29 March 2025

Inspired by Barry and Stephen


 

We've talked before about the fact that more short-story anthologies seem to be published these days than in the past. Especially short mystery/crime anthologies and--again especially--crime anthologies based on singers and songs.

Two of these music-themed anthologies were published since I last posted here, two weeks ago, and I was fortunate enough to have stories in them.


A Fanilow of Manilow

The first of those was A Killing at the Copa: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Music of Barry Manilow. Published by White City Press and edited by old friend Jay Hartman, this anthology contains thirteen stories and was released on March 18. My story there is called "Lonely Together," which is also the title of the song that inspired it, from the 1980 Manilow album Barry. (I suspect the reason I'm a fanilow is that so many of his songs bring back good memories.)

My story involves a man and woman who meet by chance at the bar of a Moscow nightclub. One is American and one's Russian and both are single, a situation that seemed to me to fit both the title while offering lots of chances for mystery and deceit and a twisty plot--in fact, there are several complete reversals in the storyline during the course of the tale. The whole thing is written almost entirely in dialogue between these two people, and since I love writing dialogue, that made it even more fun for me. At 2000 words it's fairly short, and includes only two scenes.


A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Computer

The second music-themed anthology was Every Day a Little Death: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Stephen Sondheim, published by Level Short and edited by writer/editor/globetrotter Josh Pachter. (This is the fifth of Josh's music-based anthology projects that I've been involved with--each one has been great fun and interesting, and I think I'm more excited about this particular story of mine than I've been about any of the others.) Every Day a Little Death features twenty writers, many of whom (except me) were chosen because they're extremely familiar with, and active in, the world of the theatre. It was released on March 22.

My anthology story, "I Love to Travel," is once again based on a song with the same title, this one from the Sondheim musical Frogs. This wasn't my favorite of his songs (my faves are probably "Send in the Clowns" and some of the tunes from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum), but this one was fun to spin a story around. My story, about 3800 words, includes two hicks from the South Louisiana swamps who decide to rob the eccentric CEO of a chain of Walmart-like retail stores. These idiots put together a gang of misfits who travel to Florida to pull the heist, which--surprise, surprise!--doesn't go as planned. Now that I think of it, this probably was a case of sending in the clowns . . .

Questions

How do you, as a writer and/or a reader, feel about these "inspired-by-the-music-of" anthologies? Do you find them enjoyable to write stories for? To read? How does that compare to other themes? Do you tend to play the song that's represented by a certain story while you're writing it?--I know some folks do. Does it have to be music by an artist you like, for you to enjoy the anthology? Does it make no difference, so long as the stories are good? Which one(s) of these projects--there have been many--have you most enjoyed? Which have you contributed a story to? Do you have any suggestions for music on which future themed-anthologies should be based? NOTE: I'll be traveling today and might not be able to reply right away, but your thoughts and comments are always appreciated.


In closing, I hope that, wherever you are, spring has sprung. (Begone from me, coats, gloves, and longjohns.) Dust off the pollen, keep reading those anthology stories, and keep writing!


28 March 2025

How Do You Prepare to Write?


Last year, I had a difficult time writing. Even the stuck list I discussed in a previous guest post wasn’t working for me. With deadlines approaching and no creative gas in the tank, I started to worry and reached out to a friend. 

She asked me a simple question. “How do you prepare to write?”

I told her about my perfectly fine-tuned scheduled, how I juggled writing between other commitments and my lengthy to-do list. When I had a window of time, I sat behind my desktop, laptop, cellphone (whatever electronic device I had at my disposal), and that’s when I would write.

She laughed (in a kind way) and said, “Maybe that's your problem.” 

She suggested I try meditation. It was my turn to laugh. I had tried meditation and thoughts bounced around my head like Tigger in the Hundred Acre Wood. She suggested journaling. (I didn’t laugh this time because it would have been rude.) I never liked journaling. It felt like an excuse not to put “real words” on the page. I thanked her, filed her recommendations away, and returned to my Barnum and Bailey’s approach to life, determined to do “all the things,” without success. Until one blessed morning I had a mental break through. 

Maybe it happened because it was still early. Maybe it happened because I was in the shower, and it was quiet. I was standing under the water, going through my mental checklist for the day (maximizing my time, and winning, right?), when it hit me, the note behind my friend’s advice. My problem was mental clutter.

Mental Clutter

I love the way Amarie writes about this idea in her article on Medium: “Imagine the mind is like a web browser. Each thought, task, and worry is an open tab screaming for your attention. Some tabs may be for work, others for personal stuff, and others may be random anxieties. When too many tabs are open, everything slows down, and it’s hard to get anything done.” 

My friend was right. My perfectly optimized schedule wasn’t optimized at all. My life had turned into a game of whack-a-mole. The fifteen minute windows I had taken so much pride in leveraging were opening more tabs, draining my focus, and slowing me down. More than that, it was suffocating my creativity because I didn’t have space to think, imagine, or let my mind wander.

I talked to Michael Bracken about the challenges I’d been experiencing, and he pointed me to Cal Newport’s book Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World.

Deep Work

Cal Newport defines deep work as “focusing without distraction on a cognitively demanding task.” Context shifts (interruptions, checking email, social media) degrade your cognitive effectiveness. He explains that deep work is important because deep efforts are what move the needle, especially in knowledge work like creative writing. 

To perform at an optimal level, he recommends the following: engage in deep work, embrace boredom, abandon social media, and eliminate unnecessary tasks. (He talks about this more on his YouTube Channel.) Armed with Cal Newport’s insights and recommendations from my friend, I decided my approach to writing in 2025 would be different. 

Time Blocking

In the evenings I mapped out my schedule for the following day, rearranging tasks, creating longer blocks of time to write, taking a mindful approach to deep work tasks and measuring their outcome. I discovered this focused approach helped reduce the chaos I felt in the past and helped me focus during writing windows. 

Strategically Check Email, Social Media, & the News

I also blocked time in my schedule for checking email, social media, and reading the news—trying my best to do these activities after deep work sessions knowing they would trigger “open tab, open tab moments” and weigh me down. I also blocked email and social media during writing windows and left my phone on a table outside my office door, close enough to hear if the school called but far enough away so I couldn’t reach for it reflexively.

Know My Why

Roni Loren, an amazing performance coach, reminded me that when I say “yes” to something, I say “no” to my writing. It was sobering, and it has stayed with me. I have tried to look at new opportunities and consider them with this outcome in mind.

Prepare to Write

In order to take advantage of deep work blocks of time, I started journaling—morning pages to clear away the noise. I will start a bigger project soon. As an experiment, I have decided to try evening pages—brainstorming scenes I intend to write the following morning to prepare. I also made reading a priority again. It had fallen to the wayside when things were soul-crushingly busy, and I needed to read in order to write. I tried meditation again, two minutes each morning before I started writing. I focused on my breathing, and the difference it made was remarkable.


White Space

I started prioritizing white space on my calendar. I took the dog for a walk in the woods, no headphones, no recording device. I went for a run. Some of the best ideas I’ve had this year came during moments when I left my productivity expectations behind.


How do you prepare to write? Have you tried deep work? What productivity tips do you have for writers? 

***

My story “Mary Poppins Didn’t Have Tattoos” is now featured on Rabia Chaudry's acclaimed podcast, The Mystery Hour. At the end of the reading, Rabia skillfully connects elements of the story to real-life true crime events. I'm delighted with the final result. I hope you feel the same. Check it out on your favorite podcast app.


27 March 2025

Crime Scene Comix Case 2024-03-028, Control Top Cop


Once again we highlight our criminally favorite cartoonist, Future Thought channel of YouTube. We love the sausage-shaped Shifty, a Minion gone bad.

Yikes! In this Crime Time episode, only one outcome is possible.

 
   
  © www.FutureThought.tv

 

That’s today’s crime cinema. Hope you enjoyed the show. Be sure to visit Future Thought YouTube channel.

26 March 2025

l'Art du Crime


The Art of Crime is another show I’ve discovered, streaming on MHz, and I like it, but…

It’s funny what pulls you in, and what waves you off.

Very often, you find a book series, or TV, to be an acquired taste. I wasn’t drawn in right away, for example, by Jackie Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs books. I loved her memoir, This Time Next Year We’ll Be Laughing, but it took me a couple of books to warm up to Maisie. (Once I was sold, I was sold.)

I’ve tried to read James Benn’s Billy Boyle series – I read two start to finish, and cracked the spine on a couple more, hoping my first impression was wrong – but I’m sorry, they leave me cold as a mackerel. (This is a private opinion, obviously; your math may differ.) 

A show it took me the entire first season to even tolerate was Brokenwood, and well you might ask why I bothered, but something kept pulling me back, and I’m glad it did: I think I had to get over my aggravation with DI Mike Shepherd, who just seemed like one of those guys you’d go out of your way to avoid in the workplace.

 A classic example of this is Death in Paradise, which is hands down the most annoying show on television. They had the inimitable Ben Miller for the first season, and he’s the reason I watched Primeval (along with Doug Henshall), but then they cast the utterly execrable Kris Marshall, and almost killed the show. Seriously, if not for the supporting characters and the Caribbean landscapes, I would have given up.

Speaking of, although I’m nuts about Deadly Tropics (which is a terrible and uninviting title), but like the cast more than the scripts, I’m crazy about the local scenery of Martinique. Here’s another one. I was on the fence about Signora Volpe, even if the hot ex-spy and her hot Italian love interest give it romantic appeal, what convinced me were the fabulous Umbrian backdrops. Which, circling back, is a big selling point of The Art of Crime.

It’s shot in Paris. Ça suffit. Some of the surrounding countryside ain’t too shabby, either. But mostly, it’s in the city itself, and often some unrecognizable alley, off the beaten path. It’s not always the Champs Elysées, although you get a lot of I.M. Pei’s pyramid at the Louvre. I think they shoot inside the Louvre, too, but staircases and hallways, not the galleries, apparently. I’m not actually sure. They obviously got permission to shoot interiors at the Musée d’Orsay, once famously a train station, serving the southwest of France. And certainly other locations I don’t recognize. This is a big plus for me,

I have to admit, and not just in this show. I love the genuinely terrible Armin Mueller-Stahl policier variously titled Midnight Cop, or Killing Blue, because they shot it in Berlin and never showed a single familiar landmark, like the Brandenburg Gate or the Memorial Church. The Art of Crime opened an episode at the Temple de la Sybille, an architectural folly on top of an artificial waterfall in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, sixty-one acres of manicured grounds in the Nineteenth that I’m embarrassed to say I never heard of, or visited. And it’s clearly as famous to Parisians as the Bois de Boulogne. That’s exactly my point. When somebody who knows a place intimately uses the landscape as character, you see it with a fresh eye.

I don’t mean to damn The Art of Crime with faint praise. It’s got a cool premise, not necessarily art theft, but art adjacent crime. This is the French OCBC, not a fictional crew, that investigates cultural property trafficking – smuggling, counterfeits, money laundering – and our entrée is to team a streetwise plainclothes cop with an artwise academic. They expend a little too much nervous energy at the beginning, rubbing each other the wrong way, but you let it go. (It’s like Jonathan Frakes; you don’t take Riker seriously until he grows his beard.)

 The obligatory exasperated senior officer, on the other hand, is a much better character in this show, not a wet blanket but a full narrative partner. There’s also the trope where the art expert explains herself to her psychiatrist, not to mention explaining herself to imaginary artists, Toulouse-Lautrec, Hieronymus Bosch, da Vinci. The only superfluous character is the art expert’s dad, an unnecessary aggravation.

I should be clear, that I in fact find it quite charming, in spite of the occasional too-cutesiness.

You realize they established certain dynamics, but after the shakedown cruise, they didn’t throw the excess cargo overboard. Somebody on the team was too proprietary. Be that as it may. I’ve finished Season Three (out of an existing eight, but only two episodes a season), and I’ll finish them.

I think, as I’ve said before, that there’s a different rhythm to European cop shows. It’s an enlivening change of pace.

25 March 2025

Literary Relationships


When we first have enough confidence in our writing—whether justified or not—to begin submitting our short stories, our goal is to find one editor—any editor—who likes our work well enough to publish it. Some of us achieve our first publication early and some of us grind for years before we break through.

If we’re lucky, we find an editor who likes our work well enough that it leads to multiple acceptances, and it may even lead to additional opportunities when that editor puts together invitation-only anthologies. This is a good thing.

Sort of.

Initially, it is wonderful to realize you have developed a strong working relationship with an editor and are confident that you have, through that relationship, a reliable home for your work. It’s a form of literary monogamy.

Me? I try to avoid literary monogamy because it can lead to heartbreak.

FEAR OF MISSING OUT

First, there’s the fear of missing out. There’s the fear that, had I tried harder, I might have developed a better relationship.

For example, if you review your list of published stories and discover that most of them have appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, with only the occasional dalliance with other publications, you probably aren’t missing out on much.

However, if most of your stories have appeared in Jim Bob’s Magazine of Mystery, you probably are missing out. It’s time to make a concerted effort to step up to the next level. Don’t abandon Jim Bob yet, but don’t make his publication the first place you submit a new story. Send that story to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine or Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine first or to the publications that aren’t quite at their level but fall somewhere on the scale below them and above JBMoM.

Once you step up to the next level, and can do so consistently, it may be—to torture the metaphor a bit—time to practice literary serial monogamy. Leave Jim Bob behind. Devote your time and attention to your new, improved literary relationship.

I SPY A WANDERING EYE

Some of us—especially those who might be considered prolific—need to develop more than one literary relationship.

If you review your list of published stories and find that most have appeared in one or the other of two publications, you’re already on your way to literary polyamory. You have established that you can satisfy the needs of at least two editors, so it may be time to put some effort into developing a third relationship.

By diversifying your attention, you can alleviate the inevitable disappointments that come from investing too heavily in your relationship with a single editor. Editors, die, retire, and change jobs. Publications die or change focus. Publishers cut back or eliminate anthologies from their list.

If you don’t already have relationships with other editors, your writing career might come to a screeching halt.

I’ve experienced this several times during the many years I’ve been writing.

Magazine editors who liked my work were replaced by editors who didn’t. Editors who included my work in their anthologies stopped editing. Magazines and anthology lines ceased publication. All of which left me scrambling for new markets because I had not developed enough relationships.

Worst of all was when entire genres collapsed. Even though I developed multiple literary relationships within several genres, each time one of them imploded I lost every relationship in that genre at essentially the same time.

LITERARY MONOGAMY OR LITERARY POLYAMORY

As an editor, I enjoy relationships with several writers I count on to provide stories I want to publish, who deliver on time and on theme, and who are easy to work with through the editing process. I never ask if they think we have a monogamous relationship or polyamorous relationship.

Whether your goal is to be a literary serial monogamist, regularly stepping up to better and better markets, or your goal is to be a literary polyamorist, the path is essentially the same:

Keep your current editorial relationship(s) solid, but always, always, always, keep your eyes open for the next opportunity. Strive to improve your work. Diversify the genres (or subgenres) you write. Then submit, submit, submit.

And never take actual relationship advice from me.




Reminder: Murder, Neat: A SleuthSayers Anthology (Level Short), which I coedited with Barb Goffman, is currently nominated for the Short Mystery Fiction Society’s inaugural Derringer Award for Best Anthology. There’s still time to order and read a copy before voting begins.



24 March 2025

“Writers are people who write.”


This quote is universally attributed to Ernest Hemingway, and there is no evidence that he actually said it.  But no one cares, because it’s exactly the kind of thing he would say, and we do know that’s what he believed. 

On this matter, he was correct.  If you spend an hour a day messing around on the guitar, you’re a guitar player.  If you go to the driving range every weekend, you’re a golfer.  If you write all the time, because you‘re compelled to do so, you’re a writer.  Before I was published, I didn’t feel this way, which I regret.  It wasn’t fair to my unpublished self, because I sure as hell worked like a son-of-a-bitch to remedy the situation. 

            I have a young friend, unpublished, who’s been working on a book for many years, putting in the hours of writing and rewriting, casting about for help and advice, cramming in writing time around a demanding job and busy toddler, feeling buoyed and desperate in equal measure, and generally going through the paces of apprenticeship.  To me, he’s a writer, because he’s always working at it, no matter what. 

            The thing is, writing is rarely easy.  There are moments when we all feel as if some supernatural power has taken hold of us, directing our hands to tap away effortlessly, composing as easily as breathing or strolling down the street.  We’ll also agree that this hardly ever happens.  Instead, it’s not unlike digging a ditch.  You have to put the shovel in, push down with your foot, and haul the stuff out of the ground.  This is hard work, and you know how hard it is with every word and shovelful. 

