The 100-Block Time Management Tool

It’s the Fourth of July. Happy Independence Day to all my American friends and colleagues. Although I’m Canadian, I’ve spent a lot of time in the US—visiting or passing through 37 of the 50 states. I must say, I’ve never had a bad experience in America, and I look forward to the next trip which is to Chicago and taking the Amtrak down the Mississippi to New Orleans.

I was going to write something unique for today’s Kill Zone contribution but I’m going to cheat and recirculate a piece I recently published on my own site at Dyingwords.net. It’s about a time management tool I tried out. Here goes:

There’s only one area where we humans are truly equal. Time. Each of us are given exactly the same amount of time in our day. 24 hours. 60 minutes. 60 seconds. It’s how we use, track, and manage our time that sets us apart. Think of what you could accomplish with your time, and your energy, if you were able to supercharge your schedule with the game-changing 100 blocks strategy.

This strategy of dividing your waking time into 100, 10-minute blocks and tracking it comes from Tim Urban. Tim is a thought leader and prolific writer who hosts the popular website Wait But Why. I’ve followed Tim Urban for years, and I find him a fascinating man. One of his posts was titled 100 Blocks a Day. With credit to Tim for the images and graphs, I’ll paraphrase and personalize the content.

You probably sleep 7 to 8 hours per night. That leaves you with about 1,000 active minutes in your day. If you break that into 10-minute intervals, you isolate 100, 10-minute blocks.

Click Here or on the Image to Print This Graph

Throughout your day, you spend your time progressing through the 100 squares of blocks. When you wake, you’re in the first block and you run out of blocks when you go to bed. By stepping back and looking at what you’ve done in each block, you gain immense clarity from which you can supercharge your schedule.

By time tracking with blocks, we can readily see where we’ve been productive and where we weren’t. We can see time management efficiency, or we can see a complete waste of this priceless resource called time. We can see where to cut back and where to double down.

Ask yourself if each time-block furthered your definite purpose in life and which block was merely enjoyed for its moment. Ask if each block was a time gain or a time suck. Ask if each block allowed you to constantly create, to continue to consume, or to just comfortably cruise.

If you imagine your time blocks laid out on a 10×10 grid, you’d get a total screenshot of your day. How much of it was spent at work, and how much of that work time was productive and necessary? Or unnecessary? How much of your leisure time was worth the lack of effort? How much of your family time and friend time was enjoyed? And what really mattered in your day?

Graphing and tracking time blocks let you think about everything you spend your time on in context of value per 10-minute block. Preparing dinner might take 3 to 6 blocks. Ordering in takes none. Meditation might take 1 block and a yoga session 3 blocks. Ask what the dollar-per-hour or return-on-investment might be.

2 blocks of reading per evening might add 15 books per year to your mental library. Writing a novel might take 20 blocks per day and researching/writing/formatting/publishing something like this 675-word post takes 23 blocks or 3.8 hours. I know because I tracked it on the 100-block graph.

As part of this post, I recorded my entire day from the time I awoke to the time I shut down. I’ve always kept a journal and loosely tracked my time, but this was the first crack at being so detailed. Here’s a screenshot of my 10-minute time blocks for June 28, 2024.

I have to say this exercise was enlightening. It made me focus intently as I moved from morning to night. In my writing/content producing world, I have a massive project underway called City Of Danger. It’s in its third year of production, and it’ll be a year or two more before release because the delivery technology is under development. From this point forward, I’m going to religiously track the City Of Danger production time with the 100 block strategy. I’m curious if I’ve finally found something that can increase my focus and productivity.

Tim Urban of Wait But Why has three more insightful graphs. One is a 90-year period of human life in years. One is a 90-year period of human life in months. The other is a 90-year period of human life in weeks. Feel free to download them and begin plotting your blocks, supercharging your schedule, and changing your game.

Kill Zoners—Have you heard of this 100-block thing? Do you have a time management system that you use? Or, do you find that trying to track and manage time is just a waste of time? Comments please.

The Suggestion Box

Rita (my wife) works in a grocery store. Last week, her department manager thought it’d be a good idea to implement a suggestion box. It wasn’t.

Suggestion boxes, by nature, are supposed to be suggestive. Helpful, even if critical. They’re also supposed to be anonymous. In this case, one suggestion wasn’t respected as anonymous.

The suggestion was something about how to improve scheduling, and the department manager took it as a personal slight. They recognized the suggester’s handwriting and called that worker out. Not just in front of the staff, but also in front of customers.

Rita, being a Cancer, intervened and settled things down. And down came the suggestion box, but not before the damage was done. The berated worker laid a complaint to HR, and the disciplinary genie is out of the bottle. Or better put, the laundry is out of the hamper.

What’s this got to do with us here at the Kill Zone? Well, as writers, we have a suggestion box open all the time. It can be in the comment section following a post. It can be feedback from beta readers. Or, it can be online reviews on our book publishing sites.

I moderate my comments on my personal blog site. I nix the odd Negative Nellie, but if someone has a valid point that disagrees with my content, I’ll let it stand. Often, I’ll learn something.

I no longer work with beta readers. Very few ever came through and, if they did, the feedback wasn’t particularly helpful. It just wasn’t worth the time and the effort.

I have a friend whose wife is an A-List romance writer. She gave me advice early in my game. “Don’t read your reviews,” she said. “The 1-Stars are trolls. The 5-Stars are suck-ups. And the ones in-between never have useful suggestions.”

Suggestions.

Kill Zoners — How do you deal with suggestions? Good, bad, or indifferent? Feel free to suggest.

