Modern Economics as a Moral Instrument

Nick Romeo, The Alternative: How to Build a Just Economy

Most wage-earning workers with house payments and bills know the current economy cannot survive much longer. People working overtime cannot afford groceries, and housing prices are more exorbitant now than immediately before the 2007 collapse. But with Cold War rhetoric still discoloring all economic discussions, what alternatives exist? What, importantly, has worked in real-world scenarios?

Nick Romeo is a journalist, not an economist; he doesn’t postulate alternative economic models from dust. Instead, he travels to places which have implemented economics beyond the dictates of neoclassical capitalism, to report on what works, and what doesn’t. This may mean cooperative models, like the Mondragon Corporation of Spain’s Basque Country, or the direct democracy of Cascais, Portugal. Everything described here has worked somewhere, and could hypothetically work elsewhere.

In his first chapter, Romeo briefly stops through American postgraduate economics programs, examining how academicians teach contemporary economics. The discipline he encounters is self-righteous and exclusionary, with a strong historical disdain for history and the humanities. It assumes humans are rational and amoral, and mathematics can describe economics better than anything else. But an increasing number of academic economists are recognizing how purblind this approach is.

Only in this first chapter does Romeo engage in abstruse theorizing; everything else focuses on real-world accomplishments. But this theorizing helps establish Romeo’s thesis statement, further expounded throughout the book, that economics isn’t a science (he uses the term “pseudoscience” generously). Economics originated a moral enterprise and a branch of philosophy, and Romeo aims to recapture that humane foundation.

Not for nothing, Romeo writes, was the Mondragon Corporation founded by a Catholic priest, not an economist. More a federation than a centralized corporation, Mondragon deploys the skills of diverse workers, who have democratic control over their employers. Mondragon eschews love of money or worship of hero CEOs, both hallmarks of American capitalism, preferring to empower workers to take ownership of their work and workplace.

Despite his talk of morality, and his lavish praise of Mondragon’s Father Arizmendiarrieta, Romeo’s economics isn’t religious. It is, however, humanist, prioritizing workers whose labors turn raw material into wealth, and not either money or economic “laws.” For Romeo, economics should focus on getting food, shelter, and necessities to humans, and protecting the natural environment. Mathematical models fail if they don’t achieve these goals.

Nick Romeo

Romeo’s moral calculus emphasizes economic outcomes excluded from textbook considerations. Are jobs merely a nicety provided by the ownership class, he asks, or a social entitlement? When workers’ productivity and ingenuity create corporate wealth, should workers own equity? Does “making a living” mean mere subsistence, or does the economy owe workers something more? These aren’t theoretical questions, and Romeo boldly proffers field-tested answers.

However, this creates some fuzzy outcomes. Romeo admits that morally minded economic models, like True Cost, must make flying decisions about what constitutes meaningful externalities, and therefore its titular “truth” remains open for interpretation—and, sadly, misinterpretation. Likewise, he praises purpose-driven corporation models which protect workers’ rights, housing access, or environmental restoration. He politely elides the idea that corporations might harbor bad purposes.

Employee stock ownership plans (ESOPs), a democratic model Romeo describes across several chapters, he finally admits isn’t a single system. Some ESOPs give workers complete ownership over the companies their work has created, but others grant only nominal equity, less than a 401(k). Economic liberty, Romeo admits, comes from diligence, not from assuming the monied classes care about your outcomes.

Also, approaching his denouement, Romeo admits that economic circumstances change, and responses must change commensurately. He began writing during and immediately after the pandemic (mostly written thus, “the pandemic,” as though afraid of its scientific name, like saying Macbeth). As pandemic furor dissipated, the economy moved from stagnation to inflation, and he admits it’s necessary to back-construct responses from the models he’s previously explained.

Consistently, morality matters first. Throughout the Twentieth Century, politicians and economists have sought economic models they could deploy and ignore, like a well-oiled machine. Romeo instead describes economics as a moral instrument, to be nurtured, tended, and when necessary, replaced. I’m reminded of Distributism, a similar morally-minded economic model, which uses agrarian metaphors. We farm the economy, not grease its wheels.

Romeo shows economic models which prioritize care, cooperation, and human dignity. He doesn’t invent new systems from cloth, though he admits countless further untried systems exist. Instead, he encourages us to read economics as an opportunity to increase human flourishing, build stronger communities, and preserve the environment. We only need to treat economics as a liberal art, as it is.

See also: Why We Need Liberal Arts in the Business World

Whose Career Is It Anyway?

Bob Kulhan with Chuck Crisafulli, Getting To “Yes And”: the Art of Business Improv

Back in the late-1990s through late-2000s, when improvisational comedy ruled America’s nightclubs and Whose Line secured constant ratings, certain big-city improv troupes invented an idea for increased income. They rented themselves out to corporations for team-building workshops and executive activities. These events possibly encouraged group unity and mutual trust, maybe. But improv performer and management consultant Bob Kulhan questions whether they actually improved bottom-line corporate outcomes.

Kulhan, a Second City graduate, still moonlights in improv, while running his consultancy and adjuncting at Duke University’s business school, a genuine triple threat. He brings his interdisciplinary approach to asking: does improv actually teach anything useful for business? Yes, Kulhan says, but only with modifications that full-time actors probably don’t realize they need. Arguably, though, Kulhan doesn’t realize he’s resurrecting improv’s original purpose.

Improv instructors have an activity called “Yes And.” Two (or more) performers construct a scene by agreeing with one another. One posits some statement—“Well, here we are in Egypt”—and the other agrees, while adding something further—“Yes, and destined to discover King Hatsupbashet’s lost tomb!” Ideally, the performers hear one another clearly enough to build something profound, without contradicting or opposing one another.

This, Kulhan insists, represents how business professionals ought to communicate. Rather than battling for terrain or engaging in one-upmanship, the twin banes of loners seeking individual reward, business people should collaborate, listening intently in the moment without preplanning rejoinders or seeking ways to torpedo colleagues. MBA teachers will say this freely, of course, but actual professionals, desperate to make themselves immune to automation, often squabble for insignificant territory.

Good improv teaches students to listen closely, without preplanning, but with gazes turned toward whatever will produce a unified scene. Self-seeking behavior and stardom undermine the product; improvisors learn to succeed by lifting the whole company, sometimes at individual expense. Likewise, successful business professionals can improve their outcomes by centering their efforts on the project, team, or company, whether that means sacrificing their glamorous personal promotions.

Bob Kulhan

Kulhan delves into particular ramifications, like idea generation, team-building in time-sensitive environments, and generating enthusiasm even when individuals are fatigued. He doesn’t waste busy professionals’ time with stage games like Freeze Tag or Word Ball, which hone performance skills but have questionable offstage outcomes. Instead, he side-coaches readers on productive conversations where they strive to advance others’ ideas and build team momentum, without seeking the next response or personal reward.

