The busiest person I know

You need to meet my friend Marlena. She’s a delightful person and very good at her work—which may be why every time I talk to her she says something like, “I couldn’t possibly take on another client; I’m completely booked.”

If New Yorkers are the busiest people in the world, Marlena is a New Yorker on steroids.

But there’s one thing she always makes time for: my 5-day writing challenge.

Marlena knew how to write before she registered for her first challenge, of course. But she wasn’t doing it. She didn’t have the time.

Now? She makes the time, even if it’s just 15 minutes.

This is what she told me the other day:

“It’s a heartbreakingly wonderful accomplishment to put words on a page. That’s all it takes, and you are a writer. So many people yearn to write—it’s their heart’s dream. And you help them do that.”

Don’t you deserve a “heartbreakingly wonderful accomplishment”?

Join the 5×15 Writing Challenge. That’s five days of writing for 15 minutes a day. If Marlena Corcoran, Ph.D., CEO of Athena Mentor can find the time, you can too.

Next challenge starts on Monday. Sharpen your pencils and join us.

“Your Words Matter”

I’ve been feeling kind of grumpy and hopeless the last few days – being sick sometimes does that to me. But something caught my eye this afternoon, and I think I may just have enough brain function to write about it. It’s a note my friend Melissa enclosed in a gift: “Your Words Matter.”

Your words matterI’ve said that a lot to my writers last year. And, whaddaya know, they listened.

They’ve written things they never imagined – my lawyerly writer has become a poet; my scientist and academic have written children’s stories.

And they’ve written things they have imagined – reanimating long-dormant stories, turning memories into memoirs. Best of all, they’ve pushed their writing out of the nest for others to read. And it’s good! Better than they think it is, in many cases – which is how we can tell they’re really writers.

One of my writers lost her father in 2017, but during the last six months of his life, she was able to read him stories. Stories she had written, stories she said would not have been written if she hadn’t joined one of my writing challenges.

“Your words matter.” Sometimes more than you know.

Still, Melissa’s note said MY words matter. At first I assumed she meant the blogging I’ve done over the last 18 months (even though I’ve stopped posting daily). Or my writing streak – 615 days as of yesterday. But all of that is just writing. Writing has paid my mortgage for a long time; I don’t think about my words as having any particular value beyond that.

But last year, I pushed some words of my own out of the nest. I opened up my work beyond corporate clients and started working with individuals for the first time, teaching, guiding. Turns out it’s the best job I’ve ever had.

Looking back over the past year I think the words that have mattered the most, the words I’m most proud of, are the words of encouragement I offered my writers. When I’ve been able to reassure them that no one writes beautifully every day, that the crap they wrote today means they’ll write something better down the road…when my words have created a safe space for them to create…and they’ve created – that’s the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. And I can’t wait to do more of it.

You out there, reading this: your words matter, too. So go use them. Write. Revise. And then push your work out of the nest and watch as your words matter to someone else.

Resolving to write more in 2018? Join my 5×15 Writing Challenge. Write for 15 minutes a day for five days in a row and support a great global literacy nonprofit. More information and registration link here.

“Every damn day.” Creativity from the Bennett Ink writing challenges

How often should you write? If you want to become a good writer, there’s only one answer: Every damn day.

And once you’ve achieved mastery? How often do you have to keep writing then? Ah. When you’re really good and happy with what you’re producing, well then you only need to write

every damn day.

If all goes well, in a few days I’ll be celebrating a full year of writing “every damn day.” I see a fine steak dinner in my future that night. It hasn’t been easy. But it’s important.

The daily writing challenges I’ve run since late December have launched a few other daily streaks. But just a few—out of dozens of participants. And now we’re into the third week of a 90-Day Challenge, with more than 87% of the writers still going strong.

But writing is only part of the process. At some point you need to nudge your work out of the nest and see if it will fly. I’ve encouraged a few of my writers to publish their work—on Medium if they don’t have a blog of their own. And to make that easier, I’ve created a room of our own, as it were. A Medium “publication” so we can share some of the amazingly creative work the challengers are producing.

What’s the publication called? What else could I call it but

Every damn day.

Cruise on over to Medium and follow us. They’re writing every damn day; I’ll publish when we’ve got something wonderful to share. Which, judging from the work I’ve seen in the 3.25 challenges I’ve run so far, should be often.