Mental Models — A Latticework of Critical Thinking

A mental model is a compression of how something works. Any idea, belief, or concept can be distilled down. Like a map, mental models reveal key information while ignoring irrelevant details. Models concentrate the world into understandable and useable chunks.

This quote is from Shane Parrish who hosts a fascinating blog and podcast called Farnam Street. I’ve subscribed to Shane’s site for years and look forward to his weekly newsletter that arrives every Sunday morning. It’s free, but you can purchase a more in-depth dive for only a few bucks a month. It’s worth every nickel.

An extensive piece that Shane put together is titled Mental Models: The Best Way to Make Intelligent Decisions (~ 100 Models Explained) that deals with thought experiments. He covers a vast array of subjects like Circle of Competence, Reciprocity, First Principle Thinking, Second Order Reasoning, Inversion, Probabilistics, Inertia, Leverage, Compounding, and Entropy. Here’s the link: https://fs.blog/mental-models/

This is a short submission to the Kill Zone today. I’m on vacation and traveling for most of this Thursday. I can’t respond to comments till about noon PST, but I wanted to generate discussion around critical thinking and how it applies to our work as writers.

Who has heard of mental models and the latticework of integration into thought processing? Has anyone else tapped into Shane Parrish and his Farnam Street world? And who develops characters (like Sherlock Holmes) who use woven or latticed mental models in their thinking? Comments, please.  🙂

Slipstream — A Unique, Hybrid Fiction Cross-Genre

Recently, I was Zoom chatting with a writer friend. She asked me how it was going with my current work-in-progress—a project titled City Of Danger. I chuckled and said, “I’m intentionally breaking all the rules.”

“What genre is it in?” she asked.

I kept chuckling. “Hard to put a finger on it. It’s kind of a dog’s breakfast. Part hardboiled/noir detective crime fiction. Part thriller and suspense. A lot of historical nostalgia from the 1920s. And some sci-fi from a dystopian future. It involves malevolent AI and time travel. I might even throw in a touch of romantic comedy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not doing what every editor, agent, and publishing guru always says to do. ‘Strictly write to one genre.’ Nope. I gotta be different.”

“Sounds like Slipstream.”

“Slipstream? What’s that?”

“It’s a unique, hybrid fiction cross-genre. The style has been around awhile, but it’s really gaining traction. Slipstream pushes creativity boundaries. It explores the depths of human experience, the human condition, in novel ways.”

“Damm. I thought I was inventing something new.”

She laughed, and we moved on to other things. When we were done, she’d piqued my interest. I Googled “Slipstream” and asked Chat about it. Did I ever get my eyes opened, and it fit exactly with what I stumbled upon while building City Of Danger.

Among other information, I found a great article in The Write Life titled How to Write Slipstream Fiction—Full Guide and Definition. Here’s the link and the piece’s opening words which don’t need me rephrasing:

In the ever-evolving genres of fiction, Slipstream emerges as a genre that defies the traditional boundaries of storytelling, offering a unique blend of the real and the surreal. This genre, sitting at the crossroads of speculative fiction and literary fiction, challenges our perceptions of reality, inviting readers and writers alike into a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

If you’re intrigued by the idea of crafting narratives that transcend conventional genres, Slipstream fiction may be the creative avenue you’ve been searching for. This article is your comprehensive guide to understanding, appreciating, and ultimately writing Slipstream fiction that captivates and resonates.

What is Slipstream fiction?

Slipstream fiction is a genre that thrives on ambiguity, challenging both writers and readers to explore the spaces between the known and the unknown. Let’s dive into the core aspects that define this intriguing genre.

Our Slipstream fiction definition

Slipstream fiction is notoriously difficult to pin down with a single definition, but at its core, it represents a narrative that straddles the line between the speculative and the literary, often blurring the boundaries of reality and the fantastic. This genre is not just about fantastical elements or futuristic settings; it’s about invoking a sense of wonder, unease, or the uncanny through stories that feel both familiar and deeply strange.

Slipstream challenges our everyday understanding of reality, pushing readers to question what they know about the world around them.

It is this unique blend of the real and the surreal that sets Slipstream apart from more conventional genres, making it a fascinating field for writers who want to explore the depths of human experience in novel ways.

What are the key characteristics of Slipstream fiction?

Before we delve into the characteristics that define Slipstream fiction, it’s important to understand that these traits work together to create a distinctive reading experience that defies easy categorization. Here are the seven most important characteristics of Slipstream fiction:

  1. Ambiguity: Stories often leave more questions than answers, challenging readers to find their interpretations.
  2. Cognitive dissonance: The narrative may combine elements that traditionally don’t coexist, creating a sense of unease or perplexity.
  3. Surreal atmosphere: The setting or events have an otherworldly quality, even if rooted in the familiar.
  4. Emotional resonance: Despite the fantastical elements, the core of Slipstream fiction lies in its ability to evoke deep emotional responses.
  5. Intellectual stimulation: These narratives encourage readers to think deeply about themes, ideas, and the nature of reality itself.
  6. Genre blending: Slipstream fiction often incorporates elements from various genres, refusing to be boxed into a single category.
  7. Metafictional elements: There’s often a self-awareness within the narrative, playing with literary conventions and reader expectations.

Keep in mind that Slipstream fiction is by its nature a genre that blends elements and influences from a wide range of sources. As a result, feel free to use or ignore whichever characteristics of Slipstream depending on what your story requires.