Having done improv in college, and having seen the disastrous outcomes of self-seeking teammates in working life, I applaud Kulhan’s enthusiasm. I’d love the opportunity to employ the principles he describes in my workplace, and perhaps someday, if circumstances break my way, I will. That said, I wonder if he realizes he isn’t actually adding anything new to the discussion. Though the original purpose has gotten lost, the ideas Kulhan describes are why modern improv was first invented.

Viola Spolin used her WPA grant to create numerous improv games, some original to her, others reclaimed from Italian commedia dell'arte tradition. She taught these games in Chicago-area schools and community centers, believing that poor children didn’t learn at home the critical listening skills common to children of the wealthy and upwardly mobile. Her son, Paul Sills, carried these games into theatre, when he co-founded Second City in 1959.

Despite his Second City roots, Kulhan never mentions Spolin in the text or index. She gets one fleeting citation in the endnotes, so transitory that I suspect he doesn’t realize how close he’s stumbled to gold. Rather than creating something new, he’s recaptured the reason Spolin invented improvisation, a reason lost behind a richly decorated history of unscripted theatre. This gives Kulhan’s message a certain poignancy, one which I suspect he doesn’t even realize he’s uncovered.

Honestly, I did improve in college, even staging a successful team performance, without ever discovering this history. I didn’t know Viola Spolin had non-theatrical ends in mind until after graduate school, when I stumbled upon the information accidentally. I presume Kulhan similarly never knew improv’s history as professional skills development, or he’d cite more sources from Spolin and her peers. Like me, Kulhan probably doesn’t know the full lost history.

So, though Kulhan doesn’t say anything necessarily new, he says something much-needed. In a business milieu long clouded by individualists seeking their rewards while fearing the eternal spectre of automation, improv skills offer the uniquely human opportunity of innovation through team unity. Viola Spolin knew this around 1940, but the information got lost. Bob Kulhan brings it back.

Writing From the Scholar Factory

Patricia Goodson, Becoming an Academic Writer: 50 Exercises for Paced, Productive, and Powerful Writing

I’ve heard it often recently: write like it’s a business. From mentors, professional writers, career counselors, quotes circulated on social media, I’ve even told myself I need to have a businesslike approach to writing. But like many widely circulated bromides, that doesn’t translate into action without details. As I attempt to restart my academic career, I’ve questioned how to be a more businesslike writer. This book couldn’t be more timely.

Patricia Goodson teaches Health and Kinesiology at Texas A&M University, perhaps an unusual discipline for a writing mentor. But as she notes, the physical sciences are very writing-intensive, with their own unique disciplinary approaches and a publish-or-perish mentality. Since much advice on writing comes from professional poets, novelists, and other creative writers, a science-based approach to writing makes an interesting change. It also makes a relief from fortune cookie sayings.

Goodson offers here an intensively researched, heavily documented exploration into what makes for good writing. Not just what ought to make for good writing, but what scholars in the field of verbal productivity have proven improves a writer’s output. Not just in abstract notions of output quality, either; writers using these approaches have improved their productivity as measured in both pages produced and editorial acceptances received.

Having researched what actually works—a field into which Goodson has made significant contributions herself—she translates the approaches into what she calls the POWER model: Promoting Outstanding Writing for Excellence in Research. She teaches this model to fellow Aggies, and has licensed its use at other universities too. Now she distills its essence into fifty exercises for a one-year self-guided immersion into improved scholarly and academic writing.

Patricia Goodson

Several exercises seem particularly common-sense… if you already know they work. For instance, many people avoid writing simply because they don’t see themselves as writers. But how does one feel like a writer, except by writing? I didn’t feel like a carpenter until I started building frames, and realized I could do it. Likewise, Goodson insists, dedicated academics should cultivate the “write” attitude simply by establishing writing as a continuous daily habit.

Other exercises address topics I never would’ve consciously considered. Since Goodson writes for graduate students, faculty, and other academic professionals, her audience requires an unusual familiarity with specialist vocabulary. She has an entire chapter dedicated entirely to cultivating a professional glossary. Since I’ve done that through osmosis, a deliberate approach never occurred to me. Yet seeing it now, I realize the massive importance of mindful vocabulary cultivation.

Again, Goodson writes for academics, not creative writers. Numerous books for aspiring novelists already exist. She writes for scholars who, having performed research and made discoveries, need to translate those insights into words and find their intended audience. (Notably, she doesn’t have a research chapter. Which makes sense, as career academics often use indefinite research as a stalling tactic to avoid writing. Don’t lie, I’ve done it too.)

I don’t want to reveal Goodson’s exercises, for multiple reasons: because she provides valuable ancillary guidance that moves her instruction beyond mere advice, into actual teaching. Because she has a specific curriculum you can customize to your needs. Because I’m only partway through myself. But here’s a thumbnail of Exercise One: don’t just intend to write. Ink writing time into your daily schedule, and defend it as rigorously as you would family time.

And Exercise Five: keep a daily writing log. Use a spreadsheet, graph paper, or template available on Goodson’s website (included), to chart your daily progress. Seriously. Though only barely into Goodson’s curriculum, I’ve found my output increased, because these two exercises, which she explains in more detail, have already increased my sense of accountability for writing output. They may seem like added work, but they’ve already improved my writing experience.

I repeat, Goodson writes for academics, mainly those in physical and social sciences. Creative writers may find plenty that applies herein, and as a two-track writer myself, I’m utilizing much she says in all my endeavors. Humanities scholars will also run across some practical limitations; I’d recommend Wendy Laura Belcher for you. But for Goodson’s unusually specific target audience, this book opens new vistas of opportunity for improving scholarship.

This isn’t a magic cure-all. She has a specific course of exercises to undertake, which she suggests over the course of a year. Like most learning opportunities, you must work for your results. But for academics willing to invest the necessary effort, I believe Goodson’s techniques will stretch and improve writing outputs. They’ve already improved my writing.

The Monopolists' Manifesto

Alex Moazed & Nicholas L. Johnson, Modern Monopolies: What It Takes to Dominate the 21st-Century Economy

Let's start by eliminating a source of confusion that fuddled me, and probably you too: this isn't a book against monopolistic business practices. Our authors don't disparage market consolidation (two conglomerates control two-thirds of America's beer distribution, for instance). Moazed & Johnson consider monopoly the bright shining future, provided it's the right monopoly model. And that model, for them, is platform business.

Yeah, I didn't know what that meant either. From the beginning, they define platforms as “a business that connects two or more mutually dependent groups in a way that benefits all sides.” Um, that sounds like commerce to me. A later explanation of eBay clarifies for me that they mean platform businesses create centralized meeting points where commerce happens. They make their profit licensing their location. Some entrepreneurs own individual stores; platform businesses own the whole mall.

Besides defining platform businesses (as opposed to platform technologies and industrial platforms—I admit, it’s confusing), Moazed & Johnson provide a thoroughly source-noted explanation of how their business model plugs gaps in market economics. By diffusing production and distribution decisions among multiple producers, they assert, they allow ground-level producers to deploy real-time decentralized knowledge to market circumstances.

