Writers’ rights with Moral Rights – a quick guide

A reader asked the other week what ‘Moral Right’ meant. It’s an interesting area for writers.

Wright_SydneyNov2011Moral right differs from copyright. You own copyright on anything you create, by default. The copyright holder, alone, has the right to copy the work, but also has the power to grant a license to others to do so. When you sign a publishing contract, you – as copyright holder – are granting them a license to reproduce your material. Usually the copyright holder receives a royalty for each copy sold under that license. However, copyright is transactable – you can sell that copyright, along with the licenses, to somebody else. Then they get the royalties from the sales of the work.

That’s how the Beatles’ back catalogue ended up with Michael Jackson, for instance. It’s also how the film rights for The Hobbit ended up where they did, because apparently Tolkien sold that particular right in 1969 to pay a tax bill.

Moral right is different. The Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, issued in 1928,  defines it (article 6) as: “Independent of the author’s economic rights, and even after the transfer of the said rights, the author shall have the right to claim authorship of the work and to object to any distortion, modification of, or other derogatory action in relation to the said work, which would be prejudicial to the author’s honor or reputation.”

In other words, you have a right to be associated as author of your work – and a right to object to derogatory presentation of it, even if you’ve sold the copyright or signed a contract in which the copyright is owned by whoever’s commissioned the work.

The thing is, that right has to be actively asserted, which is why you often see the line ‘The author’s moral rights have been asserted’ on the imprint page. Sometimes, it may reflect only partial assertion of that right, and will say so – ‘The author’s moral right to be named as author of this work has been asserted’.

Publishers are well aware of it – which is why many include a clause in contracts stating that a line like this will be on the imprint page. It’s important. Copyright can be sold; moral right cannot, and it is reasonable that authors are not subjected to derogatory presentation of their work, even if it’s reprinted later.

Although most nations have signed, or recognise, the Berne Convention, the specifics of moral right in law differ from country to country.

My advice? I’m not an attorney or lawyer, but I figure asserting moral rights is part of the writing deal. Check out the precise details in your jurisdiction. If in doubt, consult your lawyer on it.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

 

And now, some shameless self promotion: My history of New Zealand, now available as e-book.

Also available on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/nz/book/bateman-illustrated-history/id835233637?mt=11

Buy the print edition here: http://www.batemanpublishing.co.nz/ProductDetail?CategoryId=96&ProductId=1410

Science says we’re all doomed. Neatypoos.

We’re all doomed, apparently. A NASA-backed science study says so.

Artists impression of a GRB. Zhang Whoosley, NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

Apocalypse: if Earth’s hit by that white beam, we’re dead. D-E-A-D. Dead. Artists impression of a GRB. Zhang Whoosley, NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

That’s more credible than stupid ideas about Mayan calendar dates (the world ended on 21 December 2012…didn’t it?) or the teachings of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (world’s end in 2010), or the deranged spoutings of former French pharmacist, Michel de Nostradame (1984 or 1997, depending on how you read it). I could go on…

We don’t have to look far to realise why this happens. Human fear of apocalypse seems universal – and as old as humanity. Stories flow through mythology. It’s cross-cultural; most societies seem to fear sudden destruction of all they know.

Certainly it’s rife today. We have the irrational doom-sayers – the ones who think it’ll happen tomorrow, without warning, let’s say courtesy of four ‘blood moons’ (that’s this year, apparently). Or we have the rational ones, who use mathematics to show that current civilisation is teetering on the edge.

That’s where the NASA-backed study comes in. Drawing on ancient Rome and the Mayan experience – when an apparently robust society suddenly collapsed – they’ve concluded that modern global civilisation is on the same course. The causes, apparently, are to do with iniquitous income distribution and climbing resource usage.

The idea’s not new; Jared Diamond pointed out, in Collapse, that humanity has a habit of exploiting environments to the ragged edge, then destroying them.

Eta Carinae. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

Eta Carinae. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

Couple that with meta-stable systems (systems that look stable, but actually sit in an easily disturbed equilibrium) and you have a recipe for trouble. A lot of the socially mediated systems we create do this, and that, in essence, is the current problem. Apparently. But I wonder.

It seems to me there are two sides to this. First, there’s our apparent common fear, as a species, that doom lies just around the corner. We all seem to think that way – the ‘apocalypse’ keys directly into our psyches in ways that other ideas don’t. Look at the popularity, today, of post-apocalyptic stories. It’s not just built into Western cultural philosophy. Indeed, it seems to be hard-wired into us.