      Pausing with your hands over the keyboard while staring into the void is something our life partners have often witnessed.  They think we’ve slipped into a trance, but we know we’re only trying to come up with the next word, phrase, analogy, simile, descriptive sentence, or clever tie-up to the end of a chapter.  You feel like your mind is now trapped in concrete, and not another thought will ever occur to you.  But it always comes anyway, you just have to wait for it. 

            Some people don’t feel well unless they run a few miles a day.  Some of them are friends of mine, and in their 70s have sleek, toned bodies and the glow of clear heads and arteries.  I’m not one of them.  I think a car is a much better way to travel from point A to point B, and will never run unless being pursued by a wild animal, which is a distinct possibility where I live in New England.  But I understand their addiction.  I’m the same way about writing.  If I don’t write something, anything, at least once during the day, I feel like I’ve not slept or eaten.  I get jumpier than an addict, which I guess I am, sort of.  I know it’s a mental problem, but I’ve heard of worse. 

            Though as noted above, running for a few hours or crunching through a narrative is difficult, even if you can’t help yourself.  It usually starts smoothly, but there’s always that point when you start to fatigue and mild regret sets in.  Your breath shallows or your hands begin to get sore.  Your brain starts to wonder why you launched this effort in the first place, when you could be on the couch watching NFL Highlights or Antiques Roadshow. 

            But then, endurance kicks in, and you keep going, because why not. You’re already out on the road or at the keyboard and it seems better to just push through.  You start to think of new things to write, new connections and old ideas that can be pulled out of the dusty attic of your tired brain.  You tell yourself: this isn’t that hard. You just have to keep going, and if it sucks, you can always erase it all and start over again tomorrow.  There will aways be other ideas, other notions, other turns of phrase, something else you can put down on the page, because this is what writers do.

            They write. 

23 March 2025

The Future Ain't What It Used To Be


I've obviously dedicated most of my writing career to crime and mystery fiction, and as you might expect I read a great deal of work in that field growing up.  I also had a deep love for science fiction, though, and while I've read relatively little new work in the genre in the last few decades, as a kid I delighted in the classics by the giants of the field--Asimov, LeGuin, Silverberg, and so on.  Recently, going through a box of books from my childhood home, I came across an interesting artifact by another of those giants, Arthur C. Clarke, probably best remembered today as the author of 2001.  I thought it worth looking at, both as an example of the perils of writers imagining the future and as a lens on the world writers are working in today.

In 1986, Clarke published a book titled July 20, 2019.  The date, of course, is the 50th anniversary of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon, and the book is a series of essays in which Clarke predicts what the world would look like in that then far-off year.  I bought and read the book when it came out.  I don't remember what I thought of it then, but reading it now, almost six years beyond the date Clarke chose for his prophecy, was certainly eye-opening.


So how did Clarke do with his predictions?

Well, there are a few hits.  He thought that the field I work in, distance education, would be huge, though he assumed it would operate via teleconferencing rather than being online (more on this later) and largely text-based.  He said that cars would still be much the same and still mostly gas-powered, though he thought they'd get 100 miles per gallon.  He thought entertainment would reflect an increasingly fragmented culture with more books, movies, music and so on aimed at specialized audiences, and he predicted the boom in self-publishing as part of that.  He was right about shortened hospital stays and the fact that medicine would still be largely controlled by corporations, though he didn't seem to give much thought to the social implications of the rich having care most people can't afford.

There are, however, far more misses, some amusing, some depressing.  Examples:

SPACE.  Clarke believed that by 2019 there would be a permanent manned outpost on the moon with perhaps as many as 1000 inhabitants.  There would be several manned orbiting space stations as well, and we would be routinely mining asteroids and preparing the first manned mission to Mars, with an eye to exploring the outer solar system.  He discussed in detail several conceptual engine ideas then being theorized which could cut the voyage to the red planet from months to a few weeks.  It's interesting to contemplate how much of this might have happened if NASA had gotten, say, a third of what the US has spent on the military since 1986.  Incidentally, earthbound transportation in Clarke's 2019 is similarly advanced, with magnetic trains and advanced hovercraft linking cities and jets that go from Shanghai to Los Angeles in two hours.