Though admittedly well-founded, this model encounters problems under scrutiny. First, many “platforms” don't behave like they describe. Our authors extol platform businesses for eschewing supply chains and warehouses. Yet their list of lucrative platforms includes Amazon.com, which has warehouses in twenty-four U.S. states, two Canadian provinces, and multiple other nations. Clearly their definition isn't exclusive.

Second, platforms may themselves lack linear distribution structures, but the businesses they connect don't. eBay doesn't store or ship products themselves, but their vendors do. Therefore, dismissing linear business models as retrograde, as these authors do, misses an important point: the digital platform model only works as an adjunct to traditional businesses. Newfangled platforms may add value, but don't supplant older structures.

Nicholas L. Johnson (left) & Alex Moazed

This added layer imposes a quantitative cap on platform businesses, too. Assuming server capacity, digital platforms’ peer-to-peer connections are hypothetically infinite; but their content providers aren't. Each individual Über driver, Etsy knitter, and Twitter writer can provide only one service at a time. Thus, platform businesses have potentially infinite profit capabilities off IRL providers’ necessarily finite outputs.

I don't blame you if that sounds rather abstruse. This book goes down similar cow paths in constructing its fairly intense pro-platform arguments. The economic argument is very dense, bolstered with charts and histograms. As a Distributist, I dispute some of our authors’ premises—though too minutely to explain in a 750-word review. The reasoning is generally sound, but not light bedtime reading; expect your attention to wander occasionally while reading.

Moazed & Johnson are thought-provoking, and shine light on an unexamined, up-and-coming element of the digital marketplace. Yet I can’t get past certain complications. For starters, their love song to monopolistic market domination should give historically literate readers the heebie-jeebies, remembering how John D. Rockefeller created artificial shortages to submarine market forces. If, as our authors insist, free markets rule, we should worry about anybody hoping to monopolize, and render un-free, any market.

Then, even if these “monopolies” are transitory with evolving technology, as our authors acknowledge, they create a bottleneck that potentially squeezes vulnerable producers. Moazed & Johnson repeatedly cite Über; critics have asserted that Über aggregates profits upward, while front-loading expenses onto providers. Platform businesses’ impact on the economy is, to put it lightly, controversial, and this book won’t change many minds.

My most concise criticism, though, comes before page one. Facing the copyright page, the authors include a blurb for their business, Applico, a platform entrepreneurs’ consultancy. Most business books are, fundamentally, billboards for their authors’ consultancy services, and that includes authors I’ve praised, like Jonathan Raymond recently. But Raymond advertises principles he can help you implement. This book is a love song to its own authors.

That doesn’t mean its content is wrong. Moazed & Johnson offer well-documented, thoroughly researched evidence to back their position, and even without their consultancy, platform entrepreneurs could apply many principles to their business design. But this book is much more dependent on its authors than Raymond’s, which explains why, between the good evidence, they pay scant attention to counter-claims.

I can’t completely recommend against this book. Savvy business professionals can utilize its principles to stay abreast of changing markets. But reading it, without its authors present to question, requires a pre-existing familiarity with business and economic fundamentals; shoestring entrepreneurs shouldn’t jump in cold. This book isn’t wrong; it just requires a cold, distant eye.

The Problem With Business Books

David Thomas Roberts, UnEmployable!: How To Be Successfully Unemployed Your Entire Life

Near the beginning of this book, Texas entrepreneur David Thomas Roberts includes this spurious rhetorical question:

What is the Gig Economy?
Essentially, it’s the proliferation of a new generation of Micro Businesses.

No. The Gig Economy describes economic transactions based on short-term or one-off engagements with independent contractors. Über drivers and AirBnB hosts are the most visible examples. Some people enjoy the relative independence such jobs provide, but critics deride how gig economics shifts overhead costs onto workers, while profits drift upward to service aggregators. As in other parts of life, truth probably resides somewhere between the extremes.

This symbolizes my problem with Roberts’ business guidebook. When he discusses broad entrepreneurial theory, I keep thinking he knows his business (pun intended). But whenever he gets down to brass tacks, he shows himself elementally misinformed, blinded by hindsight bias, confused between anecdote and fact, or flat damn wrong. His words became difficult to read without lapsing into outright anger, because he never realizes his own inherited preconceptions.

Like, for instance, his claim that people are poor because they choose poverty. Because they’d rather work for somebody else than go guerilla; because they’d rather finance a car than have money; because they’re “financially illiterate.” Maybe some actively choose this. But he’s describing the situation of poor people everywhere, who need money first, live further from their jobs, and have fewer opportunities to learn fiscal skills.

David Thomas Roberts

Or Roberts’ claim that “most young Americans believe they deserve the same lifestyles that may have taken their parents twenty or thirty years to achieve.” They said the same about my generation. But in 1992, it took a new, white, male entrant into the workplace seventeen years to achieve the level of financial independence workers achieved in four years in 1972, because of weakened labor laws, stagnant wages, and the end of post-war exuberance. It probably takes longer now.

Or his claim that college education is riddled with “leftist propaganda” that churns out “little Communists.” Roberts is right that MBA programs produce good corporate suits, not entrepreneurs; aspiring start-up operators should probably study math anyway. But Roberts’ understanding of educational culture hasn’t advanced since 1977. As rhetorician Gerald Graff reports, English was once the go-to major of future independent businessmen.

It’s very difficult to stick with Roberts, because he mistakes subjective impressions for objective facts. Besides the above examples, he also disparages his stepfather for toiling in a corporate superstructure for trivial rewards. But I’d bet my paycheck, if we unpacked Roberts’ financial history, we’d find his stepfather’s labors gave Roberts enough financial footing to venture out fearlessly. Like Donald Trump, few “self-made men” grew up really, really hungry.

Even his claim that entrepreneurial failure is a mere launchpad toward future success bespeaks well-connected urban preconceptions. (Roberts’ professional life has centered on Houston, where simply being white confers certain advantages.) Business failures are badges of honor in Manhattan, East Texas, and Silicon Valley. Not so much for poor people. When farmers, inner-city storefront operators, and rural dwellers experience business failure, it’s usually permanent. That’s where WalMart greeters come from.

Roberts situates this book as an entrepreneurial how-to. But chapter after chapter, he writes an autobiography. Finally, I realized: he thinks his success is portable, and we should simply imitate him. But the old saying goes, the plural of anecdote is not data. There’s no longitudinal analysis of business trends, or comparisons between successes and similar failures, or even any understanding how America’s economy has changed since Roberts was twenty-one.

Evidence suggests Roberts doesn’t even understand his own situation. Early on, he claims: “For years now, my wife and I have been in the top 1/10th of 1 percent of incomes in America. We have reached a seven-figure net worth.” Except, according to Bloomberg, reaching the top point-one percent requires a minimum net worth around $20 million—eight figures. Like many Americans, Roberts believes himself richer than he actually is.

