The Elevator (an illustration of The Hero's Journey)

Recently, I became acquainted with "the hero's journey" as described below (from Wikipedia):

Joseph Campbell's monomyth, or the hero's journey, is a basic pattern that its proponents argue is found in many narratives from around the world. This widely distributed pattern was described by Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949).
In a monomyth, the hero begins in the ordinary world, and receives a call to enter an unknown world of strange powers and events. The hero who accepts the call to enter this strange world must face tasks and trials, either alone or with assistance. In the most intense versions of the narrative, the hero must survive a severe challenge, often with help. If the hero survives, he may achieve a great gift or "boon." The hero must then decide whether to return to the ordinary world with this boon. If the hero does decide to return, he or she often faces challenges on the return journey. If the hero returns successfully, the boon or gift may be used to improve the world.

With that narrative structure in mind, I now present my latest work of fiction: The Elevator.

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Jack stood in front of the gleaming steel doors. He had pushed the "up" button a few seconds earlier, but as yet nothing had happened. Was he mistaken? Had he pushed the button true? And if he had, was it possible that it had failed to trigger for some reason and no car was coming? No...the button was lit, he confirmed. Surely that must mean something.

Suddenly a polite but indifferent "bing" alerted him to the arrival of his means of conveyance.
Like a creature menacingly peeling back its teeth and gums to consume some helpless prey, the doors slid open. It was time to decide whether he really intended to go through with it.

Jack considered his options: "Do I board? Or do I retreat to the safety of the bustling crowd, making its way here and there, but not up. Never up."

Decision made, he turned to go. But as he did, he noticed an older gentleman, a little to his left and back. "Are you getting on, buddy?", the stranger asked, "If we miss it, it could be a few more minutes for another one."

Jack took a breath and stepped forward. The stranger followed and the doors closed behind them.

Blinking in the artificial light, Jack now saw that the elevator hadn't been empty when he and the other man had embarked. To the side, hidden from outside the doors by the panel of buttons, there stood a young woman in jeans and a t-shirt that said something like "Suck it!" (or so he thought, from the side-on view available to him).

She was chewing something. Without looking at either of her new companions, she asked: "Floor?"

Jack waited. If he declared his destination first, the stranger beside him - who, after all, might be seeking mayhem once he was alone with Jack - could just declare the same floor, follow him off, and attack then.


The girl demanded again, "Floor???"

The stranger muttered "15". Jack said, "Me too".

The girl pressed 15 with a quick glance over her shoulder and the barely noticeable raising of an eyebrow. Barely noticeable, but noticed nonetheless.

That's when Jack realized that there was no other button lit. The girl had been alone on the elevator before its arrival on Jack's floor, but she had not selected a floor at all. Where was she going? What was she doing here? He needed answers.

He summoned his courage, cleared his throat, and in a shaky voice asked the question screaming in his mind: "Excuse me young lady, what floor...are you...going to?"

She answered: "26. Button's broke, in case yer wonderin'."

Suddenly the elevator shuddered and stopped. The lights blinked off and the on, just once.

Jack's eyes shot to the floor number above the door. It said "5". Looking down from there, he could see through the thin crack between the two halves of the door that they weren't on 5 at all. Between 4 and 5? Between 5 and 6? Did it matter?

Feeling the intense atmosphere in the now-stopped car, Jack forced himself to overcome his jitters and said, quite confidently despite how he felt, "Well!"

The girl seemed unsurprised. The stranger yawned.

And then, as if nothing had happened, the elevator lurched back to life. Ascending once more.

7...

8...

9...

10...

Having proven his bravery by asking the girl about her floor and by saying "Well!" when the situation had seemed so bleak, he turned to the stranger. Laughing nervously, he asked "Funny that we're on the same floor, isn't it?"

The stranger replied, "Funny, indeed. I wonder, in fact, if you didn't say '15' only because I had. I wonder in fact, if you don't have some twisted motive that has you following me, a weary old man, off onto my potentially deserted floor."

And then the stranger laughed: "I'm just playing with you, buddy. I saw that you're also going to the law office on the 15th. You've got their business card sticking out of your back pocket."

