Satire is a genre of the visual, literary, and performing arts, usually in the form of fiction and less frequently non-fiction, in which vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, often with the intent of exposing or shaming the perceived flaws of individuals, corporations, government, or society itself into improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be humorous, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society. – Wikipedia
Used to be all it took to write satire was a good imagination and a love of dark humor. Now, those days are gone with the wind–and grieved, as Thomas Wolfe might say. I loved finding absurd government actions and making up stories that were much worse and more humorous.
I was trained by the writers of Mad Magazine and Punch.
Now, the government has become much worse, and making it worse in a satirical news story is already too close to the truth to make people laugh. (Not counting crazy people who, actually, are running the county.)
In the old days, I might write a headline like this:
Pacifists kill people to draw attention to horror of killing people.
Now protests often come with violence, and it’s hard to make a joke of it.
Or:
Feds pave road to hell with mob concrete.
Now hell is right here on our doorsteps, compliments of both sides of the aisle. (As a Libertarian, I can poke fun at everyone.)
Today, I might write:
Foreign aid now headed for blue states.
And yet, with the calamity that’s befallen USAID, I can’t make myself write that kind of satirical story because–as it turns out–“Mad Magazine” has become the Feds’ policy manual. Think of the money that’s being saved by reading the magazine rather than drafting policies from scratch. Yeah, that’ll work until DOGE kills off the magazine.
I’d rather write a story with this headline:
DOGE Pulls Plug on Itself
Maybe my satirical story will become a prophecy. I can only hope.
–Malcolm


The new minister came to Harlow, Maine, when Jamie Morton was a boy doing battle with his toy army men on the front lawn. The young Reverend Charles Jacobs and his beautiful wife brought new life to the local church and captivated their congregation. But with Jamie, he shares a secret obsession—a draw so powerful, it would have profound consequences five decades after the shattering tragedy that turned the preacher against God, and long after his final, scathing sermon. Now Jamie, a nomadic rock guitarist hooked on heroin, meets Charles Jacobs again. And when their bond becomes a pact beyond even the Devil’s devising, Jamie discovers that the word 

Feel free to drink while reading the book. I suggest Scotch or red wine. Getting drunk will probably cause you to say I wrote The Great Gatsby on the next pop quiz. (If the book in front of you ends with the line “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” you are reading The Great Gatsby and that means the book store or the mob enforcer is messing with you.)
I guess we all assume that what we experience while writing is similar to what other authors experience. Since I “automatically ‘see'” the characters and locations I’m creating in my fiction, I wondered how visualization could be distracting, much less take an effort to accomplish.

Mary Clearman Blew grew up on a small cattle ranch in Montana, on the site of her great-grandfather’s 1882 homestead. Her memoir “All But the Waltz: Essays on a Montana Family,” won a Pacific Northwest Booksellers Award, as did her short story collection, “Runaway.” – 
When I was a college English department instructor, my “Bible” was The End of Intelligent Writing: Literary Politics in America (1974) by Richard Kostelanetz. My colleagues thought it was overly grim, though they didn’t worry about literary politics because they weren’t teaching their students how to become writers. Their students were simply supposed to enjoy literature and then if they enjoyed it enough, teach it to others.