That thinking gives credence to studies like the NASA one. It also cultivates idiot scare-mongering about mystery rogue planets. But where did this sort of thinking come from?

I have my suspicions.

The irony of all the scaremongering silliness is that from the science perspective we are staring down the barrel of a very real apocalypse in the form of another Carrington Event. But it never hits the popular doom radar.

The other issue is the credibility of the argument that we are, in fact, on course for doom by our own mis-doings or constructions. Longer term, I think we are. It’s obvious; humanity can’t keep on expanding without limit, exploiting resources and polluting the planet forever. We have to find another strategy. But I think we’ve already seen this one coming.

However, as for the idea of a catastrophic collapse – the abrupt demise of the social, political and economic systems on which western (and, of course ‘developing’) civilisation pivots? Somehow, I doubt it’s on the cards. Mostly.

Is belief in the apocalypse hard-wired into the human condition? How did that hard-wiring happen? And how can we think reasonably – dare I say ‘rationally’ – about it when we’re apparently hard-wired not to?

Your thoughts?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014 

Coming up: Apocalypses galore, writing tips, and more…

Where now, book publishing?

In 2012, New Zealand domestic book sales contracted 7 percent. In 2013, it was 15. That’s a compound drop, in just two years, of just over 23 percent against 2011 figures.

Spot my title in the middle...

Spot my title in the middle…

Small wonder the big international houses have been fleeing Auckland in droves – or reducing their presence to branches of their Australian office.

The New Zealand experience isn’t unique; there’s been a worldwide downturn in print books. It’s been a ‘perfect storm’, in fact – a combination of reduced discretionary spending on the back of the general financial crisis, coupled with the explosion of e-book readers, mostly in the form of hand-held tablets and phones. Their rise wasn’t entirely coincidental with the downturn – readers didn’t have $500 to fork out annually on books, but they did have $99 for an e-reader and $3 each for the titles that go with it.

For New Zealand, though, the issue was complicated by the implosion, a couple  of years ago, of the Whitcoulls chain. The chain was purchased and has been reconstructed under new ownership – but for a while it looked as if New Zealand might lose a third of its book retail  outlets. That provoked some heavily risk-averse decision making in publishers’ editorial offices; the change was palpable.

On top of that has come the typical Kiwi rush to technology – an explosion of e-readers, coupled with a thoroughly requited love-affair with online shopping. Book retailers here can’t compete with Amazon or The Book Depository – it’s an issue of volume coupled with the fact that overseas purchases don’t attract local sales tax.

One of the casualties has been the old publishing model. The New Zealand market was always miniscule – pushing up the cover price on books and making the overseas sales model always an ill fit anyhow.

Growth, when it comes, is going to have to pivot on the new principles of book publishing and selling – nimbleness, presence through multiple channels – electronic and print – and an ability to adapt quickly. It’s going to demand innovation, lateral thinking, and creativity.

History dead? Not when books like this sell so well.

History dead? Not when books like this sell so well.

It’s a case of the quick or the dead. Anybody remember Kodak?

I’ll blog later on where I think society has gone – and what that means for books, including how they’re published.

As for me? I’ve been told history is dead as a genre here in New Zealand – yet my history of railways sat for three months at No. 3 on the Whitcoulls best seller list last year.

At a time when some publishers are shutting their doors, I’m getting approaches from others wanting me to write for them. I have four titles coming up in the next twelve months.

Still, as far as I am concerned the need for innovation has never been greater. And I think that’s not just true for me – it’s true for all writers. More soon.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Coming up: More writing, publishing, science and other stuff. Watch this space.

Don’t complain about J K Rowling. Follow her lead instead.

The other day a novelist complained that J K Rowling was making it harder for other authors, and why didn’t she just stop?

By her own admission, this critic had never read a word of ‘Harry Potter’.

To me it came across as a ‘she’s had her turn, now it’s mine’ kind of argument.

From http://public-domain.zorger.comIt’s common enough in writing. I had something similar happen many years ago when I was working as a professional historian in Hawke’s Bay. A local history enthusiast rang up the local newspaper editor and actually told him I’d had my turn. Then she proceeded to gather up her enthusiast friends and conduct a public crusade against everything I did.

Not the worst display of malice I’ve been subjected to as a result of writing history, but the attitude was clear – ‘You’ve got my slice of pie, and I’m going to destroy you.’

