How to sponsor:
Go to Aeroplan web site or: http://www1.aeroplan.com/use_your_miles/share_miles/launch.do
Donate to:
Samuel Schachter 966 774 234 email: promotions@hatch-schachter.com
Maverick Hatch 984 463 786 email: promotions@hatch-schachter.com
We will be tracking your donated miles on: www.facebook.com/Hatch.Schachter and on Mav's Twitter feed: www.twitter.com/maverickhatch
Note: Discounted $15 transfer fee for 1,000 mile transfers applies before December 9th. Transfers from your account to ours are anonymous. Please email us with the amount that you've donated and your name, then we'll list your name on our Facebook Page as a Mini-Sponsor. We need 400 mini-sponsors, so please pass this on to anyone you know who is willing to sponsor Olympic hopefuls Schachter & Hatch, Canadian Beach Volleyball Team.
(Photo of Graham Dickson, Arctic Kingdom's Chief Expedition Officer. All photos: Arctic Kingdom)
Graham Dickson runs Arctic Kingdom, a Toronto firm that specializes in Arctic travel and logistics. Graham grew up in a diplomat's family, and as a kid, travelled all over the globe. He started underwater diving when only fifteen years old and by university, while studying mechanical engineering, he was conducting diving trips. While most divers focus on warmer climates, Graham set his sight on the Arctic, conducting underwater dives to view the whales, seals, and polar bears.
As his company added more services, more people gained access to Arctic travel, study, and recreation. Soon, Arctic Kingdom was being asked to design trips for individuals, groups and teams. You can even go iceberg riding, if you wish.
Arctic Kingdom has conducted northern expeditions for individuals, scientific groups, and producers of TV shows such as National Geographic and the BBC. Further, they've organized the transport of people, food, and elaborate equipment for internationally-organized movie projects.
Interest in the Arctic continues to grow, and the company has collected a wide variety of experts in Arctic travel, not to mention a great deal of first-hand experience. Their most recent offering: exploring by yacht! Graham notes, "Yacht captains and owners are searching for new, untapped cruising grounds, and the Arctic, with miles of jaw-dropping coastline, teeming with polar bears, walrus and whales, is catching their eyes."
So if you have a professional interest in the Arctic, or even if you find the place really "cool", please check out Arctic Kingdom's extensive website:
And if you want to look at the polar bears, check out this link:
http://arctickingdom.com/our-safaris/scheduled-safaris/arviat/video/
(All words by Burke Campbell. Images provided by Arctic Kingdom)
© Copyright by Burke Campbell. All words and photographs by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
I interview small companies all the time, and many of them make amazing products of the highest quality. The holiday season is coming up, so keep this list if you're looking for wonderful and unique ideas:
Olivier Soaps
Fabled hand-made soaps and lotions for men and women, and children. Remarkable scents. I've tried many of these and there is something wonderful and addicting about these very special personal care products. Everything is made from the finest, natural ingredients.
NorthBound
Leather & Rubber & Fantasy!
Northbound, a truly pioneering enterprise, was one of the first companies anywhere to launch a website, quickly established itself as one of the leading purveyors of leather and rubber kink-wear. Their designs and quality apparel enjoy a reputation worldwide, and if they don't sell it, they can custom-make it for you. If you enjoying dressing up for your wildest fantasies, or know someone who does, check out this legendary store.
Bay Hammock Company
Custom-made hammocks and shades, for individuals, groups, corporate promotions, even for kids! These items are perfect for the patio, deck, or poolside. If you're into re-cycling, they can make many of the hammocks out of re-cycled plastic pop bottles!
Dark Tickle
This little gem of a company makes jams, jellies, syrups, spreads, even chocolates. Most made from the local berries of Newfoundland. Truly special tastes.
If you have the time, check them out. Most are family-run companies that work hard to create products that are you'll want, for yourself, and your friends.
(All words by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved)
As it turns out, the structure's monumental makeover is visible from from my window. Each day, shortly after dawn, I watch construction workers arrive. I admire the men doing what is often very dangerous work, and I like to record their efforts.
As there has been renewed interest in Jacqueline Kennedy, and the recordings she made shortly after President Kennedy's assassination, I thought I'd re-post my fictional short story, It Is A Cold, Clear Day.
It Is A Cold, Clear Day deals with the days following President John Kennedy's death, and the surreal experience it created.
http://burkecampbell.posterous.com/it-is-a-cold-clear-day
Me and Nikon
My interest in photography had humble beginnings. I grew up in a fashion retail environment and I used to spend my time between customers, looking at the pictures in news and fashion magazines. Photography was not universally viewed as an "art form" until the 1970s, and some of the major photographers worked in the news and fashion industry, simply to make a living. Studying the pages of magazines such as Life, Look, Vogue, and Harper's Bazaar, I noticed certain images really stood out. I was fascinated by the way photographers could capture people, and in particular, I noticed "negative space" or the space that surrounded the central figure in the photograph. The empty space itself seemed to hold a special magic and decisive power in making the image work.
My curiosity about photography continued throughout my youth and at the close of the 1970s, I took a short introductory course in Toronto. Later, in the spring of 1980 at a party, I met a photographer named Jake Peters. As I still knew little about photography, Jake acted as a mentor, helping me expand my education. When he upgraded, I bought one of his cameras.
It was a Nikon, a Nikkormat, often used by war correspondents. The Nikon was well identified with professionals, as it was considered reliable and the camera lenses the company produced were second to none. Even from the start, I wasn't interested in shooting buildings, landscapes, or wildlife. I was interested in photographing only people. People at rest, and in motion.
At around the same time, Jake also introduced me to Bridget and Ludzer, a husband and wife team who ran the Gallery Idée in downtown Toronto. Bridget was an artist and Ludzer a sculptor, and almost at once, I fell in with their crowd, casually photographing visual artists who ranged from those working in oil paint on canvas to photographers.
Nikon in hand, I would show up at gallery openings and document the evening. Toronto had become a big city, yet it was small and networked enough that artists, dancers, musicians, and actors all hung out together. It became natural for me to show up at cafés, studios, lofts, and apartments, just to take pictures. I rarely used flash, and my Nikon was perfect shooting with available light. My photographs began to get noticed for reasons I didn't fully understand at the time. I was not trying to satisfy some publisher's demands or fit into any particular vogue, but I was capturing images that were so candid, it appeared as if the subjects had all but forgotten my presence.
But problems were emerging. Photography is very time consuming, and throughout the 1980s, it became more expensive. One had to buy film, pay for its processing in chemical baths, and create contact sheets just to see how the photos turned out. At the end of all these steps, you could then make prints. Throughout the 1980s, components of photography, including photographic paper, began to soar in price. The expense actually drove many photographers out of the business.
In addition to photography, I am also a writer, and I began creating government reports on the influence of computer technology. Eventually, I turned to journalism, writing for national publications such as the Financial Post. Finally, I abandoned photography altogether and thousands of my film negatives were simply placed in a drawer, and forgotten.
Reawakening: The Transition from Film to Digital
In the fall of 2005, I met a student who owned a very good digital camera. He asked me to take some shots of him although he knew nothing of my history as a photographer. Gradually, I began to show him some of the images I'd taken so long ago. He was impressed, and this led me to show a few of my prints to the owner of a local art gallery, Dennis O'Connor. Dennis fell in love with the images and soon offered me a show.
The exhibition occurred in June 2006 largely through the heroic efforts of friend, fellow photographer and Nikon enthusiast, John Gundy, who acted as patron, technological guru, and co-curator of the show. Together, we spent months reviewing thousands of my film negatives. John would scan them into digital format, then create digital prints of archival quality. The result was the exhibit titled "Celebration in the Looking Glass Room". The gallery owner felt the show would be a "nostalgic look" at Toronto in the early 1980s. In fact, young people who saw the exhibit thought the images were recently taken. The photographs that I had taken of people a quarter of a century earlier seem to hang in a world outside of time.
The New Photography
In 2000, at the start of the millennium, digital imagery seemed thin and flat compared to the depth and clarity of film. But only six years later, by the time of my show, 2006, digital images had become increasingly sharp and detailed.
