Stephen J. Matlock's Blog, page 53

When “We the People” Decide

From the Letter to the Editor I’m submitting:

I’m writing to ask you, a voter and citizen of Washington, to carefully consider your choices this election. I’m sure you already do value your vote and cast it after thinking about the candidates and the ballot questions—the initiatives, the referenda, the propositions—where We the People get to decide what we want from our government.

I’m going to ask you to base your choices this year, as you do every year, upon what is not only best for all the people of Washington, but also what is best for you, your family, your community, and your state. I am not going to ask you to vote a certain way, but I do hope you’ll carefully think about your choices.

But first, several short points and an even shorter history lesson. The United States of America started off as a dream of a better place for us and our children. In almost 250 since our founding, we have gradually improved the fortunes for us and our fellow citizens—indeed, we have expanded the idea of citizenship to include former slaves and women and native Americans, three groups of people initially excluded from full participation in the American political life until we figured out that it was the right thing to do after all. We take it for granted now, I suppose, but our current governor and both federal senators are women, and our president is black. This wasn’t possible until We the People figured out that it really mean We.

Those of us who moved freedom forward did so because we knew it was the right thing to do. We included people who were once excluded, shifting the landscape, but making for a better, freer country. But then, I guess it’s expected we’d do so—our founding document says “in order to establish a more perfect Union…”, which to me means that we are not there yet, but we hope to get there—to that more perfect Union.

Granting former slaves the right to be citizens and to vote came at enormous cost and after great battles, but we figured it out: Yes, a man born in this America Union is a citizen. Granting women the right to vote came after discussions and marches and arguments, but we figured it out: Yes, women, too, are citizens and can vote. We figured out that the first people here, before we arrived, should be granted the right to be citizens in the country which developed around them. We did the right thing because we fought and argued; many even died in order to preserve, protect, and defend this Union and the people of the United States. We who are alive today due to their sacrifice and their vision owe them our gratitude.

We do the right thing, eventually, but it’s not always something we do right away. It took a long time to figure out citizenship for former slaves, and even longer for women’s voting rights and citizenship for native Americans. But we did it.

Now Washington State has on its ballot a referendum to ask the people “Should same-sex couples be granted the right to marry?” This is a difficult question, even though it looks simple. It’s “Yes” or “No” for people to decide. However, if you’re like me, you’re probably struggling with your feelings and your thoughts. No one wants to be the bad guy, telling someone “No,” but we will, if we think we should, especially when those people we trust tell us to say “No.” But no one wants to be that guy who says “No” when in a few short years everyone says “Yes.”

No one wants to be that guy in 1866 who voted “No” for citizenship for former chattel slaves, because granting that citizenship meant that we have incorporated a new set of people into our society. Saying “No” in 1866 was popular with many, but upon reflection we’d all agree it was the wrong vote.

No one wants to be that guy in 1920 saying “No” against women’s voting rights, even though everyone knew it would transform American society. Women might and would vote their own interests, but today we can’t imagine a society without them. No one wants to be that guy in 1924 who says “No” when it comes to including native Americans as full citizens; we are a richer and better place for doing so.

Today the question isn’t about citizenship or voting rights. We’ve figured that one out: if you’re born here, and you’re of the right age, you’re eligible to vote. (There are other ways to get citizenship, of course, but this is the main way.)

Today the question is about whether we the people of Washington State will grant same-sex couples the right to marry. On the surface it seems a simple question, with a simple “Yes” or “No.” But underneath it’s more complex. Most of us are trained by those whom we respect to think of same-sex couples as wrong or evil. Our church, our culture, our government says they are second-class. It doesn’t seem right, and we have reasons to hold our opinions: it is just against so many things we know to be true and right.

I understand that, and I have held that opinion for years. But I would say that I was wrong, not bad, in believing those things. And what I’m being asked isn’t whether I think it’s wrong. I’m being asked if it is just and right to allow people in love to marry. I’m being asked to include same-sex couples in my definition of loving couples.

I am not being asked to be in such a relationship myself. I’m simply being asked to expand the definition of marriage to include same-sex as well as opposite-sex couples. That’s all.

After granting African-Americans the right to vote and to be citizens, we struggled for years (and still struggle) to incorporate them in our idea of a just and perfect union. After granting women the right to vote, we struggled still, but to a lesser degree, and we are still working at it. And we are still working out what it means to be born here as a native American, but we’re figuring it out. We’ll get it together.

Granting same-sex couples the right to marry is something in the same tradition. We are moving forward towards a more perfect union, to a place where more Americans can experience justice and liberty. Granting them the right to marry will cause some changes in our society, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll do the right thing.

Same-sex marriages will not affect any opposite-sex marriage. No extra burden will be placed upon you or me or society, other than what would be required if they were opposite-sex couples. Same-sex couples will simply be allowed to share in their assets, will be allowed to share their lives together, will be allowed to simply be who they are. Yes, we will have to adjust some of our benefit plans, but we’d do it for opposite-sex couples, so it is not much to consider, and besides, it’s simply just.

No church or synagogue or mosque or other religious house of worship will need to change their practice of worship or their own institutions of marriage. You will still need a license to marry, acquired from the state, and as a couple you will still need to find a place who will marry you, whether it is a church or a synagogue or a mosque; if you cannot find one, you can still go to a secular service such as a justice of the peace. That won’t change.

You will still be free to attend the church or synagogue or mosque that you like, and you can still hold all your beliefs. Nothing will change.

The only thing that will change is that you will see slightly more people, perhaps, at concerts or theatres or sporting events sitting next to each other who are married and who are the same sex. You yourself will have no significant changes, and you will pretty much wake up on November 7th with all the privileges and rights you already have.