Sociologist Duncan J. Watts of Microsoft Research describes what he calls “creeping determinism”: the tendency to assume what happened was inevitable, because it happened. That’s my problem with Roberts, and business books like his. He presents his career as a progress from success to success; even failures are successes in fetal form. It’s not analysis, and therefore not useful to aspiring entrepreneurs like me.

I’ve given warm reviews to business books on this blog before. But the longer I review, the harder that becomes. I’ve grown aware of the problem with business books, that they avoid analyzing their own accumulated preconceptions.

Lonely At the Top

Ben Horowitz, The Hard Thing About Hard Things: Building a Business When There Are No Easy Answers

I knew this hybrid memoir and advice manual was different on page 20, when Horowitz writes: “We finished the third quarter of 2000 with $37 million in bookings—not the $100 million that we had forecast.” These numbers are so huge, they sound fictional. His massive inter-business contracts and repeated fiscal brinksmanship resemble Jack Ryan adventures. I wondered how they’d reach neighborhood entrepreneurs seeking $30,000 for rent and payroll.

Then I realized: this business book sounds different because it is different. Some books aim for middle managers, people with limited authority but little power, and others offer moral framework without strategic guidance. Horowitz writes for CEOs, division heads, and other top-rank executives who make powerful decisions in essential isolation. Horowitz’ intended audience has probably read innumerable books about how business should work; he illustrates how business really works.

That’s good and bad. CEOs, venture capital entrepreneurs, and other soaring-eagle outliers are probably an underserved market. Middle managers generally have in-house mentors and have so many books written for them, they could get bulk-buying discounts at Books-A-Million. CEOs frequently have to re-invent the wheel, because only a handful ever exist at Horowitz’s level. Horowitz steps into the mentor role, dispensing hard-won advice when every decision costs millions of dollars.

But CEOs at Horowitz’s level remain rare for good reason. When he describes selling his corporation to a competitor, but retaining intellectual property rights, which he leases out for $30 million annually, he clearly operates a business model that only functions among the One Percent. Could you sell anything you made, but still own it, and license it back to your buyer? Unless you’re a software cartel, everybody knows your answer.

Horowitz goes, with shocking haste, from saying something reasonable and necessary, to something so frankly stupid, I wonder if he’s listening to himself. For instance, he discusses the CEO’s importance in creating business culture. Managers should train their own workers at all levels, he says, including CEOs, because hands-on involvement optimizes productivity and employee retention. Essentially, Horowitz wants leaders to lead, not delegate glamorless basics onto subordinates. Huzzah!

Then he concedes business models so lopsided, even this English teacher turned forklift driver wondered how he could be so tone-deaf. Horowitz entered the tech startup business after the 2000 NASDAQ collapse Roto-Rootered the tech stock sector. He clearly thinks this makes him a bold maverick. Maybe. But his company, Loudcloud, made only one product, which only international mega-corporations and governments could afford. That’s a weak foundation for an IPO.

Horowitz repeatedly discusses needing enterprise capital at Defense Department levels, then admits concentrating hundred-million-dollar ventures on only one customer. When that customer takes a $30 million bath, Horowitz must scramble for replacement finance. And I repeatedly pull my beard, screaming: “Diversify, dammit! You have one product, one customer, and one revenue stream; you’re a deathtrap waiting to happen!”

Seriously. If naifs like me are catcalling your business model, you’re in deep shit.

Perhaps you’ve noticed my praise for Horowitz’s book is vague, sweeping, and global. My condemnation runs very specific and detailed. There’s a reason for that. Horowitz propounds principles I find downright admirable; but when the rubber meets the road, he doesn’t honor his own precepts. His doctrines are bold, jargon-free, and exciting. His actions give me the willies. I don’t know how to reconcile the gap.

British psychologist Kevin Dutton has spent decades studying psychopaths. He notes, despite Hollywood stereotypes, that you’re more likely to meet psychopaths in corporate boardrooms than dark alleys. When Horowitz describes himself and his career, he repeatedly rings bells I recognize from Dutton’s writing. Horowitz comes across as a charming, controlling narcissist who doles swift punishment, but evades culpability. By Dutton’s standards, Horowitz is a classic psychopath.

Maybe that’s why there’s never been a book quite like this. Maybe corporate leaders like Ben Horowitz truly don’t see life like ordinary humans. Horowitz verbally advocates putting people first, which I applaud. Then he makes others eat the consequences of his actions. He extols swift, decisive actions, including layoffs, to avoid Dunder Mifflin-ish rumor-mongering and status games. Then he describes scattering pink slips like Halloween candy.

I tried my best to like this book. Horowitz hides little moments of surprising candor and self-awareness like Easter eggs, and I briefly suspect he understands something other business writers miss. Then he apparently fails to notice the gaps between his precepts and his actions, or says something that makes me want a shower. Sadly, I think the rich are just different.

Class Gaps and Money Myopia

Gordon Bennett Bleil, Give Yourself a Raise: How to Have More Money, Less Stress, Financial Freedom

Business and finance books, like all instructional non-fiction, always contain their own implicit prejudices that authors may not notice. But when outsiders who don’t share the author’s suppositions read them, these books’ limitations become glaringly obvious. Such is the case here. Gordon Bennett Bleil’s instructional precis on financial management may help urban professionals, but Bleil tacitly excludes people like, well, me.

Bleil joins a field already crowded with celebrity financial gurus like Suze Orman and Jim Cramer, who urge people to handle money responsibly and plan for the future. Bleil’s perhaps lacks the personality of Orman or Cramer, but that’s okay; his just-the-facts-ma’am approach clears the clutter that makes me distrust more theatrical pundits. And Bleil brings his own tested tools into the mix, broadening the scope of choices available to us peons.

Yet repeatedly, Bleil’s definition of Financial Freedom exposes unexamined myopia. For instance, his statements about housing and its attendant costs reveal his urban inclination. Home prices, which took such a public beating in 2008, actually remained stable in rural areas and small towns, but that’s because such low-demand markets change little. A small-town house’s cash value wouldn’t make a satisfactory urban down payment.

Then Bleil lobs bombs about savings. He says we should have six months’ living expenses saved to consider ourselves truly secure. Seriously? Schoolteachers, hourly shift workers, and entry-level employees can’t do that. If the factory fired me tomorrow, I’d survive about one month; and I only have any savings whatsoever because I have no kids. The preponderance of my fellow factory drones literally live paycheck to paycheck, dreading every medical emergency or car repair.

To this hourly wage earner, Bleil’s outlook stumbles precariously close to the much-mocked McDonald's Employee Budget, which implied burger flippers could survive just fine if they eschewed luxuries like groceries, childcare, and clothing. While America’s economy continues growing in the aggregate, our gaps in wages and wealth mean different groups bring different needs to the table. Nobody ever saved their way to riches.