———

So, now I was really intrigued. I spent the better part of a day digging into Slipstream, and I did what I do with most things that intrigue me. I encapsulated it visually on an 11×17 inch sheet. It came out looking like this:

Some of the takeaways from my research were the terms cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance. I wasn’t quite sure what they meant and how they meshed with the Slipstream style. Here’s what my little AI friend said:

Combined, these three terms encompass aspects of cognitive psychology related to the harmony, conflict, and resolution of beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors:

Cognitive Dissonance highlights the discomfort that arises when there is inconsistency between beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors. It emphasizes the tension that individuals experience when they hold conflicting cognitive elements.

Cognitive Equilibrium refers to the state of mental balance or harmony that individuals strive for, wherein their beliefs, attitudes, and understanding of the world are consistent and coherent. It reflects the desire for stability and coherence in one’s cognitive processes.

Cognitive Consonance underscores the psychological comfort that individuals experience when their beliefs, attitudes, or behaviors are in agreement with one another. It signifies a state of alignment and consistency in cognitive processes.

Together, these concepts provide insights into how individuals navigate the internal conflicts and seek harmony in their cognitive processes, whether by resolving inconsistencies (cognitive dissonance), striving for balance and coherence (cognitive equilibrium), or experiencing comfort in consistency (cognitive consonance).

The concepts discussed in this thread—cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance—can intersect with the genre of Slipstream in intriguing ways.

In Slipstream literature, there’s often a deliberate blending of genres, a crossing of boundaries between the familiar and the strange, resulting in narratives that defy conventional categorization. This blending can mirror the cognitive tension of cognitive dissonance, as readers encounter elements that challenge their expectations and beliefs.

Moreover, Slipstream narratives often disrupt traditional narrative structures, creating a sense of cognitive imbalance akin to cognitive dissonance. The stories may provoke a sense of unease or uncertainty, inviting readers to question their assumptions and perspectives, much like cognitive dissonance prompts individuals to confront conflicting beliefs.

At the same time, Slipstream literature can evoke a sense of cognitive equilibrium through its exploration of the surreal and the ordinary coexisting. Just as individuals seek cognitive balance by assimilating new information into their existing frameworks (cognitive equilibrium), Slipstream narratives integrate disparate elements into a cohesive whole, inviting readers to find meaning in the juxtaposition of the familiar and the unfamiliar.

Cognitive consonance also finds resonance in Slipstream, as readers may experience a sense of satisfaction or resonance when seemingly incongruent elements in the narrative coalesce into a coherent whole. This alignment of disparate elements can evoke a feeling of harmony, akin to the psychological comfort of cognitive consonance.

In summary, the concepts of cognitive dissonance, cognitive equilibrium, and cognitive consonance offer a lens through which to explore the cognitive dynamics at play in Slipstream literature. The genre’s blending of genres, disruption of narrative conventions, and integration of disparate elements can evoke cognitive tensions and resolutions reminiscent of these psychological concepts.

———

Me This is all well and fair, because the object of all fiction is to suspend disbelief in the reader and take them on an exciting, memorable journey. Mixing genres has been successfully done by many writers with many stories over time. Here are some of the Slipstreams that made it big:

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Station Eleven by Emily St, John Mandel

Cloud Atlas and The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World by Haruki Murakami

The City & the City by China Mieville

The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster

The Arrival by Shaun Tan

Her — the movie by Spike Jonze

However, the granddaddy of Slipstream, and one of the early ground breakers, was The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. It’s about a guy who wakes up one morning and finds that he’s turned into a giant insect and has to deal with a situation that truly sucks. Here’s the opening paragraph:

Kill Zoners — Who has heard of the Slipstream style? Has anyone read Slipstream, and what do you think of wildly mixing genres? And has anyone written anything that resembles Slipstream? Let’s get a discussion going and share experiences.

Sphinx of Black Quartz, Judge My Vow

Internet — “What kind of a stupid, crazy, nonsensical headline is this? Are you drunk, Rodgers? Or did you ingest free hallucinogens supplied through your Canadian government’s grand social experiment?”

Me — “No, I’m clean and sober. I just found this phrase online and thought it’d open an interesting Kill Zone discussion about our keyboarding skills. Here, check out this meme.”

I’ll bet all, or almost all, folks who follow the Kill Zone site are writers to some degree. (BTW, I see the Kill Zone was once again listed in the May/June 2024 Writer’s Digest issue as being in the Top 100 sites for writers.) So, I think one thing we have in common outside of killing in zones is keyboarding.

I learned to type in 1978 while in the police academy. Typing was a mandatory class, and we had to graduate with at least 40 words per minute. This was long before personal computers. First, we banged away on manual/mechanical typewriters and then moved to electrics.

It wasn’t until the early 80s that “word processors” arrived and we threw away whiteout and carbon paper. By the time I retired, each of us in the detective section had laptops as well as standalones on our desks. That was just as the internet hatched.

Keyboarding seems to be a relatively new term for punching out letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and stories—regardless of your medium. I hate texting as I’m somewhat anal on grammar, punctuation, and so on. That little screen on my Samsung is too small for my eyes, and that little keyboard makes a lot of mistakes that must be reversed before sending. It’s too much of a time suck when I can email from my 17” laptop. Or often, I use the telephone feature.

I’ve been a civilian writer for over a decade. Grammarly shows me at 3.1 million words, and I keep track of my speed. When I’m in the zone (as in writing into the dark) I pump out 1,000-1,200 words per hour. And that’s using a thumb and two fingers on my right hand and one finger on my practically useless left.

