David Dubrow

Author

Social Media, Stroking, and You

by Leave a Comment

Eric Berne’s Games People Play, written in 1964, is a seminal book on psychology, something you must read if you’re interested in understanding the nuts and bolts of human interaction.  I’m not going to summarize it, but one concept I’ll describe from it is called strokes.

A stroke is a unit of human interaction: you pass a co-worker in the hall and say hi. Your co-worker says hi.  You’ve exchanged strokes and everything’s good.  A problem arises when you pass a co-worker in the hall and you say hi and she doesn’t say hi.  You’re missing a stroke.  Perhaps she was distracted, perhaps she didn’t see you, perhaps she doesn’t like your necktie, whatever: you didn’t get your expected stroke and it puts you off.  Perhaps a little bit, perhaps a lot: many factors go into the value of a stroke.

Social media is a near-perfect way of not just measuring strokes, but displaying them to the entire world.  Likes on Facebook, Favorites on Twitter, whatever they do on Instagram to signal approval of a photo: all strokes.  All visible, all measurable, all important.  We do things on social media because we want the world to see them, and we do these things to get strokes.

It’s cynical to perceive human relationships as such a sterile mode of exchange, but nobody is exempt from wanting strokes.  How many times have you heard, “Well, a relationship is a two-way street.”  “Give and take.”  “Meet me halfway.”  “I’m tired of crossing oceans for someone who won’t cross the street for me.”  And so on.  It’s transactional: you want something so you do something to get it.  We all do it.

Some people need a lot of strokes to get through the day intact.  The ones who frequently post pictures of their breakfasts or random, meaningless thoughts or whatever the dog is doing: they’re looking for their strokes online because they’re not getting enough of them in meatspace for whatever reason.  It doesn’t mean they’re weak or stupid: it’s just how they are.  Their closest friends are the people who give them the most strokes.  It’s natural.  Who doesn’t want strokes?

If you’re looking to prove the stroking concept, try this experiment: select someone you know through social media and have frequent, if casual exchanges with.  Maybe it’s me.  Maybe it’s a former work friend.  Anyone.  Then, for two weeks, stop stroking them.  Ignore them and behave as usual with everyone else online. One or both of two things will happen: that person will directly contact you to see if everything’s okay, or he’ll stop stroking you, too.  It might take longer than two weeks to get a reaction or it might take a few days.  It almost always works, because deep down we all rely on stroking.  Nobody likes to chase after someone who’s obviously indifferent.  The only caveat is that when you end the experiment it may take time for that person to return to mutual stroking.  They’ve built up that stroking deficit and you’ll have to make it up with extra strokes.  Other people may immediately pick up where you left off. Depends on the person.  Doing this is mean and manipulative and awful, but you knew that already.

What’s amazing about strokes is that they’re valuable even if they come from people you don’t particularly care for. Most of us, especially those who use social media as part of work, have online friends who we’re not really friends with.  Some know people we want to get to know; others are professional acquaintances, colleagues, or bosses; yet others are friends of friends or relatives.  You don’t like them but you know them because it’s better to know them than not (or so you think).  If you get strokes from them, you’re fine.  But when you don’t get an expected stroke, that becomes troubling.  Are you really going to chase after someone you don’t like over something you can’t really quantify?  Of course not.  So you’ll let it go.  Sort of.  Most likely you’ll add it to the reasons why you don’t like that person.  Resentment builds: maybe a little, maybe a lot.  It’s okay.  It happens to everyone.

With all this in mind, give your social media interactions a good, close look.  Be mindful of what you’re doing, which means examining why you’re doing it.  It’s small, it’s petty, it’s meaningless.  Except that it isn’t.  They’re your strokes, and you need them.  Bad strokes are better than no strokes.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Free E-Book for Halloween!

by Leave a Comment

From today through November 1, my novella Dreadedin Chronicles: The Nameless City will be free through Amazon.

Combining themes of Lovecraftian horror, ancient evil, teenage angst, and zombies, it’s a short, punchy read that takes place at this time of year: Halloween!  In it, high school sophomore Paige Ashton and college freshman Ryan Kincaid face a terrible horror that seeks to not only consume their town, but the entire world.

The supporting characters were taken from local teen volunteers, and takes place in Dunedin, Florida, home town of Henry S. Whitehead, a horror author and friend of H.P. Lovecraft himself.

I guarantee at least one hour’s worth of horrific entertainment with every copy, or your money back! How many YA, PG, non-PC Lovecraftian novellas are you going to read this year?  Pick up your copy today!

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Halloween, Zombies, and You

by Leave a Comment

What follows is a short piece that didn’t make it to the final manuscript of The Ultimate Guide to Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse.  Like all good survival advice, it is timeless and necessary, especially for this time of year.

For children, Halloween ranks right up there with Christmas as the best time of year.  For the informed adult concerned about the coming Zombie Apocalypse, Halloween can be a gut check.  It doesn’t mean, however, that you have to dread it entirely: costumes, free candy, and parties are celebrations of life and a thumbing-of-the-nose at grim death.  As such, you should have fun.  Take the kids out trick-or-treating.  Throw a party.  Dress up as Batman.  Just keep a few things in mind that will maximize your personal security.