Repeatedly, Bleil uses the expression “beginning your career,” implying occupational stability that people of my geographic location and economic standing don’t share. The difference may be pretty straightforward. Young professionals are notorious, on receiving their first paycheck and thinking themselves flush, for rushing out and buying stuff that doesn’t make them happy. Bleil’s systematic approach should help willing readers reconcile their lifestyle to their means, if they have means.

Yet Bleil apparently cannot stop himself from dropping asides that reveal his myopia. He says stuff that makes sense in the abstract, but if you think about them, could only come from the lips of somebody well-heeled. Consider this particularly frustrating example:

Myth: People look up to you when you have the right stuff.

Fact: Your personal self-worth is not measured by the possessions you have or don’t have…. Ask yourself, “Do I own my stuff or does it own me?”

I agree that we cannot measure our souls by our stuff, and that our possessions can own us. But that’s not the question he asked. Sociologists have extensively studied how we attribute virtue, honor, and leadership to our society’s affluent members. If we didn’t admire rich people’s nice things, Robin Leach would be out panhandling.

Likewise, Bleil includes an entire chapter on “Retirement and Investing,” which sees these two as identical. All retirement planning means sinking money into investments. Apparently Bleil doesn’t live in the America that saw its 401(k) accounts hollowed out by Enron in 2001, or the housing collapse of 2008. He also doesn’t live in the America where median income has dropped since 2008, leaving less money free for long-term investments.

I’m with journalist Helaine Olen, who calls personal finance writing a purblind juggernaut charging poor people money for the privilege of reminding them they’re not rich. When Bleil tells readers to “Give Yourself a Raise,” he implies that readers recklessly poor money down a hole. But people can only waste money if they have money. Our society has promoted wealth and devalued work; we pay handsome sums to people who flip money, while workers who create value need two jobs to make bank.

Bleil never says anything out-and-out wrong. He just assumes everyone makes MBA-level salaries, and only reckless spending and illiquid assets stand between us and glittering wealth. It apparently doesn’t occur to him that some people remain poor because they’re not getting paid well. My fellow shift workers cannot economize their way out of penury. It’s arrogant to say they should.

Passion for the New Bachelorhood

Joe Keller, Single Effort: How to Live Smarter, Date Better, and Be Awesomely Happy

Two generations ago, feminists rebelled against the idea that an unmarried woman must necessarily be merely waiting for a husband. Now the tables have turned: we accept women who remain single, but look askance at male bachelors. Joe Keller survived a painful midlife divorce and returned to bachelorhood, only to discover that, like millions of single men, he lacked core survival skills. So he set about to rectify this lack.

I wish more of what Keller writes in this book qualified as common sense. We’d all like to live in a clean house that celebrates our interests while looking inviting to women. We all think men know how to meet and court women. Yet common sense and experience reveal that bachelor living skills, which look so obvious in romantic comedies, are very rare on the ground. Keller helps close that gap by combining careful research with hard-won experience.

The title comes, obviously, from the effort of living single in a world geared to couples. But it also describes Keller’s belief that we can make one effort fill two goals. Keeping your house isn’t just about having a presentable place to sleep; it’s a way to maintain a relationship with your kids, and a cue to dates about your personal qualities. Self-improvement efforts, such as fitness classes, can double as low-pressure opportunities to meet women.

Some of Keller’s advice is specific to divorcés: How to divide your marital possessions. How to make not just a living space, but a life worth living, at an age when you didn’t expect such upheaval. How to decorate a house so your kids feel at home, but your date doesn’t think you’re still hung up on your marriage. Some of this isn’t divorce-specific, though, considering that many engagements and courtships can outlast modern marriages.

Other advice applies to men at any relationship stage, and even to unmarried women. What do you need to make a complete kitchen? How do you keep a clean house on a single person’s tight time schedule—and when do you consider it a good investment to hire a professional cleaner? What household appurtenances are worth the money, and which will turn into mere household clutter? When the time comes, where can you meet a potential mate?

Joe Keller

Keller provides welcome guidance on living skills such as how to manage a kitchen. Too many bachelors live on carb-rich takeout, which shows on their waists, and their marriage prospects. Keller’s eminently readable, jargon-free guide to kitchen practice includes how to handle common ingredients, follow simple recipes, and pair food with wine. Your beltline and billfold will thank you for the knowledge. So will your date.

Speaking of dates, Keller dedicates the second half of his book to the presumption that, even if you’re single now, you don’t expect that for the rest of your life. Midlife courtship is categorically different than college romance, and many of the standards, like where to meet women and how to comport yourself, have changed. Dating is its own unique skill set, especially when you and she may both have kids, and Keller breaks it down into manageable, bite-sized nuggets.

For instance, many men see courtship as external. We don’t take the effort to make ourselves marriageable material. How we groom and dress make more of a difference than we care to admit. Likewise, bars and other meat markets make lousy places to meet committed spouses. Keller provides useful, nuts-and-bolts suggestions of ways to go where the women are, so you can meet and get to know them on favorable terms.

Perhaps Keller’s most important advice is not about dating, or housekeeping, or surviving the divorce. Underlying nearly every piece of advice, Keller wants to make sure you remain willing to live with yourself. You will never keep peace with your ex, maintain a relationship with your kids, build a life and career worth maintaining, and meet your next possible spouse, unless you first can stand your own company. That’s harder than it sounds, but Keller is there to help you out.

Many midlife bachelors have a passive attitude to being single. After all, our parents probably expected us to meet our spouses in school or early in our work lives; they never instilled the skills for late life singlehood. Keller provides the guidance we wish we’d had earlier on how to remain active in our own bachelorhood. Don’t wait for a wife to take control of your life. Be the man worthy of such a wife, now.

Don't Argue to Win—Argue to Engage

Jonathan Herring, How to Argue: Powerfully, Persuasively, Positively

I used to teach argumentation theory in my freshman comp classes, and I could see the curtains lowering behind my students’ eyes. I thought, all this about coalescent design, Toulmin models, and case construction is so interesting to me, surely my students must share my excitement! Only when I saw them putting my lectures into play did I realize that advanced theory mattered little to anyone not ready for the brass tacks of legitimate argument.

Jonathan Herring, prolific British law professor and ethicist, steps into that gap with a good, brief, spirited introduction to the process of testing ideas through argument. His guide does not provide clues on how to win a quarrel or best somebody in a brannigan. Rather, he demonstrates the best way to speak well, pitch your premise, bolster it in a persuasive manner, and defend it against routine attacks. I wish I’d had this book in my teaching days.

Herring’s guide has many advantages. First, it’s slim. Readers could slip this book in a briefcase, purse, or outside pocket of a backpack for easy consultation. This jibes with its straightforward organization, so readers can find what they need. Herring divides his book into two parts: ten “golden rules” of productive argumentation, and ten situation-specific approaches to customizing argument. Together, they form a good introduction to primarily verbal debate.

