Josh Langston's Blog
March 20, 2013
What would Mato say?
I'm finishing up two things just now: 1)my first stab at my federal taxes, and 2)a double Manhattan.
I know I should be concentrating (at least) on item 1, but instead I'm trying to imagine what might be going through the head of Mato, the title character in my Little Primitive books, a guy whose view of the world is filtered through a Stone Age prism.
Now, assuming we could get the idea of currency across to him, how might he react to the idea of taxation? Not well, I'm thinking. Not well at all.
"You want to take my wealth? Why? Didn't I earn it? Did I not build the traps, and clean the pelts, and carry them to the trading post? Did I not take my turn hunting food for the whole clan? Don't my children deserve the things I can provide for them? Why must I take care of those I do not know, and those who have no knowledge of me, let alone love or interest?"
If Mato existed outside my imagination, he'd have no patience for anything that didn't put survival first--his own, his family's, and then his clan's. Once those were assured he might consider other things. But I suspect he'd never get there. Mato, unlike so many Americans, would be too consumed with his own survival to worry about those too lazy to care for themselves.
Would he care about the sick, the aged, and the infirm? Of course, because he would know instinctively that his time could come, and he might have to survive on the largess of others. But he would expect that any such offerings would be made in repayment of past kindnesses rather than as gifts to someone who'd contributed nothing when he was able.
I suspect that if Mato had been standing at Tom Jefferson's elbow when the latter was working on the constitution, he would have approved. Whole heartedly.
I know I should be concentrating (at least) on item 1, but instead I'm trying to imagine what might be going through the head of Mato, the title character in my Little Primitive books, a guy whose view of the world is filtered through a Stone Age prism.
Now, assuming we could get the idea of currency across to him, how might he react to the idea of taxation? Not well, I'm thinking. Not well at all.
"You want to take my wealth? Why? Didn't I earn it? Did I not build the traps, and clean the pelts, and carry them to the trading post? Did I not take my turn hunting food for the whole clan? Don't my children deserve the things I can provide for them? Why must I take care of those I do not know, and those who have no knowledge of me, let alone love or interest?"
If Mato existed outside my imagination, he'd have no patience for anything that didn't put survival first--his own, his family's, and then his clan's. Once those were assured he might consider other things. But I suspect he'd never get there. Mato, unlike so many Americans, would be too consumed with his own survival to worry about those too lazy to care for themselves.
Would he care about the sick, the aged, and the infirm? Of course, because he would know instinctively that his time could come, and he might have to survive on the largess of others. But he would expect that any such offerings would be made in repayment of past kindnesses rather than as gifts to someone who'd contributed nothing when he was able.
I suspect that if Mato had been standing at Tom Jefferson's elbow when the latter was working on the constitution, he would have approved. Whole heartedly.
March 16, 2013
Free puppies--get 'em while they're hot!
My Dad, who was--by any measure--a wonderful guy, used to warn me that there was no such thing as a "free puppy." As a child, I agreed with him, because who in their right mind would give away a perfectly good dog? With age (I hesitate to claim maturity) and the responsibility for buying food, paying the vet, and all the rest, I eventually figured out what he meant.
Now I feel almost as though I'm engaged in giving away free puppies. Sorta. They're actually books, which require way less care and feeding. But they do come with obligations. The reader is expected to make a stab at actually reading the work. Assuming I've done my job and have written a book worth reading, the reader should have little trouble getting through it. (I hate dull books, by the way, and that applies to reading as well as writing.)
So, what other obligation is there? Well, none, technically. Or legally. Or even, I suppose, morally. What I fervently hope, of course, is that readers will be so pleased by what they've read that they'll eagerly post glowing words of praise. Sunshine will pierce the clouds over my home; song birds will migrate to my backyard; the lawn will henceforth mow itself, etc. All perfectly rational expectations, right?
What I'm told is that none of that is likely to happen, including the reviews. But hope springs eternal, and the final date of the book giveaway looms ever closer.
Imagine painting something so good that you wanted to share it with the world. And several people came for a look. And then they left without saying anything.
Sometimes free puppies come--and go--without a leash.
Now I feel almost as though I'm engaged in giving away free puppies. Sorta. They're actually books, which require way less care and feeding. But they do come with obligations. The reader is expected to make a stab at actually reading the work. Assuming I've done my job and have written a book worth reading, the reader should have little trouble getting through it. (I hate dull books, by the way, and that applies to reading as well as writing.)
So, what other obligation is there? Well, none, technically. Or legally. Or even, I suppose, morally. What I fervently hope, of course, is that readers will be so pleased by what they've read that they'll eagerly post glowing words of praise. Sunshine will pierce the clouds over my home; song birds will migrate to my backyard; the lawn will henceforth mow itself, etc. All perfectly rational expectations, right?
