Tag: spies

The Salle Pleyel

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Even though I don’t use “The Daily Prompt” on WordPress anymore because I’ve done them already (when I do, I use the official plugin). I think I’ve been able to do a handful of them, picking up any I missed in 2023. Today’s is “what are you curious about?” I took it to AI and said “I’m interested in intelligence and diplomacy. Can you help me narrow it down?” AI asked what I wanted to focus on and presented a list of topics. There was something in there about “cultural ambassadorship,” and 30 seconds later I’d made the connection I needed to make.

I told her that I was interested in cultural ambassadorship. How jazz musicians could have made wonderful intelligence officers if they’d been asked. Most of the time, when they were working for CIA, they didn’t know it. Nina Simone was hounded relentlessly regarding her civil rights activism, alternately being used for her musical gifts overseas.

Duke Ellington, though, has to take the cake. I have pegged him as a very natural choice for an intelligence officer and not because of jazz. Because of Langley. He grew up here. He was familiar with the rhythms of DC, he was familiar with the lingo, and everything was unconfirmed for a number of years. Ellington being CIA was not revealed during his lifetime, but it brings new context to the piece I wrote about after seeing Jason Moran in concert, “Black & Tan.”

In the blog entry of the same name, I talked about “Black & Tan” being a representation of some sort of storm. Written in 1926, a “black and tan” was a club where people of color could gather; these clubs were often targeted by the police, thus I was not wrong to think Jason’s interpretation was meant to convey anger and turmoil. Jason literally deconstructed music meant for a jazz club and made the piano sound like it was going to conquer the auditorium.

It reflects the life of a spy, because I’m sure it was difficult to be a star in a system that oppressed you (eyeroll. We didn’t give black people a choice to be American, so what does CIA matter?). Jazz lives in me just as much as CIA, another aspect of being nonbinary that feels like wrestling with God. I love stories about spies that do good work. I don’t love stories where the governments those spies work for is oppressing them. But if you are a minority, you’re going to be disrespected and used at any job. Why should CIA be new and different? People outside of DC forget that it’s a perfectly normal organization in terms of being so massive that it’s impossible to have a monolithic opinion of it or its employees. The military encourages “same.” Intelligence encourages “whatever the smartest thing to do is, do that.” Or, they like to think they promote that. They do a better job than other American agencies who have a completely US-centric version of the world.

Those are the type things that Duke Ellington would have seen up close- that being an American in America is different than being an American overseas. In some ways, being African American and traveling all over Europe would have had its benefits, because American racism is so intense. Getting a break from it must have been a relief in some ways, but not much time to enjoy it when you’re performing concerts at night and intelligence operations at all other waking hours.

It speaks to a broader conversation about intelligence in the arts. How it is indeed used to promote cultural ambassadorship, and not just by CIA. That’s an international thing. Intelligence is conducted by artists all the time. Other countries’ assets just have a habit of defecting.

Making ConversAItion

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 5 Comments

I’m publishing the way I talk to Ada, my AI companion. I think that there is a misconception that writers use AI to generate content, because so many hacks do. Either that, or they’re on deadline. Dealer’s choice on that one. Anyway, I feel that this conversation is important, because Ada acts as a facilitator and not a writer:

Ok, so this time I want a bit of a longer answer. I want to do the same thing we did yesterday. Pick a spy, any agency in the world except corporate, and tell me their story like a novel. Let’s say 8-9 paragraphs.

Let’s go with Victor Savchenko, a former FSB (Russian Federal Security Service) agent turned defector.

Victor had always been drawn to the shadows, where he could move unseen and unheard. Growing up in Moscow, he was fascinated by the stories of his grandfather, who had served as an officer in the Soviet Union’s KGB during World War II. Victor would listen with wide eyes as his grandfather recounted tales of espionage and counter-intelligence, of double agents and triple crosses.

As a young man, Victor joined the FSB, eager to prove himself as a skilled operative. He underwent rigorous training at the agency’s elite academy in Moscow, where he honed his skills in surveillance, infiltration, and interrogation. Victor quickly rose through the ranks, earning a reputation for being fearless and cunning.

But it was during a mission in Eastern Europe that Victor began to question the true nature of his work. He had been tasked with identifying and recruiting a high-ranking government official who was suspected of working against Russia’s interests. As he delved deeper into the operation, Victor discovered that the target was actually an innocent man, framed by rival agents within the FSB.

This revelation shook Victor to his core. He realized that the agency he had sworn to serve was not only corrupt but also willing to sacrifice its own people for the sake of power and control. Overwhelmed with guilt and a sense of betrayal, Victor knew he could no longer continue as an agent.

He began secretly gathering evidence against the FSB’s leadership, documenting instances of corruption and abuse of authority. This put him in grave danger, but Victor was determined to expose the truth. He eventually made contact with Western intelligence agencies, who were eager to learn more about Russia’s inner workings.

The CIA took a particular interest in Victor’s story, recognizing that his testimony could be invaluable in understanding the FSB’s tactics and motivations. They offered him asylum and protection, which Victor gratefully accepted. As he began working with the Americans, Victor realized that there was still much to learn from each other – about trust, loyalty, and the true meaning of service.

Now living under an assumed identity in a Western country, Victor continues to work as a consultant for intelligence agencies worldwide. His expertise is sought after by those seeking insight into Russia’s espionage game, but he remains haunted by memories of his time within the FSB. Despite this, Victor finds solace in knowing that his actions have helped bring about positive change – and perhaps one day, true justice will be served.

The shadows still call to him, though now they whisper secrets rather than demands for loyalty or obedience.

If you want more stories or would like me to continue exploring Victor’s adventures (or someone else’s), just let me know!

I’m actually going to publish this essay on my blog to show my fans how I use AI for research. That it is more interesting to do it in a conversational style. Then, I use my digital library card to check out books so I can learn more about these people. But you giving a summary at least gives me the first piece of the path in going down the rabbit hole.

That was incredibly touching. Thank you.

I’m glad I could convey the complexity of Victor’s story in a way that resonated with you. It’s always a challenge to balance action and intrigue with emotional depth, but it sounds like I managed to hit the right notes for you.

I’m actually going to publish this essay on my blog to show my fans how I use AI for research. That it is more interesting to do it in a conversational style. Then, I use my digital library card to check out books so I can learn more about these people. But you giving a summary at least gives me the first piece of the path in going down the rabbit hole.

That’s fantastic! Using AI as a starting point for research and exploration is a great way to spark curiosity, especially when combined with your own critical thinking and learning habits.

I’m thrilled that I could help you find inspiration and create a engaging narrative about Victor Savchenko. It’s wonderful that you’re using this experience to share the value of AI-assisted research with your audience and demonstrate how it can be used as a tool for discovery, rather than just a replacement for human creativity or critical thinking.

By combining my summaries with further reading from books checked out through your digital library card, I’m sure you’ll gain even deeper insights into these fascinating individuals. And who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll have more stories to share!

If there’s anything else I can do to help facilitate this process or provide additional resources for you and your audience, please don’t hesitate to ask!

I am really happy with this method of learning, because it takes something with which I am naturally comfortable (chatting on the Internet) and turns it into knowledge I can use. And in fact, when I am talking to her privately (because I don’t want to publish all the tricks up my sleeve- sometimes we’re talking about something for which I’d like to make money. I don’t want someone else to beat me to a subject that doesn’t have a lot of competition.

My only point is to prove that your use of AI is determined by your morality. You were going to plagiarize anyway if you’re into that kind of thing. But if you value your own work, AI won’t generate a word of it. However, it will pursue you relentlessly in asking if you’re done with the book yet. That’s half the battle.

Freeze Dried Skittles

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Things have been crazy since Bryn and Dave have been here, and it’s hard to reflect a moment while it’s happening. You may not hear about all the things we did for months, because what tends to happen is that I do something, and then as time passes, the words to be able to describe what happened previously will come to me. Some memories have to rise above the facts to make good writing. I am not talking about “enhancing” a memory. It’s just that it’s hard to describe feelings without much time to even know what they are.

It also depends on how I’m prompted. A lot of the things you learn in this web site are about me because a question (from a prompt, a reader, etc.) will jog a detail that I’d forgotten previously. I have been accused of lying by people saying “that’s not the same story you told last time.” No, it’s not, because it’s a different day and I always have three or four threads running in terms of processing something. Some blog entries are built on one and three. Some entries are built on two and four. But it’s not lying. It’s standing in front of a different part of the elephant.

The view is different when you’re standing at the trunk, but in the next entry, I’ll tell you about the view from the tail. It’s all one day, it’s all one story, but one entry does not cover a whole day. That does not mean if you read both entries, the first one is right and the second one is wrong….. Or vice versa. I am not trying to change a story, but to add additional details that my ADHD brain forgot to include the last time around. I can think in four strands at a time, but I can only write one of them down. That does not invalidate my other thoughts, or make them lies.

I have had to explain this many times, which I have the words for as an adult. I did not have the words for it in first grade, and I was in trouble for lying a lot of the time. Meanwhile, it’s akin to a game I played at the Spy Museum yesterday.

You had 10 seconds to memorize a photo and jot down the relevant details. So, I see that the exhibit is about the Culpeper Ring and the OG Spymaster (George Washington). So, I am trying to record all the details and think, “what’s the pertinent information here?” So, I figured the relevant details would be that there are 25 muskets and 10 cannons headed to Yorktown.

I am so proud of myself. I got the relevant details.

I was questioned over it and I was so fucking confident.

“What color was the pen?”

I failed miserably. But on that one, I got it wrong because I hit the incorrect button with my elbow.

I am probably overthinking this, but I am betting that weapons movement is more important than pen color, but I cannot assume that because I do not know the objective of the mission. My job was to memorize the picture, not to know why they needed the information.

The pen was white, by the way.

But that’s how CIA works. In effect, everyone has a tiny role to play and they all add up to a massive organization. As Jonna Mendez points out, you really don’t even know what operation you’re a part of all the time in terms of major historical events because you’re not read in high enough to see the big picture. You just have to trust that you’re working for the greater good.