Write better when you write more often. My next 5-day writing challenge starts June 19th. Write for 15 minutes a day and I’ll donate your $15 registration fee to a global literacy nonprofit. More info and registration link here.

To do or not to do—Hamlet, Yoda, and writing

Yoda—the anthropomorphic turtle/Buddha from the Star Wars movies–offered a great kick-in-the-pants for writers. And, okay, Luke Skywalker too. Yoda said:

“Do. Or do not. There is no ‘try.'”

If you find yourself saying things like, “I have this idea for what I want to write—I’ve had it for a long time—but—” it doesn’t really matter how that sentence ends.

I don’t believe you’ll ever do it. And, honestly, I don’t believe you do, either.

“But” what?

You know how to write. You’ve probably been doing it since at least the first grade, forming squiggles into words. So write.

Don’t create a project so complex that you need a Ph.D. before thinking about starting. Don’t make excuses about software or hardware. Nothing to write on? Grab a pencil and the nearest roll of paper towels. Just start making those word-squiggles. Do it. No excuses.

Yoda would have hated Hamlet

I’ve been at least half in love with Hamlet, that melancholy prince, ever since I read Shakespeare’s play in high school. But if I met the guy IRL—”in real life,” as the kids have probably already stopped texting—I would shake him by the shoulders and scream, “Decide, already!”

I think Yoda would have yelled at him, too: “Be. Or not be. There is no question.”

Life’s too short for indecision. Decide what you want to do and do it. Decide what you don’t want to do and—here’s a shock—don’t do it. What’s so hard about that?

Okay, I’ll give Hamlet a break: Deciding whether you’re going to kill your uncle may not be quite as easy as “Steak or Italian tonight?” But deciding to write? It’s a no-brainer. Especially if you’ve made a commitment to do it.

The majority of the people who started my 5×15 Writing Challenge last week actually finished it—more than 73% of them! More than one posted their work with a comment like:

“Probably would not have written it but for the 5×15 :)”

There’s no “try” in that one; only “do.” And I love it. Yoda would, too.

Stop trying and “do.” Step up to the Bennett Ink 90-Day Writing Challenge—writing begins April 1st.

Measuring consistent action – words vs. time

My second 5×15 Writing Challenge wraps up today. Several dozen intrepid writers announced their intention to write for at least 15 minutes a day for five days in a row: Consistent action! And, just like the Challenge I ran at the end of last year, nearly everyone who began the Challenge finished it.

It doesn’t matter what commitment you make to writing—it only matters that you make one. Others commit to a specific daily word count. I’ve never been much for word counts; I usually just write until I’ve said what needs to be said.

In fact, the one time I did ask about word count—my first time working with a famous graphic designer, I wanted to seem extra-professional. Famous Graphic Designer’s response: “I find the best writers don’t think about word count; they just write until they’ve said what needs to be said.” [headdesk] Need I add that although I wrote killer copy for them—the client loved it—I never worked for Famous Graphic Designer again.

But I digress.

I commit to 15 minutes a day of consistent action, writingI commit to time because it’s finite. On a tough day, the process of writing 400 words could stretch from dawn ’til dusk—but 15 minutes only lasts 15 minutes. If I’m on a roll and I have time, I’ll go longer; if my schedule’s packed I know I only have to find a 15-minute window. It’s completely doable.

Consistent action in 400 words (not less)

But here’s a great story of a writer who committed to word count as his measure of consistent action.

Neil Gaiman told this story in his essay collection The View from the Cheap Seats. Gaiman’s friend and fellow writer Terry Pratchett

“…wrote four hundred words a night, every night; it was the only way for him to keep a real job and still write books. One night, a year later, he finished a novel, with a hundred words still to go, so he put a piece of paper into his typewriter and wrote a hundred words of the next novel.”

That’s commitment right there, folks.

Congratulations to the 5×15 Challenge finishers. Keep up the (whether it’s good or not) work. You don’t need to judge your work right now. Just do it. Daily.

Are you jealous? Do you want a reason to write every day, too? And hone your skills in a supportive environment? Check out my 12-week program, Writing Unbound. Special pricing through January 30th.

How…? What can we…?— Frequent Questions

Q: Who the…? How..? What can we…?