Cursive is nearly extinct, but I do a lot of block printing in notes. I’m not one for using a keyboard to take down studies except for cutting & pasting from the web and printing it off on a Word.doc. However, when composing something fresh, such as this hastily prepared post, I let my fingers do the talking. At 519 words, this took me about half an hour to complete.

That’s all I have to say about the keyboarding exercise using Sphinx of Black Quartz, Judge My Vow to replace the lazy old dog typing thing. Whatever works, right?

Kill Zoners — Your turn. Tell us about your QWERTY adventure. What keyboarding method/skills do you currently use? Are you an all-in, eight-fingers and two-thumbs speed demon? Or are you a two-fingered hunt and pecker? Or maybe somewhere in between? Join in and share your stuff in the comments!

Did Vincent Van Gogh Really Commit Suicide?

Dutch Post-Impressionism master Vincent Van Gogh was a phenomenal force who helped shape modern art culture. His influence ranks with Shakespeare in literature, Freud in psychology, and The Beatles in music. Van Gogh was also plagued with mental illness, suffered from depression, and was tormented by psychotic episodes.

Conventional history records that Van Gogh died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1890 at the age of 37. However, an independent and objective look at the case facts arrives at an entirely different conclusion—Vincent Van Gogh was actually shot by someone else, and it was deliberately covered up.

This isn’t to say that Van Gogh was murdered as in an intentional homicide case. As a former police investigator and coroner, I’m well familiar with death classifications. The civilized world has long used a universal death classification system with five categories. They are natural death, accidental death, death caused by wrongful actions by another human being which is a homicide ruling, self-caused death or suicide, and an undetermined death classification when the facts cannot be slotted into one conclusive spot.

I’m also familiar with gunshot wounds. Understanding how Vincent Van Gogh’s fatal wound happened is the key to determining if he intentionally shot himself, if he accidentally caused his own death, or if someone else pulled the trigger which killed Van Gogh. Before analyzing what’s known about the Van Gogh case facts, let’s take a quick look at who this truly remarkable man really was.

Vincent Willem Van Gogh was born in 1853 and died on July 29, 1890. During Van Gogh’s life, he produced over 2,000 paintings, drawings, and sketches. He completed most of these in his later years and was in his most-prolific phase when he suddenly died.

Van Gogh didn’t achieve fame or fortune during his life. He passed practically penniless. It was after death when the world discovered his genius and assessed his works of bright colors, bold strokes, and deep insight as some of the finest works ever to appear on the art scene. Today, an original Van Gogh is worth millions—some probably priceless.

Vincent Van Gogh achieved artistic saint status. It’s not just Van Gogh’s unbounded talent that supported his greatness. It’s also the mystique of the man and the martyrdom mushrooming from his untimely death that robbed the world of an artist—a starving artist and a man who lived on the fine line between genius and nut.

Most people know some of Van Gogh’s masterpieces. Wheatfield With Crows may have been his last painting. Café Terrace At NightThe Potato EatersIrisesBedroom In ArlesThe Olive Trees, and Vase With Fifteen Sunflowers are extraordinarily famous. So is The Starry Night. (I happen to have a hand-painted oil reproduction of Starry Night right on the wall in front of me as I write this, and my daughter has Café de Nuit hanging in her home.)

Most people know the story of Vincent Van Gogh’s ear. It’s a true story, but the truth is he only cut part of his left ear off with a razor during a difficult episode with his on-again, off-again relationship with painter Paul Gauguin. The story goes on to say that Van Gogh gave the piece of his ear to a brothel lady, then he bandaged himself up and painted one of many self-portraits. I just looked at this portrait (Google makes Dutch Master shopping easy) and was struck by the image of his right side being bandaged. Then I realized Van Gogh painted selfies by looking in a mirror.

And most people know something about Vincent Van Gogh’s time in asylums. This is true, too, and he spent a good while of 1889 in Saint-Remy where he stared down on the town and painted The Starry Night from later memory. The celestial positions are uncannily accurate.

In late 1889, Van Gogh moved to a rooming house in Auvers-sur-Oise near Paris. His painting production went into overdrive, and he was at the peak of his game. On July 27, 1890, Van Gogh left his room with his paints, canvas, and easel. He returned empty-handed with a bullet in his belly.

Vincent Van Gogh’s spirit left this world at 1:30 a.m. on July 29. He passed without medical intervention at his bed, and the medical cause was, most likely, exsanguination or internal bleeding. There was no autopsy, and Van Gogh was buried in a nearby churchyard the next day.

There are various ambiguous statements purported from Van Gogh. He did not admit to shooting himself or intentionally attempting to commit suicide. However, the record indicates he didn’t deny it. The record can also be interpreted that he covered up for someone else.

What is fairly clear is the description of Vincent Van Gogh’s gunshot wound. There are conflicting locations, (chest, stomach, abdomen), but this is explainable from Dutch/French to English translations. It’s highly probable that one bullet entered the left side of Van Gogh’s mid-section and traversed his intestines in a left-to-right direction. There was no exit wound and no serious spinal damage as Van Gogh had walked home from the shooting scene, up the stairs, and to his room where he expired a day and a half later.

There was no firearm found and absolutely no history of Vincent Van Gogh ever owning or operating a gun. He was a painter. Not a hunter or soldier. (Note: There was a rusted revolver found in an Auver field in 1960 which was said to be the weapon. There is no proof that it was.)

There was no suicide note or any deathbed confession. Aside from being an artist, Van Gogh was a prolific writer who documented many thoughts as he progressed from mental sickness to physical health. In late July of 1890, Van Gogh’s writings showed him to be optimistic and with plans to paint as much as possible before an anticipated period of blackness returned. Two days before his death, Van Gogh placed a large art supply order.