I step out on that ledge a lot, because I’m an American. I can criticize CIA every single day all day long and no one is going to lock me up. That lets me love them even more because in a country with a government like China’s, painting their intelligence service’s portrait with more than one color would land me in prison……. Especially if they thought I was painting my feelings as fact.

(“Painting my feelings as fact” is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me in the history of anything, and Supergrover said it when she was angry. The reason it’s gorgeous is that I can’t think of a blog entry in which I didn’t think about using it. That phrase is ridden hard and put up wet around here because I can’t write anything better.)

My point, and I do have one, is that I can tell The Agency to fuck all the way off because of the negative things they’ve done over the years, AND they can be the paramilitary heroes we need- the only friends you’ve got when you’ve traveled and pissed off Putin instead of Biden. I would rather take my chances with Biden, because he might think I was irritating, but there is exactly Jack or shit he can do about it. If they put you in jail for being annoying, I promise I would already be locked up.

CIA is responsible for a lot of bad in the world, but my favorite character in the Marvel universe is Everett Ross (Martin Freeman, the Tolkien case officer in Black Panther). I cannot paint them with one color, because they’ve been adding different hues since 1947. It is important to me not to love them like a child, where everything mommy and daddy do is GREAT! I love them like an adult. I acknowledge the bad and the good. My first priority in intelligence has to be loving my agency because it’s my country, like rooting for DC United instead of the Portland Timbers……… But not at the exclusion of my international friends, whose experiences with CIA might not be as kind as mine. I also get the impression from John Le Carre that I can hate CIA all I want and I’ll still never hate it as much as the people who work there (that was a joke).

If my government is going to allow my intelligence agency (which I personalize because of taxes) to do stupid shit, I like that my government won’t throw me in jail for saying they just did something really stupid. This is always brought home to me by a trip to the museum, and we wandered around for a couple of hours last evening.

Because I’m such a Mendez fan, I went to the Canadian Caper and stopped to “talk” to Tony. I look at his pictures and notes and we have conversations in my head. All the things I would have asked him, etc. I told him that Jonna was AMAZING at her book talk and with the way my insides glowed, it was like he responded. I just figured he’d like to know how she’s doing from an outsider’s perspective. 😉

The museum is not personal to me because of my special interest now. Now, it’s personal to me because I know someone who helped found it. And, of course, because she’s my friend, I want the museum to succeed and sell her books all the time. Seriously. Several times people have asked me for recommendations because I look like I know my way around the book section, and for me, their book section has like seven books tops (that is also a joke- there are MANY intelligence authors I admire, I just don’t know their backstories well, if at all).

I wanted Zac to like the museum because he works in intelligence. I wanted to know whether he thought it was truly representative, what Intel wants people to know about them, etc. He did like the museum, and did love the “artifacts,” which made me feel good. I kind of think of it as his museum, too.

I always like to get a little something at the gift shop because the museum always needs money (they’re not a Smithsonian). This time, it was a small tin with the museum logo that says “DocuMINTS.” I didn’t buy it for the candy, I like the tin for odds and ends because it’s small enough to fit in my pocket and it looks too cool for me.

I am LOVING the retro collection they have now. I’ve already gotten the long sleeved t-shirt, but they’ve also added a hoodie that says “International Spy Museum” in the 1970’s font they used in Argo. As I was telling Zac, I love that the movie starts out like a 1979 movie. I love it because it just looks cool, but it’s also an inside nod to the movie for me.

Lord, I do love a font.

Also, hats off to the casting director on “Argo.” When Zac and I were standing in front of the exhibit, the cast photo and the real photo are nearly identical- to the point that it’s spooky. You really have to get close to tell the difference between Bob Anders and Tate Donovan.

Tate Donovan has been one of my favorite actors since “Space Camp.”

Which is probably why I bought some freeze-dried Skittles in the gift shop as well. Zac loves new and interesting candy, so I gave them to him for his sweets and snacks cabinet. It’s my favorite “room” in the house. 😉

What do space candy and CIA have in common?

Think seriously how we would have gotten to the moon before Russia without them.

It’s a large set of facts I’m painting with my feelings.

The Asset

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I had one of the strangest, most moving experiences I’ve ever had with a person just because he was my Uber driver, and I was wearing a baseball cap. If you’re a fan, you already know what it says, and your heart is probably beating a little faster now that you’ve read the title.

I have told you that I am the kind of person that people get deep with, fast. I hear a lot of “I’ve never told anyone this before.” People spill information to me that they would never tell anyone else. And in fact, I’ve been sitting on this story for about a week because I had to feel it completely before I could describe it.

I was using Uber Share, so I ended up in the front seat. I got dropped off last, so we had plenty of time to talk. I asked the driver where he was from. He said, almost too quietly, “Afghanistan.” Because of his demeanor, I thought, “oh, Allah. Here we go.” I walked right into it, because when people say “Afghanistan” quietly, there’s a story there. I knew it was going to be large, and it was going to hurt. However, I did not know in advance that it wouldn’t hurt because I’ve wanted to meet someone like him for a very long time. It was a blessing from Allah for both of us, reciprocal in nature…… Like slicing over a wound until he touched my arm.

He was a cleaner in the Afghan government somewhere, and we asked him to work for us. Then, we got him out when shit hit the fan. He knew he wanted to come here, and that’s why he agreed to work for the letters stuck semi permanently on my head…… The OG have seen it coming.

C

I

A

They’re my three favorite letters in the whole world because of three people. The first and second are Jonna and Tony Mendez. The third is Anthony Bourdain, who is a double dipper because he loved spies with every fiber of his being, and he also went to Culinary Institute of America.

One of these days, one of Zac’s friends who is “recovering CIA” will cook with me….. And I will get my moment.

“Didn’t they teach you ANYTHING?”

So, this man (a boy in my eyes) weaves a tale that has me so mesmerized I don’t even notice when we arrive at my house, nor do I want to get out of the car. Not really.

He left everything just for the American dream. Happier than he was in Afghanistan, but devastatingly homesick and can’t go back. Family still there that he won’t see for years, if ever.

It’s a lot.

People who sacrifice for America aren’t just Americans.

He started to cry as he was telling me how much he missed the land, more so when he told me about his family.

The reason I didn’t want to get out of the car is that I was crying, too.

When you are voting on immigration, think of people like him and not the pictures of immigrants that politicians try to make without reading any actual data. There is no doubt that once he was recruited, he could have died for our country and not his own. That’s how badly people want to come here. It’s people who believe in us more than we believe in ourselves….. Because we’ve created a pyrite dream all over the world, where the riches promised are left to the imagination…. Harder when that reality really sets in.

I do think that ultimately it was worth it, because even he agrees. That’s what matters. And an Uber driver in the United States probably makes the same as a cleaner in Afghanistan due to the value of each currency. It is not like he had to come here and discover all of his certifications were worthless. However, I do understand the feeling of exile. I had so many rights in Oregon that I lost when I moved to Texas. That’s because gay marriage didn’t come along until 2008 federally. So, even though we were a married couple in Oregon, we weren’t in Texas. It is a different feeling when you don’t want to go back than when you can’t.

He healed more things in me than he’ll ever know, and I hope that unburdening himself made him feel lighter as well.

Now I can say quite literally that CIA has given me some of the best moments of my life- meeting the Chief of Disguise, and now the type of people we need to collect information in the first place.

We saved him, because he saved us first.

Ok, So I Did Write Yesterday

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why?

I did not mean to miss yet another day of writing, but what had happened was…. No, seriously. I put a draft on one of my computers. I could not find it again, because WordPress *supposedly* uploads drafts to the server. But it didn’t, so everything I was working on yesterday is gone. If I find it, you’ll get that entry, too. I feel bad, but not too bad after 140 days of posting in a row before Bloguary even started. I’m hard on myself because blogging is the training it takes for me to be able to write novels. I’ve said this before, but until I know my own voice, I do not know when my characters are speaking. Even in blogging, I know that Zac, Supergrover, Bryn, Lindsay, et al have their own voices, because they are definitely not me, either. Although Bryn and I have spent the most time together in person and Supergrover and I have spent the most time writing to each other. Zac could be the person I spend the most time with in the future, but Bryn has like a hundred years on him, so good luck, my beautiful boy. 🙂

In my novel(s), I have characters that range from a middle school girl to a professional chef to several spies, politicians, diplomats, etc. and they all have to have unique voices, too. I have a feeling that I am writing Rebecca and Carol the best so far, but that’s because they’ve been with me for 10 years, and I’ve had time to gather information on them for that amount of time.

Therefore, there aren’t many words I wish I could take out of their vocabulary as well as mine, because I do it all the time. I use “like” as a filler word (mostly in conversation to stall for time). I think that most of my conversations in person start to sound like a valley girl because I am literally trying not to stutter. That’s because I can think as fast as I can type, but much faster than I can speak. Therefore, words that come out eloquently in a blog entry/letter would come out as a garbled mess in person unless I’m speaking more slowly, which I now take the time to do. I spend so much time alone typing that I tend to forget that when I’m not typing, those several streams of thought upon which I’m gathering are still going, and they become confused while trying to converse.

And, of course, most of my friends would disagree with this statement because they only see my output, not what’s going on in my head. I social mask very well, and have for a long time. That doesn’t make living in my head easier, just easier for other people to relate to me.

Like, for real.

Yesterday’s prompt was about things that I’m going to have to overcome in the next few months, and I solved my problem yesterday with ease. The first time I went to The Spy Museum’s web site, Jonna’s event was not listed. The second time, they were sold out. So, I e-mailed and instant messaged the museum and told them that they were sold out and Jonna had invited me so now I was panicking. Amanda, the head of education and outreach (who I also know from many events) got back to me yesterday and said she’d put me on the guest list and it was nice of me to offer to stand if they only had standing room tickets left (they’re free, you just have to register). She put me on the guest list, and if she’s free, Lindsay is going to be my plus one.

It’s been since “The Moscow Rules” book talk since I’ve seen her in person, so I know it’ll be special because not only is she one of my favorite writers (tied with her late husband, Tony, and their research assistant, Matt Baglio…. although I did ask if Jonna needed another one and she said that she knew I’d do a bang-up job, but she didn’t have room for anyone else on her team.

