Otherwise, there will be nothing admirable about America leaving very little to fight for.

That, to me, is tragic.

Senator Barack Obama listens to a mother who lost a son in Iraq, and a father who cannot afford health insurance. Then he tightens his tie knot and sets off to elegant fund-raisers.

I suppose those fundraisers are part of the animal known as politics and Obama knew that quite some time ago:

Mr. Obama puts the dissonance into words in his book “The Audacity of Hope” (Crown Publishing, 2006).

 

“I know that as a consequence of my fund-raising I became more like the wealthy donors I met,” he wrote, “in the very particular sense that I spent more and more of my time above the fray, outside the world of immediate hunger, disappointment, fear, irrationality and frequent hardship of the other 99 percent of the population.”

There is some hope that Obama will not forget those like Jeana Brown, who are wallowing in poverty.

She wants to tell Mr. Obama, who is talking about the 30 percent increase in the number of Americans who have filed for bankruptcy, about her trailer.

 

She is 50 and her husband, James, is 48, and they worked and snipped coupons and saved for five years to afford their double-wide trailer. Their credit report had the usual nicks and dents, and so they took a 9.25 percent interest rate on their loan. They relied on their broker’s promise “that if we were good and made our payments, we could refinance at a better rate after a year.”

 

A year later, Ms. Brown walked back in. The broker told her that because their trailer did not have a concrete foundation — which costs thousands more dollars than they had — she and her husband could not refinance.

 

A job disappeared and they faced foreclosure. The couple doubled up on interest payments, from $670 to $1,378 per month. They cut off Internet and cable service and held three yard sales — everything must go!

 

They saved their home.

 

Now her husband drives a truck six weeks at a stretch and she works two jobs. Ms. Brown’s chest heaves, her voice a quivering reed.

 

“I tell you, I’m not sure how we keep doing this,” she says.

 

Obama shakes his head. The gymnasium had gone silent.

 

“Look,” he says, “Jeana is an example of America. Someone who is working hard, who saved, doing all the right things and then gets put into a financial bind primarily because people took advantage of her situation.”

Will the forthcoming election help Jeana’s situation? That is what she is hoping, telling Obama that she contributed her hard-earned $5 toward his campaign. She believes he will help. Meanwhile, Obama has to do what is necessary to help the Jeana Browns of the United States.

Seven hours later, Mr. Obama sits in a leather-lined black S.U.V., riding the “Brother Can You Spare $28,500” finance circuit that has become a fixture of his campaign in recent weeks.

 

His evening begins at The Rocks, Senator John D. Rockefeller IV’s chateau away from chateau, this one all but ensconced in Rock Creek Park in Washington.

 

The car turns up a curling driveway. There are oak and chestnut trees and a wayward doe, and then a three-story Southern-plantation-style manor, with towering columns and 17 windows across and a slate roof, looms into view. It is a useful reminder that before Gates and Bloomberg, Buffett and Geffen, there was old man John D. Rockefeller, who bequeathed to his descendants a truly astonishing mother lode of money.

Most of us have been called to compromise for a favorable outcome, which is what the candidates must do. Sometimes, though, it causes major discomfort.

The Obama fund-raiser rules are akin to a nonpetting zoo: Reporters may stare but no touching or talking is allowed, including to the candidate. Fortunately, Mr. Obama provided a social X-ray of this circuit in his book, and he did not neglect to scan himself.

 

“As a rule, they are smart, interesting people, knowledgeable about public policy, liberal in their politics,” he writes of these crowds. But “they found it hard to imagine there might be a social ill that could not be cured by a high SAT score.”

 

The danger, he adds, is that such nights leave candidates at a remove from their days, not least Ms. Brown and her trailer.

 

“The problems of ordinary people, the Rust Belt town or the dwindling heartland, become a distant echo,” he writes, “abstractions to be managed rather than battles to be fought.”

This is why it is necessary to keep shouting, to demand change; otherwise, we become invisible.

            I do recall a time when I had my eye on a typewriter that I desperately wanted. I was about ten years old and my family was visiting my father’s sister, my Aunt Irene, which was an hour car-ride away where I’d always get sick sitting in the back seat. In a box of used toys was this dented typewriter with a spool of ribbon, ink barely present. My aunt gave me a scrap piece of paper that I rolled onto the cylinder and I began to tap out words, slowly, very slowly, but it was nothing short of magic. I made sure my aunt saw how much I enjoyed the typewriter without actually asking if I could have it. I knew the very question would result in a scolding from my father, thinking me rude. Still, somehow I managed to convey how much I enjoyed the activity and the typewriter was sitting on my lap, with me in between my parents in the front seat to avoid any stomach mishaps, on the car ride back home. It was a couple of years later when I got my first real typewriter as a birthday gift. It was a second hand manual Smith & Corona, one that I used for years before moving on to an electric typewriter. Yet, I didn’t scour the stores for the latest, most improved typewriter since the one I had served my purpose, allowing me to write hundreds of poems, short stories and letters to friends. It wasn’t until I was married and had children that I realized I had a novel—a first of many—that needed to be written. My then husband kindly bought me a word processor to give me an advantage, but the next day I returned it to the salesperson’s great dismay. She said, “But your husband said you’re a writer. This is what you need.”