Relieved that the man seemed an ally, Jack relaxed. Then he remember the girl. Was she lying about the broken button? Was she planning something amiss when they reached 15? Had she been behind the temporary stoppage, testing their nerves? Testing their will?

Had he passed her test?

And if the stranger had known all along that Jack's destination was 15, had he only said "15" as part of his trap?

...15!

Another "bing" and the elevator stopped once again. Jack was safe.

As the doors slid open, he weighed his choices. His time on the elevator had stimulated in him a sense of adventure and feelings of bravado that felt alien and wonderful. He had spoken to strangers and - what's more - he had initiated those exchanges. Here he was, so close to his destination, but no longer sure whether that should be his destination at all.

Maybe he should stay on the elevator and never sign the legal papers for the new apartment. Maybe the elevator is where he was meant to be. He puffed out his chest and started breathing with greater intensity at the prospect of the new Jack.

The stranger prodded him, "You getting off?"

Jack said, "Yes, I suppose I am."

The girl smirked.

As Jack left the elevator, he stumbled a bit as he stepped over the threshold. After that, he made his way down the hall. Instead of meekly knocking at the law office door like he might have done before, he confidently pushed it open...

Fairy Wings at the Foot of the Bed

The tiny fairy shivered. For what seemed like the two-hundredth time, she wiped clear a small circle on the frosty window and peeked into the bedroom. Was she finally asleep?

During her hours perched on the window sill, she'd seen the young girl tossing and turning in bed,  repeatedly summoning her Dad to ask his help in getting to sleep. She'd never seen a more patient father: Returning to the room each time his daughter called; giving her water; patting her back; singing her songs; whispering good night...

She looked with worry at the list of the other houses she had to get to tonight: "I always pick the wrong one to go to first..." So she reminded herself, again, why she had chosen to start with this house despite the wind and cold in this part of her territory, and the long wait: "She's a first-timer, my only tonight, and first-timers make it all worthwhile."

And now, at last, she seemed to be asleep.

Using a bit of magic she slid through the glass, feeling its chill before - at last - the warmth of the child's room.

She heard the soft sound of some baby lullabies coming out of a device on the floor, and the softer sound of the girl's deep breathing. She saw princess costumes lining the wall, and dress-up fairy wings lying at the foot of the bed. The fairy smiled to herself, thinking: "This is why I love the first-timers...she's 5 and she still firmly believes there's magic in the world. She wishes she could still be a baby, yet she also senses what the loss of a tooth means."

Another bit of magic, and she found the 'tooth pillow' with its secret pocket, carefully hidden under the girl's pillow, in the grip of a small hand even in sleep. In the pocket, she found a tiny tooth which she slipped into the pouch on her back.

With a wave of her fairy wand, she gave the girl the gift that she left for all first-timers: A tiny speck of pixie dust that would work its way deep into her heart and remain there forever.

She'd leave nothing else as she visited all of her other assigned houses that night, because it was only for first-timers that she did more than tooth-collecting. And that was okay, because she knew that at all the other houses, as with this one, parents would be leaving something they thought valuable for their kids; whether money, small gifts, or lovingly-written messages.

Her gift, though, given this one time only, was far more valuable than all of that. It was a tiny spark of wonder, nestled deep inside, that would provide a lifetime of hope and faith and innocence.

As she made her way to the window to go, she heard the door creak open and saw the girl's mom and dad slip into the room. She studied them carefully and then found what she sought: their own bits of pixie dust, still glowing, making the night magic for them as well.

A sense of deep joy filled the fairy as they tiptoed to the bed.

She always got a little sad watching the first-timers sleep and knowing that they wouldn't ever be first-timers again, but then the parents' arrival would always remind her that no one ever really has to say goodbye to childhood...completely.

She blew a tiny kiss in the direction of the sleeping girl and went on to the rest of the houses on her list.

A Promising Story

The man gathered his four daughters around, a single tear glistening in his eye.