The new technology offered opportunities unimaginable with traditional photography. In particular, it changed the dynamic between the photographer/subject. With the traditional film camera, I had no way of reviewing images until the film was removed from the camera, developed, and a contact sheet made. The person being photographed couldn't see what I was doing, either. Many people don't like being photographed, and they get nervous the minute they see a camera.
With digital, I could instantly show people the photo I'd just taken on the monitor, in replay. I found that if I showed a person what I was doing as I photographed them, they usually became far less anxious. The shoot became more of a collaboration and in a more relaxed atmosphere, individual appearances change. The face opens, the whole line of the body alters. It became increasingly obvious to me that the new digital cameras were helping me photograph people in a new, more interesting way.
My Personal Take On Nikon
When digital photography really began to replace film-based photography about five years ago, Nikon seem slow to profile its new DSLR cameras. Other brands were identified with the digital revolution by running TV ads and sponsoring popular programs. The result was, although Nikon continued to launch new and outstanding cameras, the Nikon name was less featured. Fortunately, today, that's begun to change, and I hope Nikon finds new ways to showcase their brand.
As a friend said to me, "Most digital cameras are pretty much alike in their functionality. The difference is in the lenses." And Nikon has long been celebrated for that very reason. It makes outstanding digital cameras, and its optical lenses are superb.
In the past five years, I have taken more photographs than I ever took with film photography. There are many extraordinary DSLR cameras on the market today, including Canon, Panasonic, and so on. But I have a sentimental fondness for Nikon, as well as enjoying the confidence I have working with a first-rate camera. I just can't help myself: I'm a Nikon fan !
Check out:
Also check out John Gundy's blog. He's also a Nikon fan:
http://johngundy.posterous.com
Words and photograph by Burke Campbell. Photographs from the exhibit, "Celebration in the Looking Glass Room", 2006, the O'Connor Gallery, Toronto, Canada.
© copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
Ontario Volleyball Association:
Let's face it. Some people become unwitting pioneers, influencing a whole industry, and even culture worldwide. And it can happen anywhere.
Living in the far north city of Thunder Bay, Ontario, and wanting to photograph his newborn, Dennis Wood bought a video camera, but soon realized it had a few bugs. Seeking advice at an online forum, he also began tinkering with the camera. He wound up inventing the Brevis Lens adapter, a camera add-on that permitted Wood to create videos of exceptional quality with a sharp and appealing 'Hollywood' look.
While making one lens adapter, Wood also offered to make a few more, for sale. The minute his offer appeared online, orders came flooding in, with people sending money through PayPal. Soon Wood found himself an entrepreneur, managing a rapidly growing business named Cinevate, as well as creating jobs for support industries in Thunder Bay. Cinevate's website has recorded 200,000 hits on peak days.
Wood, always restless, went on to introduce a whole series of innovative consumer products that allow anyone to more easily create sophisticated film effects. These include attachments for SLR video cameras to enhance imagery, or a lightweight film dolly or tracking system to hold the camera steady while moving in for close ups or for following action. Cinevate sells its products online or through stores such as Vistek and B&H. Impressed by the success of this northern Ontario firm, Ontario's Ministry of Research & Innovation presented Cinevate with the prestigious Premier's Innovation Award.
As the web has becoming an increasingly visual medium, Cinevate has enjoyed steady growth as more people make videos, for business as well as social sites, like YouTube. Wood loves the challenge. "Business is a passion. I truly love the connection we have with our customers."
Cinevate enjoys close relationships with many companies, including Nikon. This is an example of how shooter Bill Frakes, who also enjoys cordial ties with Nikon, uses Cinevate products with Nikon equipment.
This music video was shot with in Thunder Bay with song writer and artist Anya Marina, whose track, "Satellite Heart" was used in the soundtrack for the film, Twilight, New Moon:
And this is behind-the-scenes with Bill Frakes and teammate Laura Heald:
Also check out: http://www.strawhatvisuals.com/blog/about/ and you'll see the gear list here: http://www.strawhatvisuals.com/blog/in-the-bag/
Anya Marina's "Satellite Heart":
For more on Cinevate: http://www.cinevate.com
(Words by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved)
(All words and photographs by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.)
When I was growing up, if you had a serious illness, like a heart attack or cancer, the outcome was pretty bleak. But within the past forty years, medical knowledge, technology, and monitoring apparatus have exploded, extending life for millions.
This rapid expansion of knowledge and its applications has also generated massive amounts of data. For example, today, as we are better able to look inside the body, a single patient can generate a library of digital information from CTs (computed tomography) and MRIs (magnetic resonance imaging). All this information needs to be accessible on demand, at any time, yet much of it is also private, and requires secure systems, with safeguards built in at every turn.
The traditional paper-based medical establishment was never designed to deal with this volume of information. For doctors and hospitals, this data revolution has created a nightmare, but has also prompted several corporations to seize the opportunity. One example is Dell.
Dell made its reputation selling low-cost, custom computers online, but as the profit margin on laptops has dwindled, the company has aggressively shifted into providing solutions for the rapidly expanding health care industry.
Recently, Dell acquired companies that provide doctors and hospitals with software solutions for recording, storing, and accessing medical records, and sharing this content via secure networks. Paul Cooper, Country Manager, Dell Canada, states "According to the C.D. Howe Institute, the cost of healthcare in Canada is expected to reach up to 19 per cent of GDP within two decades. This is a major concern to the health of our economy. Technology promises not only to curb costs, but also to improve the overall delivery and efficiency of healthcare in Canada by unlocking the vast amount of information previously trapped in paper records and in information silos between physicians, hospitals and payers."
Heath has become big business. In less than a century, the average lifespan in North America has jumped from about fifty or sixty years to seventy, eighty, or ninety years. With a larger, aging population, this has led to an increased shortage of doctors. Further, the way in which medical care is delivered has not kept pace with the breathtaking advances in medicine or lifestyle.
For example, if you see more than one doctor, or go to a hospital, the same tests are often needlessly repeated, when sharing results would be far more effective and less costly. Further, because of our new mobile lifestyle and our reliance on smart phones and other such devices, we've come to expect that our medical records should be readily available. We should also be able to do our own health-related research on the web, if we so desire.
According to figures released by the Canadian Institute for Health Information (CIHI), total spending on health care in Canada reached approximately $191.6 billion in 2010, or nearly 12% of Canada's gross domestic product (GDP). With an aging population, and higher expectations of the care we should receive, these costs will rise. These factors will only speed a radical 're-think' of solutions to health care issues, one that will forever alter our present health care establishment.
For more info on Dell and health care, check out the link below.
http://www1.ca.dell.com/content/default.aspx?c=ca&l=en&s=hea&cs=cahied1&~ck=mn
(Photos provided. Words by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved)
The Saatchi Gallery, opened by famed advertising executive Charles Saatchi in 1985, exhibits contemporary art on a grand scale in its new home on Kings Road in London, England. Since 2006, the gallery's website has evolved into one of the boldest ventures in the history of art. The website, recently re-branded as Saatchi Online, permits artists to profile and sell originals or copies of their work worldwide. Saatchi Online will handle everything, including having a third party make prints and ship them anywhere on the globe. This is just one of an expanding range of initiatives Saatchi Online has undertaken.
Perhaps most significant is that Saatchi Online allows visitors to view art from all over the globe, and invites artists to meet, compete, and cross-pollinate on an unprecedented scale. Today, few artists, photographers, and sculptors have a chance to enjoy a showing of their work in a commercial gallery. Increasingly, many have turned to profiling their works online. It will be interesting to see how well Saatchi Online succeeds, or what other ventures might spring from this.
Presently, Saatchi Online is headed by Bruce Livingstone, the young and daring Canadian entrepreneur who founded iStockphoto, which realizes the concept of micropayment for licensing imagery. Livingstone eventually sold that company for $50 million. In 2010, he became CEO of Saatchi Online, responsible for the website's technology and development.
At this early stage, the system is a work in progress. Still, it's important to keep in mind what a revolutionary step this is. And if anyone can pull it off, it will probably be Bruce Livingstone. In any case, we wish this vast enterprise the best of luck! Please do check out the details at:
(All words and photo by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved)
Seasoned with spice,
But I just want to snuggle.