Never mind that the targeted author actually created the slice that the rival author covets.

This is where ‘academic jealousies’ come from too. Ultimately, such selfish ambition highlights the darker side of the human condition.

It’s also entirely wrong. You see, the writing pie grows with its authors. We all have something to contribute. And if someone does so – spectacularly – then that’s good for all. Rowling is a case in point. There are kids who discovered reading through Harry Potter. She opened up a new world for them – a world where other writers get to add their part.

The same’s true for Rowling’s adult books. The publicity around them raises the profile of all books for all authors. ‘Hey guys – writing’s out here!’

See what I mean about the pie growing? It’s all to do with attitude. The people who get angry and want to destroy the success of others are the losers – they don’t realise that success is made. It isn’t handed out. And it isn’t a limited resource that must be taken off whoever has it.

Of course, human nature being what it is, that’s all too often what seems to happen. I’ve used writing as an example here – but it’s generally true.

My take? Don’t complain about people who’ve created something – knuckle down, do the hard yards, and join the fun, making sure you put your own original thought into what you’re doing. There’s more for everybody. And everybody wins.

Get that? Everybody wins.

A proverbial good thing. Isn’t it? Certainly better than jealously smashing something in order to deny it to its creator.

What do you figure?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014
Coming up: More writing tips, thoughts, science geekery and more.

Write it now: licensing your blog and book photos

One of the biggest hurdles in publishing – whether commercially, online, independently or by the big corporates – is navigating licensing requirements.

I commissioned the artwork for the cover of my 1998 book on the RNZAF. I still have the original painting. That meant I also had license to use it on the cover.

I commissioned the artwork for the cover of my 1998 book on the RNZAF. That meant I also had license to use it on the cover.

It’s especially true in this computer age, where we’re encouraged to copy – sites like Pinterest or Tumblr pivot on it. And, truth be told, a fair proportion of that copying WILL be infringement. The question is whether the owners object. Mostly, I suspect they won’t.

Other sites post content as an index/selector for licensed photos. That can be a trap for the unwary. I saw a story, a while back, about an amateur home web publisher who found a couple of images on the Getty library site. Used them, thinking ‘they’re on the web, therefore they’re free’ …and, about three months later, received an account at their commercial rate. Hideously expensive for an indvidual with a private website.

A lot of pictures are public domain – but it’s important to follow process to make sure. Copyright terms differ. In Britain it’s 75 years after author death. In New Zealand it’s 50 (counted at the end of the calendar year). In the US, it’s so complex you have to be an attorney to puzzle it out. Crown or government copyright is different again – in the US, for instance, government-created material can be freely used. But that’s not so in New Zealand or Britain, for instance.

Basically, if a picture isn’t public domain, you’ll need to license it. Or use your own.

It was easy to deal with the rights for the main photo on  the cover of my book Trucks. Why? I took it.

It was easy to deal with the rights for the main photo on the cover of my book Trucks. Why? I took it.

That applies to anything you publish – be it online in a website, or in a book (which, these days, is likely to be online). It’s especially important for book covers, where licensing fees are often special, reflecting the greater profile the cover has relative to internal pictures.

What’s more, even negotiating rights can carry traps. You aren’t buying copyright – you’re licensing the right to use a copyright image for a specific purpose. That can be time limited, or restricted to a specific publication. You don’t have free reign.

How to handle it? I am not a solicitor and this advice shouldn’t be taken to supersede or replace anything you may obtain professionally. Copyright laws also vary from country to country.

However, as a rule of thumb, there are basic principles it pays to follow. If you’re licensing a photo, make sure you have the rights you need. Some photo libraries also distinguish – even today – between print and e-publishing rights. Make sure you get both. Some online pictures also carry explicit terms for use with them – New Zealand’s online National Library collection, which runs to tens of thousands of images, does this.

If you’re commissioning artwork, make sure you have an agreement that transfers copyright to you. This is implicit in the act of commissioning, but it’s better to be explicit, these days. Also bear in mind that, if you use a separate designer, you’ll need the rights to that design too. That’s also implicit in any commissioning – but it pays to be explicit. A design using others’ licensed copyright material is, of itself, otherwise copyright to the designer as a ‘collage’. This is also why photographs are copyright to the photographer, even if they incidentally show material copyright to others within their composition (the key is ‘incidentally’).