What I'm told is that none of that is likely to happen, including the reviews. But hope springs eternal, and the final date of the book giveaway looms ever closer.
Imagine painting something so good that you wanted to share it with the world. And several people came for a look. And then they left without saying anything.
Sometimes free puppies come--and go--without a leash.
March 7, 2013
Who am I writing for?
The question I posed above is one I could have answered easily in years past. I wrote for me! I was both my harshest critic and most zealous fan. For years this admittedly schizophrenic gestalt powered my writing and colored my outlook. I'm sure it's also why I can't write a single sentence without going back over it a minimum of four times to get it right. (And you thought Sheldon Cooper's OCD door knocking was strange... Hah!)
The realization that I'd been fooling myself came as a shock. I wasn't really writing for me; I was writing to meet the expectations of everyone who'd suffered through my work to that point. I didn't have a "voice."
While working with Barbara Galler-Smith on the Druids trilogy--book 3, Warriors , debuts in August, 2013--I began to get a sense of what I should sound like. But a collaboration is hardly the place for harnessing such a thing. A collaboration should bring forth the best that both contributors have to offer, and I firmly believe we accomplished that.
But by the time we were done, I knew I had to write something in the voice that evolved over the decade-plus that we labored on Druids. In contrast,
Resurrection Blues
grew to maturity in a mere two months. And in the process, that nascent voice I've been babbling about became something I'm quite proud of.
I'm convinced I really am writing for me now. Best of all, that voice makes my work far more entertaining for anyone else who might discover it.
The realization that I'd been fooling myself came as a shock. I wasn't really writing for me; I was writing to meet the expectations of everyone who'd suffered through my work to that point. I didn't have a "voice."
While working with Barbara Galler-Smith on the Druids trilogy--book 3, Warriors , debuts in August, 2013--I began to get a sense of what I should sound like. But a collaboration is hardly the place for harnessing such a thing. A collaboration should bring forth the best that both contributors have to offer, and I firmly believe we accomplished that.
But by the time we were done, I knew I had to write something in the voice that evolved over the decade-plus that we labored on Druids. In contrast,
Resurrection Blues
grew to maturity in a mere two months. And in the process, that nascent voice I've been babbling about became something I'm quite proud of.I'm convinced I really am writing for me now. Best of all, that voice makes my work far more entertaining for anyone else who might discover it.
February 17, 2013
What am I doing here when I could be writing?
Most of the fiction writers I know would rather work on new material than spend their energy promoting completed projects. I've had agents; I've had publishers, and I've generated material independently, but no matter how my stories went public, they all require that I keep doing the chicken dance (imagine arm-flapping, squawking, and other anti-social behaviors) in the hope that readers will find them.
And, just so you know, the chicken dance is tiring. It might not be if I were any good it. But despite reading countless "How-To" articles on self-promotion and agonizing over a useful definition of my target market, I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be smarter to invest in lottery tickets on the off chance that I'd win big and be able to afford to hire a public relations agency to go out and honk my horn for me.
{Blatttt!}
But then I'd worry about blasting out some poor schlub's eardrums and thereby earning his or her eternal enmity.
{Sigh}
If only I could get away with just saying something like: Hi! Would you please give one of my books a try? Resurrection Blues would be a great place to start.
You'll have a good time, I promise. Lots of oddball characters, some interesting history, a respectable volume of laughs, and a plot that hasn't been done to death. What more could a reader want?
But that never seems to be enough. Wait! Maybe I can find a recorded version of a "How To" article. That way I can listen to it while I drive to the convenience store to buy my Lotto ticket/Potential PR campaign.
And, just so you know, the chicken dance is tiring. It might not be if I were any good it. But despite reading countless "How-To" articles on self-promotion and agonizing over a useful definition of my target market, I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be smarter to invest in lottery tickets on the off chance that I'd win big and be able to afford to hire a public relations agency to go out and honk my horn for me.
{Blatttt!}
But then I'd worry about blasting out some poor schlub's eardrums and thereby earning his or her eternal enmity.
{Sigh}
If only I could get away with just saying something like: Hi! Would you please give one of my books a try? Resurrection Blues would be a great place to start.
You'll have a good time, I promise. Lots of oddball characters, some interesting history, a respectable volume of laughs, and a plot that hasn't been done to death. What more could a reader want?But that never seems to be enough. Wait! Maybe I can find a recorded version of a "How To" article. That way I can listen to it while I drive to the convenience store to buy my Lotto ticket/Potential PR campaign.
