Drawbacks of the Subjective Viewpoint

[Mr. Subversify]

Here- my slaphappy peice that took under 40 minutes to write. Its a peice of shit by my own admission. This is blog crap, not magazine material. This is what first person nets you: shit writing. I'll write my real submission in 3rd when I get back from work later:

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I couldn’t help but notice the disaster that was the very first house to the entrance of the neighborhood. The grass had grown over a foot high, covering any hint of sprinklers and low growing ornamental plants. The boards covering the windows had began to sag and bow outwards. The once white paint on the exterior cinderblock had began to peel off and now yellow stains dotted the home, making the walls appear to have large gloomy eyes. Topping the look off where a pair of turkey vultures that had perched over the front door awning. I couldn’t think of a better way to say, “ Welcome Back to Lehigh Acres”

Having read so many articles and heard so much through my own network of friends and family, I knew that the town was in dire straights. In my last trip here some two years prior, the real estate market was showing signs of a downward slide. Houses under construction were stopped in mid phase, their frames and foundations left to collect weeds as migrant workers picked the construction sites clean. This time around the reality had hit home, my old home neighborhood to be precise. Once a prosperous middle class community, the whole block had turned into something I could not recognize. House after house was boarded up. No lawn was green, the tall grass in many yards had turned brown from months of drought. New neighbors had taken the houses that were left. Many of them lounged around the front of their homes during the day. Some of their children would walk into the street, and when they would walk into the path of my car, they seemed to not care that a two thousand pound vehicle was coming at them. They eyeballed me like I was the problem, that I should just wait for them to casually walk their marry way. It was a sign of the times, a sign that things had changed for the worse in Lehigh. Local gangs and made sure that their territory had been marked, with the insignia of the Latin Kings tagged on every stop sign. It certainly was not the pleasant neighborhood I knew as a child. Long gone were the friendly old ladies that would greet me with a smile or the happy dog walkers that would let you pet their tail-wagging companions. The dogs walking these streets now had no walkers, they walked themselves through the neighborhood in a far more menacing way, marking their territory and giving you the side-eye while going about their business.

My normally jovial father was eager to complain about the house to the rear of his. That owner had not done him the courtesy of boarding up the windows before abandoning the home. The windows had since been smashed, and the little rain that had fallen in the time had caused the interior of the home to immediately rot, creating a wild stench that drifted through the neighborhood. Lookout out the rear window was like looking at a horror movie. Dead fruit trees partially obscured a house that was in shambles. This resembled nothing of the memories I had as a child, looking out the window in the morning and seeing doves cooing on branches and rabbits nibbling on the dewy grassy. The back yard was now a bleak manifestation of suburban decay, complete with the poignant stench of mold.

The golf course that long stood as the center point of the town, had gone out of business. The resort buildings were bulldozed and removed from view. The large homes lining the fairway now had a view of a grassy field that had quickly been overrun with a variety of subtropical undergrowth. The golf course homes were undergoing a similar transition to my old neighborhood, their exteriors were showing sign of wear and clearly many of the houses had been abandon. There was no hope here, it had quickly walked away – leaving the despair of high financed reality along with it. Streets once lined with well manicured lawns are now lined with weeds clinging to for-sale signs. Busses with “foreclosure tour” signs occasionally drive down the street, taking an almost pedestrian speed as the bus driver tries desperately to point out all the inventory. I wonder what happened to my town – to what miserable end this market has taken my old neighborhood to.

I could see better times in my foggy recollections. The Spring Festival where my mother would paint my face in the old Charm Circle. My grandfather taking me out to have brunch out on the fairway snackshop. The times my grandmother would take me to the pool for a swim at the Mirror Lake’s pool. All of that was gone now, the children in this town wouldn’t have the privilege of those experiences. There was no more privilege to be had. It was all refinanced out of existence.

[The Late Mitchell Warren]

Ai, where to begin.

First of all, flattered that my initials have been officially integrated into a Subversify Law, aka the LMW Rule. Though I believe it should be officially renamed the Late Mitchell Half Assed Rule.

To anyone has known me beyond 360, you know that my entire style is purposely iconoclastic and I live only to break rules. I enjoy breaking the little rules and little notes of proprietary behavior in an effort not to remain PC, but those rules are like jaywalking to me. Of course, the best rules to break are the absolute definitive rules that separate right from wrong, good from evil, and marketable script from vanity press writing. I think it's hypocritical to pride one's self on being a bad ass of literature but to be so sycophantic as to recreating what the professional establishment deems "worthy" writing. In case I haven't made myself clear, I urinate upon all that is holy in the real world of publishing. I think all agents should be gang raped by wolves and all editors should be beaten senselessly with bamboo sticks. Anytime some bitch starts telling me what is publishable in the real world and what people are buying with their capitalist blood money which makes whores out of children and crooks out of decent family men, I lose interest in her existence. I would say him/her, but it's mostly women who complain about rules. To be fair though, most men are too stupid and horny to care about writing.