Your charming cold stare
Is quite debonair.
(But couldn't we just snuggle?)
Oh my good gracious,
Your estate is so spacious!
But we don't need acres to snuggle.
I adore your cute little paws
And see, I've manicured my claws,
Please, don't make me wait to snuggle!
- END -
Photo taken with the Nikon D3100

Are guns, bullets, rockets and bombs now obsolete? Warfare and the battlefield are forever changed...
Symantec's main website is:
(© Copyright words and photo by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.)

I Just Want to Snuggle
Chocolates are nice
(And at such a price!)
But I just want to snuggle.
Diamonds are great
(And after one date!)
But I just need to snuggle.
A palace is swell
(But to clean it is hell!)
I really have to snuggle!
I promise to be good, but it's always the same
(Animal instincts are so hard to tame)
So why don't we just snuggle!
- END -
© copyright 2011 by Burke Campbell, all words and photograph. All rights reserved.
The following rhyme came to me in a rather odd way. If the whole story interests you, just keep reading.
The Skin Poem or
The Alchemist's Invocation
By ingredients pure
Shall there be a cure.
Should skin be broken, bruised, blemished, or should it peel,
This ointment shall it swiftly heal.
Should skin be bitten and burn as hell
Then let these soothing compounds its burning quell
And by their potency, make all well.
By craft ancient and stealth
Restore all to health.
By these fragrant leaves, herbs, spices and roots all irritants remove
And summon this body's power to improve.
Bless all the senses five
But favour feeling, and let it thrive
And from lovers strip all shyness, excuse, or crutch
So hands might reach with golden touch.
- END -
This is how I came to write the above: I received a Seasons' Greeting card from Warren Brander. Warren is founder of Derma Wise Skin Care, a company that makes all-natural skin care products, under the Thera Wise label. Later, after a nap, I awoke with a rhyme in my head, and decided to write it down. I just thought I'd show it, since it occurred in such an unusual way. As for Thera Wise, I use the products, especially the Skin Healing ointment. I find it great for bites, dryness, or any skin irritation or inflammation. What can I say? I just like the stuff. It also appears to be rather inspirational!
For info on Thera Wise products, check out:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Thera-Wise-Bio-Active-Natural-Therapeutic-Ointm...
© "The Skin Poem" copyright 2010 by Burke Campbell. Photo of the Surfer by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
for "Tuma"
Some say that it does not matter if a cat should die
Or where their small bodies lie.
Some say a cat cannot feel as we humans can
Cannot experience passion, like a woman or a man.
A cat can only sleep and eat
And curl up warmly at our feet.
They are useful to make us feel less alone,
If no one else is home.
A cat can inspect its dinner plate
But it cannot build or speculate;
It can play with a ball
Or scamper lightly down a hall,
But if I may be honest, completely frank,
Its mind is surely an utter blank.
But if they have few skills, and cannot judge art
Why this day do I ache so in my heart?
An anguish unlike anything he could feel
Like a horrible wound that cannot heal!
I cannot seem to dry my eyes
As if someone has told me dreadful lies
For when I look where he once sat
I miss him, I swear I miss that cat.
I miss how he slept respectfully on my arm
As if to protect me from all harm,
Ready to sound the alarm.
Wherever I went, he wished to be,
To sit in my lap or upon my knee.
And when I held him in my arms
Now, I see
How great his love was for me.
So weak, with his shallow breath,
So near to death
He climbed to lie upon my chest
And hear my heart till
His went still.
The great moon and all the stars hang upon the sky
An affront to a remarkable lie
That only we can know what it is to feel,
Or know with certainty what is real.
But even death cannot part
The love that joins the heart
Of man and beast;
The love that dwells inside the strongest and the least.
Tonight, the infinite stars are arms of light
That hold our frailty tight,
And a small creature's love
Is marked by the warming brightness above.
THE END
© copyright 2010 by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved. Photo by Burke Campbell.
by Burke Campbell
It is a cold, clear day. When people speak, their breath turns white and floats away like whispers. In Texas it is never cold, not like that. But far away, in Washington, in the capital, it is cold and the crowds that line the streets are bundled in coats and hats and gloves. So many people, but there is no talking, no shouting, not a whistle. It is like the sound is suddenly turned off. It is as if someone has thrown a switch and we will all go on living in silence forever. I am not going deaf, I know. I just can't seem to hear, no one can.
The black and white pictures on the television seem especially gray, smoky, blurred at the edges. The flags, which fly at half-mast, appear to fade in and out of focus. So many flags. And then you hear the clatter of a horse's hooves on the stone street, the lone horse, riderless. The President doesn't ride a horse, of course. But I know what it means. When a soldier falls in battle, his horse returns, its saddle emptyÂ…
He was young and I had taken things from inside myself, my little hopes one by one, and had pinned them in secret to his jacket, or stuffed them inside his pockets, when he wasn't looking. I had never met him, of course, except on television. I would sit in front of the screen and watch him at the hot, crowded convention when he ran for the nomination, watched the television debates, and watched the televised Inaugural Address only three years ago. I don't remember when it started, but each time I would see him, when he made a speech about integration, or about the space race, or in Berlin, Germany, when he stood before the Wall and spoke of freedom and free men, I had thought how wonderful he was. He was young and spoke so well and had something that the old do not.
And now, he is as dead as the box they put him in. And they have put the world and everything the world was to be in that box with him. And then they turn the sound off in our heads, because the strength to listen is gone. "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine; et lux perpetua luceat ei."[1] I cannot speak Latin. I know only a few phrases, from the Mass. But I have a need to pray in a language I do not understand, because I cannot understand anything, now. Rest in peace. Rest now, hush now, be still.
We have moved the television into the den, because it's more comfortable. My mother and father sit in large lounge chairs, and for some reason, I have decided to sit on the floor, with my arm around our beagle. The brown and cream-colored curtains are pulled tight to block out the light, to keep the glare off the television screen. On the walls of blonde wood paneling, I can hear only the tick-tock of the pendulum clock. The hands of the clock move. Nothing else seems to.
In our store, we sell the mantilla, a lace scarf women use to cover their hair and shoulders. In church, a man must remove his hat while a lady must always cover her head. In Spain, women wear the mantilla, but in Texas, it's popular with all kinds of women. The lace is easy to fold and easy to tuck inside a purse.
Still, to see the First Lady wear the mantilla is a terrible shock. It is a great and flowing shroud. Jackie stands straight and tall, her fine features visible through the sheer black veil. She stands with her children. But she doesn't look like the First Lady anymore. Beneath the great scarf, she looks like the sad, beautiful statue of the Virgin in church. The lone figure that stands in the deepest shadows, lit only by the flicker of offered candles. There is silence except for the rising clatter of the horses hooves on the gray street. The caisson appears, the wheels of the wagon turning over the pavement. It carries the box that holds his body. Jackie stands, perfectly composed as it passes by. She does not weep. She is surrounded by a forest of tall men in dark overcoats, tears glistening on their cold faces.
"They're hypocrites," my mother says, her voice spitting mad. "Just last week, Ed Billard was sitting in Cadwell's Coffee Shop, sitting at the counter, telling everybody what a joke Kennedy was. And all the men were agreeing with him, telling him anybody could be a better President. And then, when this happened, I went there, and there they were, all those men that hated the President and everything he stood for. And there they were, every last one of them, crying like babies, crying in their coffee. They didn't even like him. And now he's dead and you'd think they lost their father!"
"Hush now, Lauris," my father says, patting my mother's hand, trying to soothe her.
"Hypocrites! They wanted him dead and they got their wish."
No one knows what will happen next. Will Russia attack us? Will someone try to shoot the Vice-President? No one really knows what is going on. Security guards are everywhere in the capital, stationed on top of buildings, moving through the crowds.
And yet, I can only think of the photograph in a magazine, of the three Kennedy brother--Edward, John, and Robert--coming up out of the ocean. They had been swimming and a photographer took a picture of the three in their swimsuits. They were so handsome, so muscular. I felt something so powerful when I looked at that picture. Each time I picked up the magazine, I turned to that page, again and again and again. I was afraid that someone would see me and ask me why I kept staring at that picture. And now, I look at the gray pictures on the television, and all the sadness and I can't think of anyone but him, coming up out of the sea, strong and young, the light gleaming on his body like diamonds. I liked him so much I can't think of anything else. Not anything.