Suicide, in Van Gogh’s case, wasn’t surfaced in the early years after his death. There were murmurs among the villagers that “some young boys may have accidentally shot” Van Gogh as he went about his work in a nearby field. There was no coroner’s inquiry or inquest, but there is documentation of a gendarme questioning Van Gogh if he intentionally shot himself to which Van Gogh allegedly replied, “I don’t know.”

The first strong suicide suggestion came in 1956 with Irving Stone’s novel and movie Lust For Life. It was a documentary that took liberty with Van Gogh’s life and times. It concluded Van Gogh was a troubled soul—a beautiful soul—who ended his life intentionally. The book and movie were bestselling blockbusters and cemented the suicide seed to an adorning public.

It became ingrained in lore and public acceptance that Vincent Van Gogh was a desponded psychotic who suddenly up and killed himself rather than continue a tormented existence of interpreting beauty in nature and people. It was the gospel, according to Van Gogh historians, who were comfortable with a suspicious explanation.

Other people weren’t. In 2011, two researchers took a good and hard look into Van Gogh’s life and death. They had full access to the Van Gogh Museum’s archives in Amsterdam and spent enormous time reviewing original material. They found a few things.

One was a 1957 interview with Rene Secretan who knew Van Gogh well. Secretan admitted to being one of the boys spoken about by the villagers who were involved in Van Gogh’s shooting. Rene Secretan, sixteen years old in 1890, told the interviewer he wanted to set the distorted record straight that was misrepresented in the book and movie.

The interview documents Rene Secretan as saying the handgun that shot Van Gogh was his, and that it was prone to accidentally misfiring. Secretan self-servingly denied being present when the accidental shooting happened, claiming he was back in Paris and not at his family’s summer home in Auvers. Secretan failed to identify those directly involved or exactly what circumstances unfolded.

The researchers, Pulitzer Prize winners Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith who co-wrote Van Gogh: The Life, found corroborating statements placing Van Gogh near the Secretan villa on the afternoon of the shooting. They also sourced a leading expert on firearms and gunshot wounds who refuted any chance of Van Gogh being able to discharge a firearm with his own hands that could have caused the wound in its documented location.

Dr. Vincent Di Maio (a 2012 key witness in the Florida trial of George Zimmerman who shot African-American youth Trayvon Martin in a neighborhood watch altercation) concluded that Van Gogh, who was right-handed, could not possibly have held a firearm as it had to be; therefore the shot had to have been fired by another party. Dr. Di Maio also commented on the lack of reported gunshot residue on Van Gogh’s hands and clothes. In 1890, most cartridges contained black powder which was filthy stuff when burned at close range.

Researchers Naifeh and Smith also took a deep dive into what they could find on Rene Secretan’s background. They painted him as a big kid—a thug and a bully who was well known to have picked on wimpy Van Gogh throughout the month of July 1890. Secretan came from a wealthy Paris family who summered at Auvers with their second home within walking distance of Van Gogh’s rooming house.

According to the researchers of Van Gogh: The Life, Rene Secretan had seen the Buffalo Bill Wild West show in Paris, and Secretan fancied himself as a cowboy character. Secretan fashioned a costume to go with his cocky role of a western gunfighter, and he acquired a revolver that was prone to malfunction. They documented incidents where Secretan would mock Van Gogh as he painted, play pranks on him, and supply alcohol to Van Gogh who couldn’t afford it.

It was during a mocking spat, the researchers surmise, that somehow Secretan’s revolver went off and struck Van Gogh in the abdomen. According to the theory, the boys fled, disposed of the weapon, and formed a pact of silence. If this was true, the question arises of why didn’t Vincent Van Gogh report the truth, and why has the suicide conclusion remained steadfast.

Naifeh and Smith address this in their book with this quote: When all this (accidental shooting theory) began to emerge from our research, a curator at the Van Gogh Museum predicted the fate that would befall such a blasphemy on the Van Gogh gospel. “I think it would be like Vincent to protect the boys and take the ‘accident’ as an unexpected way out of his burdened life,” he agreed in an e-mail. “But I think the biggest problem you’ll find after publishing your theory is that the suicide is more or less printed in the brains of past and present generations and has become a sort of self-evident truth. Vincent’s suicide has become the grand finale of the story of the martyr for art, it’s his crown of thorns.”

As an experienced cop and a coroner, I think Naifeh and Smith are on to something. There are two huge problems with a suicide conclusion in classifying Vincent Van Gogh’s death. One is the lack of an immediate suicide threat. The other is the gunshot nature.

I’ve probably seen fifty or more gunshot suicides. All but one were self-inflicted wounds to the head. The exception was a single case where a shotgun was placed against the chest and the pellets blew apart the heart. I have never seen a suicide where the decedent shot themselves in the gut, and I’ve never heard of one.

Vincent Van Gogh didn’t leave a suicide note. He made no immediate suicide threats and, by all accounts, things were going well for the struggling artist. It makes no sense at all that Van Gogh would head out for a summer’s day, begin to paint, produce a gun from nowhere, shoot himself in the stomach from the most inconceivable position, then make it home—wounded—without finishing himself off with a second shot.

If I were the coroner ruling on Vincent Van Gogh’s death, I’d readily concur the cause of death was slow exsanguination resulting from a single gunshot wound to the abdomen. I’d have a harder time with the classification. Here, I’d have to use a process of elimination from the five categories—natural, homicide, accidental, suicide, or undetermined.