Now anyway back to the subject at hand. I find it humorous that this is such a big debate among the members here. We have what, four different editors here? And we can't agree upon a simple editorial process? Well no, why would we? You have four different editors who are almost completely different in their perspectives as to why this magazine exists. The more complication you offer (namely adding more editors) the more complicated the editorial process will be. Yet, you're trying to institute a very simple rule about not accepting 1st person stories. If that became a dogmatic rule around here that would be something below modern journalism, and comparable to the stone age of progressive writing. (And progressive writing at this state in time is slightly more respectable than B-movie direct-to-video trash starring the lovely Shannon Tweed) Seriously, have you ever heard of Hunter S Thompson? No wait, did you know that Truman Capote once wrote something called a nonfiction novel?

Even the soulless bastards in publishing allow 1st person stories in fiction and journalism, provided they have literary merit. Yes, I understand what you're saying about blog writing. But you know why everyone hates blog writing? Because most bloggers suck. Bloggers write about their feelings, about their personal life, about their kvetching with local retail stores, and about products they really don't care about all in an effort to use keywords. (TAGS: Bloggers SUCK I hate bloggers, die bloggers die) just in case anyone's searching)

I've tried to keep up the blogging thing and I have a blog, but I can't justify blogging every day or even twice a week just the hell of it. Because ordinary life is just not that interesting. And GOD, I hate people who tweet. If you tweet, I don't think we'll get along. Tweeting is the end of civilization, and should be the second coming of Christ, in all honesty. If I were Christ, I would destroy the pagan world starting with people who use Twitter and tweet much to the anger of God.

Anyway, the point is: this post is not what I would call publishable material. It's just me ranting blog style and it's not worthy of posting anywhere except on a forum of people who love Patrick Wilson. If anyone submitted a post with no particular point, and it was 1st person, then just refuse to publish it. Tell the submitter to blog about it and then to blog about the rejection.

If a person works hard on a 1st person post and there is some crafting to it, and more importantly, it has a point...(and perhaps a reason why it is in the first person besides convenience) then publish it. I don't think Brian Williams is going to snicker at the use of "I" or "you" when he reads your article. Some stories, to be honest, work better in 1st person. It just depends on the writing and subject matter.

Easy solution: subject all 1st person stories to an editorial vote: the majority decides if its publishable. If the majority rules that it's gratuitous blogging, then the person is free to rework it or submit it elsewhere.

And here's a Half Assed Mitchell Warren Rule #2: if my 1st person posts get any "against" votes then I'll automatically withdraw it from consideration. Hell, the BLog of Mitchell needs new content anyway.

[Maya]

Mitch you're right. Men are stupid and horny. Nah, what you're saying makes alot of sense. The quality of the article is what should be deemed publishable, not the style.

[The Late Mitchell Warren]

LOL

[Mr. Subversify]

No one here is advocating a universal writing technique as a publishing standard. But I will call people out as being lazy fucks if all one ever does is submit 1st person writing. It is lazy writing, period. If one is comfortable being a lazy fuck that can't extend themself into writing in anything other that one's own perspective, then feel free to seat yourself among the other third graders. Like it or not, a writer's merits will be judged not only on the content of writing, but also the craft and style in which one writes in. Some people don't give a shit about how they are perceived and fuck if I couldn't empathize with that position; my only question is why step onto the baseball field if all you ever want to do is hit off the tee. Everyone should be trying to extend beyond writing a first person perspective.

Now , back to my little experiment. I had to work late so it was an AM venture:

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With the economy in such dire straights, one might wonder just how bad the areas hardest hit have become. The daily news reports of home foreclosures and statistics showing capital market crashes have an almost clinical feel about them, as if the doom befalling America is too large in scope to grasp on a personal level. Lost in charts and statistics are the real human tragedies. Subversify traveled to one such area, the ground zero of economic blithe: Lee County, Florida. For several months, Lee County led the nation in foreclosures. Averaging over twenty five hundred foreclosures a month, the pace had a staggering toll on the area. Lehigh Acres, a suburb in eastern Lee County took the hardest hit. Over one hundred square miles, the town was platted and had roads built in the risky business philosophy of “if you build it , they will come”. The corporation that did the original planning and phased developments would eventually collapse, leaving the remaining vast tracts of land a property speculators dream. And come they did, with interest rates low and credit readily available, just about everyone was buying a lot and building a house. Building had happened at such a fast rate in the last twenty years that building supplies became scarce, causing budget shortfalls in construction and hampering rebuilding efforts with hurricane Charley relief. The economy itself began circulating entirely around this land boom, with plenty of jobs to be had in construction, real estate and finance. A perfect storm was brewing, it was only a matter of time before everyone would see what wrath this market would cause.