I look at my parents. I see their gray hair. They are old, and they are growing tired. I want things to be young again. I'm so afraid that nothing will be young again.
He is not here anymore. You must not think of things that are not here anymore.
- End -
© "It Is A Cold, Clear Day" is copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
[1] Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him.
Cool Idea + Available Technology = Suggestion of Things to Come
We've just begun to realize the potential for pulling together and applying available information. More often than not, this happens when someone has a neat idea, and then adapts available technology, creating a new application, one that might catch on everywhere.
A "little bird" just sent me this announcement, and I thought I'd post it, just to give you an example of what I'm talking about:
What do you get when you combine a great idea from a University of Alberta Grad Student, collaboration amongst some of Canada's leading developers, open data from Environment Canada, and the participation of Canada's leading Open Government activist, and Microsoft?
You get Emitter.ca (http://www.emitter.ca/), an application that was developed using open data from Environment Canada and the provincial and federal government that provides pollution information of neighbourhoods across Canada. Emitter.ca mashes up Environment Canada data with Provincial and Federal riding information from http://vote.ca and http://howdthevote.ca so citizens can get the scoop on pollution levels in their area. The application is powered by PHP on Windows, SQL Server & BING maps and built by Microsoft Canada OPEN LAB.
Emitter.ca is really a labor of love by an A-team of open data and environment activists across Canada who took an idea captured on the back of a napkin and made it into a real live application. Complete cast of participants below:
Matthew Dance: Environment activist, graduate student at UofA, and a board member of a number of Environment org's and working groups, Matthew is the brains behind the idea for Emitter.ca
David Eaves: Canada's leading open government proponent -- David envisioned Emitter.ca as a collaboration project, and helped put together the cross-Canada team who worked together on this project, and steered the application from concept to implementation.
Nik Garkusha: Open Data enthusiast, Open Source Strategy Lead at Microsoft Canada, started the Open Lab to drive & support innovation projects like Emitter.ca, took on the role of application architect
Aaron McGowan: Open data advocate, founding/organizing member of OpenDataLondon, student at Fanshawe in London, ON & open data hacker -- took on the role as a lead developer on Emitter.ca
Mark Arteaga: Mark led the project management and oversaw development for Emitter.ca, coordinating across a variety of open source and commercial technologies to make Emitter.ca come to life
If you want more information on this, check out:
Photo of bird taken with Nikon camera and fab lens. If you want to know more, check out:
D300s - http://www.nikon.ca/en/Product.aspx?m=17350
There's also a variety of other resources available at the following links:
Guides – attached for ease of reference and also available for download
Blogs – allow readers to engage directly with TELUS
Videos – provide step-by-step instructions to businesses
(Photograph of bird by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved)
[Note: "In 1982, I set out to give a very public demonstration of something called 'electronic publishing'. I announced that I intended to write a novel on something called a personal computer, and send it via electronic network to a databank. From there, the databank's subscribers could call it up and read it on their computer screens, no matter where they were located. To put the following article by William French into perspective, in 1982, twenty-eight years ago, most business offices created correspondence on typewriters. The typed paper letters were then placed in envelopes, stamped, and mailed. E-mail had just been introduced in certain large corporations, but it wasn't yet associated with sending creative writing, such as novels.
In 1982, the Internet was used by a limited number of the military, scientists, and academics and its vast expansion and popularity would not begin until 1992, a full decade later. The personal computer had become available to consumers, but few owned one, and most had no real idea what it could be used for. The idea of writing a novel on a computer and sending it electronically was generally regarded as 'science fiction'. Most in the publishing industry thought my event little more than an amusing prank. In 1982, less than 30 years ago, the idea of paperless publication was considered truly preposterous by most publishers." -- Burke Campbell, October 2010]
Published in the Globe and Mail, Canada's National Newspaper
Tuesday, September 28, 1982
"The Kitty Hawk of the post-publisher era?"
by William French, book reviewer
The world's first globally published novel will originate in Toronto seven weeks from now and will be sent instantly to the ends of the earth by computer network. Whether Toronto will thus become the Kitty Hawk of the post-publisher era or merely the scene of a clever stunt will be a question for future historians to decide. Publishers and booksellers, whose services would be eliminated if computer publishing took over, don't seem unduly worried.
On Nov. 14, writer Burke Campbell will sit down at a word processing machine linked to a computer and, in the next 72 hours, produce the historic novel. All he'll say about his plot is that it may be about the end of the world, as we know it. Campbell was a strong finisher in the 1981 Three-Day Novel Writing contest, and feels he works best under pressure.
On Nov. 17, the novel will be fed into various computer networks in North America, Europe and other continents and be instantly available to subscribers. Tho9se with home computers and print out facilities will be able to have the novel delivered into their living room, yard after yard. In the United States, Source Telecomputing Corp., one of North America's largest data banks, has agreed to make the novel available to its 25,000 subscribers.
"I'm not saying publishers, bookstores and agents will vanish," Campbell says, "but they are archaic concepts. A lot of people once thought the papyrus roll would never be replaced. The new technology allows the artist to speak directly to his audience. You don't need to leave your home--I can send my book right into your living room. It's very simple, really. Why bother with a publisher when you've got a personal computer? The invention of the printing press meant the church was no longer in charge of knowledge, and now the personal computer takes knowledge out of the hands of the elite and gives it to the many." Or at least as many as can afford home computers.
Campbell, who writes for CBC Radio's Nightfall horror series, took his idea for a global novel to Apple Canada Inc., which agreed to provide the necessary computer equipment and arrange for the networks. While writing the novel, Campbell plans to surround himself with the same accoutrements that helped ease the anxieties of creation during the Three-Day Novel contest. He'll arrive as the scene, the Artculture Resource Centre at 789 Queen Street West, in a chauffeur-driven limousine and open a bottle of champagne to unglue the Muse. In attendance will be his valet, masseuse, secretary and personal photographer. In keeping with the auspicious nature of the event, theatre designer Michael Eagan will design Campbell's wardrobe, and Emilio's restaurant will do the catering. Campbell insists that great art is born of great pleasure.
"By creating an environment of extreme pleasure I can get more writing done in three days than I normally could in a year," Campbell says. "Being waited on hand and foot, I can be unburdened of all problems. It's a poisonous myth that writer must suffer for his art."
Campbell has requested that he not receive any payment or royalties for his novel and it will immediately enter the public domain. The novel will be available free, except for a small transmission fee that may be charged by some transmitters. In normal circumstances, he explains, a novel distributed by a computer network would be stored in a data bank and the author would receive a fee each time it was withdrawn by a reader.
What will happen if Campbell writes a lousy noel that no one will read, free or not? He scoffs at the possibility, mentioned the radio dramas and short stories he has written, his speed at the keyboard--like Balzac, he writes very quickly, he says--and his ability to concentrate.
A native of Texas, he was raised in the rich oral tradition of the U.S. Southwest and learned to tell stories with proper dramatic effect, not giving away the punch line until the end. But without publishers and editors, what about standards? Won't anyone with access to a computer terminal be able to send junk through the network? The standards will be set by the consumers, Campbell argues; they'll know which "books" they like and which they don't like, and will become discriminating. "The church said the same thing after the invention of the printing press. They thought putting knowledge in the hands of the serfs would debase it."
What about the language problems involved in worldwide distribution of a novel written in English? No problem; many computers have translation capability.
Campbell doesn't know how many countries will be involved in the network, nor the size of his potential audience because negotiations are still going on. But he has visions of readers in Africa, Australia, France and elsewhere all reading his novel on the night of November 17. And I have visions of curling up with a good book--W. Jackson Bate's biography of Samuel Johnson would be just fine. The eighteenth century never looked better.