            I took umbrage and replied, “Writers have done just fine for years without a word processor.” My frustration at the time was that I had a book eagerly trying to get onto paper and I didn’t want to waste time learning how to use something that would slow me down. However, once the first draft was on paper, I then went back to the store and found a basic word processor, something less complicated than what had originally been bought for me, and took the time to learn it. Eventually, I moved on to a computer where I lost an entire manuscript due to a virus that crashed the system. I had a meltdown, but didn’t give up writing because of it.

            So, I do wonder just how important it is to have the latest iPhone. I’m guessing that it’s not about needing a communication device but more about keeping up with the latest technological gadget. My Blackberry is rather old, but it does what I need it to do, even though my children make fun of me since I cannot take photos with it. What I was wondering, however, when watching the throngs pour into the stores to buy the latest iPhone is, are we really in a recession? With the cash registers ringing up the iPhone sales, it certainly didn’t appear to be the case.

Mike Papantonio of GoLeft TV and Air America’s Ring of Fire talks with author and investigative journalist Elliot Cohen about John McCain’s abusive and explosive temper, which he showed when he assaulted the family of a P.O.W.

If McCain has a side to this story, I’d be most happy to give it a listen. I’m guessing that there is reality to what was said, but even when a story carries truth, I am uncomfortable with the way Papantonio defined McCain as a “nut job” more than once, which is not conducive to intelligent dialogue. Papantonio also refers to what McCain has supposedly been called in the past: McNasty. Hmmm…That doesn’t bode well for the candidate, but while Cohen stays on topic, simply asking, do we want an individual with a lack of self-control in the White House, Papantonio likes to use sensationalistic talk. Again, that just destroys any intellectual conversation and puts the interviewer in the same category as an O’Reilly or Limbaugh, which isn’t terribly flattering. It’s also distracting from Cohen’s point that McCain likes to behave as though he is supportive of the troops when there is reasonable evidence otherwise. You can hear the interview here.

Imagine if any one of us were to decide we didn’t want to testify in court after having been subpoenaed. Wouldn’t that put us behind bars? I guess, though, when one has worked for President Bush one tends to do what one decides and basically gives the impression that he can do whatever he wishes, whenever he wishes.

It will be interesting to see how this arrogant behavior is handled and I can only wonder when he will be called to account for his self-serving actions.  I say, enough is enough.

            Eventually, with investors supporting the concert, there were posters promoting it. Unfortunately, however, the entrepreneur’s promises of securing big-named bands turned out to be a sham. Investors lost their money, the entrepreneur jailed and my small town remained untouched to my dismay. Apparently, though, the promotions had already begun since several people from across the country came for a concert that was not to be. At least I didn’t travel hundreds of thousands of miles to be disappointed. It was this event that I incorporated in my novel Without Grace, so not all was lost.

            It will be interesting to see how the potential plans for a music festival in Springfield will develop, but I’m sure that landowners have their concerns while the younger, more spirited locals are rooting for it to happen. What is certain is that a sham artist is not presenting this:

Still, there’s no shortage of real-world story lines buzzing around this town of 1,300, which recently found out that Madison Square Garden wants to buy 910 acres, now a dairy farm, and spend $15 million to mount what it calls in preliminary documents filed with the town “an annual world-class, three-day music festival.”

Hmm, if Springfield doesn’t pan out, perhaps Goliath Entertainment Enterprises would take a look a bit further north. Yet, Churubusco may have lost some of its charm now that it’s littered with wind turbines hovering over the small town.

His remarks were interrupted at several points by protesters, some of whom shouted, “Impeach Bush.” As members of the audience of about 3,000 urged the demonstrators to be quiet, Mr. Bush addressed the disturbances, saying, “We believe in free speech in the United States of America.”

First, I do believe that perhaps the protesters were rude in disturbing the ceremony. What a way to begin one’s first day as a citizen. However, the president’s gracious comment, “We believe in free speech in the United States of America” is a joke, especially since this president has hindered free speech repeatedly—from sneering at those who disagreed with his stance on bringing war to Iraq to punishing Joseph Wilson by outing his CIA wife, Valerie Plame, when Wilson questioned the president’s lies from the State of the Union address. Then there will always be the question of all those people who were not allowed to vote in Florida for a number of dubious reasons the administration gave. Voting is every American’s right—unless one is incarcerated. Then again, should we have the right to sell our vote, if we don’t really care who becomes president as one college student attempted to do?

A Minnesota college student looking to profit off his political indifference has been charged with a felony for trying to sell his vote on the auction Web site eBay.

 

The student, Max P. Sanders, 19, of Edina, was charged Thursday with one count of bribery, treating and soliciting, a felony under an 1893 Minnesota law that criminalizes the sale and purchase of votes.

 

In May Mr. Sanders set a minimum bid of $10 for his vote this November and offered to provide photographic documentation inside the booth.

Whether this was done in jest or not, I cannot say for certain, but after what we’ve gone through several years ago with chads and a corrupt election, maybe it’s understandable why some cannot take voting seriously.