Stones, Style And Door Stops

Opening my e-mail these days is a double-edged sword, folks. It’s great so many of you are comfortable writing and askin’ me just about anything. On the other hand, the sheer numbers are gettin’ staggering, and all you guys want to know is everything! My policy is to answer every e-mail, but this month, I’m gonna try to whack a flock of birds with a single stone, okay? Each line or phrase here answers multiple inquiries by multiple mobs of you.

“Who are you? What are you? John Connor is a nom de plume, and you got it from those Terminator movies, right?” Nope. De plume, de guerre, whatever. I was writing and fighting under John Connor long before Ahnold’s movies, and I can sign certain checks and pass through certain doors with it. All else must remain as it is, shrouded in legend, myth and mystery. (I just love that line — ain’t it cool?)

What am I? I’m a warrior, and I say that with no embarrassment, hesitation, or any particular pride. Pride or tickshame should hinge on the morality and ethics of how you think and act, not on titles, position or appellation. My life has been devoted to the art and science of defeating domestic predators and foreign enemies by force of arms, strength of will, distraction and stealth. I’ve done okay at that, and some scribbling.

My favorite titles are “faithful husband” and “Dad.” There are lots of warriors out there titled “insurance broker,” “diesel mechanic,” and “high school teacher.” They’re just not working full-time at the warrior gig. Neither am I anymore. The Memsaab prefers a shift in the balance of “Scribbler-Soldier” to more of the “scribbler” role — I presume, because she likes me home to take out the kitchen trash. That, and my dog, Sancho Panza, gives me this look like, “Hey, this ball ain’t gonna throw itself, dummy! Where you goin’?”

Ain't Exactly "Writing"

Which sorta leads to my “writing style” — or lack of it. Yeah, I know some people are offended when I drop a “g,” invent a contraction Webster never heard of, or dangle a participle. But I don’t “write articles and columns.” I just talk to you guys on paper, see? I’ve written reams of info-crap — both government and commercial flavors — in slavish obedience to Strunk & White and the AP Style Guide, then submitted it to hyper-critical horse’s patoots who knew all about grammar and syntax, and nothing about weapons, tactics, history, humor or human communication. I’ll never do that again.

That sucked. The result was dry as bones in the Ténéré, and about as appetizing. I didn’t even like reading it myself. The response I’ve had from you folks has been one of the biggest, most pleasant surprises of my life. Which segues into …

What kinda guy are you personally? What’s your temperament and ticks-offs? If something ain’t heart-attack serious, fall-down funny, or relaxed-to-the- max, I get bored easily. I’m prone to stand up from circular conversations, banal dinners and mindless meetings, and just wander away. Life’s too short for that crap. I do the “Queen Elizabeth wave,” say, “All done now, bye-bye, Connor out,” and I’m gone. I’m short on social skills but long on loyalty to friends, so maybe that’s the trade-off, okay?

I’d say I’m a happy guy who knows how lucky he is; simple by nature and inclination, and I work at keeping things that way. I’ve fought for a living, so I don’t go looking for trouble unless I’m getting paid to do just that. I tend to tell people exactly what I’m thinking — if they ask, or if I think they really need to hear it. And I figure if they’re over 15 in years or five feet in height, they should be able to take it straightup, no soda, no ice.

In some circles I’m considered a crass, insensitive boor. A gentleman I respect once told me, “Connor, you may not be seen as a very nice guy, but you’re a good man.” I’ll gladly settle for that.