A new life awaits you in the off-world colonies

SPORTS.  Clarke predicted that steroids, hormones and other chemical enhancements would be made so safe that there would no longer be any reason to ban them from competition.  In addition, many athletes would have cybernetic parts, or even nerves cloned from legendary competitors to improve reaction time.  Elite athletes would be identified through genetic testing by the age of five and spend much of the rest of their lives being rigorously trained, using computers designed to enforce the most efficient way to perform any motion.  In baseball, for example, batters using boron bats would routinely hit home runs, though the fences had been moved to 500 feet from home plate.  They would do this facing pitchers who could throw 125 mph and pitch every other day.  The NBA would have to raise its hoops to 12 feet and make them smaller, since the average player would be over eight feet tall.

Offered without comment

THE MIND.  Clarke had little patience for the idea of therapy.  He thought that, by 2019, genetic mapping and brain imaging would make it possible to produce a vaccine preventing schizophrenia, drugs to prevent highly specific phobias and complexes, and compounds that would induce any desired mood.  For example, there would be a drug whose only effect is to enhance music appreciation, which would be routinely taken before attending any concert.

OK, maybe there's something to that one

ROBOTS.  Clarke would have been stunned to know there are still people making their living as coal miners today.  One of his most confident predictions was that virtually every job involving elements of danger or drudgery would have been taken over by robots well before 2019.  He honestly didn't think there would any longer be people working in factories, aside from very occasional repairs and inspections.  He also thought that most homes would have robots to handle routine domestic chores, and he dedicates considerable thought to how home design would emphasize simplicity and reduce clutter to make it easier for the robots to get around.  Clarke is very clearly NOT thinking of computers, but of humanoid robots.  He honestly thought they would be everywhere.  On the other hand . . . 

Rest easy, humans

COMPUTERS.  Clarke vastly overestimated the importance of the individual computer, and vastly underestimated the importance of computer networks.  He correctly assumed computers would be everywhere, in every home and every workplace, by 2019.  But while he occasionally mentions computers communicating with each other to share information for specific purposes, he still thought of every computer as an essentially distinct unit that learns to master the skills and demands of its particular job and function.  The idea that the computer would be connected to others essentially all the time, and that it would be useful only to the extent this is true, simply never occurs to him.  Thus he could not predict anything resembling Facebook, or Google, or Twitter, or Wikipedia, or Amazon, or the internet itself as it has come to exist.  Nor does he ever imagine anything resembling a smartphone--which might seem odd, from the man who, shortly after WWII, correctly predicted the creation of communication satellites.  This one oversight is so fundamental that it touches nearly everything else in the book, making it much less accurate than it might have been.  There's simply no way to understand almost anything actually happening in 2019 (or 2025) without taking account of the web.

Clearly, he did know there were dangers

GEOPOLITICS.  Again, Clarke was oddly short-sighted here.  He assumed the fundamental structure of world politics in 2019 would still be based on a Soviet-led Warsaw Pact contending with a US/UK-led NATO, with the front lines in a still-divided Germany.  There is virtually no mention in the book of Asia, Africa, or South America, let alone any notion that nations like China and India would be emerging superpowers that would shape much of the 21st century.  Weirdly, despite his ambitious claims for robots elsewhere, he envisions war still being conducted by human operators in planes and tanks; drones are another invention he did not foresee.  Something else he didn't mention, though it will dominate our lives for the foreseeable future: climate change.  Scientists by 1986 were well aware of this coming crisis, but Clarke never mentions it.  Perhaps he assumed the problem would have been solved, given his surprising degree of faith in  …

Not pictured: ice

 HUMAN NATURE.  It's hard to fault Clarke for this: he assumed that humanity, as a whole, would make decisions which might be self-interested, but which would be basically rational and fact-based.  He'd be dismayed to know that, more than fifty years after the first moonwalk, there are a substantial number of people who simply refuse to believe it ever happened because our teaching of science, math and critical thinking has become woefully inadequate.  He didn't foresee the resurgence of religious fundamentalism, the rise in racism and xenophobia, the spread of terrorism, or the willful embrace of ignorance that defines so much of our politics.  I truly wish that as a species we had lived up to the potential he saw in us.
Arthur C. Clarke