A: I know, I know.

My friends have been doing a lot of sputtering lately. I hear a lot of half-finished sentences, a lot of questions trailing off into incredulous silence. Someone seems to have taken the cosmic dial marked “absurdity” and cranked it all the way to the right. What can those of us still grounded in reality do about it?

It’s a tough time to be a word person.

With people doubting even long-established facts, the very building blocks of a wordsmith’s trade threaten to become meaningless. It’s as if someone decided that instead of making bricks out of stone—or whatever bricks are made of—we’ll now make them out of papier-mâché and pretend it’s the same thing.

You can stand there shouting about engineering and the immutable laws of nature until you’re blue in the face. But you’re not going to reach the people who’ve decided that facts don’t matter. Until, perhaps, their papier-mâché chimneys go up in smoke.

Oh, who am I kidding? When that happens, they’ll just blame the logs.

The Brits must have had some questions about how they managed to lose the Revolutionary WarIf it seems like the world has turned upside down, that’s only because it has. Or it’s well on its way. And so I’m reminded that the song the British played when they finally surrendered to George Washington’s army was called “The World Turned Upside Down.” That feeling of unreality marked the start of our nation; I hope it doesn’t also mark the end of it.

[Speaking of pesky facts: Wikipedia says this story may be apocryphal, as there’s no contemporary evidence of what music was played.]

I’ve just started reading Neil Gaiman’s essay collection, The View from the Cheap Seats. His 2013 essay called “Why Our Future Depends on Libraries, Reading and Daydreaming” offered lots of prescient advice:

“There were noises made briefly, a few years ago, about the idea that we were living in a postliterate world, in which the ability to make sense out of written words was somehow redundant, but these days, those noises are gone: words are more important than they ever were.”

Why? Because “We navigate the world with words” and

“People who cannot understand each other cannot communicate.”

I soon proved that point myself.

My Breakfast With a Racist

On my way home from church on Sunday, I took myself out to brunch at my favorite local diner. That’s where I met the racist. Well, “met” in the sense that he popped up in my Facebook feed. Since I was reading the Gaiman book on my phone, I saw the notification at once. And I was in the mood to ask questions.

Yesterday, an acquaintance of mine posted the Washington Post article about the Trump Administration having “fired” the head of the DC National Guard, effective the moment Trump is sworn in. While we were collectively scratching our heads about why anyone would fire a security professional in the middle of a high-security event, someone on the thread commented that “everyone knows” the Washington Post is “fake news.”

In the past, I’ve avoided engaging in political debates with people I don’t know. But not talking doesn’t get us closer to a solution. So I decided to try something: I asked a question:

“I’m just wondering—honestly wondering—what causes you to think the Washington Post is ‘fake news.’ The paper has been around for well over a century and has a distinguished history of reporting, including 47 Pulitzer prizes. I’m not being snarky or sarcastic. I would truly like to know what qualities convince you that a news source is accurate and what convinces you that a source is fake. Thanks.”

Sadly, I never got an answer. Today someone else started up on the same thread, refuting the claim that Breitbart is a “white supremacist” news organization. He asked for examples of white supremacist content and people obliged by posting links some of the vilest racist screeds on the site. Still he insisted they weren’t “white supremacist.”

It seemed another question was in order. I posted, “Perhaps we should ask you for your definition of ‘white supremacist.'”

He responded:

“A white supremacist is someone who believes whites are superior to the other races, and should therefore rule. Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood is probably the most famous white supremacist in US history.”

So in his definition it’s okay to deny civil rights to black people, LGBT people, people of different religions…as long as you don’t also believe “whites are superior to the other races, and should therefore rule.”

And notice how he tried to pivot the conversation to an entirely different topic—Margaret Sanger’s racism. He later tried to paint the entire Planned Parenthood organization as being as reprehensibly racist as its long-dead founder. See this NPR “fact check” for the, well, facts.

Well, I suppose there are parallels. The original Mr. Breitbart is dead, and by some accounts his organization has become even more reprehensible than he was. This article in the Los Angeles Times last summer quoted a former Breitbart editor:

Breitbart’s chairman, Steve Bannon, has turned the site “into Trump’s personal Pravda,” editor at large Ben Shapiro, who is based in Los Angeles, said in a statement on his resignation. “Andrew built his life and his career on one mission: fight the bullies. In my opinion, Steve Bannon is a bully, and has sold out Andrew’s mission in order to back another bully, Donald Trump.”

