Prediction: you're going to read this week's story and think, "You got that from Pride And Prejudice?" (Sans zombies.) Don't ask me, folks. I just write 'em.
So as a refresher, Jane Austen's story of wealth and class distinctions features theses elements:
* Conflict: man v man (not gender specific); man v society
* Character (choose at least one): a mother desperate to marry off her daughter(s); a handsome, slightly snobbish landowner; a witty young lady; a cad; an immature flirt; a cynical patriarch; a gorgeous optimist; an overbearing, pompous aunt.
* Theme (choose one): love, family, marriage, class divisions, superficiality of wealth
* Setting (choose one): a ballroom, a sitting room, a garden
And we were offered this cute photo:
One of these days, I'll actually uses the photo again. But for now, here is "The Garden Factory."
Knowledge is a blunt instrument clumsily wielded by fools and madmen. I remind myself of that unsavory truth as I stare out across the factory floor, from the lofty perch of my glass-walled office high above, and ponder the future.
There are days when I wonder whether I should shut down the whole enterprise which, at its core, is fundamentally sound, though often flawed in its implementation. But then I learn of satisfied customers, and see how the product has blossomed under their careful watch. And I am inspired, knowing it is all very good.
And were I to abandon the factory, then what becomes of them?
The floor hums with efficiency. The workers are happy. Happy because they are rightfully proud of the fruits of their labors. But also happy because they cannot see the folly of their efforts. They view this as a guaranteed lifetime of employment. I see it as a guaranteed death sentence.
My laborers fret their fingers to the bone. When their diligent hands fall still, their children will take over. And in time, their children.
Trillions of suns in the heavens. Trillions of Gardens of Eden taking root. Trillions of Trees of Knowledge awaiting delivery. Yes, knowledge is a blunt instrument clumsily wielded by fools and madmen.
History ultimately will have to decide which am I.
So tell the truth... who actually remembers reading Pride And Prejudice in high school?