The official entrance of Lehigh Acres has a large round sign declaring “Welcome to Lehigh”, proudly lit with spot lights and surrounded by palm trees to add a tropical flair. This sign was once the edge of the developed town, a pleasant gateway for residents and tourists to travel through. Since that time, the town has grown around it – the sign is now in the center of a much larger city. Behind the sign is one of the earlier developments, the Wedgewood community. In its hayday, Wedgewood was a premium middle class neighborhood. Children played in an open playground under the shadow of the Methodist Church, the town’s largest house of worship with an enormous steeple and grandiose campus. Dog walkers and elderly people paced the roads, greeting one another by their first names. The Wedgewood community of today is a vastly different place. The first home at the entrance of the community speaks worlds of what lies within the development. The lawn grass stands over a foot high, covering any hint of sprinklers and low growing ornamental plants. The boarded up windows show signs of sagging as the plywood planks bow outwards. The once white paint on the exterior cinderblock is peeling off in large chunks, which dangle in the breeze like tiny flags of surrender. Yellow stains dotted the home’s exterior, making the walls appear to have large gloomy eyes. Topping the look off are a pair of turkey vultures that perch over the front door awning. One can't help but think this would be a more appropriate welcome sign for the town.

After driving past the first home, one can’t help but notice that the community watch sign and the adjacent stop sign have the telltale spray-paint crown tags of the Latin Kings. A brutal street gang that has taken foot in suburbia. Many of the homes have tall grass and stacks of newspapers rotting in the driveways. Some have boarded up windows, and dogs meander unleashed, roaming about the neighborhood. Long gone are the populations of retirees, a demographic shift with the explosion of property has altered the landscape of this area of town. A huge Latin and Haitian influx have created a change in scenery. Some residents sit idly in from of their homes watching the world around them. There are no more jobs to go to. The construction has dried up, along with the lending and real estate. The best that many of these people could hope for was day labor jobs on construction sites. There is no other fall back industry for people to go to. The largest employer in town, Wal-Mart, has waiting lines every morning to submit resumes. Occasionally, a large diesel bus drives down the street at a walking pace. On the side of the bus is a sign declaring “Foreclosure Tours”. The bus doesn’t move fast in this neighborhood, there is too much inventory to cover.


One street on the other side of town tells a different story. Gunnery Road was once a strafing road used by Army Air Core planes as a practice ground for World War Two. Within the last twenty years, much of Lehigh has expanded into the once desolate area. In a town with no ordnances and no zoning controls, this land became the Wild West for real estate development. Large houses next to small ones, businesses next to condos, single family on top of multi-family, whomever had the capital and the will could build as they pleased. And build they did, miles and miles of mixed construction appeared in the blink of an eye. At the height of the mass building craze, the money ran out. The capital funding dried up and every construction project came to a standstill. Many of the construction sites now are overgrown with weeds, with half built frames and assorted construction materials laying about. One can frequently spot large groups of migrant workers in pickup trucks raiding the stacks of unused supplies. Several of the homes that were near complete are now nearly totally destroyed, vandals having their way with the windows and interior drywall. The Lee County Sheriffs office has also had to contend with a new type of crime; copper theft. The thief’s rip out the copper from plumbing and air conditioner units. While unoccupied units are the biggest targets, a greater number of thefts have been happing to occupied homes. A drive down Gunnery also demonstrates that one business is thriving: manufacturers of “for Sale” signs. Street after street has lines of for sale and foreclosure signs. During the height of the real estate boom, one local realtor had declared that he had sold the same home seven consecutive times without anyone ever stepping foot in the door. Now the market is saturated with inventory and no one has the money to make purchases.

Off Leeland Heights boulevard, a woman stands outside her house. She is being evicted, her personal items are being removed by people hired by the bank and placed on the front yard. A sheriff deputy remains parked in her driveway to make sure there are no altercations. Her items are being rummaged through by neighbors. Without a home and no money to purchase storage, she can’t do much more than watch as people take her possessions. It’s now a common site, so much so that caravans of people travel to separate evictions to exploit the evicted persons possessions. In lean times, the scavengers fatten themselves. The foreclosures in this area of town are typical of many across the country. Some were lured by the low interest rate on ARMs. Others began using equity loans like an ATM machine. Money was dirt cheap, and there was a long line of people to borrow.

At the Faith Lutheran Church, volunteers are assisting passing out free day-old bread to locals. The program had modest beginnings when there was a small, manageable crowd of needy people. The volunteers don’t attempt to qualify the people that show, they just give the food to anyone who shows up. However, the lines within the last few years have turned into crowds. The Church had to recruit more volunteers for crowd control, which at times has turned into an angry mob.