"It is time, my daughters, for each of you to leave me; to pursue the separate paths that I hope will one day be this family's salvation. As you know, we are near the end. With no work for these long years, we have exhausted our savings - I have no money, I can no longer feed or clothe you, I can no longer care for you, and now I must send you on your way."

Anna, the eldest, boldly stepped forward: "Papa, I swear an oath to you that I will go out into the world and build tremendous wealth in business. I am smart. I am aggressive. People believe in me. Using these assets, I will save this family, returning with more money than you can imagine." And she strode confidently away, down the road that led from her family's meager hut, and out into the east where the great cities lay.

Bella, the second, arose next and declared: "Papa, I promise you that though I must take my leave today, I will return with funds that will not only save you and mama and my dear sisters now, but will also set our children and our children's children up with wealth that will last generations. It is my great beauty and charm that will attract and secure the mightiest Kings' affections. I will marry the greatest of the great and thus bring our family up from this decrepit state." And off she went, to the lands in the west where the mightiest of the mighty reigned.

Claire, the third of the daughters, cleared her throat with a sweet -ahem- and spoke next: "Papa, I too pledge to you that I shall return - as sure as I am standing before you now - with great fame and the fortune it brings. It is my wondrous singing voice, stage presence, and magnificent artistry that will earn me this fame and thus, all of us, a new life." And away she went, with the sun breaking through the clouds as if on cue, casting a natural spotlight on her journey south, where only the finest musicians played.

With her three older sisters gone and her parents' eyes now upon her, Diane stood up with a grunt and said. "I guess I'll be off now too. I'll be back tomorrow with some flowers to brighten up this place, and I'll do my best to bring a bit of food back as well for the three of us." And away she went into the fields to the north.

Diane was back the next day, as she'd said, with some flowers and some food.

The next morning, she awoke early and left again, leaving a note for her parents that said: "Back later today. I'll get more food. Borrowed your wheelbarrow."

She came back just before dusk with some more food and a wheelbarrow full of manure.

And so it continued, day after day...Diane leaving on short trips, promising to be back with modest things, and coming back with those things every time, right on time.

Her parents, meanwhile, despondently ruing the departure of their three eldest daughters, paid Diane little attention - thankful for the scraps of food she brought - but disappointed that she wasn't rising to the challenge like her sisters.

Months passed.

A letter came from Anna, excitedly declaring that her career in business was well underway and that overwhelming success was just around the corner. She renewed her oath to return soon with a fortune.

A letter came from Bella. She had secured the help of a fine man, and they were working together to get Bella ready for an audience with the handsome and eligible King Anthony. "I promise again," she wrote, "that our family will soon be married into wealth and power."

No letter came from Claire, but word spread about a meteoric new talent that was taking the great cities by storm, and her parents knew that Claire was in the midst of fulfilling her pledge.

Diane kept quiet, stayed close to home, went about her daily routine, and kept her parents going with just enough sustenance. Reliable. Low key. Seemingly satisfied with a hand-to-mouth existence.

After about a year, Diane asked her parents to join her on one of her day trips. Just over the northern hill, she revealed to them that she had been planting crops there all this time (starting with the seeds of the flowers she had bought the day after her sisters' departure) and working the previously untended land. Now, she needed their help to harvest its first yield and sell it in the town.

The following year, using the money from that sale, they planted more crops and bought some animals, and watched a healthy farm take root from their once meager holdings.

Years passed.

Anna never returned with a fortune. Apparently her business career stalled, though she earned a decent living. She had found a comfortable existence, she built a nice family of her own, and sent cards to her parents on all the holidays. She had a hard time facing them, though, having abandoned her oath to them.

Bella never married a King. She instead fell in love with the fine man who had at first been her co-conspirator in landing a powerful husband. They were happy but not wealthy. Bella always felt ashamed that she had settled for love instead of keeping her promise to her parents, so she more or less kept her distance from them.

Claire didn't become famous. Her talent, though, kept her fed and kept her happy. Her failure to keep the pledge to her parents was her one deep regret.