It’s laborious and painstaking – and yes, it’ll cost. But it’s cheap by comparison with the cost of a post-fact scrabble to make good, when an aggrieved owner turns up with a copyright claim.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Coming up: More writing tips, history, science geekery and more. Watch this space.

Flagging away the Kiwi flag?

Last week a fresh debate erupted about New Zealand’s flag. It was prompted by the Prime Minister’s suggestion that we should look at a new one.

I’m cynical. The issue pops up perennially, and I can’t help thinking it’s deliberately trucked out, every time, to divert public attention from something more important. The symbolism and emotion attached to it isn’t in the league of (say) the US flag – but it still pretty much guarantees a bite.

Maori under the 'United Tribes' flag 1834. Watercolour by Edward Markham. (United Tribes Ensign, Waitangi). New Zealand or recollections of it. Ref: MS-1550-120. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. http://natlib.govt.nz/records/22776952)

Maori under the ‘United Tribes’ flag 1834. Watercolour by Edward Markham. Click to enlarge. (MS-1550-120. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. http://natlib.govt.nz/records/22776952)

The history’s interesting. New Zealand’s first flag was a modified maritime jack, adopted by Maori in 1834 at the behest of the British Resident, James Busby. The motive was administrative. By this time small ships were being built in New Zealand – but they weren’t attached to a country as a legal entity, and liable for seizure as unregistered. The issue came to a head in 1830 when the Hokianga-built Sir George Murray was seized on arrival in Sydney.

Busby’s answer was to have the ships locally registered and sailing under a New Zealand flag – which had to be attributed to Maori because there was no New Zealand colony. Henry Williams, former naval officer and one of the heads of the Church Missionary Society effort in the Bay Of Islands, designed several options. These were approved – back in Sydney – by the Governor. Samples were fabricated and sent back to New Zealand for Maori to select.

What Maori thought of it is unclear; the concept and symbolism was foreign to Maori society of the day. There is good evidence that when Busby confronted gathered rangitira (chiefs) with the flags, they politely picked one for him – but it didn’t mean very much in their terms.

A few years later, New Zealand became a Crown Colony and its flag – inevitably – the Union Jack, that amalgam of the crosses of St Andrew, St George and St Patrick that Britain adopted, fully, in 1801.

The current New Zealand flag was adopted in 1902, defined by the New Zealand Ensign Act. It came in context of New Zealand’s re-invention of itself as the ‘best of Britain’s children’ – a rah-rah age of social militarism and imperial patriotism in which New Zealand was ‘our country’, Britain ‘our nation’.

The flag captured it precisely – a Union Jack in one corner, floating in the four stars of the Southern Cross that symbolised New Zealand.  However times continued to change, and by the 1920s the sense of nationality-within-Empire stood at tension with New Zealand’s sense of itself.  That wasn’t resolved until the 1980s, when the ‘colonial cringe’ driven mind-set of being ‘Britain’s least best child’ was broken, decisively, by a new generation.

From that perspective there’s an argument to change the flag – but there are also counter-arguments, including the point that the flag has grown up with the country – it symbolises events integral to New Zealand’s own individual history and self-image.

The other question is what to change to. The usual proposal involves a silver fern on black background. But there are other idea,s and we can be sure that – even if change were implemented – somebody would complain.

If you’re a Kiwi, do you have an opinion about the flag? If not, what does the flag of your own country mean to you? Would you change it?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Coming up: Writing tips, geekery and more. Watch this space.

Write it now: title – the most vital words you’ll ever write

I’ve always held that the two or three most crucial words for any author are the first ones a reader sees – the title.

1195430130203966891liftarn_Writing_My_Master_s_Words_svg_medTitles have to be snappy, descriptive, catchy and short. With the cover design, they can make or break a book. They have to sum up the theme or aim – and that’s true of fiction and non-fiction. Non-fiction books often have a subtitle that further describes the content.

The phrase I’d use is ‘emotional capture’.

Figuring out the right words is one of the hardest tasks publishers ever face. Publishers? Absolutely. A publishing contract gives the power to assign title to the publisher. They ‘consult’ with the author – but that’s it. The reason is that publishing is a business, and publishers are the ones who have the sales records and a feel for the way something is going to work.

In this age of online self-publishing, that onus drops back on the author – who becomes publisher.

My books have gone through the trad system. Usually my title’s been close to my intent, though there was one time a book appeared with publisher title that accidentally matched the title of a rival book.