There is no possibility Van Gogh died of natural causes. He was shot, and that is clear. Was he murdered or otherwise shot intentionally? There is no evidence to support an intentional homicide classification. Did the firearm go off accidentally? It certainly could have, and there is information to support that theory but not prove it.

Suicide? Not convincing. The available evidence does not meet the Beckon Test where coroners must establish beyond a reasonable doubt that the decedent intentionally took their own life. If the death circumstances do not fulfill the requirements of the Beckon Test, then a coroner is not entitled to register a suicide classification.

This only leaves undetermined. Coroners hate closing a file with an undetermined classification. It’s like they failed in their investigation.

Unfortunately, in Vincent Van Gogh’s case—from the facts as best as are known—there’s no other conclusion than officially rule “Undetermined”.

I’m no longer a coroner, though, so I’ll stick out my neck.

On the balance of probabilities, I find Vincent Van Gogh was accidentally shot, then sadly died from this unintended and terrible tragedy.

——–

Kill Zoners – Does this theory of Vincent Van Gogh’s death circumstances make sense to you? Have you heard it before? And are you a VVG artwork fan – do his creations speak to you?

Painting With Words

Kill Zoners — It’s my pleasure and privilege to welcome a great guest to our blog. Ed Hill is a prominent Canadian painter and storyteller. He’s a prolific artist and writer who’s guided me as a life mentor and protected me as a police colleague to which I’m forever grateful. Please welcome Ed Hill to the Kill Zone.

—   —

Garry Rodgers and I have been friends for well over 40 years. When he asked me to submit an article for The Kill Zone, I was well aware my thoughts would be read by any number of accomplished novelists. While I consider myself a writer, particularly within the realm of my discipline of being an artist, I could find writing in such company as this, a bit intimidating.

But I don’t. My writing is about emotion, spirit, energy, and a very direct link to my artistic creations in the form of paintings. As I finish a painting, my work is only truly completed when I “paint” the final bit with words.

You see I’m a painter first, and being a writer is but a part of my artistic expression.  A bit of history will help explain. In the mid 1980’s, in the middle of a 34-year Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) career, my painting journey began. I was taught by an indigenous artist. And as such, much of what I learned was from the indigenous perspective.

It was from those origins that I found the value and reality of writing a story with each painting. A visit to my website www.edhillart.com will show that each image has a story, and that story is as much a part of my painted creation as the painting itself. In fact, whenever I sell a piece of my work, the story is always attached. I tell anyone who owns a piece of my work that unless they know the story of the image, they only have half of my artistic creation.

I suppose a bit of cultural history might be in order here. Within the indigenous culture virtually every painting, sculpture, totem pole, beadwork, or song has a story. Just ask. Within the very natural surroundings that we all live in, the indigenous culture has a story. And so, from the origins of my painting career my indigenous teacher, Roy Henry Vickers, taught by example. Every painting he does is accompanied by a written story.

When I started painting in 1985, I wrote a story with the very first image I created. You’ll find the image of my first painting at my website under the title of “Old Man”. And ever since, every painting I’ve done has a story. Some are emotional. Some are poetic. Some are a protest. And some can even evoke a spiritual connection for the reader.

Old Man by artist Ed Hill

The painting and the very act of creating it dictate what the story will be. Indeed, over the years I’ve written so many stories that they could be compiled and published as book themselves. Some people in fact have told me that they have used my website as a “book” while they’ve taken the time to view the paintings and read the hundreds of stories attached.

As I have taught my painting techniques to many artists over the years, I’ve always touted the value of composing a story to be a part of their painting I’d be generous in saying that perhaps 5% of my students practice that teaching. So many find it hard to express their thoughts and emotions.

As any of you reading this article know, it takes discipline to sit down and write. Not everybody has the commitment, energy, creativity or that unique and special discipline to be a writer. As the old saying goes, “If it was easy, everybody would be doing it.”

As writers, I know you write from experience, but you also create from emotion, from a place of energy and creativity. You write from an inner need to get it out there. When that writer within has a story to tell, your inner muse is always calling to you. And so it is with me as an artist.

When I have a painting in progress, I often tell my wife as we are away from my painting, that I can “hear it calling to me”. And therein lies the story. You see, for me, the story develops and reveals itself as I paint. Seldom do I paint an image with the title and story realized ahead of time. In the many hours of painting, lost in the Zen of creativity, I let my brain wander. I may be painting an image I’ve seen for decades, yet now I have chosen to paint it.

Why?

Why now?

That’s when the story begins to whisper. And as I paint and compose the image, so too the words of my story flood my brain. Hard to explain, the story comes in an inspirational, creative, and even a “spiritual” surge from within. I’m not overstating that. The story comes from the very spot within me that the painting comes from.  It’s a part of my artistic creation. When composing my story, as I write, I paint with a palette of words.

Sometimes the title is evident almost immediately. Other times, only as the paint dries and the words of my story turn into sentences does the title take shape.  And when it does, the title in particular is compelling. It must be.

Titles such as “Get Over It”, or “Covid Blue” are good examples of that. To understand those titles, you have to read the story. And when you read the story, you’ll then refer back to the painting. The energy of that loop is complete.

Covid Blue by artist Ed Hill

Get Over It by artist Ed Hill

The image is the very first contact anyone usually has with my creative expression, but the title is what turns their gaze to the story. And I’ve watched from afar at shows where someone will study my painting, turn to the story, then back to the image with their eyes opened to the very intention and spirit of the painting. And speaking commercially, quite often it’s the story that connects the viewer to the image, and that results in a sale.