And Diane, together with her parents, built great wealth and happiness at home. Their farm became an important economic engine for their town, Diane became mayor, and her parents lived very comfortably to the end of their days.

They took great pride in what they had achieved, and missed Anna, Bella and Claire profoundly as the distance between them continued to grow over time. Their lofty promises, never solicited and never fulfilled, had kept them embarrassed and away.

"If only we had made them promise to be happy, and nothing more," said their Papa to Diane one late night, "I would be infinitely wealthy in the only way I had ever really wanted. But you knew that, didn't you?"

Diane smiled and absently touched the small, crumpled scrap of paper she had always carried in her back pocket. It said: While your reach should exceed your grasp, your promises should not.

Is Television Doomed?

As I was sitting on my couch last night, preparing to watch the one hour of television left to me after the 5 year-old had gone to bed, it struck me that when it comes to the simple supply-and-demand economics of television watching, things are completely out-of-whack.

My demand: one hour of entertainment. The supply: effectively infinite.

Within the realm of supply, my choices include a "live" show, something I've recorded on my PVR, or a universe of content available on Netflix, Crave, On-Demand (movies or television, pay or free), DVD, the Internet, and so on. 

Admittedly, last night was a little extreme: I had only one-hour available. But even with two hours, or five, or five-per-night, or ten...I can never, ever, come close to exhausting the supply.

So what? As consumers, supply greatly exceeding demand means low prices (see Netflix, see Crave being added to my current subscription without additional cost, see the Internet), lots of ready options, and a competitive fight for quality as providers battle for the scant supply. No?

But isn't television a different kind of marketplace? We've got the low prices and a large number of options for sure. But what about quality? There is now, on the market, a virtually inexhaustible supply of quality content available (even on my PVR, I am coming to realize that I can never catch up to the good stuff I've recorded).

The problem, though, is that all that quality content is old content - whether 1-month old or 60-years old - it's old. And the experience of watching the old content is better than watching the new: There are no commercials; I can watch an entire series all-at-once without waiting a week-at-a-time; I can sift through lots and lots of other viewers' recommendations before choosing what I consume; and if there's something I don't understand, I can read lots and lots of essays and opinions about it.

The new content, therefore is getting fewer and fewer eyeballs. I'm hearing more and more people who aren't buying a television and/or paying for cable anymore. Those of us who are, are consuming old content instead of new. Which means that we're not paying for new content (e.g. by watching commercials and buying the advertised products). Which means that new content is becoming less and less lucrative to create. Which must mean, ultimately, that the supply of new, high-quality television content is going to (continue to?) decline significantly.

If there's less new content being created, then guess what? The series that we're all planning to watch five years from now won't have been produced. And the shows that should be offering commentary on what's going on in the world TODAY, won't be getting made.

Take The Newsroom, for example. I think it was a great show. I think it had some really important things to say about what's going on in the world, and I think it was saying it really well. This season in particular, I think it was starting to get going on some really pressing issues. Alas, this season was also its last. I can only assume it was cancelled because not enough people were watching it presently. I bet a whole bunch of people planned to watch its 7 year run when it was all over. Instead, in a year they'll get 2.5 abruptly truncated years. And that's a show that made it to air and survived.

News and sports are different. Nobody wants to watch old news or old sports. Given the choice between watching a current tournament or binge-watching last year's, most sports fans (and band-wagon jumpers) will watch the new.

Film is different. Sure you can catch old movies (from last year or last century) as part of the vast supply of home entertainment, but some movies REQUIRE immediate consumption and some movies MUST be watched in the cinema - so people go see movies and the industry marches on.

But I think with television we'll see a (continued?) decline in the quality of new content. More reality shows. More low-cost / low-quality Internet-style content. A few really high-quality hits that find an audience. And less and less social commentary and meaningful impact (The Walking Dead is a great show in my opinion, but I'm not sure it's teaching us much about the world we live in).

In previous centuries, Artists were the social commentators. Musicians used to do it. Authors and Film-makers still do. Television grew from new technology, to "boob tube" time-waster status, to meaningful art medium in about 70 years (?) For a while now, its content providers have been able to teach us a thing or two about the human condition. But will it survive another 10 in its present form if we all continue to treat it like a library, blindly hoping that someone else will pay for it?