Watch for the pivot

But the larger point is the pivot: When I (and others) tried to hold the poster account for Breitbart’s corrosive racism, he pivoted to attack Planned Parenthood. What does one have to do with the other?

Even if—for the sake of argument—Sanger had been a racist and Planned Parenthood continued to support that world view lo these many decades later…that has absolutely nothing to do with Breitbart publishing white supremacist-leaning  “fake news”—seriously, let’s just call it what it is: propaganda.

I commented that many people in the past held reprehensible views but I’m more concerned with people in the present trying to shove their reprehensible views into our laws and institutions. He countered with more arguments about Planned Parenthood “targeting” black neighborhoods.

I’m afraid this story doesn’t have a happy ending, dear Reader. Despite my best efforts , I was never able to initiate a dialogue with the racist. I learned nothing about how we can help reunite people with the truth.

When I left the conversation the racist was still wedded to his propaganda sites (CNS news among them), still dismissive of the reputable news organizations (like NPR) I offered in return, still completely blind to the way his own white privilege skewed his worldview.

The right’s propaganda machine digests crumbs of facts and turns them into piles of manure. How do we convince distrustful people that the media sources they trust are actually feeding them a load of crap? If our only tool is words, I’m not sure we can. But we can’t give up, either.

The best we can do

Keep asking questions and keep telling the truth. Always go to primary source documents. Don’t just accept someone’s interpretation of a report—read the report yourself. That way you’ll be able to see how the “news source” has edited or twisted it to suit its own agenda.

And watch out for the pivot, friends, because it means you’ve cornered the other person, used up all of his flimsy arguments. If all else fails, keep reminding them of that.

Why did I schedule a repeat of my very successful 5×15 Writing Challenge to start on Monday January 23rd? Frankly, I expect I’ll need the distraction. Maybe you will too. Join us—write for 15 minutes a day for 5 days in a row and I’ll donate your $15 registration fee to Room to Read, a fantastic nonprofit supporting literacy around the world. Join us!

My bad: How I gave my writers “editing guilt”

I was raised a Catholic, so “guilt” is practically my middle name. But I hadn’t intended to spread it to the folks in my first 5×15 Writing Challenge. Yet there it was—what I can only call “editing guilt.” And it was all my fault.

Cue the wavy focus of a flashback, please.

I’d kicked off the challenge with a webinar packed full of what I hoped would be useful advice. “Tips for Courageous Writing,” I called them. #3 was, with apologies to Nike, “Do it.”

“Just write. Don’t edit—You can make time for that later.

Don’t judge. Don’t judge your work and don’t judge yourself.

Once you set your timer, there’s only one thing you need to do for the next 15 minutes. Write. That’s it.”

I didn't mean to induce editing guilt. Erasers can be your friends.It’s not that I didn’t want people to edit ever. I just didn’t want them to spend 10 of their 15 minutes polishing what they’d written during the first five.

I wanted them to sit the judgmental part of their minds in the corner for 15 minutes and just let the words flow. For some of them, this daily practice would be a new experience. I wanted them to see it as an opportunity to create, not a chance to criticize.

“Editing guilt” rears its ugly head

They were amazing, my Challenge participants. All but two of the writers who began the challenge finished it. That astonished me. And many of them kept writing, posting their work in our private Facebook group.

That’s when the editing guilt showed up. One of the writers posted a sheepish disclaimer. Something like, “I didn’t write today. I edited instead. I’m sorry, but it needed to be done.” To be honest, I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t.

Somehow I had put the fear of the Delete Key into these poor people. So let me set the record straight:

Every writer edits—every good writer, anyway. It’s an essential part of the creative process.

“Rewriting is what I do best as a writer.”— John Irving

But before you can rewrite, you have to write. So until you’ve got a finished first draft, be careful of how much time you spend editing. Having a perfect opening paragraph will not help you if you never write the closing one.

So edit, by all means. Just try to avoid taking one step forward and two steps back. Write, write, and write some more before you edit. I generally wait until I’ve finished the entire draft, unless I’ve decided I’m seriously off course. If you’re writing a book, you probably can’t wait that long. But finish a chapter first.