To begin, Herring asks readers to know whether they really want to have the argument at hand. Are you prepared, in command of the facts? Is this the right venue to have this argument? Will this argument do more harm than good for the relationship? Is this argument even worth having? Surely we all share, at least somewhat, the experience of winning the battle and losing the war when we encultured resentments, made ourselves look ignorant, or lost a job.

This isn’t blue-sky theorizing. Herring asks us to ensure that, for instance, we know what we’re talking about, and present it in a way audiences can comprehend. Especially in a political season like this one, some people argue with nothing but a strongly held feeling, and resent it when they get trounced. Meanwhile, brainy people like me come with so much information that hearers feel deluged. This isn’t argument; it’s using facts like a club to beat hearers into compliance.

Jonathan Herring

For Herring, the point of argument is not to win—which is just as well, since outright victory is rare. Instead, we should strive to reach some shared goal that lets us move forward. Therefore, in addition to what we say, Herring takes time to coach us on what we don’t say. We should listen more than we speak, he says, because only in hearing the other person can we meet their needs. And we should value maintaining healthy relationships over short-term triumph.

Herring also recognizes that not all arguments are the same. I appreciate his discussion of how to argue when the participants have unequal power. We cannot approach an argument with our kids, who are essentially powerless, the same way we approach an argument with a spouse, who should be roughly equal, or a boss, who has extreme power over us. We must customize our approach depending on the distribution of power.

Often, Herring says, arguments have little to do with the surface trigger. We can often increase productivity, heal relationships, and resolve deadlock by moving past whatever we think caused the current dispute, and addressing what lies beneath. This may mean giving up on the current dispute, or leaving some minor controversy unresolved. But if we can answer the real argument, we make real contributions to our job, marriage, or whatever.

And Herring accomplishes these goals in plain English. Back when I taught argumentation, I used a lot of technical terms, like warrant, dialectic, and topos—words I now realize I didn’t really understand. Herring writes in plain English, taking the time to flesh out his ideas with examples that should ring familiar to most readers. Even as he explains tough concepts, his language reads with the ease of a novel.

If you often find yourself going in circles when trying to sort out differences, or make little headway getting others to take your needs seriously, you need this brief entrée to simple argument. Herring makes short work of a complex subject, in a way that doesn’t bog down in extraneous detail or terminology. Hopefully, if a few people in key places follow his advice, we’ll see an improved level of discourse in our time.

Screenwriting, Gatekeepers, and the Golden Stepstool

Xander Bennett earned his stripes as a Hollywood slush pile reader, culling spec scripts to make sure that producers didn’t spend their valuable time reading snoozers. Along the way he noticed that inexperienced writers tend to make the same mistakes time and again. To help real aspiring screenwriters avoid those traps, he wrote Screenwriting Tips, You Hack. I appreciate his candor and his utility, but I can’t get past some serious lingering doubts.

The subtitle claims to offer “150 Practical Pointers for Becoming a Better Screenwriter,” and he undersells himself in two ways. First, he actually includes 168 tips, ranging from one-sentence nuggets to four-page essays. Second, though some of his pointers live in film’s exclusive world, most apply to any form of creative writing. I could even harvest some useful advice for my college writing students, like: try dumb in the first draft. You have rewrites to make it into art.

Bennett ranges through the whole screenwriting process, from generating ideas and organizing, through drafting and rewriting, ensuring the strongest possible structure, into troubleshooting so you send out the strongest possible spec script. He also deals with moving across genres—TV writing differs from films—and career planning. He focuses on the general, like crafting strong dialog, and the specific, like choosing the right punctuation to propel your sentence.

As I say, many of his tips apply across all creative forms. For instance, read more of the kind of literature you hope to create. You can’t write a rom-com if you only enjoy science fiction craptaculars. And you can’t write a screenplay just because you watch a lot of films. Also, write dialog for ultimate drama; don’t fall so in love with characters that you won’t let them hurt; and take all feedback seriously, even if it doesn’t jibe with your original vision.

I especially appreciate his advice on active writing. Nothing kills a piece of creative literature, whether a script or a story or a song, like egregious “to be” verbs and “-ing” endings. And while I disagree that adjectives and adverbs kill the momentum set up by verbs and nouns, too many modifiers definitely suck the action right out of a sentence. I’d like to see all writers, whether creative or scholarly or professional, apply his advice on active, energetic prose.

Bennett doesn’t just toss out advice, though. He takes the time to explain what it really means, backing it up with evidence from well-known films—acclaimed successes and notorious flops alike. He writes with a dry humor and the voice of experience, like someone who has seen it all, and has plenty of war stories to share. He reminds me of a best friend who wants to help you achieve your dreams while avoiding the pitfalls he’s already endured along the same path.

But that doesn’t mean Bennett has the golden key to screenwriting success. He offers advice to get past script readers, the gatekeepers who decide what’s worth producers’ time, so don’t think that just because you use his tips, you’ll get produced by Coppola and directed by Scorsese. Also, Bennett focuses on screenplays as finished literature in their own right, which is a far cry from seeing them turned into finished films.

Also, a Google search turns up no produced films under Bennett’s byline. Though his official bio says Bennett has made the leap from script reader to screenwriter, game writer, and graphic novelist, I turn up only one title under his name. He doesn’t even have an IMDb page. When David Mamet pens books on scriptwriting, we know he learned his lessons the hard way. Bennett gives us no such assurance.

Simply put, getting the rubber stamp from a Hollywood script reader, like getting past a New York editorial assistant, only means your work doesn’t suck. It’s a far cry from actually making it into the inbox, much less seeing your name in lights. Bennett’s advice will help you weed out the errors that torpedo aspiring writers and their run-of-the-mill spec scripts. He will not, however, close the gap between wherever you are right now and stardom.

On balance, Bennett’s advice will strengthen most writers. Weak writing, in any genre, tends to suffer the same problems time and again. But strong writing is always strong in unique and surprising ways. Aspiring writers can only close that gap by writing, a lot, until they find that story only they can tell. Bennett offers a golden stepstool, but only you can achieve your ultimate goal.

Why Johnny and Janie Can't Lose Weight

                             

Second only to controlling our budgets, Americans resolve to do more about weight than any other personal issue. Tomorrow. Right away. As soon as I have this or that resolved. Part of the problem is that conflicting demands hit us coming and going. Carbs or proteins? Aerobics or cardio? Starvation or willpower? Three new books only compound the problem.

Ed Boullianne, in You Can't Outsource Weight Loss, tackles the question from the most common angles. The author, hit with bad news about his weight and lifespan as he prepared to retire from the Navy, educated himself on the intricacies of weight science. Now he’s compiled his discoveries so we can all read and learn from him. His approach is entirely conventional, and proud of it.

Dian and Tom Griesel, in TurboCharged, believe Boulliane has everything wrong. They disdain the commonplaces, relying on surprising new discoveries that suggest everything we believe about human metabolism is counterfactual. They present a regimen that forces dieters to reevaluate everything we keep in our kitchens, every workout habit, and every assumption about our bodily needs.