Often, I can sit in my home with a coffee and just revisit the many paintings I have hanging on my walls. I’m always taken back as to the “why” of a particular painting. I marvel at the very creation, and many times realize I could never do that painting as well were I to try it again. That painting was a product of a moment in time, a moment charged with circumstance, serendipity, and emotion.

I “use” my paintings a lot for that purpose. I find a soothing comfort in just revisiting them and savouring the colour, composition, light and dark, and very presence of the image itself. But so too, I will read the story attached just as often. Those words painted into the composition of the story have an everlasting energy. It’s an energy that never grows old.

My family have instructions. When and if my time comes to be in a bed someday as I approach the end of my life’s journey, they’re to read to me. They’re to read those stories of emotion, spirituality, and creativity. For those are the touchstones of my life.

I know those words, even if my eyes are closed to the paintings themselves. I know too that those words will resonate with a positive energy that’ll have some meaning and comfort to me. When the lights do inevitably go out, it’s those words that I want to take with me.

I close these thoughts by referring the reader to one of my paintings titled “Forever”. I think the story of “Forever” applies to my written words. And so too to yours. Created with our energy and inspiration—as writers—our words will long outlive all of us. They are FOREVER.

Forever by artist Ed Hill

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Bio — Born in Paris, Ontario in 1948 and later moving to Peterborough, Ed Hill’s journey to becoming a distinguished artist began in earnest after a career in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, which he joined at age 20. His artistic ambitions, which had been a mere dream since his high school days, began to crystallize in the mid-1980s after moving to Tofino, British Columbia, and meeting the renowned artist Roy Henry Vickers.

Under Vickers’ mentorship, Hill honed his skills and developed a distinctive style, producing his first notable work, “Old Man.” His art, deeply inspired by the landscapes of British Columbia, seeks to evoke the profound emotions tied to the region’s natural beauty.

Now retired and living in Gibsons, British Columbia, with his wife Joy, Hill continues to explore and depict the “West Coast” essence, aiming to capture the moments where nature and the observer’s inner world harmoniously align, hoping his viewers anywhere can feel the unique “music” of British Columbia’s landscapes through his work. Visit www.edhillart.com.

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Kill Zoners — Painting with words. How does this resonate with you? Do you “see” your writing as it’s imagined and unfolds? Could you captivate your story in one image as Ed does with his? Let’s discuss, and please share how you paint with words.

Don’t Let The Old Man In

Country music master Toby Keith has left us for the Grand Ole Opry in the sky. Mr. Keith was only sixty-two when he passed last month after a brave battle with cancer. It’s a sad loss not just for America but to the entire entertainment world. A brilliant singer, songwriter, producer, actor, and businessman is gone.

Toby Keith started his career in 1998 with his debut super-hit How Do You Like Me Now? Over the next twenty-six years, he recorded five albums that went gold or better. Outstanding are the songs he wrote: American Soldier, Should’ve Been a Cowboy, Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue, and I Love This Bar.

Of all the songs Mr. Keith wrote, played, and produced, there’s one I think is superb. Just outstanding. Don’t Let The Old Man In.

Story goes that Toby Keith met Clint Eastwood at an event. (Eastwood, now ninety-three, is currently directing and producing his newest upcoming movie titled Juror No. 2.) Keith asked Eastwood what the secret was for staying so active and healthy at his advanced age. This is what Clint Eastwood said:

Every day when I wake up, I don’t let the old man in. My secret has been the same since 1959—staying busy. I never let the old man into the house. I’ve had to drag him out because he was already comfortably settled, bothering me all the time, leaving no space for anything other than nostalgia.

You have to stay active, alive, happy, strong, and capable. It’s in us, in our intelligence, attitude, and mentality. We are young, regardless of our ID. We must learn to fight to not let the old man in.

That old man awaits us, stationed and tired by the side of the road to discourage us. I don’t let the old, critical, hostile, envious spirit in—the one that scrutinizes our past to tie us up with complaints and distant anxieties, or relived traumas and waves of pain.

You have to turn your back on the old murmurer, full of rage and complaints, lacking courage, denying himself that old age can be creative, determined, and full of light and projection.

Aging can be pleasant and even fun if you know how to use your time if you’re satisfied with what you’ve achieved, and if you still maintain enthusiasm. That’s called not letting the old man into the house.

These words immensely resonated with Toby Keith. They inspired him to write Don’t Let The Old Man In which is dedicated to the legend who is Clint Eastwood. Here are the lyrics:

Don’t let the old man in
I wanna live me some more
Can’t leave it up to him
He’s knocking on my door

I knew all of my life
That someday it would end
Get up and go outside
Don’t let the old man in

Yeah, many moons I have lived
My body’s weathered and worn
Just ask yourself how old would you be
If you didn’t know the day you were born

Try to love on your wife
And stay close to your friends
Toast each sundown with wine
Don’t let the old man in

Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmm Hm

Yeah, many moons I have lived

My body’s weathered and worn
Ask yourself how old would you be
If you didn’t know the day you were born
 

 

When he rides up on his horse
And you feel that cold bitter wind
Look out your window and smile
Don’t let the old man in

Look out your window and smile
Don’t let the old man in

This story—the lyrics, the music, and the video—resonates with me. I’m sixty-seven, and to some, I’m an old man. But I don’t see myself that way. To me, I’m more productive/busy than I was in my thirties and forties. And my productivity/busyness keeps increasing.

I’m blessed with longevity genes. I lead a healthy lifestyle. I don’t smoke. I’m a social drinker. And I’ve never done drugs in my life. Not even inhaling second hand weed.