And if you want to experience the thrill of the 5-day writing challenge for yourself, you’re in luck: we’ve got another one starting January 23rd. Write for 15 minutes a day, for five days in a row, and I donate your $15 registration fee to a global literacy nonprofit, Room to Read. And this time, I promise, no guilt.

Some are born “grit”—but can you learn it?

No one talked about “grit” when I was growing up. Reading Angela Duckworth’s fascinating book on the subject reminded me of that.

Oh, every four years the Olympics would shine a light on some kid who spent every waking hour on the ice in a distant rink. But those people were clearly outliers. One-in-a-million. Not me.

At school, I knew some of my classmates worked very hard—and their grades showed it. I coasted through my classes, content in the middle of the pack. Or a least I assumed I was in the middle. My school didn’t rank us—not even when the colleges we applied to insisted—so this is all a guess. It really wasn’t until senior year that I pushed myself to work harder. And then I settled back to coasting again in college.

Decades later, I find I have somehow become a fairly gritty person. Take this writing streak, for instance (Day 260 when I finish writing this!)—I’ve kept it going through all sorts of chaos and calamity. Last night, I realized as I was on my way out for an unexpected dinner with the spousal unit that I hadn’t done my “15 minutes.” So as soon as we got home, I booted up the computer and wrote.

I have pushed myself to deliver assignments to clients on insane deadlines, amid chaotic circumstances in home and/or office. In over 25 years of my professional writing career I have, in fact, never missed a deadline. I forget how extraordinary that is until I mention it to another writer. Eyes widen; jaws drop. But to me, it’s not exceptional. I’m a professional—for me, it’s table stakes.

Yes, I have grit.

[I also need to learn to stop using the WordPress app on my iPad. I posted this inadvertently—half-finished—on Tuesday. Alas, Tuesday was a grit-testing kind of day.]

You want grit? Why?

So the question is not “can you learn grittiness?”—Duckworth believes certain kinds of people, predominantly optimists, absolutely can. But here’s another—maybe better—question: Why would you want to?

Grit on ice: competitive figure skatersGrit means making sacrifices, some larger than others. I didn’t have to give up dinner with the spousal unit; I merely had to commit to returning to work afterwards. Ask an athlete rising at 4 a.m. for the two-hour drive to the ice rink if that qualifies as a “sacrifice.” But you’d better have good reflexes because you’re likely to get a figure skate thrown at your head.

Like the figure skater, I’m making choices not because I want “grit” but because I want to get better at what I do.

Grit and the 5×15 Writing Challenge

When I chose the last week of the year to run my first 5-day writing challenge, some people predicted I’d have a hard time signing people up to work during the holidays. Even for only 15 minutes a day. Now that I’ve announced the next 5-day challenge—writing starts January 23rd—some people think I’ll have a hard time signing people up because the holidays are over.

Bottom line: Some people will find excuses in just about any set of circumstances. Gritty people don’t see excuses; they only see opportunities.

Think you don’t have grit? Maybe it’s true, right now. But if I can develop grit, anyone can. The 5×15 Challenge is a great place to start. Take the leap and join us.

Greatness and Grit: the payoff of deliberate practice

William Shakespeare articulated his theory of greatness more than 300 years ago:

“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”

Angela Duckworth focuses on the middle path in her book Grit: the power of passion and perseverance.

If you missed out on being born great and no one’s lining up to “thrust greatness upon” you, no worries. Duckworth and the experts she’s assembled argue that you can still excel.

“Greatness is many, many individual feats, and each of them is doable.”

That’s Dan Chambliss. He’s not just a sociologist, he’s also a swimmer. And he combined his two passions by doing in-depth research on how swimmers improve. When Duckworth spoke with him about the intersection of talent and persistence, he pointed her to the 19th Century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche‘s writing on “the cult of the genius”

“For if we think of genius as something magical, we are not obliged to compare ourselves and find ourselves lacking….To call someone ‘divine’ means: ‘here there is no need to compete.'”

Greatness: gift or endurance?

If you’re not the “best” at something—and I use the annoying quotation marks because unless you’re running a race or something, best really is a subjective judgment—should you just stop?

Nietzsche would call you a quitter. But, hey, he’s been dead for over 100 years, so nobody’s going to pay much attention.