- End -
What follows is merely a scan of the above article:
That Lovely Hat
She had seen the hat in the window of the millinery shop and had fallen in love with it. There was something about it that made her happy just to look at it. The size, shape, and color suited her. Even Lily, the shop's owner said so. And if Lily said 'that's the hat for you!' she was right, and you were guaranteed of getting compliments on it the first time you wore it. But when Lily told her the price of the hat, the woman was very surprised. It was far more expensive than any other hat. A salesman had shown it to Lily and she had found it 'irresistible', despite its cost. It was unique, the only one in the city, something perfect for a window display, to draw in the customers.
The woman reached to remove it from her head. She'd never spent that much on a coat, let alone a hat! But Lily stopped her, saying, "I've never seen anything look so good on you. That hat was made just for you!"
Viewing her reflection in a mirror, the woman relented. "Better to spend more and buy something you like," the shop owner advised as she wrapped the small hat in bright tissue paper and placed it so carefully inside a golden hat box. The woman felt proud as she left the shop, carrying her purchase. The sun was out and the hat box glinted in the light, and the delight she felt when she walked along the street seemed to affect people, who smiled at her, as if happiness called forth happiness in others.
When she reached her small house, she brought the box to the dining table, opened it and tried the hat on again. As she looked into the mirror, she was amazed at how it fit her, and framed her face in a way that made it, well, not beautiful, but... She could not put it into words, but the hat helped her express something inside her, something she could not ordinarily show people. There was, after all, this shyness that would often come out of no where and nip her words. If someone said something that pleased her, she could only offer a thin smile in return. She wanted to say so much, but couldn't.
It soon became apparent, the hat was a wise investment. Like magic, the hat gave her confidence. It gave her courage. This delicate covering for her head invested her with the same sense of readiness felt by ancient Greek warriors, as they donned their helmets for battle. An exaggeration perhaps, but she did feel more regal, possessing a decisiveness she's never before known.
People who knew her were astonished at her transformation. The pensiveness, the reticence vanished. They began to see a warmth in her unassuming features, a sparkle that they'd never seen. It wasn't as if there was anything unattractive about the woman. She was just someone you weren't likely to notice. She even dressed in blank colors, as if to avoid attracting such attention. The new hat emboldened her in unexpected ways. She was more assured, her personality more compelling.
Although she rarely attended large gathering, she visited the opening exhibition at a local gallery, an event that attracted a varied and interesting crowd. Whereas she had always been quiet, now, she engaged others in conversation, displaying a genuine wit and charm. The woman impressed even the artist with her knowledge of paintings and watercolors. She wore the hat to that party, but later, even without it, she was seen as 'new person'. She dressed with greater pluck, and wore richer and more vibrant colors. She took a beautician's advice on cosmetics, and even visited a hair stylist. People began to include her in their affairs, inviting her to restaurants, parties, theatre and drinks afterwards. She had led a solitary life, and now, a very social one had suddenly opened. She took pleasure in deciding where to go and what to wear, whether a taxi was necessary. It was all very exciting. And as new faces offered her such rich company, she too, wished to reciprocate in every way.
But as the months wore on, although she became increasingly popular, a certain strained quality came into her smile, a hardly noticeable anxiety seem to play just beneath the surface. Naturally, she'd changed so quickly, who wouldn't be a little nervous! She found that all those years of quiet reading in the evenings provided her an astonishing asset. She could talk on any number of subjects, and no matter who she met, no matter what the topic; she was informed, repeating wonderful anecdotes in a manner that proved captivating.
It was gradual and at first, it wasn't noticed. Though her eyes remained luminous, the woman was growing thin and pale. Still, any spare time was taken up with social engagements. She went to a bridal shower, presenting the bride-to-be with a beautiful gift. Sweets and champagne were served, but an acquaintance noticed that the women had not touched her cake. Asking her in a discreet whisper, "Dear, you've grown so thin lately. Is something wrong? I do hope you're feeling alright." The woman did not shy from the remark. Instead, she agreed, "I know. At first I thought something might be wrong with me. But I've gone to the doctor and he says I'm fit as a fiddle. He's prescribed some vitamins. He says I'll be gaining weight in no time."
That was the last party she attended. After that, while she remained constant in her behavior, she was seen less and less. She accepted invitations only to cancel them at the last moment, making some vague excuse. Then two months after the party, she wasn't seen at all.
The cabinets were clean and completely bare. The stove was polished and unused. She was so thin, her face was almost unrecognizable. From what the doctor could tell, she had intentionally starved herself to death. When asked why he didn't notice her weight loss, he replied that he had not seen her in quite a while, and that she had never booked any appointment.
The hat she so loved sat on a small table, in front of a mirror, by the door, as if she'd intended to put it on just as she was going out. The golden hat box, however, sat on the dining table. When opened, it revealed the bills, so many, all marked 'past due'. There was one from the expensive shop where she had bought a bridal gift. There was even a personal note from the owner of a hat shop, asking for payment.
- The End -
© copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved. All writing and photograph by Burke Campbell.
Naked and covered by sheets, my legs strapped to the top of the narrow table, I lay surrounded by a team of doctors and medics. In a few moments, I would fall unconscious, placing my faith (and my insides) into the hands of our health care system. This was to be a routine procedure, but suddenly I felt vulnerable. Would everything work? Or would I awaken to find that things hadn't gone as planned. My courage failed me. I was about to ask for a delay but just then, I blacked out.
For years, headlines have heralded the decline of our health care system. Newspapers and television programs routinely report dire concerns about the quality of patient care, line-ups for treatment, not to mention a shortage of health care professionals. Listening to this litany of woes, I grew fearful I might one day depend on this 'inadequate system' for more than my yearly check-up. These concerns remained rather abstract until a few months ago. I had just stepped out of the shower and while drying myself, I noticed a small bump just below my waistline. There on my left side and partially concealed by the hair around my genitals, is a swelling about half the size of a hen's egg. Although lean and in good health, but middle-aged in my late fifties, I know it is prudent to consult my family doctor. At his office, I lay on a table while he examines the painless bulge. Instead of pressing on the left-sided lump, he presses on the opposite side of my lower belly. Then, he asks me to cough. When I do, the lump balloons to nearly twice its size. The doctor announces, "It's a hernia.""
A hernia is simply the protrusion of an organ (small or large bowel, ovary, etc.) through a weakness in the abdominal wall. This weakness can be congenital or incurred by strenuous exercise or heavy lifting, causing a separation or tearing of the outer muscle wall. The body can't heal the tear on its own and the hernia only gets worse, often creating excruciating pain. Surgery is the solution. Common to both men and women, approximately 600,000 hernia repair operations are performed annually in the United States.
My family doctor referred me to a surgeon at a nearby downtown hospital, St. Michael's. There, the surgeon confirmed I had an 'inguinal' hernia, because of its location in the area of the groin. For nearly two months, I delayed any action. Finally, I plucked up my courage, called the surgeon's office and told them I wanted to proceed. I assumed there would be a long waiting time. Instead, my surgery was scheduled to occur within two weeks. At a pre-operation assessment the next week, which lasted for about 90 minutes, I watched an instructive video of what to expect the day of the surgery, a nurse answered all my questions and advised me on pre-and-post-operation care, what I could do for myself. These included diet tips to speed recovery, the need to rest and walk, stockpiling groceries or getting someone to do that for me, and the all-important rule: do not lift anything over ten or fifteen pounds until you're fully healed, which can take six to eight weeks.
Only one week later, I arrived at the hospital at 8:00 am. With almost no waiting, I was taken from room to room, given a hospital gown, checked, and asked a number of questions relating to allergies, medical history, and so on. I'd answered many of these same questions before, but there is redundancy built into the system to avoid misunderstanding or confusion. I'm articulate, but many who come into hospital have communication problems because of language barriers, or because they are injured and unable to give vital information. As it turns out, I have an allergy to fish and so an anesthetic was used which does not contain iodine, a chemical common in seafood.
At 10:00 am, I was walked to the operating room, strapped to a narrow bed which resembled a Latin cross with moveable arms. The room gradually filled up with several doctors and nurses. An IV was placed in one hand and with my left hand, I was allowed to hold a mask to my face and breathe oxygen. I was asked to point out where I was to be operated on, just to confirm what was already noted. At this point, the anesthetic took hold and I passed out, waking up around three hours later. The nurse brought me water, coffee, and cookies. I was told it was time to go and the hospital called a number I had given them. A friend showed up within an hour. I was placed in a wheel chair and taken down to a waiting cab. I was also given prescriptions for painkillers and laxatives, since the painkillers and lack of locomotion make you constipated.