And Kristen Volk Funk, in As Thin As You Think, suggests we pack on weight, and can’t shed it, not because of diet and exercise, but because of learned habits and mental scripts that reinforce bad behavior. A clinical counselor and hypnotherapist, Volk Funk believes that reprogramming our brains will make the difference. Only when we focus inward will we recognize and redress our problems.

We can learn as much from these books’ similarities as from their differences. Most important, they all demand we approach food consciously. Too often, we put on pounds, and can’t keep them off, because passive attitudes let us eat fatty processed filth without thinking. If we pay as much attention to our food as to our finances, we could bank health like we bank our paychecks.

That’s why commercial weight programs fail. They let us pop pills, stick TV dinners in the microwave, or otherwise continue not thinking about how we feed our bodies. Then, when we hit our goals, we resume eating as we did before. Meanwhile, our bodies have new set points against perceived famine. Not surprisingly, every pound we shed springs right back.

Therefore, we must plan not for those pesky pounds we want to shed, but for a lifetime of better health. If we only think of looking good for swimsuit season, we won’t make a lasting difference. Only when we plan for long-term health through nutrition and physical activity will we not only lose weight, but maintain our bodies. Only then will we really live healthfully.

But these authors disagree about how we should take an active approach to our metabolisms. Boulliane, for instance, wants us to police what we take into our bodies. He examines American eating habits, especially in restaurants, and what he finds is appalling. Many prepared beverages have as many calories as a healthy adult male should consume in a day. That says nothing about, for instance, our chronic lack of sleep.

The Griesel siblings think Boulliane’s calorie counts obscure our real problems. They think we often eat when we aren’t hungry, eat foods that don’t satisfy, and confuse weight with real health. Their process involves significant changes drinking water, eating food, and planning exercise. They sneer at intensive workouts, preferring a structured plan of a few minutes a day. And they want us to slam water regularly, not carry a bottle and sip daintily.

Volk Funk thinks neither plan will make a meaningful difference alone. We gain weight, and can’t shed it, because we consider ourselves fat, doomed to fail at any regimen. Only when we acknowledge our inner Thin You (spelled thus, with the capital letters) and nourish that identity with affirmative thoughts, will any change in diet and exercise make meaningful differences.

Reading these books side by side, I realize: not everybody gains weight the same way. Some people eat right and exercise, and still pork up. Others keep relatively svelte while eating like refugees. My food and exercise haven’t changed significantly in years, yet my waistline inflated around my thirtieth birthday. If we don’t gain weight for the same reason, surely we don’t lose it the same way, either.

These books make good companions, because they let readers evaluate different issues, screen themselves, and draw meaningful conclusions. If we take an honest look inward, we can identify how we put on weight. Only then can we read selectively, choosing the aggregate approach that works for our weight. If we gained weight passively, we won’t lose it by passively taking gurus at their word.

Can We Really Control Our Own Lives?

Too many people go through life knowing we should change, but unsure how to actually do so. A major subset of book publishing attempts to give is the tools to make changes in our lives—be it our careers, our family life, our souls, or whatever. And many such books wash out. Three recent books provide an eye into the difference between successful and failed self-help literature.

Julie Donley makes a good kickoff point. In Does Change have to be so HARD?, Donley, a registered nurse and entrepreneur, uses a four-point mnemonic to define what impedes our ability to change our lives: Habits, Attachments, Resistance, and Discouragement. Then she shares an eightfold path to overcome these obstacles. Wait, four noble truths and an eightfold path? Why does that sound familiar?

Unlike the Buddha, Donley offers a prescriptive approach to changing one’s life. Like too many psychologists and self-help gurus, she seems misguided in her assumption that all people are alike, and therefore can learn from instructions as clear and inflexible as those with an IKEA entertainment center. There’s no story and few object lessons— and those few objects we get come mainly from Donley’s own life, so we know who she considers the typical human.

Frustratingly, Donley isn’t wrong. Her insights into the processes humans engage to entrench themselves in bad paths, and the simple steps we could use to overcome them, make sense. They certainly ring true in my life. Yet instead of investigating any in-depth, she simply names them, gives instructions, and moves on. So I like Donley’s ideas... in the abstract. In the concrete, she holds herself distant.

Rick Singer also holds himself distant in Now: Embracing the Present Moment, yet he does so for different reasons, achieving a different effect. A student of Eastern wisdom, Singer’s similarities to the Buddha don’t seem nearly as accidental as Donley’s, and instead of giving directions in taking control of life, Singer would rather give us wisdom to ruminate over. Which makes him more effective, if less universal.

Singer divides his book twofold. First he offers ninety-nine homilies on quotes from recognized thinkers. Though these commentaries run vague, they also run short, less than a page each. Like sermonettes, these nuggets guide readers to consider some important point: how do we know success when we see it? Why is morality better than profligacy? How can we discard fears of the future and recriminations over the past to live our best right now?

In his second part, Singer provides several short essays by people who have found ways to live in the present. These essayists don’t pretend to have every answer, and they certainly don’t tell us how to approach our own lives. Yet their examples tweak our imagination, giving us the passion to look at ourselves and make the changes we need to pursue the present with everything at our disposal.

Srinivasan Pillay, in Your Brain and Business, utilizes many of Singer’s best qualities. Yet his book certainly isn’t for everyone. Utilizing the latest neuroscience, he examines the differences in brain function between people who succeed—in business, art, and life—and those who merely go through the motions. And he provides guidance on how to implement his ideas in your life.

Despite the title, this book discusses little specific to business. Rather, Pillay applies functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) to different personality types and identities, connecting domains of success with particular neurological phenomena. This process returns results that often seem counterintuitive, yet demonstrate that the brain enjoys greater complexity, and more adaptability, than we realize on the surface.

Unfortunately, where Donley offers vague prescriptiveness, Pillay suffers from excessive specificity. Early on, he pledges not to rely on terminology, but he’s less than successful in that goal. His dense, highly technical language can make for very tough reading at times, and mining his jargon for application can require a hearty constitution.

Notwithstanding its density, I wish I’d known what this book describes when I started teaching. Pillay explains, for instance, the feeling of desperation that comes with new learning. Why should discovery feel so unpleasant? Because, as it turns out, we’re growing new synaptic connections. As a teacher, I can recognize my students’ discomfort as a sign of real learning.

These books’ differing levels of success might reveal a problem with the self-help publishing market.  But I suspect that these three authors court very different selves that need help.  I just wonder if they’ve all decided who those selves are yet.

New Ways of Business and Work

As I grow accustomed to working my new job, please forgive me if I need more time to prepare a book review.  Until then, enjoy this classic from 2009, written for my newspaper column but never published before its cancellation.

In times like these, it’s necessary to examine how we conduct the business of work. Three teams of authors consider this issue from three angles.