A Supernatural Zombie Apocalypse is more likely at this time of year than any other.  Halloween is when the veil between life and death is at its thinnest, making it easier for unquiet spirits to cross over from Purgatory to the land of the living.

  • Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things: Stay away from graveyards at all costs.  A dead body buried in unhallowed ground can be an attractive vessel for ghosts seeking a return to life (or unlife, as it were).  It may be traditional to hold parties at cemeteries during Halloween, but as an enlightened student of zombie combat you know that the best way to avoid being killed by the undead is to not be where there are going to be large numbers of them.  
  • The Craft: Stay away from practitioners of the occult, and don’t dabble in it yourself this one time.  Just like you wouldn’t play with matches near a gas station, getting out the Ouija board to see if you can contact a random spirit from the Great Beyond on Halloween is a terrifically bad idea.
To most of us, Halloween means dressing up as someone or something else.  The continuing popularity of zombies in modern American culture means that there are going to be many people shuffling around outside at night looking like hungry undead.  One of the worst things you could do is shoot an innocent living person because he made the unfortunate choice of having a realistic costume.  So it’s up to you to make sure you can tell the difference between a zombie and a person dressed up as a zombie.
  • The Scent of Blood: Because any true zombies active at this time of year are most likely Supernatural Zombies, they’re probably going to be more rotten, and hence smell a lot worse than a fresher Viral Zombie.  Putrefaction has a scent all its own, and the vast majority of zombie poseurs, even the most hardcore, won’t go the extra mile of smearing rotting meat on their bodies to complete the costume.
  • The Naked and the Dead: Clothing and funeral cerements tend to rot in the grave, and the effort of breaking through a coffin and digging out from six feet of earth tends to destroy burial garments.  It’s extremely unlikely that someone will shuffle around town with his private parts exposed to the wind as part of his zombie costume (though you can’t entirely rule that out).
  • Body Parts: It’s an easy thing to apply white, green, red, and gray splotches of makeup on your face, dress up in carefully torn clothing, limp around, make pitiful moaning noises, and call it a zombie costume.  But you can’t convincingly fake a truly skeletal hand with missing flesh over moving, bony digits.  

The most important thing is to make 100% certain of your target before shooting.  That smelly, grunting, half-naked person might be an Occupy protestor, not an actual undead creature.  Don’t shoot until you know beyond a shadow of doubt that the zombie in your sights is a true monster.  If necessary, call out verbal commands.  Even the most “in-character” zombie actor will fill his trousers and stop approaching at the sight of a drawn gun and a proper command to freeze.

Just take behavior and appearance in aggregate before deciding to act on a perceived threat.  What’s unacceptable the other 364 days out of the year can be the norm on Halloween.  Use common sense.  Real zombies don’t ring doorbells looking for candy: they’ll try to break the door down.  Keep an eye out, make sure your children are safe, and have a good time this year.  I can’t speak to the specifics, but I’m quite certain that next year you’ll have more pressing concerns than buying the economy bag of Snickers or Clark bars for the neighborhood kids.
Happy Halloween, and if you’re concerned about the safety of yourself and your loved ones at this  dangerous time of year, arm yourself with knowledge and run, don’t walk to get your copy of The Ultimate Guide to Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse.
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

That Careful Face

by Leave a Comment

My son was a difficult baby to feed: he would frequently pull his mouth off the nipple and arch his back, transforming what would normally be a brief experience into a frustrating ordeal.  He was obviously hungry, but something kept him from an easy feed.  He also spit up a lot.  A lot.  Our pediatrician told us that it was likely acid reflux, and suggested we try different brands and types of formula.

Over the course of weeks, we found that some formulas turned his poop slate blue, others seemed to work without giving him heartburn for a day and then he’d return to arching his back, and yet others made no difference.  After a month of muddling through we hired a doula to spend the day with him to see if we were doing something wrong.  It was silly at the time, but when you’re sleep-deprived and frustrated, you go with anything that might help.

It wasn’t us, obviously.  The doula thought that our son had a problem with his jaw, and recommended a course of expensive physical therapy that might or might not work to correct the issue.  After assiduous Google searching, my wife and I found that this was a suggestion that doulas frequently made when dealing with a problem like my son had.  You’ve heard the expression, “When the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail,” right?  Also, there was a minuscule chance that this treatment might kill him.
me without lanap laser gum surgery
When we took our son to the pediatrician for his next checkup and explained what the doula said, the pediatrician’s face took on a very careful, bland expression.  She said that such a thing might work, or it might not; she wasn’t familiar with the treatment.  After the appointment, my wife and I talked about it and had independently come to the conclusion that the pediatrician thought the doula was full of shit, but didn’t want to say it straight out.  Eventually my son grew out of whatever problem he was having and doesn’t complain of heartburn of any kind, though for some reason he doesn’t like carrots.  I mean, who doesn’t like carrots?

A few years and several hundred miles later, I found myself in a dentist chair on Florida’s west coast.  The dentist told me that I had gum disease due to infrequent flossing, and the only treatment would be Lanap laser gum surgery.  Luckily, they had a Lanap laser device right there in the office and could set up an appointment right away that would only cost a great deal of money, instead of all the money I had or could ever hope to make.

