Hi there, my name is Sandy Untermyer, and I live right here in northeast Georgia with my three cats, one smelly old bowlegged dog, one pissed-off double-yellowhead parrot, and two blue and gold macaws who happen to be in love, usually (which doesn’t keep them from fighting, of course). Usually I teach English and tutor college students, illiterate adults who want to learn to read and write, or foreigners who need to acquire English as a as their second or other language.

Let’s just forget the “Untermyer” part for now. Most folks have too much trouble pronouncing it, anyway. You just call me “Sandy.” Okay?

Seems a few years ago I was asked to show some volunteers at the local political party how to write effective Op-Eds, letters to the editor, and whine lines for publication in our local papers.

What did I know? So I said, “Sure.”

Instead of thinking it over more carefully. (Something I almost never do, anyway.)

I mean, why not? It would be just another class, right? And, after all these years, I certainly know how to teach a class, right?

Wrong.

Necessity can be a real mother.

I couldn’t find a single textbook to use on argument for ordinary folks. So how I was supposed to teach this stuff?

I tried. I looked. Couldn’t even locate a decent workbook.

Oh, sure. There’re plenty of textbooks out there for philosophers using their esoteric and academic forms of logic. (And who understands that stuff, anyway? Or wants to?)

And there are boatloads of books for attorneys who need to convince juries, according to the special forensic rules of evidence. (Quite different, it turns out, from the summations on Boston Legal.)

I’m a neither. How about you? Are you a neither, too?

What about the rest of us, then? The neithers?

On the road to find out.

I looked into what was at the big box book stores and on Amazon.

Seems some argument books out there are written by politicos who insist you believe in what they do, first, before they’ll teach you anything. (Which they never actually get around to doing, anyway.) And the others are by psychologists and therapists who insist that you have to believe in their pet theories to learn “how to fight” in your relationship. 

(Hang on there. How to “fight”? But what if “fighting” is just what we want to avoid?)

Turns out nobody writes anything on argument for use by ordinary people like ourselves. Even though most of us just want to speak intelligibly to others, nobody really cares enough to write a book on it. (Except the linguists.) (And they’re more interested in studying us, not providing remedies.)

I mean, how hard could that be?

So I began again, muttering to myself — the only one here (besides the dog) who pays attention to me, anyway — “Third time’s the charm.” (The dog looks up when I mutter like that. But when he discerns there’s no Milk Bone involved, he goes right back to sleep, his doggie ego crushed yet again.) (But he’s used to it. He’s an old dog.)

Finally, this time, I started from another place entirely.

Not at the self-help shelf (where the pet-theory psychologists live) or the politics shelf (where the self-anointed pundits live), but just working from basic concepts in political communications and neuroscience.

Only this time I went directly to what the real pros were actually saying about argument.

And doing with it.

The name’s Bond. James Bond.

Turns out most of what I discovered was secret.

Not secrets anyone was hiding. Secrets that were secret because nobody was really paying any attention. Or writing about it, except to those others in on the secret.

I didn’t care. (Did I already mention that except for my dog, no one pays attention to what I think, anyway? Well, except for my dog, no one pays attention to what care about. So, from now on, we can just consider it mentioned, and move on.)

Long story short, I decided I’d write about this stuff and expose the secrets of argument if nobody important was going to. Because all I really want to do is to help us all develop our argument methods. For the better.

And, of course, if there was going to be a buck in it for someone, that someone might as well be me as someboy else who doesn’t really appreciate the finer things in life, as I do. (Or would, if I ever got to know what they might be.) (Except caviare. I don’t much care for caviare.)

Anyway, instead of thinking about it more carefully, I started to do the research for the writing of a book on this stuff.

I mean, why not?

It would be just another piece of writing. And after all these years of writing and teaching, I certainly know how to do both.

Right?

Wrong.

The effort ended up taking me four years. And seriously cutting into good flyfishing time.

And all I can tellya about that long, dark period in my life is this: when you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s mighty difficult to remember that your original intention was to drain the swamp.

When you get lemons, all you can make is lemonade.

But when you get alligators, you can make wallets, belts, shoes, purses, briefcases… and, you know, those little things you can put your eyeglasses in to keep them safe,

whatever those’re called.

I still don’t believe you need complete political rehabilitation or behavior modification therapy to do argument right.

Besides, I see it as my only job here to teach argument, anyway. Not to bother with any of that other stuff.

And, I like you — that is, most of you, except for that sad-looking smelly one, way in the back there — just the way you are. No need to change the rest of you to suit me.

Look, I realize that most of us often find ourselves too embarrassed to begin speaking up for ourselves. And that most of us who do try soon find we don’t have the tools we need to defend our beliefs. Or even, sometimes, just to understand them properly.

Because I’ve seen it happen countless times. Arguments that degenerate into silly and wasteful fighting and squabbles.

And so have you. In fact, it’s happened to me. More often than I’d like to admit. And to you, probably way more times than you’ve ever needed to learn this particular life lesson: sit down and shut up.

Well, I don’t think always has to be that way. Or should be.

I want you to stand up and shout for what you believe in.

Life’s more entertaining that way. For both of us.

At first I didn’t know anything about argument.

But now I know almost everything.

I guess you could call me “an expert.”

Unless, of course, you want to call me “a damned fool,”

like everyone else does.

I didn’t know that much about argument way back all those years ago, when I started out in this before I began my researches. But even then I knew enough to know that we can all do better than we all are now.

So I set out on the road to find out.

Little did I know I’d discover two totally new ways to teach — well, to teach students how to understand — what argument  really is — namely, the way we humans comprehend ourselves, as well as others.

In fact, much to my surprise, I discovered we engage in two distinct types of argument: argument for social change and argument in a relationship.

Argument —by which I do not mean “fighting” — is the way we reach out to others with words in a way that both enriches our own lives and creates new ways to live and love.

For everyone.

A cordial, heartfelt, sincere invitation.

(Just as though I really knew who you might be.)

Now that you’re here, anyways, go ahead, take your time. Browse the whole site. Really. No obligation. (Except to yourself, of course!)

Cast a reflective eye over the offerings here. Laugh. Cry. Mumble to yourself, as I do, whenever I get confused.

And feel free to jump right into The Argument Blog if you’ve got a comment, the water’s fine, a perfect skin temperature —  with piranahs few and far between, almost none, in fact.

But let’s face it — you knew, even before you landed here, that you’ve long wanted touch other hearts with your words, your deepest feelings, and your personal beliefs.

Which you’ve been unable to share, so far — even with those who intimately love you. (And who believe they know and really understand you.) (Which they don’t, not really.)

(Sometimes, sadly, the ones closest to you are the very last ones you can get to understand.) (I see no cure for it except extensive waterboarding therapy for certain family members and business associates.)

(But we can discuss all this later at my club, after I get rich enough from my argument books to join a club.)

So far, each time you’ve tried to break through, to connect, in an argument, it hasn’t worked out for you. And you always ended up wasting your time defending yourself instead of explaining your point of view.

(But only because you never knew until now how to begin your argument properly.)

Still… the words “so far” don’t include tomorrow, do they?

Or even the next five minutes.