I felt worse the day after the operation, but by the third day, I was truly on the mend. A week later most of pain had subsided. Through the whole process, I was wonderfully impressed with all the nurses and doctors and orderlies I encountered. Except for the occasional delay, the hospital I was at operated like a well-oiled machine. No one was rude, and everyone was helpful. The overall experience made me feel secure, which is very important if you're sick or feeling vulnerable. Before I left, the attending nurse gave me the phone number of a surgeon-on-call, should I feel there was a problem.
Speaking with a friend who has recently undergone two serious operations, we are both grateful for such a remarkable health-care system. And from our experience, a system that is both functioning and far superior to many others in the world.
THE END
© copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
A Civilised Confession
I was lonely and he was very beautiful.
Naturally, that doesn't excuse me. Life is supposed to teach us something, isn't it? Logically, there were many reasons for me to suspect his motive. But if you could have seen his face and the manner in which we met, I think that you could understand how it happened. Even you.
But you must realize, I did take precautions. Once burned, twice warned?--isn't that the expression? And Lord knows, I was nearly a charred ruin after so many escapades, so many 'adventures'.
Truly, I swear, it all started by accident! There was this problem, this 'incident' over my reservations. There was a mix-up in dates, or some such nonsense. They simply couldn't understand--or wouldn't understand! And the manager of the hotel had such an accent, I couldn't understand a word! So things got worse and worse, and I was at my wits end trying to sort out the muddle. And then suddenly, at the moment of my utter despair--he appeared, with his concern. His genuine concern. And it was genuine.Â…
His face was so handsome. Instinctively, one is suspicious of beautiful people. They know how to get what they want, don't they? But the eyes never lie. His face was innocent but his eyes knew much more...yes. They knew something of deception and hurt. We didn't speak. That was the other thing. He merely said something to the manager, and then everything was fine. My baggage was taken up to my room. I thanked him, but he merely indicated that we should step into the lounge, to celebrate my little victory. And we sat there, the pure sun filtered by pale louvers, white light on foliage; our cool drinks, and his shyness, politeness. He was from wealth. It was obvious.
Money? He never carried money. The rich never do. But his clothes were the best, his suits, his oxford shoes. Really, very prim for such a hot climate. But a man of good breeding ignores the weather, doesn't he? Neat and attentive at all times, and he knew how to treat a companion. He knew that very well.Â…
Like myself, he was a visitor. Again, we didn't talk much...but, I could tell he wasn't interested in discussing his family, business, the past, it all seemed unimportant. He was young and he wanted his world to be young, too. And yet, it was wise of him to need someone with some experience, some advantage of age. The world is a dangerous place, sometimes. Yes.Â… Very.
* * * *
I helped him, I think. He showed me the sights...we saw them together. And we shopped. I bought him gifts. He picked blossoms for me. Red ones. White. Once, he asked me if I would marry again and I said, no...unless I was truly in love. If it was love, then I'd consider it. No, he didn't say anything. He just smiled, almost to himself, as if he had a secret, some wonderful secret he longed to tell me. Oh, I tried to leave. He tried to go. We scheduled and re-scheduled our separate departures until the travel agent went quite mad and said that we could both swim back home!
That...I don't recall. He had his luggage sent to my room, at my request. I never saw where he was staying. Not that I cared. I mean, if one loses the ability to trust, what else is there? What?...
You see, I discovered something very important. One must believe in certain things: love, trust, compatibility. One must. Nothing, no person, can destroy--! What I mean to say is: lies are spoken every day, aren't they? And then one day, one evening late, one must prevent the lie from being spoken. Too much is at stake.Â…
Who knows? Perhaps he truly cared for me. But I had decided the purpose of this vacation long before I arrived. I knew he, or someone like him, would be waiting, would show up, unannounced. I knew I would feel an attraction. And yet this time, I wouldn't feel ashamed. This time, I wouldn't know regret. No, not this time because this time I was not after anything but a moment of justice. Just one little moment of retribution for all the little lies. You understand, more than my vanity hung in the balance.Â…
We had made love. The moon was a perfect opal in the sky. And its light was all that clothed him. That, and shadow... At dawn, I knew that he would wake me and ask for my hand in marriage. I knew also that he had hocked one of my presents; traded it for a ring. I didn't want him to suffer. You can tell by the precautions that I took that he never woke. I was not after that type of revenge. If I had waited, if he had asked me, I would have said 'yes'. We would have been married; we would have separated; I would have given him whatever he wanted. But this time, it was different.
No, I'm afraid things don't work that way. I'm sure it's hard to believe, but I was never under any suspicion. I had been careful and he, well, what shall we say? You see how much I trust you? How much I enjoy your company, to tell you such a thing? No, he was not a person of consequence. Let's just leave it at that. To tell you the truth, I can't even remember his name.
© 'A Civilised Confession' copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
© Photograph by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
Information on Nikon Camera: and Lens:
D300s - http://www.nikon.ca/en/Product.aspx?m=17350
The Reaching Out
I told him right at the start, half-jokingly of course, "I don't really care if you're making all this up. It takes genius to lie consistently." He smiled at this, that wonderfully charming smile. You see, he told these incredible stories about growing up in this rich family, about his military service, about his life now, as an expatriate. The thing was, as time went on, I came to believe everything he said. Oh, I know what you're thinking. But you have to realize, he never bragged about his upbringing or his wealth. He told me the details only when I pressed him and he answered without hesitation. It didn't matter what I asked, either. He always answered spontaneously, and with exact details. They were his memories, you see. He spoke truly. They did belong to him.
He had the mind of the most accomplished academic and could discuss a range of subjects that would astonish anyone. What did we talk about? The particulars of the Roman army, the art in the Vatican, recent developments in China, or the ups and downs of currency rates. You name it. But it was the stories of his sexual interests and exploits that fascinated me. Although he had the looks and the physique to attract whomever he wanted, he was never jaded. There was an innocent quality in his voice. The excitement had never faded. His eyes would light up like a kid's. There was something odd about that brightness, though. As if it were there to ward off some deep sorrow.
He had an explosive temper that would come out of nowhere. One day we quarrelled and I didn't speak to him after that. I hadn't seen him for three years when the call came from someone going through his belongings who had found a letter I'd sent him years before. They wanted to know if I'd like to have it back.
I discovered it had been all lies. He had no money, no degree from Harvard; no record of military service. He lived in a cramped little apartment and told everyone a story, each one different, unnervingly steady with his facts, though. The marvel of it was that he rarely lied for gain, or to benefit himself, or even to make himself appear important. It was just something he did, like breathing.
Most would say he was trapped in his own intrigue. But then, is that any different from me or you? He was in considerable pain and had found a way to manage it. You could say he was making it worse, living a life of pure fiction. After all, as it turned out, he had the magic to achieve anything he wanted. He didn't need to make things up. But to me, his only sin was that all that love got lost inside of him; his wholly invented life his last hope of reaching out. His death was a reaching out, you see, his arms wide even as he fell.Â…
The End
© copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved.
(All words and photograph by Burke Campbell)
Last week, Amazon.com announced that for the last three months, sales of books for its e-reader, the Kindle, outnumbered sales of hardcover books. In that time, Amazon noted, it sold 143 Kindle books for every 100 hardcover books, including hardcovers for which there is no Kindle edition. In short, books sales are rapidly transitioning from paper to digital form. For all intents and purposes, this signals the vanishing of the traditional publishing industry.
For me, personally, this comes as no surprise. In 1982, twenty-eight years ago, I staged a media event in Toronto to demonstrate something new called 'electronic publishing.' At that time, I told journalists that I planned to write a novella in three days. Then, the completed manuscript would be sent electronically to a 'databank' in the U.S. where it would be put 'online', making it available to the databank's subscribers. Today, this wouldn't raise an eyebrow. But less than thirty years ago, the very idea of writing on a screen, transmitting a work electronically, and having it read on yet another screen sounded like science fiction! To put this in context, in 1982, most people had no real idea what a personal computer was, let alone e-mail. The Internet was in existence, but used mainly by the military; a small number of scientists and academics. The Net would not become popular until the early 1990s, a full decade later.
Well ahead of the curve, my little Electronic Novel Event occurred, and news of an "all-electronic novel" was reported all over the globe. Years later, in 1997, I wrote about the 1982 event in the Financial Post, speculating on the impending collapse of the traditional book industry. I thought it might be of interest to post a scan of the article here, and under it, the same text, for easier reading.
Published in The Financial Post, December 20-22, 1997 regarding the Electronic Novel Event 1982.
e-novel idea
Long before the Net hit mainstream, a Canadian wrote the world's first electronic novel, Burke Campbell looks back at his Blind Pharaoh, which some critics called an intriguing stunt. They were only half right, the author says. It was staged for a rising star-- information technology.
by Burke Campbell
Fifteen years ago, in the fall of 1982, William French, then book critic at the Globe and Mail, surprised his readers when he grandly announced, "Whether Toronto will ... become the Kitty Hawk of the post-publisher era or merely the scene of a clever stunt will be a question for future historians to decide." The 'stunt' he was referring to was my self-staged event: I intended to write a novel on a computer, distributing it electronically to computer screens around the globe. My words would fly through cyberspace, by-passing the traditional middleman, the publisher.
Correctly, French noted in his column that, "Publishers and booksellers, whose services would be eliminated if computer publishing took over, don't seem unduly worried." Near the start of the 1980s, most publishers knew nothing about computers and networks, and did not realize their full potential. The hardware companies that sold the technology had only a limited idea of how or why their products might be used. A corporate manager told me bluntly, "So you want to send a book by e-mail? What's interesting about that? Who cares!" Undaunted, I forged ahead, securing grants, sponsors and making my event a very public affair.
On November 14, I arrived at an art gallery on Queen Street in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Surrounded by well-wishers and after several rounds of champagne, I began writing on an Apple III computer, generously donated by Apple Canada for the occasion. I lived well and wrote steadily for three days, at which time the completed manuscript (titled Blind Pharaoh) was sent electronically via phone line to Source Telecomputing Corporation, a databank outside of Washington, D.C. There, the 'book' was put online and made available to Source subscribers world-wide. One of the work's first readers was Henry Kisor, the book critic of the Chicago Sun-Times, who wrote, "Blind Pharaoh was, of course, a stunt--but a surprisingly handsome one," and went on to speculate about the new technology and the future of print publishing. Further, the creation of the "all-electronic novel" triggered a United Press International story and nabbed coverage in major newspapers and magazines all around the world. Radio stations called from across the U.S. requesting interviews with "the electronic author."
At the time, a few far-sighted publishers felt that computers would gradually influence their staid industry over a span of, say, 50 or 100 years. In fact, the changes came swiftly, with traditional publishers resisting them even when they were beneficial. Today, publishers often blame the rising cost of paper for higher book prices. Yet closer scrutiny suggests it is their archaic practices that are as much to blame. As Henry Kisor observed in 1982, "More and more authors are writing books on computers, using floppy disks to store their writing. But they must send printed-out manuscripts to their publishers, most of whom are either too parsimonious or too nervous to explore the new technology for producing printed volumes, let alone electronic books. The words on manuscript printouts, already 'keyed in' once by their authors, must be re-keyboarded for setting type and proofread again--a wasteful process." Fifteen years later, publishers still compel writers through legal contract to provide them a double-spaced, typed manuscript even when it's easy to send and revise manuscripts via the Net, saving postage, time, and labor--not to mention paper. Unrepentantly inefficient, publishers continue to drive book prices up.
Computer technology influenced publishing by speeding up the manufacture and distribution of information. Significantly, it also altered the worth of information being published. New technologies permitted high-speed calculation, correlation, comparisons, analysis and distribution of all types of data, increasing the role and value of information in our economy. To maintain its value, this information had to be continuously updated. This, of course, spelled trouble for publishers who racked up huge profits making and selling educational textbooks. Once the shelf-life for information decreased, the contents of these heavy tomes could be rendered obsolete much more quickly, wiping out their re-sale value. In some cases, students are turning to the Net for current information or for documents that can be printed on demand or to cull contents from a variety of sources. Again, publishers are just now awakening to this sea change in behavior.
In every form of publishing, whether electronic or paper-based, technological invention and innovations continues. Books--text and graphics--can be digitized, sent via the Internet, and printed and bound on-site, wiping out shipping costs. Further, with the spread of Net marketing and distribution, book-lovers can order and pay for titles at Web sites such as Amazon.com. Aspiring and professional writers can use Authorlink! (authorlink.com), a U.S. on-line global introduction service, not only for writers, but for agents, publishers, and producers, too. But these electronic initiatives are typically led by those outside the publishing establishment.
Looking back, my 1982 event seems oddly prescient. To me, however, the future appears more interesting. I'm confident that five years from now, in 2002, writers will still be writing and people will still be reading from both screen and page. But by then, I suspect, the traditional publishing houses will have lost significant market share to other players and other industries more competent to carry out their functions.
Words haven't changed, but the ways and means by which they reach us are strikingly different. Today, the written word, once anchored to the page, can fly around the world in the blink of an eye. And no one knows where its wings will take us.
- end -
Update:
I recently came across a posting by the accomplished Finnish photographer Kari Kuukka, in which he, too, speculates on the future of the publishing industry. I think you'll find his comments interesting. If you'd like to check out his ideas and photographs, follow this link:
http://kkuukka.wordpress.com/2010/09/03/deathwatch-of-our-daily-print/
(All photographs by Burke Campbell)
(All photographs copyrighted by Burke Campbell)
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I will raise a towering ziggurat by night
And rub each step with dreaming light;
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I will charge splendid birds to sing,
And gather growing seeds on gilded wing.
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I will ask the sun to light the sky
So that all earth-bound things might fly.
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I will order demonstrations of manly might
Exclusively for your delight.
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I will removed my hat
And approach a goddess cat
And request a thousand years of peace
So that through her charm, all conflict cease.
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I'll hang the moon lower, as near as a mile,
If you will but glance up, and smile.
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(All words and photographs by Burke Campbell)
(All photos by Burke Campbell except first shot of Deb Belinsky)
Millions of people watch sports, but few see them from the vantage of the Control Room.This is the nerve-centre, the big glassed-in room that sits atop the stadium, where crew conduct in-house broadcasts, control video and statistical boards, as well as make public address announcements.
It's definitely a man's world, except for Deb Belinsky, who sits, overlooking the vast arena. It's Deb's task to orchestrate the game's live and recorded entertainment, that surrounds and involves the fans, pumping up the volume and the drama.
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From her mega-view, Deb works like a movie director, script in hand. She knows what music to play, but alters it in an instant, depending on the ever-shifting moods of the game. It's the same with the visuals, the various screens that dominate the stadium.
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"We're in charge of everything except the game," Deb explains, which often includes the custom-designed cheerleading, dance numbers, prizes, announcements, and awards handed out before and during the breaks. Her services are sought all across North America, for everything from hockey to baseball to any big sports event.
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It all started in the early 1990s, in Winnipeg, when Deb and her business partner, Cheryl Benson-Guanci, attended a hockey game and noticed how disconnected the background music and visuals were to the action on the ice. "Everything that was going on in the background was distracting, dividing up the crowd's attention. None of it complemented the game itself."
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The two women realized how they could make entertainment integral to the action, and this would work across a season to build audience loyalty. They prototyped ideas in Winnipeg and then took the concepts to California. "We talked with Disney Sports Enterprises, who then owned the NHL Mighty Ducks of Anaheim. They liked what they heard. Suddenly, we were networking in the vast American market."
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They were in the right place at the right time. Deb notes: "Stadiums were just introducing giant video boards, generating revenues from advertising. We showed how animation, film, and music could be synchronized to suit the action on the field, enhancing the total experience for spectators." As time went on, Deb moved more into production and broadcasting, while Cheryl has moved more into film and music. Last year, Deb was in Tampa, Florida, working during the baseball World's Series. Returning to Toronto, for a stint with the Blue Jays, Deb invited me and a friend to enjoy a game, sitting with her in the Control Room. I brought my camera, hoping to catch a few cool shots. It was an amazing experience!