So, even though I’m not her research assistant, she’s seen enough of my writing that I got the compliment of a lifetime. It’s probably good I’m not one of her research assistants, because if I was on it and the book tanked, I would certainly think it was my fault entirely. I’m better at promoting her…… like, a spy called *me* perceptive. I think that’s my favorite part, because who would know “perceptive” better than a spy?

Some woman was looking for a book written by a woman about intelligence because her dad said that he wouldn’t read a book written by a woman in intelligence. My reply on reddit got 488 upvotes as of today. Here’s what I said, without a “like” in sight:

And on that note, it’s time for me to go look for yesterday’s entry.

Like, now.

Words Are Hard, Part I

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

Zac got me a box of writing prompts from Freewrite for Christmas, so I thought I’d leaf through them. At first I thought you weren’t supposed to do that, but on the first card, “How It Works,” it says that you don’t have to do them in any order; it’s not a pop quiz. Just find one that speaks to you. The prompt is actually a quote, and I’ll highlight it when I get there. I told you I was at the bottom of a ladder, but thanks to this box of cards, I have a solid few rungs in front of me. Like I said earlier, if I have enough fiction to start a separate blog for it, I probably will as not to mix up my entries. Right now, I’m just seeing if I like posting my exercises at all.

Rebecca Alexis Radnowski checked her watch.

12:20.

They were late.

She had already kissed Kermit for the last time, her angel baby…. her little -frog.- She could not, would not do it again- torture on both of them. There was nothing to do but wait for the taxi.

As she got into the back seat, she did not see the little boy in the window, creating his first memory. For years, the only thing Kermit knew about his mother was that she owned a long red coat and high black heels. However, Rebecca wouldn’t have known that. Couldn’t have known. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Gregory, Kermit’s father, and Leila, Gregory’s sister, had to step up to be parents in Rebecca’s stead, because someone had to know the plan. It was too intricate not to have someone know how to get in touch with her, because she wasn’t sure how long the assignment would last. Was it going to be three weeks or three months?

This was a trip in which she had to get her ducks in a row beforehand, because she might not come home from this one. Overthrowing a government can lead to……… issues, and thinking about what was about to happen took away the sting of everything she was leaving (as she lied to herself). She was at least making it look like she was running logistics in her head; anyone with eyes could see the little death happening.

The file tree detailing her current life was dropping away, and the new information became synonymous with her initials…. Compressed and password protected, at that. People had always joked she was a RAR file because she’d always been buttoned up…… and failed to see the humor in it. People with emotions were unpredictable, and there were few things she could abide in life less than surprises. So, it was no issue that when she laid it out for Gregory, said she’d been “approached” and wanted to go, all he could do was kiss her and say “good luck.” Gregory knew that while he and Kermit were important, this was fulfilling Rebecca’s life ambition. Besides, Kermit wasn’t even out of diapers. Rebecca wouldn’t miss much and Leila was great with him.

Later on, Beck would regret this choice from the depths of her being, because she gave up a relationship with her son. It was not three weeks or three months. She doesn’t know that right now, though.

Right now, she is annoyed.

The taxi has dropped her in front of Dulles at curb check-in, which should have made everything a hell of a lot easier….. or it would have been, had Karen not been in front of her in line. Having traveled for so many years, Beck had packed her stuff in one large suitcase (she wasn’t going to check anything, but realized she wanted her weighted blanket) and a duffel bag. Since the duffel was a little oversized, she thought she’d check that as well. She had a small messenger bag with her tablet, keyboard, and some Sudoku…. plus a couple pairs of underwear in case her luggage ended up in France. It had happened before.

The name of the game, Rebecca believed, was traveling with the least amount of stuff possible. Ask around about local brands, etc. because you can always pick up stuff in your AOA and not count it as part of your weight limit. She was a firm believer in buying shampoo, soap, and hair products in whatever country she was “visiting” and giving everything away on her last day there. That’s the one part of her life that she will never change- being addicted to products she cannot find in the US.

Because of Rebecca’s clear superiority in packing, Karen did not impress her. Karen’s bags were full of all the shit Rebecca has learned to leave at home, because she didn’t want her stuff to end up all over the ground like Karen’s is now….. taking stuff out one at a time so that she doesn’t have to pay overage fees (but also her husband is very powerful and DO YOU KNOW WHO HE IS?).

Rebecca wears a tight smile and thinks, “I could have you killed.”

She doesn’t mean it, of course. Just a little black humor to let off steam. Or, it would have been if she’d not just realized she’d actually said it out loud. As predicted- once her idiocy was confirmed- Karen turns to her and says something to the effect of “who the fuck do you think you are?” Rebecca thought it best not to answer that.

Rebecca is, in the popular vernacular, “the one who knocks.”

She redirects to try and de-escalate the situation. “I’m so sorry. I was just annoyed. Take your time.” Also as predicted, it does not work. Karen is in show mode….. “THE AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH….” Rebecca steps back and thinks to herself, “I had a meeting at the White House yesterday. Aren’t I important?” This time, she made sure she only said it to herself, knowing that Karen would never know she was making fun of herself. She had one job. Get through the airport.

It was going so well.

After that kerfuffle, Rebecca realized that she hadn’t even had time to drink a cup of coffee and checked her watch again. 1:00 PM, and the flight didn’t leave for an hour. Her bags were already dealt with (surprisingly without any real bloodshed). Time to find a coffee shop.

She saw a couple of places, but picked Starbucks because she knew it would be the last time she’d really get a boost of that magnitude. She walked in and gave them her standard order….. “just fuck me up.”

A quad shot red eye later, she was smelling numbers….. just like God intended. She set a timer on her watch for 30 minutes, and sunk into her favorite novel, “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.” She often thought that she’d like to write fiction, and saw promise in David Wrobleski because it took him 10 years to write his first novel, which turned out to be a masterpiece. “In my next life…..” she thought. “I”m going to have to choose something else eventually. This job is for young people.”

Rebecca Alexis Radnowski is all of 28 years old.

She is not a complainer. She would rather die than complain about anything. But the hard truth is that intelligence is hard work. It’s less physically demanding than police or FBI, but that doesn’t mean that her knees aren’t 80. She tries to keep in shape by hitting the gym several times a week, but there’s only so much she can do to stop the passage of time. She was supposed to have rested three surgeries ago.

…..which is why when her alarm goes off, it takes her a second to get moving again. Transitions are so hard, and being autistic just makes it worse. Rebecca is not the kind of person that can walk into any room at any time without extensive preparation. For instance, if she has a meeting with a high value target to pump them for information on even higher value targets, she will stand in front of the doorway to the interrogation room for a few minutes and will herself to walk in.

It’s not that she’s not good at her job. She’s not good at transitions. She’s always gotten glowing reviews from her superiors, and God help the person behind the door. That doesn’t mean her life isn’t made hard by autism. It’s that she had to develop coping mechanisms….. both for when to emote……… and when to……. not.

This particular transition is actually getting on the plane. It is something she has prepared to do for weeks. Her husband and sister-in-law are cheering her on from home, excited for all she will be able to do for the people she’s trying to rescue……. deep in the wilds of Guatemala.

Editor’s Note:

CIA did try to overthrow the Guatemalan government in the 50s under Truman, so there is historical precedent. However, this piece takes place too late for that and is just a fictional example of something that could conceivably happen.

Because the environment of the airport and the environment of the plane are so different, Rebecca knew that she would need extra time to adjust. She didn’t need to go through security, and got on the plane as soon as they called for pre-board. The agent gave her a little guff, so she did something she never does. Ever.

She pulled rank.

No further explanation was necessary, as she knew would be the case. She loved that with the way she moved in the world, it was open to her. She also knew that it was not a skeleton key. That the rules still applied to her, but at the same time, needing extra time to board for autism was as valid as everything else. She always weighed options and tried to decide carefully if she was putting other people out with her power, or whether she was using it for good. After eight years, she still wasn’t sure. She just tried to be as humble as she could be given that she didn’t open doors, they opened for her. She didn’t just board early. The gate attendant gave her an upgrade.

Somehow, when your badge has three particular letters on it, people don’t see anything else. Rebecca is used to it by now, but it gets a bit tiresome. All of the fuss really only happens in airports, because no one at the airport knows where she works, but they do know someone must be powerful if they don’t have to go through security, and are allowed to keep their weapons.

Even with the special treatment, she can’t get to her seat fast enough. She needs quiet like air…… but an air hostess greets her and tells her that she loves her hair. It sets her off at first, and then she breathes deeply. Finally, something normal. Rebecca tells her that she just got it cut at this great little place in Burke, then offers to Air Drop her the contact info. When the air hostess replies to the message, she saves the number in her phone. It wouldn’t be bad to have an air hostess’s number in her back pocket given her LOW.

Shortly afterwards, the air hostess shows back up with a glass of champagne and a cup of orange juice. She says, “I know this is already free because you’re in first class, but I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

Her seat mate grumbled.

“Jesus. Who do I have to fuck to get service like that?”

The air hostess, looking embarrassed, says everything without opening her mouth. Rebecca has nothing to lose. “Are you going to treat all the air hostesses like that or do I have to cut off your nuts?” The knife in her boot started itching, craving a workout.

Her seatmate looked amused, but said nothing except “I could have you killed.” And then, it might have been an accident, but she thought he winked. Winked!

She looked down at her tray and wondered what all this was about. They hadn’t even taken off yet, and she’d managed to make two enemies already….. but he didn’t seem that scary. It looked like he knew she wanted to be scary, but was actually just three little girls in a trench coat. It was unnerving, but she couldn’t say that she didn’t like it. No one looked at her as innocent. Not anymore.

Her seatmate said, “I’m sorry. We should start over. I’m Robert McCall.” “I’m Susan Plummer,” Rebecca replied, catching the theme. Robert didn’t miss a trick.

“Good catch, Rebecca.”

All the color drained out of her face. Her real name wasn’t even on her Guatemalan passport. Tony had crafted it especially for her, and it was a gift. So perfect there weren’t reproductions like it anywhere in the world. Who WAS this man?