Remember: when the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.  The corollary is, “When you have an expensive piece of equipment you’ll find thousands of reasons to use it.”  With that in mind, I asked the dentist (once she’d taken the hook and mirror from my mouth), “Will my gums heal over time if I return to regular flossing?”

The dentist and the dental assistant shared a look with each other over my recumbent form, and in that moment I knew I had asked the right question.  The dentist carefully allowed that such a thing wasn’t unheard of, but it would still be better to zap the hell out of my horribly leprous gums with laser fire just to be sure.  I told them I would take that under advisement, wiped the infected drool from my chin, and left to buy more floss.

Pleasantly, I still have all of my teeth, including the wisdom teeth.

Face-to-face, most people don’t want to disagree with you.  They’ll mask it behind that careful facade, even when pressed.  When you’re observant, when you examine not just what they say but how they say it, you’ll sometimes get to the truth.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

The Bad Guy

by Leave a Comment

One of my all-time favorite television shows was Rome. The friendship between Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus, the dysfunctional family dynamics among the upper and lower classes, the fall of Gaius Julius Caesar and the rise of Octavian, Antony and Cleopatra, the casual bloodletting and English accents. Great stuff.

The show lasted two seasons, and in my disappointment at its finale, I turned to Spartacus (or, as I think of it, Spartacus: Blood and Tits). What it lacked in Rome‘s historical accuracy it made up for in cartoonish violence, naked people of both genders, and very uneven writing. The dialogue is at times lyrical and witty, at other times ludicrous (one memorable scene has a wealthy Roman rogering one of his house slaves, and in the throes of passion, grunts to a nearby male slave, “Ungh. Put cock in arse.”). For reasons I haven’t bothered to research, none of the characters in the show use possessive pronouns in conversation.

The hero, Spartacus, is in large part a vanilla do-gooder, lacking depth. His best friend Crixus is an unremittingly unlikable jerk. Every Roman woman is a manipulative, deceitful, wig-wearing harpy two steps away from murder.

For me, the best part of the show was Ashur. I’m one of those people who roots for the bad guy, and if you want to see a great bad guy, Ashur’s your man. He’s cleverly written, but what elevates him is his performance by Nick Tarabay, who invests depth and humor into a role that would typically be thankless. As loathsome and horrible as he is, you want him to come out on top, to frustrate the good guys’ aims. His death in the show, especially at the hands of a terribly-written victim-character included to satisfy PC requirements, was particularly painful.

It’s the sign of a good story that it excites an emotional response in the reader or viewer (other than contempt for the entire enterprise). I cheered when Glaber died with a gladius down his throat and mourned at Ashur’s loss. So Spartacus: Blood and Tits isn’t an entire waste of time.

One of the reasons why I’m writing my Armageddon trilogy the way I am is that I want the reader to see what the bad guys are up to and why. Who would want to fight on the side of Hell when the world’s at stake? What motivates them? One reviewer said of The Blessed Man and the Witch, “It was sometimes hard to know the good guys from the bad guys.” Not because the bad guys weren’t bad, but because the bad guys had realistic motivations, like real people do.

It’s okay to root for the bad guy, as long as he’s an interesting bad guy. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

I Saw a Florida Skunk Ape

by Leave a Comment

I was privileged to receive an early draft of Adam Howe’s Damn Dirty Apes, a novella included in his anthology Die Dog or Eat the Hatchet.  Moreover, I was honored to write a blurb for it.

Despite the humor (there are many laugh-out-loud moments in Damn Dirty Apes), the story has a core of realism, especially in reference to the skunk ape that figures prominently in the narrative.  As part of his research into skunk apes, Adam reached out to an organization called S.P.N.A.S.A.: The Society for the Preservation of the North American Skunk Ape.  As it turns out, SPNASA found Adam’s literary efforts insulting, and sent him a letter threatening legal action.  It’s my understanding that the matter has since been cleared up, but it proves that there are plenty of people out there who take the legend of the skunk ape very seriously.

A Google search on skunk apes brought up a Wikipedia entry, plus some other websites with varying degrees of credibility, but I found my curiosity still piqued.  After all, the skunk ape lives almost literally in my own backyard here in Florida.

So I went out to do some of my own investigating.  My neck of the (back)woods is full of nature trails, swampy areas, and pine forest that few people bother to explore, so that’s where I started.  To be honest, I didn’t take it terribly seriously, and even brought my little boy along with me to “hunt the skunk ape.”  He thought it terrific fun at first, but the walking and waiting and, most importantly, staying quiet was difficult for him, so after an hour or so of farting around and taking pictures, we called it quits.

It was only a few nights later, when I casually flicked through the photos on my phone, that I saw this:

I’ve circled the relevant section of the picture.

It’s chilling to think how close this thing got, not just to me, but my son as well.  Believe me, I’ll definitely keep my little boy at home on any future skunk ape hunts.  It’s only because we were downwind that I didn’t smell it, I suspect.

The chase is on, though.  I know it’s out there.  I just have to go find it.

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail