Writer’s Block

When we don’t know what to say, we write.

What do I call this? 

Writer’s block? A spiritual drought? Psychological detachment? Denial? Disorientation? Cognitive dissonance? A wilderness wandering? Maybe all of the above.

I process by writing. To find clarity in my own mind and heart, I need to generate about twelve to fifteen hundred words. Over the years, that’s been my pace. 

I’ve gotta give this a try. I can’t not write. So here goes.

* * * * *

It’s been one week and a day. By midnight seven days ago, we got a sense of the election results. Still, I went to sleep with a glimmer of hope. I didn’t want to look at my phone when I woke up early - I feared what I might see. But there it was in bold print, “Donald J. Trump Has Been Elected President of the United States.”

“Shit,” I said out loud.

So over half the voting public has been (I guess) in celebration mode all week. Not me. 

Back in my football years, I had the wind knocked out of me. Several times. That’s what it feels like. No air in the lungs. Chest frozen shut, unable to breathe. It’s momentary, but alarm bells go off, and you get a visceral sense of our absolute dependence on oxygen. While those who voted for him feel vindicated, the rest of us are choking for air. Numb. Angry. Grief-stricken. Afraid.

I’m going to sound like a “sore loser” here. I know. But the oxygen went out of the air. The hopes and dreams that the Trump era just might end evaporated in the blast of an electoral college count, the sweep of red states across the nation filling the map, and a majority in the country’s popular vote - Republican for the first time since 2004.

The blame game is in full gear. Biden waited too long to drop out. Harris failed to articulate the accomplishments of the Biden administration. Latinos and young men without a college degree drifted to Trump. Women’s rights didn’t resonate with enough women, especially those who believe women should remain subordinate to men. Fears over the influx of immigrants, the lingering effect of inflation, and the overwhelming sense that the country is “moving in the wrong direction” all took their toll. Gaza is Biden’s problem. Ukraine, too. And because Harris was his Vice President, she shares in the blame. That’s what they say.

I’ve been invested in this election. I believed and still believe that this “candidate” is unfit. The other fit. Ready.

In contrast, the winner of this election holds the law and the rule of law in utter contempt. He believes that “it’s stupid to pay tax.” He has been convicted because he has committed crimes - the prosecutions are not persecution. He is incapable of telling the truth. He is the embodiment of toxic masculinity. He is a documented philanderer. He’s a bully. He is incapable of humility. He learned how to “succeed” from his mentor - the loathsome, infamous attorney, the late Roy Cohn. His family pastor, Norman Vincent Peale, taught him the “power of positive thinking” which is why he never admits that he made a mistake, much less asks forgiveness. He surrounds himself with despicable cartoon characters like Stephen Miller, Steve Bannon, and Roger Stone. He’s more comfortable with mobsters and worldwide wrestling promoters and beauty pageant protagonists and iron-fisted dictators than he is with scholars or professionals or experts who have earned the respect of their peers. Like a circus barker, he hawks overpriced merch, ripping off his hapless consumers. He’d rather call our nation a “garbage can” than appeal to the better angels of our nature. 

The Amway Diamonds told me to “fake it until you make it.” For the now President-elect, that’s a life motto. He probably believes you’ll find that advice somewhere in the Bible.

And once again, my people, my former tribe, the “Evangelicals” voted him in. Lance Wallnau, Greg Locke, Franklin Graham, Wayne Grudem, Albert Mohler, Robert Jeffress made the case. The evangelicals bought in. (Note - it made all those preachers rich.)

They believe he’s “God’s man.”

The radical Pentecostal (The New Apostolic Reformation) MAGA preachers have developed a whole narrative that imagines that their God looked down from heaven and said, “Whoa, America is in trouble! Look at all those Woke influencers indoctrinating My Children with Critical Race Theory, Diversity Equity, and Inclusion. They are killing babies and giving the OK to people who want to change their gender. They’ve got OPEN BORDERS! I have got to STOP THIS. I have found My Man - my unlikely Servant. He will protect the USA, restore the Country and bring Me back to My rightful place in the courthouse and the schools and the public square! I’ll intervene. I’ll take care of it. I’ll send my Holy Spirit down there to prompt my people to vote and make it for darn sure that My Man wins.” Wow. Talk about eisegesis. Classic.

I don’t believe in this God. He’s not in the Bible. 

They made him up.

* * * * *

The last month or two of the election season gave us a Republican candidate who was imploding before our very eyes. His speech was slurred, incomprehensible; filled with expletives, name-calling, insults, and vitriol. The debate with Kamala was a hands-down loss. Harris took him to the cleaners. His pathetic claim afterward that it was his “best performance ever” would be Exhibit A. He had lost touch with reality. He lived in a fantasy world of his own making.

It all gave me hope that the endless days of Trump-in-the-headlines might finally be over. It’s been more than eight years since he descended that escalator with his trophy wife.

The people I know who voted for Trump tell me they didn’t listen to his rallies. They didn’t tune in to his acceptance address or any of the Republican Convention. They didn’t hear his speeches or watch his interviews. They claim they didn’t even like him. They wished he’d clean up his language. 

No - it was “his policies.” 

“I like his policies.”

What is abundantly clear is their utter disdain for the woman of color who presented a very different vision of America.

Well. Now we’ve got him. They’ve got him. Their dream has come true. Their prayers answered. 

Will they listen now? Do they like him now?

* * * * *

Apparently, our country is just not ready to elect a woman who will lead us. Forty percent of us believe that Planet Earth is less than 10,000 years old. These people will believe anything. It’s now well understood that they would prefer the conspiracy theories propagated by the Conservative Media Complex to the facts. For them, climate change is a hoax. Democracy is a breeding ground for multiculturalism. Immigrants are rapists and criminals and taking our jobs. Ban the books! They believe The Convicted Felon’s version of “the truth” - that his legal troubles are all caused by the “Biden Crime Family.”

So now some will dismiss me as a “Trump hater.” Hmm. It’s a convenient reason not to read what I’ve written. And it begs the question, “Who is the real hater here?” 

Like their hero, the MAGA crowd has proven to be champions of the fine art of projection. If you are accused of some sort of misdeed, accuse the accuser. 

“You say I’m a racist?  No! YOU are the racist.”   

“You say I’m a thief?  No! YOU are the thief.”

“You say I’m a liar?  No! YOU are the liar.” 

And so it goes. Deflect deflect deflect. Deny deny deny. Hit back. Hard. (Thank you, Roy Cohn.)

I’m buckling up for another four years of this nonsense.

* * * * *

So I’ve had a hard time watching the news since last week. Once again, it’s all about the President-Elect. He’s tapping all of his cronies, sure to implement his ruinous agenda. 

Everyone is weighing in, including me. Somehow, getting those words on the page fulfills its promise. I’m finding clarity. I share it with you in hopes that you will be reminded that you are not alone.

I reached over to a distant relative who has lived quite successfully as a gay professional woman for decades. She’s happy: a doting mom, and a caring grandmother. We were at a big family dinner. I whispered in her ear, “You know, I do believe we are on the same political page.”

She looked back at me, stunned. All these years, she assumed that as an aging white guy, I’d be tuning in to Tucker Carlson in my spare time.

I whispered again, “Since we learned the results last Wednesday, we’ve been grieving. We’re angry. And fearful.” 

To my surprise, tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Ken. I had no idea. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“We’re in this together,” I said… with tears in my eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “We are indeed.”

* * * * *

Here’s a prayer from my favorite Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz Weber - 

Dear God,

You’re gonna need to help out today.

If people in my life need some comfort and reassurance, it can’t really come from me today because I am in need of the same.  I just can’t blow sunshine up anyone’s ass today, Lord, so I ask that you send what they need, please.

If it is possible, remind us that millions of human beings throughout history have lived through worse political situations and still managed to make art, and find joy, and share meals and resist despair. Could you do that for us please? And then keep guiding us toward their wisdom.

In fact, cover us all in a wisdom that is not available in memes, and hot takes.

And help us remember to drink some water today.

In other words, have mercy upon us.

Amen.*

Amen.

-----END----------

*From Nadia’s Substack: “I got nothing for you but this shitty little prayer.”

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