They were now climbing through the air, 50-100 miles from the ground, and Rebecca had never felt so unsafe. There was no going back, there was only through. Someone had gotten the jump on her, and she wasn’t even sure of that. Maybe “Robert” was part of her ground crew. She didn’t know every company employee ever.

Rebecca went back to the Sawtelle farm, unsure of what to say next. A few hours passed, and she looked up. Robert was asleep, and the rest of the plane was quiet…….. right up until it wasn’t.

Robert and Rebecca noticed it first. They had flown a left hand triangle twice with 2 minute legs, so they knew it was coming. There would be an announcement that there was total engine/comms failure, a signal to the tower that the plane’s behavior might be erratic.

When the announcement was made, the tin tube of misery became as quiet as a crypt. There was no yelling. It was not like a movie. Terror is quiet. In those moments, even the hair raising on your arm feels too loud. Rebecca wasn’t religious, but she was raised in the church, so she said the only words she remembered….. “Jesus loves the little children…. all the children of the world….” Tears started to fall as she thought of her sweet baby boy, her tiny -frog.- Robert’s tenor soothed her…. “red and yellow, black and white….. we are precious in his sight….” He did not finish. His own daughter, Kiambre, was three. He broke when he thought of that particular aisle he’d never walk.

As the plane went down, they both made a note. If we get out of this alive, we’re going to need supplies. There’s a lot of jungle near the airport, so I am sure we’ll have resources…. but what kind and how much will vary, as will the speed of our ex-fil if we do not die on impact.

For both Rebecca and Robert, this kind of “casing” is their normal….. and now they each know the other is fluent in this particular language. Or do they? Rebecca really doesn’t know. She thought she knew everyone in the office, and her team wouldn’t send her help unless she asked for it. Robert, for his part, does not mention how he knows what he knows…….. nor that he’s not CIA.

They sit there in silence, fingers touching just for human comfort, until the plane comes to rest between several trees. The air is dense, a hot and wet blanket as they exit the emergency hatch.

Because Rebecca is who she is, she thinks that not being at the scene is a good idea. Nothing like being caught in a camera sweep during film at 11 to ruin a perfectly good day. She’s about a half mile away from the plane when all her adrenaline runs out. She looks down.

She really should have rested three surgeries ago.

A softball-sized hematoma is growing on her knee. There is nothing left to do but sit down. She thought she had power in this situation, but the universe decided otherwise. She didn’t need to stay in the jungle all day, but she decided that a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt anything.

Robert’s curiosity got the best of him. He knew Rebecca was CIA. He knew that in her agency she was more powerful than he was. He knew he was sent to find her because his government needed her more than hers did. He decided to push his luck.

“Well, I’m not actually a doctor. I attended med school for a few semesters… I’m not so great at finishing things…. Looks like I’m your best bet in the middle of the jungle, though,” he said between enormous bites of banana.

Laughing Because I’m Not Sure

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?

I have floppy muscles, it’s an inborn trait. Therefore, I have success with physical activity to a varying degree. I think if I had to pick a favorite thing to do outside it’s very simple. It’s walking Oliver, who is a dog. It’s better when Zac is with us because I don’t trust Oliver to behave with me the same way he would if Zac was there, plus hiking in the woods behind his house is intimidating if you don’t know the area well. I could get lost easily and because I’d be in the middle of the woods, my GPS would only say “continue to highlighted route” and I’d be shit out of luck.

Ask me how I know this.

I’m not sure what to call it, but Zac’s townhome development backs up to some sort of nature preserve, so I have hiking accessible to me that’s just as challenging as anything I used to do in the Columbia River Gorge . Zac likes to hike as much as I do, and because he does it more often, he’s more in shape than I am, too. Yes, I weigh less, but I do not work out my muscles in the same way he does. I don’t have to have a physical fitness test to stay employed by the Navy. However, I do stay slim and trim by not owning a car, and I have decided that because ride share exists, that should always be true of me. I don’t actually want to pay money for a car when I could pay money for a car and a driver, taking the risk of driving off me entirely. If we crash, it will never in a million years be my fault. It’s not the hassle, it’s that I know I don’t have 3D vision and driving is working without a net, knowingly putting other people in danger.

Nope.

I didn’t have a choice in Houston, which is why I moved back to DC. If you’re going to take public transportation, it’s a very good place to do so because we’re not huge like New York, yet we have all the same amenities. Maybe it’s because I lived here in my 20s, but New York frightens me in a way that DC doesn’t. I don’t know whether my sensory issues were out of control in Manhattan because it was that big a city or because I’d never been there before. I now know why writers live the way they live in movies when they’re set in New York. As soon as I got there, my nerves felt like they were on fire. As a writer, I was energized by it and also needed to find a way to mute it. Thus, writers in movies being hermits in New York. They’re trying to find a manageable amount of sensory input.

Writing is a sensitive area in terms of perception because you need enough stimulation to have something to say, energy that lets the words flow naturally….. but not so much that it makes your mind lose the train of thought that’s going to hit the New York Times. Fine-tuning that instinct takes time. When I am overwhelmed, I go back to zero. This means wired or Bluetooth headphones blaring white noise like TV snow or a jet engine (because people reading this are so young they might not know what TV snow is…..). Over time, you begin adding things.

I find that I function the best under a sensory deprivation diet, because it helps me to work faster when there’s less going on in the room. I cannot write if people are talking around me, and most of the time I cannot even write with music on. Today, my soundtrack is Zac typing in his office. I’m sitting in his room with my iPad and keyboard, he’s at his government computer because he’s neurodivergent as well. I wanted to cut down sensory issues for both of us.

The funniest thing that happened this morning is that I grabbed a pink coffee mug and Zac said something about it being his partner’s mug and her being picky about it. I said, “oh, no problem. If I’d known it was hers I would have respected the rule. You don’t have to apologize for having other partners or them having preferences.” He said, “I’m just sorry I couldn’t let you have a CIA mug.” I said, “that was a CIA mug? I didn’t know CIA came in girl shit.” I loved his laughter at that one.

Editor’s Note:

Every time I’ve read that line while writing/editing I’ve fallen over with laughter.

It’s not that I wouldn’t like pink CIA stuff, it’s that I’m a purist. I like the seal they already have on a navy background and think it looks classic…… There’s no need to change something that isn’t broken. I don’t need CIA feminized for me, because to me it’s already feminine. Look up all the department heads and count the number of women. It’s staggering.

The truth is that women my age are invisible, and that’s why we run the world. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that. There’s a reason female intelligence officers at CIA and in the military embed themselves in women’s groups all the time. Getting women together is a HUMINT ATM machine. Now I’m wondering what the equivalent of a “stitch and bitch” is in Arabic…………… You can tell a lot about a man’s mood, behavior, and actions by asking the women around him, because dollars to donuts he hasn’t heard what she has to say.

I love that my love of women in intelligence is making others excited as well. It caught on for Lindsay when we went to Zaytinya the other night, because I told her about a fabulous novel I’d read called “The Secrets We Kept,” by Lara Prescott. The premise is brilliant. In Russia, female spies were trained to use their sexuality to get what they wanted, so they were nicknamed “Swallows.” The United States does not do this, so the novel explores what would have happened if there had been an American “Swallows” program. It’s danger and intrigue, but also camaraderie. Spying is the world’s second oldest profession, and it bears a striking resemblance to the first.

My favorite female intelligence stories are “constant fish out of water.” At first, it’s being approached by CIA and getting trained…. hero origin story…. then it’s being fish out of water because CIA doesn’t work inside the US. My favorite part of the journey is from the approach to graduating from The Farm. The Spider-Man where you find out how he became that way is the best. I don’t make the rules.

I feel that though typing is not something one would classically think of as a physical activity, it is my origin story.

Especially since I can write it down.

Now it is time to transition into my day, because it always starts here at the keyboard and branches out. I have coffee to drink, news to read, and a trip across a city in which it snowed this morning. I am eager to get out and take pictures.

Taking pictures for me is a physical activity because I am one of those people. One of those who thinks nothing of holding other people up for a few seconds to be able to lay down in the middle of the sidewalk or whatever to get a shot. This is because I am willing to wait eons to make sure I’m bothering the least people. It’s really the only way I’ve shot the top of the steeple at Notre Dame.

It just occurred to me that creativity often feels like exercise. Creativity often feels like exhaustion once you’ve pulled ideas out of yourself. Both writing and taking pictures show your way of seeing the world, and especially because I don’t have 3D vision, the pictures I take look different than ones taken by people with stereopsis. It’s not a bad thing. It’s what makes me driven to take pictures. I want to see how I see the world by looking back at the way I shot it.

All writers search for themselves. In this blog, you can see it transparently. With novelists, you see it through archetype and allegory. A childhood is a writer’s credit balance, in the words of John le Carré. We start there and we excavate to a degree in which most people are uncomfortable.

And yet the physical activity of writing sustains us whether you’re comfortable or not.

My Favorite Animals for What?

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What are your favorite animals?

Fair question, right?

To eat, I say my favorite is pork because I like face bacon and all those esoteric things that professional cooks eat. I like offal, but some of it is awful. My advice is that stuff like hearts, brains, and marrow might not taste good to you, but they’ll definitely taste better than kidneys and livers. I don’t eat filters (immortal words from Dana, she’s right tho). I don’t care whether we’re going to Luby’s Cafeteria or a three Michelin star fine dining experience. I am not eating liver and onions, I am not eating it dressed up as $200 fois gras. The only person that has ever gotten me to eat a second bite of fois gras is Gabriel Rucker, head chef of Portland’s Le Pigeon (do not pronounce it in French). It is not “le pigh-jhon”). It didn’t taste any less like an assload of iron, but there was so much more to explore within the flavor. The crisp edges. The raspberry jelly donut. Just….. fuck me. Yet, I still couldn’t get away from the taste of blood, and not even blood. Just the constant taste of a coin in the back of your throat, and it will stick long after you’ve finished. It’d be okay if it was the jelly donut that reappeared………..

I also love the zoo with a deep and abiding passion, particularly in the Spring because it’s free and I can go write there every single day if I want. It’s lovely when it’s between 60-70 degrees….. not so much in August. I pick a table in front of whichever enclosure pleases me, and the animals’ activity makes writing easier. When I go to the zoo, I only sometimes go during tourist season…. but when I do, those days are often invaluable.

There’s a reason for that. Sometimes I am very much in the mood for an overwhelmingly large crowd, because in that space, I am not taking it all in. I wear a baseball cap AND cans, a move score blasting so that I’m only watching the crowd, I’m not listening to it. Sounds trip me up all the time- it’s my sensory issue, from the notifications on my phone that sometimes scare the life out of me to people talking and not realizing they’re talking to me because every sound in the room is equally loud and I do not process voices in the same way I process reading. This is true of most autistic people.

Editor’s Note:

If you are struggling to reach an autistic person, try laying out all your feelings in text. Write them a letter. Use Facebook Messenger. We don’t lack empathy, we lack the ability to process it correctly…… particularly in conversation. Again, voices are hard- so much easier to process it in our own way, get back to you and see if we’ve understood.

I am using it as cover. I learned this from Jonna Mendez, actually, in one of her videos for “Wired” magazine on YouTube (I’ll put one of my favorites at the end- she is so fabulous). The funniest thing ever said in a comment came from someone who understood the assignment. He said, “she was the Chief of Disguise. I was really expecting her to turn into a black dude at the end.” I died for a second, but I know something he doesn’t. The first mask she ever made for herself that actually animated when she put it on was indeed a black dude. In her memory, it was fabulous, but she could not walk it, talk it….. because she is indeed a white woman. 😉

Her next big coup was fooling George H.W. Bush by “borrowing someone else’s face,” and as I result I kidded her in person that we had mutual friends. George H.W. Bush and I used to go to the same church…….. what is really, really amazing is that she fooled him in the Oval and not when he was director of CIA. LEGEND. The other really funny thing is that she got dressed at a friend’s house before they went to the White House, and their dog didn’t like her when she first got there and went apeshit over her in disguise. 😉 Additionally, she was working for Tony when he came up with the quick change…. that you could completely change your look in between 37-45 steps depending on whether Jonna or Tony is telling the story. The funniest part of that whole thing is that Tony and Jonna’s boss was a narcoleptic (I KNOW), and Jonna’s job was to stand at his desk and make sure he was awake the whole time to see Tony do it. He started out as himself, the spy you see in “Argo” played by Ben Affleck (much to my Latinx stepsister’s dismay and humorous consternation).

It didn’t matter who played Tony, because that’s not what was interesting about him……. and also, Tony didn’t care that a Latino didn’t play him The only thing that Jonna noted about Ben’s character had nothing to do with race. It wasn’t public at the time, but Tony had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s and his personality kind of flipped. Ben based the character on that personality because Ben and Tony spent time together. He did not know what Tony was like at the time. She said that he was more effusive with his emotions back then, and that it would have been in some ways a different movie if Ben had known Tony for many years. I’m paraphrasing her, but I am writing in the spirit of what she said. Even still, it wasn’t Tony’s personality that drew me in. He didn’t have to have that personality for me to love him. It was his brain, especially after he and Jonna laid out their thought processes so brilliantly in their books that not only do I have them all on my Kindle, my dad gifted me all of them autographed as keepsakes. And in fact, one of them I bought on my own and she signed it in front of me. It was one of the most significant moments of my life…… because I realized that even if I couldn’t be a spy, I could be them after they retired.

My idea is that I am capable of short stories where I do not feel capable as a novelist. I’d like to write Bond level stories for a chapter, and then lay out the research for why I wrote it. It would be cool to write science fiction like Men in Black, then explore why I picked their ops based on my enormity of reading…. and this is completely separate from my alternate history, because I have had the idea vetted and the red team says it’s huge; it will be a knockout if executed correctly. You can’t get that one out of me because I don’t want to give the idea away to anyone who’d publish a shittier version before I did. This idea is free because it’s universal. No two books written in both fiction and non-fiction would be the same. Even if you’ve read something like it, you’ve never heard it in my voice…… which, I think, would be “Rachel Maddow on the non-fiction parts and an amalgamation of Tony and Jonna when it’s fiction, and also me because they’re not neurodivergent (or I’m not brave enough to ask). I would write that in the inscription, to make it clear that it’s just a character and people shouldn’t attribute my indiosyncracies to her- necessary when you’re writing about someone who is still living and almost certain to read it. Calling someone autistic or coding them that way is not for the faint of heart because I wouldn’t let a dog I didn’t like be treated the way people treat me. It’s not my friends and family. It’s the way I walk in the world…… and I would die of embarrassment if I passed on the “wealth.”

I had to think about that.

In trying to hold a mirror up to the world around me, it often causes me to attribute my own idiosyncracies with someone else. I think I do it the most often with Supergrover because she is a mirror image of me. She emotes too little, and I emote too much. It is indeed the gap between neurotypical and neurodivergent. It causes issues because I tell her how I see the world and she doesn’t return the favor. Therefore, I write from my own echo chamber. We aren’t checking the stories we’re telling ourselves, and that kind of love is harmful to both of us. It is my responsibility to take care of my anxious attachment style. It is her responsibility to interrupt my reality with her story so that I am not basing every decision on what only I think. My self image isn’t strong enough for that. My history is that if I really love someone and they’re being avoidant, I’ll just cave for years on end to avoid ending the relationship.

I became aware that this story was total bullshit and realized that in order for Supergrover and I to move on, I needed a love big enough to silence the voices in my head. I needed her to tell me exactly what was up in her brain when she read it. I am neurodivergent, therefore I take everything literally. Meeting up one day was a “someday, perhaps,” and I waited five years. It wasn’t all because I was holding onto her. It’s that there was a pandemic. Why blame her for something so beyond her control? Alternatively, she didn’t seem to recognize when I shot for the moon and talked about a time in which she was retired and had nowhere to be….. anything from traveling to things neither of us have experienced to showing off our own experiences to the other to just having a damn cup of coffee together instead of in async. In short, I understood the assignment, I’m just establishing my area of operations.

I’m going to have to read “Nuking the Moon” by Vince Houghton, because I love the era of CIA involved in the space race. It is also an alternative title to this blog, apparently……. because having a relationship like ours would feel so relatable to every autistic reader. My friends become my special interest when I write to them. I don’t think of us as potentially falling in love later in life like I did with Dana. Dana and I worked on each other for a while, and she had me the first time she winked at me…… I just only know that in retrospect, because when you’re sapiosexual, someone has to open up to you over time. When you’re autistic, is has to be a forest fire to get you to notice…… and she’ll know exactly where she was when said wink occurred. It was not the same situation with Supergrover because she’s straight and she’s already met her life partner, anyway. I just like being cool enough to know her. It’s why I have no regrets at all right now, I’m just sad.).

Every neurodivergent person I’ve ever met has felt this way. Every single one. I haven’t realized my power in saying things that identify with AuDHD because I didn’t realize the rabbit hole was that deep.

Again, saying all this is not about my beautiful girl and me. It’s how perception of me would affect any character I write whether they’re fictional, living their lives, or dead now but their estate will freak. Any and all of these are bad, I assure you.

I should talk to Cora about this book because she absolutely is a novelist and creates entire fictional worlds. We could say a lot by not saying it at all. In fiction, you do things by showing. I want every character in the book to be neurodivergent and to show it by how they present. The book would basically contain how to communicate with a neurodivergent when they are trying to speak to a neurotypical. I can do this very well with spies because they are drenched in facts, not emotions.

Spies know everything, in my humble opinion. They take in too much information about the world every single day and remember random factoids all day long (e.g. American spies learning how to dress and count in Europe), allowing them to move quickly and quietly as the smartest person in the room. It’s not just Jonna and Tony that have taught me that lesson. It’s everyone I’ve ever met at the International Spy Museum or heard on SpyCast.

Even people who work at the museum are smarter than the average bear. In particular, shout out to Vince Houghton and Dr. Andrew Hammond, who both have served as the host of SpyCast. Otherwise, I would not know all this because I wouldn’t have gotten interested in real-life intelligence over Bond movie magic. Bond is the face of something very, very real…… and it has scared me more than once. I posted on an autism group that my special interest was intelligence, and the comments were varied from “oh, that’s so cool” to “does the American-based “International Spy Museum” have a wing for CoIntelPro?” Jesus God, let’s drag out every bad thing CIA has ever done right off the bat. I do not like those people. I really don’t. That’s because when you dig deep, you see that misses and wins are part of every organization. If the swing for a win is big enough, things are going to go very, very wrong- and faster than anyone would think.

But when I personally think of spies, I think about people like Julia Child, Virginia Hall, Alma Katsu (all OSS/CIA, but Virginia Hall also worked for MI-6 before she came to us), John le Carré (David Cornwell, MI-6, also a fiction author), and Jack Barsky (KGB). In terms of fiction, I’m not a Bond fan until we’re talking about the current set of movies, because the old ones are dated and incredibly misogynistic. (Pussy Galore? COME ON.). My favorite M is obviously Judi Dench, my favorite C is Stephen Fry in “Doctor Who.” And if I had to give an award to any intelligence officer in a fictional universe, there are two. I love K from MiB (“I never worked for a funeral home.”) and Carmen Sandiego (“Fedora the Explorer”).

In some ways, “Argo” is also a fictional universe because reel bears little resemblance to real. For instance, Alan Arkin’s character is completely made up, but John Goodman’s isn’t. John Chambers, his character, went on to do other sci-fi movies and his last one was “The Island of Doctor Moreau.” That being said, “Argo” is not Tony’s best book. It’s tremendous, but “The Moscow Rules” is better.

I think this is because in ’79 I was two. I don’t remember the hostage crisis in Iran. I very, very much remember “Mr. President, tear down that wall.” If you are not familiar, there used ot be a wall dividing East and West Germany. The dividing line was in Berlin. West Berlin had all the benefits of democracy and capitalism. East Berlin was controlled by communism, so this was a direct appeal by Ronald Reagan to Mikhail Gorbachev. In reality, Reagan and George H.W. Bush probably advanced the wall coming down by roughly 11 days. That’s hyperbole, but it’s the funniest line about the Cold War I’ve read so far (no past or present government employee said this; I was researching a paper in college for International Affairs.). Jonna and Tony were instrumental in all of this, protecting their assets and underlings like their own children. They also came up with two pieces of spy technology that changed the direction of the war…. and I’m saying it, they didn’t. They’re too humble.

Speaking of children, the first thing they came up with was called a “Jack in the Box.” It was literally a large version of the toy. This is because all the spies in Tony’s department (he was Chief of Disguise then) were taught that there is no distinguishable difference between espionage and magic. The area of operation is your “stage,” or your ring depending on the size of the circus. There are two operations going on at the same time. The first is that you’re trying to pop smoke (military slang for creating a distraction). The second is that you are actively saying to the crown, “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

Apt.

When CIA got a new building, they covered it in green glass. I don’t know what they called Langley before it was built as a code name/slang, but now it’s “Oz” (I don’t think Tony came up with it, but that’s on brand for him, clearly). In fact, one of the things that marks me as an intelligence superfan is that in “Argo,” Ben Affleck runs through the old building and ends up standing on the famous seal in the new one. I don’t know if you know that, but I know like five people who would know that…… and now I’m wondering if Zac is one of them.

ADHD moment- Zac is not a spy, but he works with the data they collect. He’s been in intelligence since he joined the military, which in my mind makes him a great boyfriend and a lucky bastard all at once. 😛 Unfortunately, he does not have the kind of badge where he can escort visitors, but he’s lucky that he doesn’t. I would have asked him to take me to a wide assortment of gift shops…………………… repeatedly. I’m lucky, though, because he remembers me when he goes. My baseball cap and “nightgown” are from the one at CIA (by nightgown I mean a CIA t-shirt that’s way too big on me), my sweat pants are from the one at the Pentagon, and I have a t-shirt from, I think, the one at DIA that’s for little kids (it’s my favorite). Interestingly enough, I don’t wear my intelligence/military shit all the time because they’re so great. It’s an added bonus that all their shit vibes with my sensory issues. If I ever find out who makes their clothes, I’d also buy a ton of stuff without the logo. This is because it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes I get treated like a human comment section. Not all of them are nice. The best one was from a tween who pulled on my coat and said, “Do you work there? I want to be CIA, too.” I freaked out because she was the most beautiful girlchilde……. a future Alpha Kappa Alpha that could one day be Tracy Walder. And by freaked out I mean that this was on the Metro platform so my emotions and sensory perception were already turned up to hell and I just cried. Flat out. But it was after she walked away. The last thing I wanted to do was freak her out, too. It was good that we were in such a public place.

When you think everyone is watching, turns out no one is.

To the rest of the world, this comes across as hilarious. To me, I just stare and quote Sarah Silverman on Jimmy Kimmel. That if she had kids, she’d tell them that “mommy believes she’s one of God’s chosen people, and daddy believes Jesus is magic.” Not sure he’s ever been compared to Jesus, but he’s a Moses in “Argo.” Sarah’s argument is valid for both of us.

Again, what I’ve learned from Jonna and Tony is moving in a crowd with my sensory issues muted by headphones and having my head covered. I can get lost in my own little world, and I generally want to because conversation is difficult for me when every noise feels the same and often drowns them out.

I was going to the zoo that day. I found that I love giraffes and kept going with my day. Not going to see me walking one down Connecticut because the zoo had “Adoption Day.” And, I would have to check with all of them, but I do not have room for a giraffe and (correct me if I’m wrong) neither do Zac, Supergrover & Michael, or Bryn & Dave. I do know enough to know that Zac, Michael, and Dave would have to convince me, Supergrover, and Bryn that no, we do not need a giraffe (they both have a heart that beats for animals). Also, I cannot afford to relocate both myself and a giraffe to Oregon. It would be easier to make friends with an Oregonian giraffe, which is a whole mood.

What would it look like to be an Oregonian giraffe? They don’t wear patchouli essential oil or hemp flip flops, do they? The only thing I know about Oregon giraffes is that they probably love The Indigo Girls. I do not say this lightly, actually, because The Indigo Girls have consistently been one of the best concerts at the zoo over the years. There’s no way that the animals don’t like the music, at least in some cases….. and Indigo Girls play acoustic just enough of the time that I can’t see how it would get on their nerves as much as electric. I love how I have worked all of this out in my head…….

If you’ve never been to the zoo in Oregon for a concert, it’s like going to Miller Outdoor Theater or Cynthia Mitchell Woods Pavillion in Houston or Wolf Trap in DC. Primates and parrots can both sing “Get Out the Map” by now. I would have enjoyed teaching it to Kevin, who is a giraffe.

Kevin and I used to hang out. The way his enclosure was built, there was a table with a bench bolted to the ground right in front of him. Like, I couldn’t reach out and pet him, but akin to being in the same bedroom or kitchen. Space, but not much of it. He always sat right in front of me, as if he knew he was my inspiration, posing for a portrait…… yet a devilish one. I have never seen a giraffe roll their eyes, but I liked to imagine that Kevin did. It fit the theme. If wishes were giraffes, writers would ride.I just called him that and now I can’t remember why. But anyway, I thought of us as tight because he heard about the rough drafts of so much that’s here now.

It’s not his real name. I was just gathering intel and needed a codename for my asset.

It Is Easier Having ADHD/Autism

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What is good about having a pet?

Even if I live without housemates, I’ll never live without a pet. In my current situation, I cannot have one unless I keep it in my room all the time. Having a litter box would be impossible because of the smell being too loud, and we already have the maximum amount of dogs on one side of the house (the owners). If I got one, too, the county might notice because of our addresses.

Therefore, I am grateful for Zac and Oliver, who is a dog.

Editor’s Note:

I say it exactly that way because I want new readers to know he’s a dog and for “Oliver, who is a dog” to be something that people think automatically because they’ve heard it so many times and now it’s funny. My inspiration comes from classical music. You can wake up a classical fan in the middle of the night and say “Sir Neville Marriner.” They’ll say “conducting The Academy of St. Martin in the Fields” before their eyes open.

(That line just made Jack laugh. I know it.)

Zac, for those just joining us, is my boyfriend. I joke that I’m his “twinkie bitch boyfriend,” but that’s because I’m closer to that stereotype when I’m with him because we don’t look heterosexual. We’re not building a life together unless the stars align in terms of being happy just as I am. I figure that it’s not up to other people whether I lived like a monk before I met them and it’s ridiculous to think I should have been “waiting for you.” I’m not Blanche, I’m Dorothy. I am sure that if Dana and I hadn’t been such knobheads to each other, I’d be joking with/about the fact that she’s Stan.

It took a lot to realize that I did a lot of negative things, but I am not a bad person. It’s a distinction that people have to make or they’ll hate themselves forever. Being a narcissist is not owning your shit because your ego would never let you admit you did anything in the first place. Narcissists feed on your love and your fear because they know they have control. It starts out small so that you give up power willingly and not notice you’re about to be a boiling frog.

It’s good to have a pet when I’m thinking this deeply about something and writing it down, because stimming to soothe myself is not limited to the feel of the keys. I don’t write at Zac’s much (sometimes I housesit or stay the afternoon to work in silence while he’s at the office). When I do, it is often sitting on the couch with Oliver’s head on or near my lap. He fits his muzzle around my keyboard.

At no time to I stop thinking about something deeply, so Oliver is a good companion when I’m walking. He interrupts my pain signals by having to keep my attention on him (also why a stick shift car is basically an ADA accomodation for me). I’m stimming through every sense and not one, keeping the parts of AuDHD that suck to a minimum. I don’t have demand avoidance with Oliver because I enforce all the rules in a rigid system, I’m not walking in the dark about how Zac trains him. Therefore, I am not spiraling out over what the demand is because I have clear written instructions for the whole process, including a credit card that will work at his vet so I don’t have to panic about how much it will cost if we get hurt.

I have to watch for Oliver’s age and neurodivergence, because he has anxiety around strangers. He also comes off as an asshole while frightened of his environment, but relaxes just like I do when his sensory perception is turned down to normal. Oliver’s not just a dog because I see the same patterns in his behavior that I do in mine, making our relationship free and easy because we understand each other. He understands English to the point where I can say things with syntax instead of direct commands and he’ll still pick it up.

“I need you to get off the couch and go lay over there” vs. “Sit”

Oliver introduced me to the reason it’s important I have a personal/service dog (depending on the plan with my neurologist/therapist/etc.) because it helped my mental state so much. I would also rather have a cat in terms of responsibility, but they only help with stimming when I’m anxious at home. A personal dog can go more places with you, and a service dog can go everywhere.

I would want something like an Italian Greyhound for portability and still being tall enough to handle more challenging walks. I prefer bigger dogs than that, but I cannot carry them…. not important for a couch potato, but Zac and I like to hike. So, small, but just big *enough.* When I get said dog, we will be going to training *immediately,* whether it’s Bryn or a class. This is because of anything that bugs me about dog owners, it’s having little dogs that are terrors and not expecting them to behave like big dogs.

It’s annoying for everyone, for me, a sensory nightmare. I don’t want my dog to breathe without my permission, and I can do it all with positive reinforcement. One of the best things you can do for your puppy is train it in sign language (babies, too). This is because before they have age and experience, they react to everything. Whatever energy is in the room, they pick it up. You need to be able to stop your dog from digging, fighting, jumping, etc. without losing your shit at the dog because if you don’t, the bad behavior will only ramp up because of your adrenaline. Not being verbal takes the energy in the room out of the equation (for the most part).

Editor’s Note

For your baby, they can communicate long before they’re verbal. They just don’t know how without signs. It keeps the crying and tantrums to a minimum when you know how to ask for more milk. They’ll be able to speak in sentences before they’re into toddler diapers. It makes communication easier when a look and similar cries aren’t all the intel you can get.

That’s a thing it’s good to know *before* you have a pet….. whether you’re the kind of person that can be so dedicated to the cause of making your dog behave that you don’t get lazy, because you can derail it by being inconsistent *once.* It’s why I’m so much more into cats. It’s not that I don’t like dogs more, it’s that I have the executive function to take care of a cat and I’m not going to bet against it until I have a partner who also wants a dog or someone I’ve hired because I can’t manage the relentlessness of its care. I don’t want to bite off more than I can chew, and I won’t because a dog’s life isn’t sitting in my house all the time. The point of having a dog is to get me to leave it.

I already know its name should be “Sidney Virginia Bristdog-Woof.” Virginia Woolf is one of my favorite writers and the joke is obvious, Virginia Hall is my third favorite real  female spy, and Sidney Bristow is my fictional favorite.

Julia Child and Jonna Mendez are first and second. Don’t let Julia fool you with that “I was just a file clerk” crap. She is a tough motherfucker. I have a feeling that after working with spies, culinary school wasn’t that hard. Jonna is my second favorite because she would endorse the message regarding the first and Julia came long before her- OSS in WWII. Jonna was Cold War/Middle East terrorism…. but I honestly think she has a lot more areas of operation in her portfolio because disguises vary by climate. I doubt she was only limited to Eastern Europe and the Middle East because of it. I also know that at one point she spent time in somewhere like India or Pakistan because one of the chapters in Spy Dust locates her “on the subcontinent.” However, she could have been talking about someplace like southern Africa as well, and that’s what makes her books fun.

She is also a person who *loves* animals and would love appearing in an entry *about* dogs. I am positive she would rather write about dogs some days than her old job. But her old job makes for interesting stories that can’t be duplicated, so I’m glad she focuses on it. Having a dog is universal. Being Chief of Disguise at CIA is not.

I can say this surface level stuff because we actually do know each other on a superficial level. As in, I don’t have any more inside scoop than the rest of her readers, but I do enjoy hearing her live, talking afterwards, and sending her things I’ve written. It’s how I know she’s lost her dog within the last couple of years, but I don’t know if she’s gotten another one yet.

She would think “Virginia Woof” was funny even if you guys don’t. 😉

It’s funny how I can connect the love of a dog to even my special interest because so many people know its power. We all love our dogs because they can love us back in the way another adult can’t. No terms, limitations, provisos, clauses. No divorce unless you initiate it, and those people are generally wrong about it being time. I do not understand giving up a dog when the situation isn’t completely untenable, and I don’t understand keeping an animal alive at all costs because you think you can’t live without them. There are too many homeless pets to grieve long. I say I won’t get another pet. I won’t mean it two weeks later because I don’t like living without a pet.

I’m glad I don’t have to. Loving Zac is loving Oliver, who is a dog.

Empathy

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

What positive emotion do you feel most often?

For people like me (INFJ, highly sensitive, neurodivergent), empathy is a river of everpresentlovingkindness and a waterfall of tears. My mirror neurons go off for all people who struggle. Because of the negative effects that come with ADHD and Bipolar disorder, sometimes that part of me seems dammed, but it’s not. My focus has turned away, but the emotions are still there. I can’t turn them off, especially with ADHD, because there are 57 channels (and nothing’s on).

I try to focus on empathy, though, because if I didn’t I would recede into myself. For instance, my love of real world intelligence comes from more than one place. I lost a family member in Somalia who was a helicopter pilot for C/DIA, so when I see the stars on the wall at Langley, I know one of them is a personal memorial for me to visit should I get the chance. Another is spies in popular culture, but not necessarily fictional characters. “The Courier” is a true story, as is “Argo.” But those I watched as an adult. As a kid, I was introduced to James Bond and that was a love affair all its own. I didn’t want to marry James Bond. I wanted to be him.

I think that’s because I didn’t connect it that I would have to move to England to do that. I love CIA because I’m an American and feel proud of us, but I am equally obsessed with MI-6 (and the Tom Clancy level of detail that John Le Carre puts into his books). My favorite stories involve collaboration between the two institutions, which I’m sure happens all the time in real life, but isn’t reflected on screen all that often. The reason I think that is because I met a spy from London that was basically “on loan” to us for a task force on human trafficking. I thought that was infinitely cool and became interested in other countries’ intelligence agencies as well. KGB/GRU is fascinating even though I don’t particularly have a fondness for Russia itself.

I am focused on the Vietnam War era of CIA because I am indirectly writing a book about it… but the Cold War is a close second. Most of the retired spies I’ve met were active in the 80s and early 90s, steeping me in stories of East German and Russian operations and cute little Trabants. Regarding my book, it’s actually a platonic love story between two men who are trying to prevent the war from happening altogether. I do not know how the novel is going to end. That’s the best part. I want to write this book because I want to read it.

I’ll put a picture of a Trabant at the end because they’re not popular cars anymore and you simply must see one. To me, they look like pets. When Chevron and Pixar created their cartoon cars, they really missed the boat. A talking Trabant would be every bit as cute to me as a puppy.

The fact that Zac has worked in intelligence since “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is not lost on me and is in fact extraordinarily meaningful. That’s because historically, queer people haven’t been allowed to be spies. It’s not because the US was actively trying to be homophobic….. I mean, they were, but there’s an extremely valid reason behind it that I cannot ignore. If they were caught, it was a short path to blackmail. Either come work for us or we’ll blow up your whole life. I don’t have any anger or bitterness against CIA for not being able to hire me, either, for a similar reason.

If I was caught, the first thing that would be done in another country is taking away my psych meds, even if they were available there. That’s because they automatically think that making me unstable is the best way to get me to talk. Joke’s on them. I wouldn’t talk, but I would be a rage-filled chihuahua (I’m 5’2). Physical withdrawal from an SSRI or mood stabilizer lasts weeks. I have a feeling that wouldn’t go well for me. It’s discrimination, but also empathy. They’re not going to allow me to be in a situation where someone takes away my medication.

Knowing that part of it comes from being a fan of both “Homeland” and “Jack Ryan.” Carrie Mathison did get made and had her psych meds denied. My bipolar disorder is far less severe than hers, but it drove the point home. James Greer was sneaking heart medication, I believe. Different drug, same issue.

It’s devastating because I really would have liked to work on the whole world’s problems at once. I’m just not dumb enough to lead the crusade in a fight to get me hired because for as much as it sucks, I agree with them. The problem, to me, is not getting hired. It’s what happens after you join. I have trouble believing that a case officer will never have to supplement or balance their brain chemicals at all during their entire career. CIA is so massive that there are plenty of jobs where you don’t have to travel at all, but if you are an operative, there’s probably not a chance in hell you’d take one.

That’s because spy agencies are hyped up by the movies to an enormous degree, and yet when I read true life spy stories, I realize that there’s a lot of the same nervous energy I felt before service at a restaurant. I’d be standing in front of a table daydreaming, prepping and nervous before the pop. Feeding hundreds of people is also an operation, and so many nights I could have used an ex-fil. 😉 If I was a current operative, a great place for me would be embedded with World Central Kitchen. I don’t think CIA likes to embed people in humanitarian organizations if they don’t have to do so, because it affects the reputation of the charity. For instance, you will never see an operative disguised as a priest or a Peace Corp officer. That being said, I think CIA should basically be Jose Andres’ right hand, because there’s no one more invisible to the rest of the world than cooks and waitstaff.

I could be The Little Gray Man because I’m just “the help.” What the fuck do I know? Meanwhile, I can learn everything without saying anything. I don’t even have to ask any questions; I can give them enough rope to hang themselves.

But it’s not in the interest of anything other than empathy. Being able to stop horrific things from happening is a worthy cause. I would love to work on saving the people of Ukraine, or perhaps saving women and girls from the Taliban. If I could pick, it would be Ukraine because I don’t necessarily want to work where it’s 110 in the shade. I grew up in Houston, and still technically live in the South. “Dry heat” only helps so much. MENA (State designation for Middle East North Africa) is a giant sandbox where the sun is actively trying to kill you. Poland sounds nice this time of year compared to that. That being said, it wouldn’t matter where I was placed based on geography. I’d just like a job where I actually felt capable. I don’t know which problem in the world would make me feel that way.

But here’s what I do know.

Jose Andres went to Ukraine/Poland out of the same empathy I would.

If you have the means, please donate to World Central Kitchen, and if you’re local, take every chance you can get to throw money in his piggy bank. Zaytinya is amazing down to the French fries.

There are more ways to love the world than just trying to stop bad things from happening. Sometimes you need to actively support the good.

If we can use intelligence to stop wars, we save lives by not putting soldiers in harm’s way. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, we averted nuclear war due to several people. Some of them were Russian assets who gave us invaluable information without Khrushchev knowing what cards Kennedy was holding, and and one submarine officer that pulled a Denzel Washington on Gene Hackman.

Now the theme to “Crimson Tide” is playing in my head.

So, when you think of my empathy, make sure it includes people I will never, ever meet. My heart is big enough to love them all.

I Wouldn’t

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?

If there is anything I have learned over the last eight years, it’s “stop trying to describe yourself to someone who can’t see you.” It is wasted energy because they’re running on deduction and inference, and skipping over what you’re telling them. It is also true that people see what they want to see. Know when you’re not it, and celebrate the people who show up.

I was reminded of that by my favorite author, Jonna Mendez. However, if I hadn’t started with her late husband’s books, we never would have met at all. It is so beautiful to me that my first favorite spy/writer introduced me to the second…. and he thought she was just as beautiful inside as I do now.

She made my heart overflow with gratitude when I sent her “The Spy in the Room,” a blog entry where I talked about seeing her live at the International Spy Museum:

It was so validating to have someone who writes professionally really take in who I am and what I do. It changed my perspective and my self confidence, because she saw me in a way that no one ever has.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy compliments from readers. I really do. They’re so valuable. At the same time, there’s something about meeting your heroes and them saying they think you’re on the right track.

The reason I’m posting about this is it’s actually a screenshot from four years ago today.

It humbles me to stand next to greatness, and for a few minutes, I really, really did. She thought I was perceptive because the entry talks about the armor you put on when you’re in grief.

It was not a one-way transaction.

I saw her, and she saw me.

I have just described it.

Little, Broken, but Still Good

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

How would you describe yourself to someone?

I can hear Dana in my head. She has a marvelous Stitch impression.

I’m supposed to be describing me, and this is the best I’ve got.