I’m active. My wife of forty-one years and I stick-walk with weights and aim for 5K steps per day. (On ambitious ones, we’ll do 10-12K.) I have a proportionate weight-to-height ratio and get proper sleep. My stress level doesn’t exist, I have no worries, and at my last medical checkup the doc said I was operating like a 30-year-old.

And I have a purpose. This is the key to senior survival—way, way beyond worries. A definite purpose with a burning desire to achieve it.

I never gave much thought to why I’m like that. Not until I heard Don’t Let The Old Man In and understood the lyrics. I guess I’m this way because I won’t let the old man in.

Kill Zoners — I know there are contributors and followers who top my place on the seniority chart. How do you deal with the old person at the door? Let’s hear from those junior and senior to my 67th-out-of-100 rank.

Dedicated to my 75-year-old life-long friend and mentor Ed Hill www.edhill.art.com 

How Many Books is/are Too Many Books?

Read a lot. Write a lot.

That’s probably the universal message we hear from great and prolific writers, most notably from Stephen King who said, “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that. If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. Read a lot, write a lot is the great commandment.”

I read a lot. I’d write a lot, too, if I didn’t spend so much time reading. To say I have a thousand books is an understatement. It’s well north of that if you take in the digital stuff on my Kindle. That’s not including the articles I find and the posts I read that constantly drop into my inbox.

And it’s not figuring the books I’ve given away over the years—mostly because my wife said I had too many books. Which leads me to ask you the question, “How many books is/are too many books?”

I’ve always been an avid reader. So were my folks. My dad sat for hours in his recliner with books in his hands. That was before the web days and to quote my sister, “If Dad had the internet, you’d never got him off it.”

My mother was an English teacher with a Masters in Lit. Her thesis was on Thomas Hardy, and I still have part of her extensive shelves that includes most of Emerson. (I have to say I find Emerson very trying to read.)

My dad left me five volumes of Churchill’s memoirs and two volumes of Eisenhower’s. And from the two of them, (my mum and dad, not Churchill and Eisenhower) I inherited a hardcover of Treasure Island printed in 1883. Plus, they gave me a beautiful, hand-illustrated work of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Maybe I have too many books and that’s okay. They’ll go to my kids one day… if they want them. But I’m not parting with my books anytime soon. At least not if I can help it.

Back to my question. How many books is/are too many books? I don’t know if there’s a right or wrong answer to that.

But if I had to cull my collection and could retain only five (not counting the classics handed down from my parents) these are my keepers:

5. A dog-eared and marked-up paperback of Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill.

4. A pristine and unfaded, first-edition hardcover of On Writing by Stephen King.

3. A delaminating Reclaiming History hand-signed by Vincent Bugloisi.

2. Descent Into Madness written by my friend Vernon Frolick.

1. My grandmother’s Bible.

Kill Zoners — How many books is/are too many books? Name the top five they’d have to pry from your hands. And what’s the proper term — is or are? Grammarly indicates it’s okay to use either.

100 Days of Rejection

Rejection. Every writer who’s ever auditioned in publishing knows the feeling. Some more than others because some writers are punishment gluttons who keep on submitting queries despite many times being shouted at, “No!”

There’s a famous Stephen King quote that goes, “By the time I was fourteen the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and went on writing.”

I don’t know how many rejections Mr. King got before he struck gold with Carrie, but I do know of a man who purposely set out to experience one hundred days of rejections. His name is Jia Jiang, and he put on a marvelous TEDx Talk called What I Learned From 100 Days of Rejection. It’s a must-watch for all writers, entrepreneurs, and creatives who wander into the crosshairs of criticism and rejection.

Spoiler Alert: Jia Jiang was emotionally traumatized as a six-year-old, first-grader when his teacher tried a social experiment that publicly humiliated him. He was so scarred that it wasn’t until his thirties that he faced up to his fear of public rejection. Mr. Jiang overtook his fear by intentionally devising one hundred creative ways to approach strangers and filming their responses to his “crazy” proposals.

Jiang’s crazy proposals went viral, and he now travels the world giving keynote presentations and holding workshops helping others overcome their fear of rejection. You can watch his amusing and informative TEDx Talk here, and you can visit his website RejectionTherapy.com here. You can also source his book Rejection Proof — How I Beat Fear and Became Invincible Through 100 Days of Rejection.

I’ll leave you with a rejection story that happened to me. I finished my first novel manuscript in 2011. I paid to have it professionally edited and, when it was done-as-good-as-it-was-going-to-get-done, I shopped it around the agents. I don’t remember exactly who or how many—probably thirty or forty—even some big names as well as some newbies. I maybe heard back from ten of which eight or so were form rejections.

There was not even one request for a look. So, I moved on. That was when indies were starting to take hold in ebooks, so I went that route. My debut did well on the Amazon charts and, not long after its release, I got an unsolicited email from a literary agent asking if I was represented to which I said, “No.”

I won’t say who, but they requested my complete manuscript to which I complied. After a few weeks, the agent got back to me. “It’s a pass on this one,” they said. “I didn’t quite connect with the story, but I will say you have a really good voice. Send me your next one. If you write it, I’ll read it.”

To which I did. I sent them my sequel—the full 90K word ms—as a Word.doc attachment direct to the agent’s personal email they first cold-called me from and complimented my voice.

Well… I got back this icy, snot-infused reply. “How dare you bypass the company submission guidelines and contact me directly!”  BTW, I just Googled that agent and can’t find them working today.

So, Kill Zoners, that’s my rejection story. How about yours? Let’s hear who’s been snubbed by the world and how badly it went.