Are we near the end of the television era? Will something come along that drives us viewers back to new content? Will the laws of supply-and-demand force a change that saves the day? 

Stay tuned... 

A Boxing Week Tale

She was fast becoming furious with the girl in front of her. "What do you mean you won't be doing any exchanges until the new year? I've been waiting in this goddamn line-up for 25 minutes and my son has been begging me to take him to pee for 20 of those minutes. And, no, I didn't see this tiny sign saying 'No returns during Boxing Week' because there were 200 people standing BETWEEN ME AND THE SIGN."

Her voice was getting louder and she couldn't stop it. The girl at the cash - and she really was just a girl - looked completely overwhelmed. The people behind her were waiting impatiently just as she had. But she couldn't just walk away without taking one last shot: "Have yourself a shitty New Years - you and your stupid return policy just ruined mine." And with that, she spun on her heels to make her escape, dignity in tatters.

Through the whole encounter, the 6 or 7-year old boy at the angry woman's side stood and stared at the girl behind the counter (her name tag said 'Jessica'). Even as his mom tried to storm away, the boy held Jessica's eye, his shame apparent. Jessica felt bad for him and quickly reached under the counter, grabbed the last candy cane, and thrust it into the boy's hand as he finally yielded to his mom's insistent tugging.

Now the boy and his mom went to the book store. There were legs everywhere. People kept bumping into him and his mom. Everyone seemed really mad. His mom stood in front of an empty shelf cursing that the one thing she came in for was gone. Then she dragged him to the smelly bathroom, and then to get a coffee at the place in the store with the cookies and stuff. The line went on forever. When they finally got to the front, his mom ordered her complicated drink and got him the last cookie. When the drink came, it was wrong (too many pumps or something). Now his mom was yelling again and the girl she was yelling at ('Heather') looked like she was about to cry. Her job was to make the coffee, but she wasn't the one that wrote down what his mom wanted. But that didn't matter to his mom. By the time she was done, the whole store was staring at them.

When his mom wasn't looking, he reached into his pocket and got out the candy cane Jessica had given him. Now he gave it to Heather. She put it in her pocket and gave him a small smile. He smiled back and then once again let himself be dragged away.

His mom had a bad day and was in a terrible mood until long after they got home.
Jessica had a bad day, hated her job, and didn't want to ever go back. But she did because she had to.
The only good part of Heather's day was the little boy who gave her the candy cane.
The little boy mostly forgot about the whole thing by the time they were in the car.

Sometimes his mom got frustrated. But the little boy knew it wasn't Jessica or Heather who frustrated her. It was everything else that pushed her to the point of yelling at complete strangers. She needed a good, long sleep so she could go back to being her usual, loving self.

Jessica couldn't pin her terrible day on one person. It was EVERYBODY, ALL DAY. She needed food and a good, long sleep to go back to her usual, happy self.

Heather, too, felt under attack from the minute the coffee shop opened until it mercifully closed 12 hours later. She needed to watch some TV and have a good, long sleep to go back to being her usual, relaxed self.

When they got home, the little boy had some food, watched some TV, and went to bed. Just before he closed his eyes, he wondered about why nice people weren't always nice to each other.

Then he drifted off and had a good, long sleep.

Post Your Birthday Wishes Round the Ole F-B

If you don't know "Tie a Yellow Ribbon", this will look a little stupid and self-serving. If you do, same...Happy Birthday David!

(With appropriate apologies to Tony Orlando & Dawn).

I'm o'er the hill, I've done my time.
Now, I've got to know which friends are really mine.
If you received my post telling you that I'd soon turn fif-ty,
Then you'll know just what to do,
If you still friend me, if you still friend me.

Whoa, post your birthday wishes round the ole F-B.
It's been fifty years, do you still friend me?
If I don't see your wishes coming through today to me,

I'll temporarily pretend, that you never were my friend, and put the blame on thee.
If I don't see your wishes coming through, today to me.