Another time I got into a discussion over the subtitle of my book on New Zealand’s convict-era adventures. My publisher’s marketing department wanted to call it ‘hidden’ or ‘secret’, by way of improving sales. I couldn’t fault the motive, but I objected to the word. The fact that Aussie convicts escaped across the Tasman to New Zealand in the 1820s was extremely well known – what I was adding was an understanding. What’s more, nobody usually knows the role publishers play in titles, I’d likely be credited with it.

Eleanor Catton’s comment that reviews in New Zealand are often used as devices for bullying is quite right. A large part of that is because the field is so tiny that books often get given to rival authors to review. I’ve learned in the past not to leave ‘easy kill’ options for reviewers hostile to my writing books in their private territory or field of employment.

But this time I was over-ridden… and was duly dealt to by reviewers for claiming a non-existent ‘hidden’ past. Sigh.

Have you ever wrestled with a book title?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Looking for the missing spirit of Christmas…with zombies…

We went to the local mall on Sunday. It was packed, of course, with the usual shopping zombies, their minds destroyed by the glitz and glam.

The Zombie Christmas Maul

The Zombie Christmas Maul

Whenever we visit the mall, She Who Must Be Obeyed forbids me to shuffle along behind them, matching their gait and murmuring “braaaaiiins….”

Well, I’m not forbidden, but she won’t walk hand-in hand if I do, instead she’s on the other side of the mall saying things like ‘I don’t know that weird guy.’

Being the weekend-before-the-weekend-before Christmas, there were a LOT of people shopping last Sunday, interspersed with cellphone-toting teens whose minds were miles away, and toddlers drifting aimlessly around the whole lot like the wayward satellites of some Jovian supergiant. Every so often, one of the squidlings would squeal with the exact pitch and timbre of a gym shoe being scraped across a polished floor.

Looking at the way everybody had been reduced to brainlessness by the pressure to buy, buy, buy for Christmas, I couldn’t help thinking we’ve lost something.

It’s Christmas. It’s a time for caring. A time for families. A time to think of others. A time – well, it’s Christmas Spirit, isn’t it.

What’s it become? A marketing frenzy. A shallow exercise in consumerism. A concerted effort to extract as much cash as possible from the wallets of many who cannot really afford it.

Here in New Zealand, the shops will be open right through Christmas Eve – and open again on Boxing Day when, inevitably, it will be ‘sale time’. I believe that’s true elsewhere too.

Where has the spirit of care gone? Your thoughts?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Coming up: Fun holiday stuff – with some history, geekery and writing stuff. Regular writing tips, science geekery, history… and more… returns in the new year. Watch this space.

Return of Revenge of Sauron – nooooooo!

The other week George R. R. Martin was reported as saying he wouldn’t license Westeros.

He admired the Tolkien estate for not licensing derivative works of The Lord Of The Rings. And I’m inclined to agree.

sleeping-man-with-newspapers-mdEven if a top-notch author is hired for the purpose, they will – because they are top-notch – put their own stamp on the story. And it won’t be the same as the original author’s. By nature. That’s good in a way; it’s adding something to the genre. But in others it isn’t, because it inevitably differs from the original concept the author had.

Martin is reported as hoping that some publisher, awash with cash, isn’t ready to commission a Lord Of The Rings sequel or prequel as soon as the Tolkien Estate gives the nod (which, I am sure, it won’t be any time in the foreseeable future).

I hope so too.

What concerns me about this sort of derivative work is where it’s done solely for the money – where a third-rate author is commissioned to do it, and often credited in tiny letters underneath the headline name of the original (dead) author. The writing that follows is often third rate too.

Of course I can’t fault publishers for wanting to make money. They’re businesses. They have to survive, and that’s getting ever-harder these days. Risk is something to avoid; a sure-fire best seller keying off a well known name is the only way to go. Apparently.

But is deriving ‘new’ stories that don’t match the quality of the original the way to do it? I doubt it. Any book, no matter what its origin, must push for the highest quality – it should attempt to lead, not merely fill a gap. It is from this leading edge that new markets are created – new demand for new material.

Regurgitating old material may be a way to make sure money in the short term, but it’s not a long-term method. That needs new material – new ideas, new concepts.

And yes, publishers have to take risks along the way. I mean, back in the early 1950s, who’d have imagined that a 650,000 word novel about the epic struggle between good and evil, as filtered through a nostalgic sense of English village life, might re-define fantasy literature? Rayner Unwin took a gamble with Tolkien. Early sales figures were dismal – and yet, well, what can I say?

It seems to me that the way ahead is by innovating a new awesome. Not trying to re-live the old. The only problem is that these things always emerge at the intersection between imagination and mass culture, which can’t be engineered. Efforts to do so always look contrived.

Your thoughts? Let’s talk.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Coming up: More writing tips, more humour, commentaries and fun stuff. Watch this space.

Why is the weather going mad? Humanity’s limitless stupidity, that’s why

The weather these past years seems to have gone mad, and not just in New Zealand – though here it’s been bad enough, we’ve had successions of intense storms with record-breaking wind speeds.

Wellington was in chaos for days after a ‘one in a century’ storm in June – our third in a decade – knocked out power to tens of thousands of homes, felled trees and smashed commuter infrastructure.

Two mornings after, and still raining. Photo I took of debris on Petone Beach. Storm surges drove timber from the Hutt river right up on to the road here.

My photo of debris on Petone Beach, June 2013.

The Dutch half of my family tell me that, over in the Netherlands, winter decided to give spring and summer a miss. It never warmed up until a couple of weeks before summer was due to end. Nothing seemed to stop the rain.

The Hutt river, looking south towards the rail bridge. Usually there's a lot more water in it than this.

Drought 2013, Hutt river. Usually there’s more water in it.

This week Boulder, Colorado, was awash with 1-in-1000 year floods – I picked the story up via blogs, and then news came of a couple of Kiwis living there who had to flee before the deluge. (Check out Susie Lindau’s blog, in my links. and Phil Plait’s awesome science blog ).

Meanwhile Japan – including the damaged reactor at Fukishima  - is being hammered by Typhoon Man-Yi. Half a million people have been ordered to evacuate.

I have an interest in understanding this because I’ve been writing a book on coal, environment and our attitudes (coming out next year). So is all this global storminess a coincidence? Mathematically, that’s possible. Random events – to human perception – appear to cluster. But there is a common cause. A recent analysis attributed about half the recent extreme weather to human-created climate change. Bearing in mind that ‘climate’ and ‘weather’ are not the same thing,  we’re facing the first obvious consequence of our 250 year crusade to dump fossil carbon into the atmosphere.

I’ll blog later about the science of climate change. To me, though, the way things are panning out reveals a great deal about the human condition.

My reasoning at the broadest level is this. We’ve been playing our usual trick of exploiting resources until they’re gone. That was an essential survival skill in the last Ice Age. Other species of human – the Neanderthals, the Denisovians, the ‘Hobbits’, all died. H. Sapiens alone survived – we had, it seemed, the ‘tude (it seems to have been a function of our greater ‘working memory’).

A diagram I made of where we think everybody was, mostly, using my trusty Celestia installation and some painting tools.

A diagram I made using my trusty Celestia installation and some painting tools.

It worked a treat when the human population was a few thousand. When environments were exploited, people moved on – or dwindled, as on Easter Island. But it got industrialised. World population was around a billion in 1800. Factories, locomotives, ships and households in burgeoning cities began pouring coal smoke into the air. Humanity began exploiting the environment not on a regional scale, but globally.

There was but one outcome – the biggest ‘own goal’ in the history of the world, and we’re staring down that barrel now. Into which, as far as I can tell, has swept that other component of the human condition; stupidity – intellectualised, given traction by its rational gloss. But still stupidity.

It’s evident in the way we’ve reacted to climate change. It’s been emotionalised, rationalised, politicised, reduced to catchechisms, polarised between ‘warmists’ and ‘deniers’. All for reasons that have little to do with science, and a lot to do with vested interest, political need, even personal conviction over what constitutes reality. All of it slowing efforts to understand what is happening – then take steps to fix it.

Look at it this way. Past biomass – mostly plants – built up over tens and hundreds of millions of years, has been dug up as coal, gas and oil, then burned in what, by geological standards, is an eye-blink. We’ve dumped the waste products of all those millions of years worth of ancient ecosystems into Earth’s current system in just 250 years – which, when we’re thinking on these scales – amounts to one swift hit. It’s like taking a century’s worth of household rubbish and trying to jam it into a bag that’s only good to hold the rubbish from this morning. And then we try to rationalise our way out of the consequences?

I mean - duh! What did we think was going to happen?

The people at the receiving end of unprecedented weather events are the first victims.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Coming up this weekend: “Write It Now” and “Sixty Second Writing Tips” return.