Not really a book review, this, but hey…

(Trigger alert… The following contains inappropriate and metaphorical sarcasms and an obvious attempt to make light of what often annoys and distresses the perspicaciously inclined.)

61EMCGL1eCLI learned a while back that Donald Trump Jr wrote a book titled, Triggered, and humorously (or not, it’s hard to say) subtitled, How the Left Thrives on Hate and Wants to Silence Us.

After feeling surprise and some level of doubt as to whether he actually wrote a book and, being what most people would call a member of that group that is labeled “…the Left” I thought, with a grin, “How ever does one respond to a title like that?”  Up front, I can tell you that it’s not by rushing out to buy little Donny’s book, though I am sure it’s a meat loaf of a book in every aspect, but… and as it often does, my inner didact overtook control of my head and my hand and I wrote this letter, tongue so firmly in cheek that it’s bleeding…

Dear Donald Junior,

A reasonable man at all times, there are certain words and concepts that annoy me to the point of intolerance, so yes, I suppose that I can be triggered.  When confronted with social arrogance, unwarranted condescension, willful ignorance, or sometimes… merely irked by the presence and tone of obnoxious, self-centered, and privileged twits, I’ve been known to see red, and I suffer what I call “red-outs” that are a lot like blackouts, but infinitely more intense.  They can last for significant periods of time, during which I am unaware of my actions.

Interestingly, when consciousness returns, I generally find myself alone and utterly at peace in the absence of the antagonist who had “triggered” my response.   

I like to think that, as a reasonable man, I simply walked away when thus confronted, but lately?  I can’t help but imagine that somewhere outside of town, in the midst of a dense plot of woods, forbidding at every edge with thistles and thick brush, there is a quiet, half-acre field where every now and then, the sun arises to disclose a fresh spot of newly disturbed soil, the top of which displays the slightest rise in elevation above the surrounding grass… like the top of a loaf of fresh leavened bread.  Although it’s impossible possibility, of course, since I am a peace-loving man, the mere thought of it, however, feeds my inner anarchist and both pleases and shames me simultaneously.

I haven’t read your book and surely never will, but… is this what you were trying to express?


Triggered in Ohio

As always, when I write letters like that, I never send them, but I do feel an enormous sense of relief at venting, however subtle, however metaphorically incorrect. Mark Twain called these things “…secret supplications of the heart.”

As such they are… as truly they must remain.


Creative Commons License “Not really a book review, this, but hey…” by James Lloyd Davis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

It’s not really death for such a one as this… call it transcendence

d3d5f99cb910d8a66bbac7348a4da827635af288Every writer knows the truth about words… that of themselves and in their studied form… they are limiting, vague… that they can be chains that hold you back. A writer like Toni Morrison is able break the binds and strictures of language in such a way that the words become a liberating force within the reader… permitting a depth in simplicity that could never be otherwise achieved except within her flawless style. Such a writer is rendered thus immortal.

“No one ever talks about the moment you found that you were white. Or the moment you found out you were black. That’s a profound revelation. The minute you find that out, something happens. You have to renegotiate everything.”
Toni Morrison

“What? Another damned literary magazine? Are you quite mad?”

Short answer?  Absolutely.

Although it’s just an idea I’ve been kicking around for a while and never really considered it a personal priority, I’m actually getting serious and presently researching the possibilities… even looking into the actual costs involved in establishing a writers collective that would be centered around the production and publishing of a regional quarterly literary review and… possibly… an annual foray into book publishing… anthologies, perhaps, or even novels.

Logistical support for this venture would be limited, physically, to Northeast Ohio, specifically to the area in and around Cleveland and Akron, however, technology enables participation from virtually any location these days. Accordingly, if those who wish to be involved in the collective possess the necessary skill set and the equipment required, their location doesn’t really matter. 

In a month or so, I will have the draft of a business plan that would summarize the scope of the project and provide an outline of the specific literary perspective for the quarterly journal.

If anyone is interested in getting involved, send me an email and I will put your name on a list to receive the prospectus when it’s ready. You need only give me your name and what manner and level of involvement you would consider (i.e. editor, columnist, essayist, writer, fiction or non-fiction, graphic arts, etc.)

I’m not looking for investors, but if you have a few million laying around and you don’t know what to do with it, you could consider underwriting the project and earn yourself the gratitude of the writers and artists who may decide to get involved and maybe even a full page dedication in the first issue, but hey… your name on page one and artistic gratitude, along with $5 might get you a fair cup of coffee and a donut… or maybe even an eclair, but not much more than that.

Anyway if you think you might be interested in getting involved with this project in any way at all… send your email to me at:

There’s no guarantee this thing will ever get off the ground, but if there is enough interest, it might be worth the effort. Of course, even if it did get underway, projects like this are a dime a dozen and they tend to fall flat more often than not, so there is that. But hey… if you believe in writing and the arts, what’s to lose?

At least you can’t say I promised you the moon.