Young daughter, check my wall for me,
'Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see.
I'm in a competition and my friends, they hold the key.
Your simple birthday greetings will help me top my family,
And I wrote that post to ask you please...

Whoa, post your birthday wishes round the ole F-B.
It's been fifty years, do you still friend me?
If I don't see your wishes coming through today to me,

I'll make a little fuss, forget about us, and put the blame on thee.
If I don't see your wishes coming through today to me.

Now the whole damned net is cheerin',
And I can't believe I see...

A hundred thousand wishes round the ole F-B.
I'm winnin' now.

Send your wishes round the ole F-B

Send your wishes if you still friend me

Send your wishes if your friends friend me

Send your wishes in a post to me

Send your wishes just by liking me

Or by liking someone else's post to me

You can also send your wishes with a call to me

And send your wishes though you don't know me...

<Fade out> 

(The music that is, not this guy - the 50 year-old with thumbs pointed proudly at his chest.)

Zombie Sam's First Day of School

Sam was a zombie child, but even zombie children have to go to school. Today was his first day.

He got to school a bit late, so all of the other (perfectly normal) children were already in their seats. He had to lurch to his seat at the back of the class with all of them watching. He heard the whispers and saw them pointing, and he felt sad.

The teacher asked all of the children to say their name and something that they like to do. When it was Sam's turn, he wanted to say "watch TV" but all that came out was "URRRGGGHHH". The other children laughed at him, and he felt even sadder.

The teacher started talking about the letter "A". The boy sitting next to Sam showed him a picture of a Zombie with a finger in his nose. Sam realized that the picture was supposed to be him, and he felt sadder still. The teacher chose that moment to ask him a question and got mad at him for not paying attention. Now he felt sad and embarrassed.

At recess, the other children played running games and he couldn't run. He saw a squirrel and staggered toward it, and all of the other children stopped what they were doing to watch. So he stopped and the squirrel got away.

At lunch, all of the other children had sandwiches, carrot sticks, and juice boxes in shiny new lunch bags. He had a greasy paper bag containing a dead chipmunk. When he started to eat it, the teacher said he couldn't because chipmunks eat peanuts and the school was peanut-free. Now he was sad, embarrassed and hungry.

In the afternoon, some skin fell of his face right in front of everybody. Some children laughed and some just looked scared. They all moved their chairs away from his. The teacher called the janitor. A grey little tear slid down what was left of Sam's cheek.

A little girl with a ponytail came over to him and said: "Don't be sad Sam." That made him feel a bit better.

When school was finally over and Sam started to shuffle home, the same little girl came over to him to ask if he wanted a drive home with her Daddy. She introduced him to her Daddy as "my new friend Sam." Sam stopped feeling sad and even grinned a little.

When her Daddy asked him where to drop him off. Sam pointed at the first house he saw. He didn't want the little girl to know that he stayed in the cemetery.

The Daddy waited to see that Sam got into his house safely. It wasn't his house but he pretended it was and tried to open the door. It was locked. The Daddy said that Sam should come back to their house until his parents got home. He did.

The little girl and Sam sat in her kitchen. The Daddy gave them each a glass of milk and a cookie. They ate in silence. Sam hated cookies and the milk was gross, but he pretended to like it.

When the little girl went to the bathroom, Sam reached into her family's fish bowl sitting on the counter and ate one of the goldfish. The Daddy saw him do it and sent him home. Sam wanted to say: "Sorry about the fish and thank you for being so nice", but all that came out was "URRRGGGHHH!"

It was a horrible day.

The End.

Moral of the story: The little girl made a new friend on the first day of school. She invited him home and left him alone with her Daddy for just a minute. When she got back, her Daddy had sent him home and didn't say why. She thought he was jerk. But he wasn't a jerk. He was a nice guy who made a good decision and then spared his daughter having to know why he made that decision. What was this zombie kid going to eat next? The cat? The girl? His daughter was mad at him for the rest of the night but that was okay because she was safe. Sometimes Daddies do things that seem bad but are actually good. Cut them some slack.