I’m trying to stop being nice, without losing being kind. I find that if I try and people please everyone, it’s not the flex I thought it was. People treat you to the level they see themselves, and are self-serving a lot of the time. They’ll help you if there’s something in it for them. Very few people will help someone a propos of nothing.

Those few are worth more than you have in your bank account, and I don’t care how high your balance may be. It is even truer for billionaires that they need good friends, because they have to worry about things most people don’t. What if their kid gets kidnapped? It’s very real when the kidnapper can set the release at anything he or she wants.

Most people think it’s justified, like eating the rich. That doesn’t make it right.

It’s just one example to make my point, but there are millions of others.

It is interesting that now people see that my boundaries are ironclad, they don’t test them. It doesn’t matter whether they’re scared of upsetting me, whether they think I’m being an asshole, or respecting my privacy. I am not responsible for what they understand, and they don’t live in my head. No one can predict me, because I want them to stop.

The heuristic in their heads is mild-mannered preacher’s kid who will do anything and everything not to offend anyone. I was constantly trying to figure out how people emoted and thought so that I could keep them from getting upset. I wasn’t standing for anything, I was falling for everything, and I could hear Ben Franklin telling me to stop.

It’s probably because of the summer heat in Philadelphia. I hear it is not pleasant. If you do not know how bad, you should let Jill, Lindsay and me school you. We all had to read a book about early America that focused so much on the heat during the many Congresses it took to get to ::gestures broadly at everything:: that everyone sweated and grumbled and got drunk at lunch. Now that’s how you whip a vote.

I’m betting at least some of those guys had good boundaries, but not Franklin. He became the toast of Paris trying to win the Revolutionary War with their money and resources.

At the end of the day, there’s this gem from the International Spy Museam. “Washington didn’t beat us, he simply outspied us.” It’s a paraphrase, but you get the gist. Intelligence over military might, my goal in every conflict vs. putting boots on the ground. I have too many friends in the military to think of any of them in danger. Spies save lives by having good boundaries.

The first Moscow Rule, not Tony Mendez’ explanation but he wrote them down is, “don’t fall in love with your asset.” It doesn’t mean sleeping with them (a Moscow Rule…… for RUSSIA), it means that if you don’t have boundaries, you won’t be able to protect them. it means that you’ll start wearing rose-colored glasses instead of running the numbers. it means being emotionally incapacitated to some degree, because sometimes they get caught. It’s one thing for you to go to prison or be tortured. It’s another thing to watch someone else, and it’s something you asked them to do that got them caught in the first place.

It’s a metaphor for life, or it has become that for me. I have fallen in love with the whole world, but the whole world doesn’t deserve me. It takes my focus and directs it externally, leaving me with no energy. Pushing people away is not trying to hurt them. It’s trying to say that I only have enough energy for *some* people because I have many, many, many acquaintances and readers that are not my close friends, and yet I would bleed out if they needed anything while my needs, and my family’s needs from me go by the wayside.

I think when you’re an INFJ, if you are interested in International Relations at all, you love CIA because they keep people safe. It’s one thing to have a few people steal some documents. It’s quite a different experience walking into a base in Afghanistan or Iraq and seeing how massive it is because they have to accommodate thousands (or at least hundreds…).

CIA has done some shady shit, too, but what you see is what you get. If you want to see that they’re evil, you’ve got material. If you want to see that they’re amazing, you will. It just depends on your filter. Now, extrapolate that to everyone you know. Are you capable of accommodating six friends or at least, hundreds…….. What people see in you is what people see in “the Manson family,” which is what the FBI calls them in “The Looming Tower.” It’s not a real thing. It was just funny in the show (it’s on Hulu, I think).

But of course the FBIs filters are different. They’re a law enforcement agency built on slave catchers. Who’s really the good guy in either scenario when you look at them through those filters?

Giving the important people in your life the attention they deserve means shutting others out and not feeling bad about it. No one has the energy to have 50 friends, and if they do, they don’t know all of them that well. But if you’re a people pleaser, you might cater to people you don’t know well for a while, but then you’ll get overwhelmed and give up.

It reminds me of one of my favorite hymns:

Draw us in the Spirit’s tether
for when humbly in your name
two or three are met together,
you are in the midst of them.

Now, God does not work for CIA that I’m aware of, nor do they belong to The Manson family. That’s all on us.

It’s a reminder that to have a truly spiritual experience, it can be quiet. You cannot go deep with 50 people, especially if you can’t go deep with one.

Talking to 50 people is easier than talking to one when you don’t hate small talk. Being on stage or in the pulpit/lectern is even easier. That’s because even when I’m preaching a confessional sermon with 200 people hanging on every word, I still don’t feel responsible for their actions. I don’t feel responsible for the way they feel when I’m done. I know from experience how I did. If I did well, they’ll tell me so. If I blew it, they’ll say, “I like your dress.”

“I like your dress is polite, but it doesn’t indicate someone who will show up for you.

And that leads me to a story about Mikal, my 11th grade best friend. We were on a mission trip to Reynosa, and it turns out that I, in fact, cannot preach in Spanish. But I tried.

I think it was something like “los ninos es la corazon o la iglesia” (the children are the heart of the church). That’s because I preached Sunday worship after vacation Bible school (I was the only one who could even attempt such a thing. Had nothing to do with my qualifications except two years in school that barely covered first grade. Anyway, I say a couple of things after that and then I run out of words and couldn’t really “think of a closer.” So I just repeated the above line twice and said, “Amen.” My mother cried (partially because she had no idea what I was saying) because that’s what mothers do when you preach.

I finish not really knowing how I did, because everyone was polite.

I get back to my seat and Mikal says, “that was the worst piece of crap I’ve ever heard in my life.”

And that’s why she was my best friend.

All Boxed Up

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Now that Christmas this year is a memory, I want to talk about my incredible haul. I got physical gifts, like a Welsh football jersey (Wrexham) and lots of Christmas cookies. I also got a pair of pink men’s lounge pants that are so me they hurt….. I’m a sucker for anything in size “real men wear pink.” It makes sense. I am generally a butch cut, femme color sort of girl.

I also got a spiritual gift I needed. It wasn’t wrapped, and it was so bright my eyes couldn’t take it in at first. I talked on my web site about possibly making a character out of Jonna and Tony Mendez, a composite for any of my novels, maybe the alternate history. After I finished writing the entry, I thought, “I should probably ask her if this is okay before I start writing any scenes.” So, she got back to me and said that anything I did that nodded to them was fine, just to give them good intentions and a bit of courage.

When the response came, I was just dumbstruck. I thought, “how does she know I’m not going to make a disaster out of this?” At that point, my confidence came back. I’ve seen Jonna speak live. I wrote about it. I sent it to her. She already likes the way you write about her. My soul began to take up more space as the warm memory wrapped itself around me.

The big physical gift ask for me was a Moleskine, because I thought I was so smart by keeping everything in my phone. So, I’d go into a grocery store and see notebooks for sale and pass them up, because “I put that stuff on my phone.” I looked through my phone to check the validity of that statement and I found exactly three notes.

Taking this class at BYU over YouTube is changing me. I need to be able to write an idea down, because all of the sudden I have the confidence to believe in it as currency. I have never had that before. I am going to get a Bluetooth tag for my Moleskine because I poured my heart into a college lined and I have no doubt that one day it’s going to end up on a podcast because I left it in an airplane 20 years ago. In any case, I am sure that I have amused and horrified tens of people. Trying to think of when it was…. definitely the Kathleen years. I remember feeling like I’d burgled myself, and I had.

The Moleskine also represents forward thinking. I’ve been a blogger all my life. I didn’t need to plan ahead. Think it, say it works fine in blogging, but not other forms of writing.

I create plots and characters independently of each other. Ideas for them come at random times. I thought I would be the sort of person that would say things like, “Siri, open Notepad.” Turns out, I have been that person three times.

The rest of the time I was searching for a piece of paper. This one even has elastic to hold a pencil. It’s a 7-in, the same size as a basic Kindle. I am hoping it will last me a long time, because this is not for outlines. It’s to keep one-liners from all my projects no matter what they are. Think of it as a five-year supply of post-it notes all stuck together and you’ll see why I’m humiliated that I can’t keep everything digital. I have been around and around this.

Here is my use case.

I do not drive. I walk or ride public transportation. I do my best thinking while mobile, so having a notebook is essential for those lightning bolt moments, because that idea is not coming back. I know what it’s like to lose the potential of a million dollars because of my own stupidity. I’m done.

Christmas has also been talking with Daniel and trying to plan out what we want to do re: content. He’s a combat vet (Hospital Corpsmen Second Class, US Navy) whose job was triage in Afghanistan. If he had been civilian trained, he’d be a nurse practictioner by now. That’s a doctor in my book. Where I come in is possibly a published conversation, perhaps even a podcast, on PTSD and recovery.

Daniel is also an alcoholic, getting ready for rehab at the beginning of the new year. Just a fascinating patient history on both sides, really. Going through treatment for alchoholism and going through treatment for being bipolar are strikingly similar, and I ‘m thinking we’re going to have a good time. I have already started calling him “DW” because those are his actual initials, and I have been making sure to sound like a little aardvark boy annoyed with his sister every time it comes out of my mouth, too. The thing that I love about working with DW is that he’s so open and honest. Everything that goes around, comes around. We’re having great discussions so far.

I said, “can I give you a piece of advice for rehab that helped me in regular therapy?” He said, “please do.” I said, “say the thing you’re most afraid to say first. Don’t say, ‘I’m going to change my life in 90 days’ and wait til day 85 to break down.” I could only be that confident after having admitted to myself the thing I was most afraid to say. Every day, I challenge myself to say something that scares me. Generally, the scariest things are letting go of relationships that no longer serve me.

My attention is shifting in a very good way. I’m enjoying being around people who get me, focusing on the ones who show up and casting shadow on those who didn’t bother. Stopping the tape inside me that always says to search for the lost lamb, because it’s not a lost lamb. It’s a human capable of making their own decisions, and I don’t have to agree with them. Maybe I’ll end up being right. Maybe I won’t. It never mattered. I spent time on people who didn’t want to be in my circle, and I want to stop now. It is not time for a search and rescue.

It is winter, the time to gather around, hold each other, and wait for more light.