Greatness is attainable, Duckworth contends, if you have “grit.” But what is “grit”? Look at the subtitle of her book again: the power of passion and perseverance.

Perseverance has gotten all the ink; we Americans do like our so-called Protestant work ethic. And it’s even been quantified in Anders Ericsson’s so-called 10,000-hour rule. It’s an easy formula to believe in: we can tick the 10,000 hours off on our calendars. But you can’t just bang on a drum for 10,000 hours and expect to become Ringo Starr. (Actually, maybe you can…) Ericsson specified that you have to engage in “deliberate practice”—setting new goals for yourself all the time, challenging yourself to make incremental improvements.

This isn’t the kind of thing they make movies about. As Duckworth writes:

“…the most dazzling human achievements are, in fact, the aggregate of countless individual elements, each of which is, in a sense, ordinary.”

A passion to improve

But who has the capacity to stick to something, through hours (maybe even 10,000 hours) of “ordinary” actions producing at best incremental gains?

That’s where the other word in Duckworth’s subtitle comes in—passion. Duckworth has professed to be surprised at how the “perseverance” part of her title has overshadowed the equally important element of passion.

You have to work hard. If you don’t enjoy what you’re doing, one hour can seem like 10,000—as any youngster who’s been forced to practice a musical instrument can tell you. (Or maybe that was just me.) But if you’re passionate about your pursuit, you hardly notice the time.

If you’re passionate about improvement, it’s easy to pile up the “countless individual elements,” the incremental gains that lead to greatness.

I was so fired up a couple of weeks ago during my Jumpstart 2017 five-day writing challenge that I routinely worked until 9 or 10 at night, stopping only when my dog insisted. Twelve-hour days during a holiday week? I should have entered the new year exhausted and worn out. But I loved what I was doing, supporting my hardy group of writers—and I loved what they were doing, too. Their energy and enthusiasm proved infectious. I was in the flow.

But I understand—and they learned—that a daily writing practice is the surest route to improvement. So they wrote for five days in a row and many have continued to write daily, which absolutely thrills me.

As for my own streak, today’s Day 257. Some days I write better than others. But I write. Because I love words. And because ideas are too important to express haphazardly. Especially these days, we need to communicate clearly, authentically, memorably.

The Challenge was so much fun that I’m offering it again, from January 23rd through 27th. Write for a minimum of 15 minutes a day during each of those five days and I’ll donate your $15 registration fee to charity. The vast majority of folks who started the first challenge finished; I’m hoping for the same outcome this time. Join us.

deliberate practice leads to greatness

Blizzard – of snow and of words

I’m not sure whether it was an official blizzard, but the storm that socked us this weekend left at least a foot of snow, with drifts around my car that easily topped 18 inches. Not to mention the two-foot bank of hard-packed snow the town’s plows kindly left at the end of my driveway.

I know far more about the snow than I had planned to. My yard guy was supposed to plow my driveway. But with the daylight fading, I decided I couldn’t wait for him any longer. So I had a choice to make yesterday:

  1. Shovel out my car
  2. Do my daily writing
blizzard in my backyard
At least I don’t have to shovel the backyard!

Yes, I have deposited a blizzard of words here on the interwebs in the last 257 days. Now that the streak has its own momentum I no longer write first thing in the morning, as I used to, though I do try to write before I leave the house. Today, I decided: shovel first, write second.

An hour later, I could barely lift my shaking arms.

Shoveling snow is hard work. But so is writing. Yes, it’s much less taxing on the arm muscles. But it does require a functioning brain—which I’m not quite sure I have right now.

So I’ll be filling in the rest of my daily 15 minutes with some deliberate practice: rewriting Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” as prose.

Take your favorite poem, set the timer for 15 minutes, and go.

Start your own blizzard

my blizzard of words: Writing for 258 days in a rowAnd now my streak stands at 258 days. It’s remarkable what repeated, deliberate practice can do for a skill.

If you’re ready to start a writing streak of your own, join the new 5×15 Writing Challenge—writing starts January 23rd. When you write for 15 minutes every day for five days in a row, I’ll donate your $15 registration fee to the global literacy nonprofit Room to Read. So you’ll be doing something good for yourself and for other people.

Join us!