Darrell Rigby uses Winning in Turbulence to give pointers on surviving this recession as a strong company. His jargon-dense prose may be useful if you know the terminology, but could muddy the waters if you don’t.

Tight times underline how businesses succeed, and more important, they highlight bottlenecks that impede efficiency. Rigby says this economy is a tool for trimming fat and returning focus to your company’s core mission.

Some of Rigby’s points seem obvious. Keep an eye on customer service; build clear strategy; know where every dollar goes. I wanted to say “Well duh!” when I read this. Who doesn’t know these things? Then I recalled how we got into our current mess, and realized some business leaders need a reminder.

Other points are less clear. Consider this from chapter seven: “A critical first step is implementing a practical thirteen-week cash flow tool that starts from the bottom of an enterprise and builds upward, showing what’s flowing into and out of each business segment on a weekly and monthly basis.” Can anyone explain what a “thirteen-week cash flow tool” is? And can I buy one at Menard’s?

This book is probably useful if you know the terminology. But small operators can’t afford an MBA to translate for them, much less the army required for Rigby’s multi-phase suggestions.

One valid point Rigby makes is that managers exist to serve front-line staff, not vice versa. Bob Pike expands this idea in The FUN Minute Manager. Pike, with Robert C. Ford and John Newstrom, thinks workers should have fun at their jobs. Not that they should throw parties in their cubicles, but they should enjoy work enough to want to attend every day.

Our authors tell the fable of Bob Workman. Bob manages an engineering firm, and discovers that morale is through the floor. Bob researches new theories on having fun on the job. He discovers data which reveal that fun reduces absenteeism, trims health costs, lowers turnover, and boosts productivity.

Bob visits recognized fun workplaces, learning that fun is an elastic concept. It requires a keen relationship between management, staff, and customers, and varies for different kinds of work. Bob also finds that fun cannot be decreed from above. Fun is cooperative between management and labor. Therefore fun makes workers take responsibility for their jobs and builds team ethos.

This short treatise explains Bob Workman’s nine simple insights. Meant for middle managers, Pike’s suggestions give handy concrete ideas for building an affirmative workplace while remembering that all work is not the same.

For us who don’t manage our own businesses, Jennifer and Joe Remling offer Carve Your Own Road . The subtitle says it all: Do What You Love & Live the Life You Envision. The Remlings traveled America in an Airstream trailer, interviewing people who make meaning in their work. From these interviews, they devise a seven-part approach to finding what you want from life and labor.

Some interviewees found their bliss by founding businesses. Others made their mark in existing corporations. What they have in common is what Jennifer calls a “Mindset of Clarity.” That means they know their goals, immerse themselves in their ambitions, and are adaptive enough to not get stuck in ruts. Jennifer Remling distills these tendencies into a few insights and exercises so we can build our own Mindset of Clarity.

The first half of this book is occasionally opaque. The Remlings mix travelogue, manifesto, and memoir to show us what their goals are, and how they pursue them. Jennifer’s description of recovery from a disastrous first marriage, building her business, and discovering her dream go a long way toward that goal. But Joe’s narrative of the research process, getting the Airstream into Manhattan and dealing with dogs, is wordy and distracting. But stick with it. The second half of the book is where the best pointers live.

A sour economy is no excuse to settle for second best. If you want to build your company or revive your career, read these books. Your best business years are still ahead of you.

Making Art That Lasts, Step By Step

After one year of college art, I can safely say I didn’t learn much.  I attribute that to professors saying things like: “Paint a still life.  Now paint a portrait.  Now paint a landscape.”  They never modeled these tasks, they just said to do them.  I often wished someone would sit down and show me how to use the color wheel, arrange models, and make shapes on canvas look three-dimensional.

That’s why I like writers like Dan Bartges.  In Color is Everything, Bartges explicates color theory for painters.  Instead of throwing ourselves at the canvas and wondering why our oils or acrylics look ham-handed, Bartges shows that conscious color schemes make the look of the unified work.  His step-by-step approach explicates color theory in a way I wish I’d received in class.

Bartges doesn’t assume any prior training.  He starts by helping you select art supplies, and walks you through lucid exercises using the color wheel to pick the most appropriate color structure.  He carefully exposes the color choices great artists made, including Picasso, Degas, and deKooning.  And he shows how he makes important color choices in his own work.

But Bartges also doesn’t keep things simple for the kiddies.  He also expands into master lessons on repairing off-kilter paintings and how to adjust light, saturation, and hue to make your art better than reality.  He even presents a reading list for further development.  I wish I’d had such an introduction to the basics when I had grades on the line.

Having savvied color balance, James Gurney, creator of Dinotopia, wants to help me find my subject matter.  In Imaginative Realism, Gurney details how to go beyond fruit baskets and self-portraits and describes how to create images of fantasy, history, and imagination.  But more than that, he describes how to take what you see and turn it into something even greater.

Gurney goes into so much I wish I’d learned in class.  How to build maquettes, set tableaus, and arrange lighting.  How to work with models.  How to turn plein-air sketches into finished studio works.  How to combine diverse components to create a complete, integrated look.  Even how to generate complex multilayered dreamscapes that can exist only in the mind’s eye.

But while he comes from a science fiction and fantasy background, Gurney knows you have more complex needs.  You need to paint historical events that have passed away, or exotic animals you’ve never seen in their natural habitat, or even people performing unusual behaviors.  He covers all of that.  If you can imagine it, Gurney can show you how to make it.

Unlike Bartges, Gurney does assume prior skill with art.  Inexperienced artists should work their way up to this book, which demands structural complexity and a good eye for the steps.  But if you already understand color and shape and perspective, and are ready to move up to something more challenging and creative, Gurney has what you need.

But if you’re unsatisfied with traditional paints, and want to try something more lucrative, consider Steve Caplin’s 100% Photoshop.  Caplin demonstrates how to use Photoshop’s drawing tools to create detailed, dimensional images without a master photo.  These digital tools create work you can display, transmit, and sell worldwide without getting paint all over your clothes.

After a brief introduction to Photoshop’s tools, Caplin displays eight very different images, and walks you progressively through each.  Instead of needing to be creative in a vacuum, Caplin instead gives us models to imitate.  We can savvy the steps first, and graduate to creating something new later.  I particularly like that aspect, which I missed in my art classes.

Caplin’s instructions include essentials for both Mac and Windows, letting most users utilize hotkeys and shortcuts, so we can create finished art without tears.  Whether it’s starscapes, trees, or rubber bands, Caplin’s straightforward instructions show how to create them all on your computer.  And his lavishly illustrated steps let you know whether you’ve created what you see.

Too often, classroom teachers know their field so well that they forget how to explain the steps to us beginners.  As much as I loved the process, I remember regularly throwing my hands up in frustration, wishing my professors could just say how to do something.  Without models to mimic, my products too often looked flat, dull, and uninspired.

These three teachers exemplify what art students need: gradual, step-by-step demonstrations which expose the mindset that makes art possible.  You can’t make something beautiful until you make something correctly.