“ Only one loaf per person” a volunteer would shout from the back of the delivery truck.

“ But I’m picking up one for my neighbor” a distressed woman shouts.

An elderly woman forcibly removes the loaf from her hand and places it back on the stack of bread.

“We have to make sure everyone gets some, there is plenty to go around but we can’t allow hoarding”

President Obama had recently traveled to this area. Many of the locals had hoped he would see the town first hand, but plans were altered and he never did take a tour of Lehigh Acres. It is unclear if the President’s proposals will directly affect this area, but what is certain is that local and stave governance failed to stop the crisis. In particular, citizens of Lehigh have fought against incorporation, which would allow citizens greater authority over zoning and community planning. Speaking with one longtime retiree, it was stressed that many on fixed incomes don’t want to be further taxed. Others cast their eyes towards the state regulators for not paying greater attention to appraisers and mortgage originators, a symbiotic relationship that at time poses ethical challenges. The higher the value, the greater the loan, the better the commission. For a short time, no one could lose. But eventually, everyone did.

Smaller Mortgage companies in particular were left holding large swaths of improved properties. They couldn’t re-sell the mortgages, and the rental market had dried up. Those in the property management game were giving away rent for free as an introductory offer, trying to secure occupancy any way they can. Other companies have folded, and larger banks are now having the burden of selling off their inventory. The community golf resort, long a fixture of the town, was recently closed. The resort was bulldozed and the golf course is now an overgrown jungle. Many of the homes lining the fairway have been abandon or have fallen into disrepair.

The community at large is still struggling with how to deal with their situation. Crime is escalating, and despite the huge housing inventory, homelessness is continuing to increase. It is apparent however that the glory days of Lehigh as a prosperous suburbia are gone, the mirage of wealth vanished and in its place a massive debt laden community with no industry to support itself. Lehigh Acres appears to be a bleak manifestation of suburban decay, to which there may never be a happy ending.

[Maya]

At least some good came of this, we've managed to manipulate an article out of you.

[karlsie]

The only question i have is why this isn't up on the site already? Stacy, you've been holding out on us.

[Mr. Subversify]

I need to revise it a bit. Will do later when work is over

[Maya]

Stacy put your submission up already, enough philandering, err um I mean procrastinating.

[grainnerhuad]

To be honest and I don't mind being called a 3rd grader once in a while, I liked both and though both were publish-worthy. The first person offers us a look into personal perceptions and disappointment. However I realize that it is better suited to fiction writing. This would be an excellent fiction snippet. The second, was as always excellent. What do you want to tweak? I say, put it up.
Both had their merrits, both reached out and captured. I feel what needs to be asked is who do you want to speak to. Some people process truths better when couched in ficiton and/or the first person. I feel it is short sighted to state that they are slower or functioning on a 9 year old level. It very simply is how they take things in. Others of course connect to the 3rd person documentary style writing better, again it is a learning style issue. I completely understand the reasoning about why we are encouraging more 3rd person writing. We want this to be a "for real" e-zine. We want research and coherent thought. 3rd person requires this while 1st person makes it easier to skate by with your own opinions without doing any research to back them up. That's not to say that 1st person writers all do that. I reasearch when I write that way, unless it's a lame 'this is what I think and/or did today blog. Blog being the operative word.
I think this is not a question for Staff members who mostly share the same opinion. But rather a few who are submitting and don't understand. It's fine not to understand, we can explain it. Nobody can be absolutely sure of motives but I think mostly people just want to know why. (Which is in fact 5-9 year old behavior...the Why? Why? Why? Why?) But people need to get it that we as moderators are not changing everything because they would like it to be changed. We only have so much room for first person articles and that room is a small one. They always have the option of submitting somewhere else or beginning their own mag.

[karlsie]

That was very well put, Grainne. I agree. Look in any magazine or newspaper. Commentaries go in one section and usually refer to a topic being discussed (hence the reason for preferring to save opinion pieces until we have some articles around the same topic.) Non fiction, which dominate the features; can be presented in a number of ways, but usually carries a burden of proof apart from the personal pronouns unless the piece is autobiographical. If personal pronouns are used to summarize an article, they are reflective. They relate directly to the information being presented and not personal view. One exception in documentary writing that allows for personal view would be essays, although i haven't seen anyone write one yet, so we won't worry about that until it happens. The point is, i like to call a style of writing for what it is; letter writing, blogging, articles, essays, commentaries, editorials, satire, irony, etc. If you say you're writing an article and it's a commentary, that's what i'm going to call it. I didn't make the rules for categories, but i'm damned sure going to follow them.

[Maya]

Grainne you have been exalted for the superior input.

[grainnerhuad]

Yay Me! Thanks Maya! I loveth you. As long as we are telling who we exhaulted, I exhaulted Mitch the other day for making me laugh.