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You can learn more about Deb Belinsky, and the team at The DCB Group at: http://www.thedcbgroup.com
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Ken and Boxer enjoy a telephone conversation about the dishwasher and other matters related to the same...
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"Boxer?"
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"Yes."
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"It's Ken. Did I wake you?"
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"Now?"
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"Yes, were you asleep?"
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"...no...no, I'm awake."
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"Boxer, I was just wondering, are you doing anything today?"
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"Today?"
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"Yes, today. I mean, other than deal with your creditors, for instance."
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"Well...I do have to..."
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"You see, Boxer, the reason I'm calling is I have this dishwasher. And it needs to be fixed. And the department store that I bought it from is sending over someone to do the repairs."
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"Oh."
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"But I can't sit here all day, waiting for the repairman. So I was wondering if you could come over and let him in."
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"Do I have to do anything?"
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"No, you just have to sit and wait for him and let him in. You see, since I'm only a half a block from home, if he would call me on his cell phone, I could dash home and let him in. But the department store said they don't do that."
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 "Why not?"
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"I don't know why NOT! I don't understand any of THIS! First I buy the dishwasher. Then, the "pick-up department" comes over in a truck and takes the old dishwasher away. Then on another day, the "delivery department" brings the new dishwasher and installs it. And then, today, the "repair department" is sending out someone to fix the DAMN THING! The machine cost almost nothing compared to the servicing it requires. The servicing is driving me into DEBT!"
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"Well, if the dishwasher didn't cost that much, they couldn't be making that much profit off it."
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"Of course not! Â They're making a profit off the services."
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"Maybe that's why they make machines that don't work."
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"No. That's why they make machines that are BARELY FUNCTIONAL. They work just enough to give you the impression they might work, if they were fixed!"
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"But they can't be."
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"Of course they CAN'T BE FIXED. Not truly. And you know why? Because they're CRAP!  Our society makes crap, sells crap, and then services the HELL out of the crap! I've got to sit down. Look, my hands are shaking! This whole thing has turned into a nightmare. You don't have a dishwasher, do you?"
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"No."
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"And do you know why you don't have a dishwasher?"
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"I have no money?"
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"EXACTLY! You're poor! The poor have earthly NO IDEA what STRESS money can bring."
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"I did have a dishwasher, I mean, once I had one. When I was young."
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"Oh?"
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"Pearline."
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"Is that a brand name?"
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"She was our maid. She didn't break down. At least, I didn't see her break down."
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"When are you going to answer my question?"
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"What question?"
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"Are you doing anything today?"
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"No."
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"Alright. Good, then. Now. Can you come over and sit here until the repairman comes?"
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"I guess so. You don't want to wait for him?"
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 "Boxer, as you well know, I run a multi-million dollar business. Would it be wise of me to abandon my staff and all of my duties just to sit here? Wouldn't it be wiser to get someone who isn't doing anything to sit here and wait? Wouldn't it?"
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"Is this a trick question?"
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(To be continued)
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[All writing copyrighted by Burke Campbell. Photo by Burke Campbell]
Over a year ago, I interviewed Warren Brander for the Financial Post. Warren's a Canadian entrepreneur and he runs a Vancouver-based company called Derma Wise Skin Care. The firm manufactures and markets Théra Wise, a line of personal care products that includes a decongestant rub, and ointments for skin irritation and inflammation, acne, and hemorrhoids. These treatments are based on traditional Chinese medicines and are made from plant extracts.
I'd like to say I'm skeptical of the ancient wisdom of the East. And I'm not the type of person who stands in the drug store aisle, scrutinizing the listed ingredients on every label. Having said that, I took up using Théra Wise ointments, in particular the Natural Skin Healing ointment. It's quite terrific, and I really like the scent, which is curiously pleasing. On my skin, it stops irritation, appears to promote healing, and feels damn good. Skin is my largest organ (I looked this up) and I feel that people should appreciate and love their largest organ.
In summer, folks get active and tend to get cut, scraped, bruised, and bug-bitten. So, if you'd like to try something new, and 'all-natural', you should check out Théra Wise. To assure quality, Warren's formulas are manufactured in Canada, which has strict laws governing ingredients and production.
For more information, check out: Théra Wise: http://www.therawise.com
A strange short story about a visitor, on a very special day...
The Vampire's Birthday
 by Burke CampbellÂ
He kicked off his sandals, sat on the couch. The sun was now as high as it would get and the long walk along the beach had made him thirsty. That was my cue to open a bottle, pour something sparkling over ice. The tonic sizzled on the cubes, causing them to spin in the tall glasses.Â
When he first came to the door, I'd been friendly, and when asked, offered him free use of the telephone. He dialed, said the line was busy, but he seemed in no particular rush to make another call. We sat for a while, enjoying our drinks, lost inside an interesting silence. "Would you mind if I took a shower?" It's not the sort of thing a stranger would ask, but he was very casual about it. He didn't have a tan. I imagined he wasn't used to the sun, and needed to cool off.
"Be my guest," I said. "You'll feel refreshed."
 This concerned him. "Do I look tired?"
 "Just a bit. Did you sleep well last night?" Â
"Sleep? Oh, maybe not."
He seemed preoccupied as I handed him a towel, showed him to the bath. In his absence, I made myself busy, wiping off the bar, putting hydrangea in the blue vase. All the while, I could hear the water in the shower, the sharp spray stinging the back of his neck. I decided to make sandwiches. As I stood, slicing a loaf, I noticed he'd left his windbreaker by the phone. The jacket was white, a small black address book peaking out of one pocket.
Through the glass, I could see the silver waves coming in, one after the other, as if their timeless magic had become automatic, almost. Again, I could hear the water in the shower and imagined it spilling down his long pale body.
I sat back on the couch; kept an eye on the bathroom door. With one quick reach, I slipped out the little black book, read the addresses, numbers; a note here and there in the margin. I found my name, right at the end, my unlisted number...and the word, 'today' scribbled very small, in pencil.
I had a smoke; watched the shiny waves come in. Finally, he emerged from the bath, toweling his hair. He was naked as he entered the room. No, I wasn't surprised. It's odd, but we were each very comfortable with being strangers, and knowing we'd stay that way. He walked towards the glass, stood with his back to me, staring out at the sea. I was about to ask him how he came to have my private phone number, but just then, he turned.
"It's my birthday," he said.
 "I know."
 "How?"
 "You're wearing your 'birthday suit', aren't you?"
He gave a grin that turned into a smile. I'd never seen anyone smile so warmly, and it made him extraordinarily handsome.
"It's my birthday, too," I told him. "Didn't you know?"
 "No, of course not." He looked me in the eye. "How could I? I mean, we've never met."
 I drew closer. "Birthdays are very special days aren't they?"
"They certainly are," he agreed, holding my look. "And since you've been so kind to me, I hope you'll accept something."
"From you?" I said.
 "Yes. A gift." Suddenly, he seemed quite shy; strangely vulnerable. "It's something to show my appreciation, for your hospitality."
He stayed the rest of the afternoon. As it turned out, the less we knew of each other, the more comfortable we became. He was solitary by nature, but every once in a while, he craved companionship. He'd promised me a 'gift' for my birthday, but left without giving me one. It was not until your arrival that I realized what it was, and its value. Don't you see? He could have killed me just as easily as he did all the others. Certainly, that's the impression I get from what you've said. Looking back, I think it's rather obvious his 'gift' is the only reason I'm still alive.
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© The Vampire's Birthday, copyright by Burke Campbell. All rights reserved. Photo by Burke Campbell.
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(All photos: Burke Campbell)
By the end of watching Christiaan's astonishingly inventive video, I knew he was headed for stardom. I had accidentally run into a truly original talent. Now, after nearly six months in hospital, Christiaan is to be released. Not only is he recovered, but he has several hit videos on YouTube. From his hospital bed, he's been interviewed by the international media (he received extensive coverage in Canada) and has well over 20,000 loyal fans on Facebook. I'm quite sure we'll hear much more of Christiaan in the future.