You will only awaken to a society that has simply granted more people the right to marry. That is all.

So I will not urge you to vote “Yes” or “No” on Referendum 74. That’s not the purpose of this letter. I simply urge you to consider your vote, to consider the people most affected by this vote, and to consider what is the right thing to do.

Someone I respect highly said this about America and Americans: “The moral arc of the universe is long but it bends towards justice.” I hope we do the right thing November 6th, and will be saddened if we don’t, but I am assured that eventually we will do the right thing.

After all, we are simply giving our friends, our families, and our fellow citizens the right to participate more fully in our American liberty.

The Sequel: Many Waters

Here is the first draft of the synopsis/blurb for the sequel to Stars in the Texas Sky:

Many Waters, the sequel to Stars in the Texas Sky, continues the story of Henry and Peggy as they explore young love, betrayal, temptation, and hoped-for restoration during a time of growing turmoil. It’s 1956 in Windmill, Texas, and Henry is a junior in high school, deeply in love with Peggy, and she with him. But then Liana, a young divorcee with a baby, returns to town and tries to recover her innocence by making a play for Henry. Tommy’s back, too, after a 2-year stint in Special Forces as a “consultant” to the French armed forces in IndoChina, and he discovers the truth of the adage that you can’t cross the same river twice. When H. Paradise Trueblood, a nationally known radio evangelist, comes to town to break ground for his Bible college, conflict erupts between him and the high school science teacher who is already busy preparing for the International Geophysical Year. Henry must walk the balance of faith and reason as his baby brother falls sick from polio, while struggling with the growing breakdown in his relationship with Joey, his best friend, his rival, and co-candidate for county-wide athlete of the year. Through it all, Henry must struggle with love and fear and acceptance, and finally understands that relationships matter, because the old saying is still true: many waters cannot quench love.

Sabbatical

After four months, Marty has returned from his time of rest and relaxation. He’s traveled across America and recharged his batteries, and now he’s ready to buckle down and get back to work. Well, maybe after the weekend.

Like Marty, we all need those cycles of recharging and then of re-involvement. We have to have the moments of being away from the day-to-day tasks as well as the overwhelming responsibilities.

Not everyone can great lengths of time to have a sabbatical, of course, and there is no mark of a life that due to your financial or familial commitments you can’t leave your worries behind. But the idea of letting go of the sense of responsibility for a while so you can relax is an important one. You and I and everyone need those moments where we let it off our shoulders and spend some time enjoying ourselves and the lives we have.

I was thinking about this more this morning about the times that aren’t “sabbaticals,” where you are in the middle of life, and it is a whirlwind. You can’t get a break for a sabbatical—the best you can do is to find some alone time in your reading room. And then I read this great line, that sometimes we spend too much time trying to calm the seas when we should be trying to stop the wind.

We get pretty involved in life, and it can seem like a roller-coaster. It’s ups and downs, you’re moving quite fast, and you hope that at the end there’s something soft to slow you down before you go past the final point. We look at the waves and think if we could just tamp them down it might go better, so we do what we can to reduce them—we push down things that are disturbing us, trying to keep things smooth and undisturbed, but underneath the waves are still struggling to get free. We don’t account for the wind that blows and tries to stir things up. Trying to smooth the waves is hopeless—they’ll come right. You have to find a way to stop the wind—or if you can’t, get out of the wind.

Now, the wind and the waves are symbols, of course. The wind is all the things that run through our lives—entertainment, people, responsibilities, tasks—whatever it is that pushes you along. Those things, that wind, are what causes the waves to rise up.

It can be hard to grapple with these things. Sometimes we think that if we didn’t have these things in our lives we wouldn’t have a life. How could we handle not having a cable subscription, for example—we’d miss out on good things. Yes, and you’d maybe miss out on much more which is distracting you or is telling you things which are not true or just keeping you from doing what you need to do. (Note: I am not saying this one thing is wrong or right. I’m just saying that it can be a source of wind, so try to recognize that.)

But if we are being tossed by waves and desiring a time of rest, maybe we could look to see where the wind is coming from, and seek the one who calms the waves by stopping the wind.

I’m just suggesting we look at ourselves honestly. If we want to have a time of rest, we have to be willing to have the wind stopped.

First Royalty Check Arrived Today!

So I just got my first royalty check for Stars in the Texas Sky.

It’s in the TENS OF DOLLARS!

I am deciding whether to spend it all at Starbucks, or get coffee at the local shop instead and make it last longer.

WOO HOO!

Losing My Religion Pt 5

On the way in to church this morning I had the radio on, and there was an interview with a Famous Author. (Said Famous Author was not me. At least Not Yet.) He said something that got me to thinking about our grid, our religion, our beliefs—indeed, our very expressions of our lives.

It seems that a while back some scientists wanted to find out if animals were creative. So they had this monkey in their research labs; they gave him some charcoal and a canvas, and sat back to watch.

Now, it’s pretty amazing to think that animals might be creative, and that they might even be able to manipulate a tool like charcoal to express their thoughts—but it did happen, and at the end the monkey did create art. And that art stopped the scientists cold.

For you see, the thing the monkey expressed in his creativity and vision using just charcoal and canvas was this: he drew the bars of his cage. All his vision and world boiled down to what trapped him. We don’t know if the monkey saw the bars as something that defined him or what as what kept him from knowing himself and exploring his world.

We only know that given the chance to express himself, he drew the bars.

It all ties into this theme of “losing my religion” that Monty and Dwight and Kristin and others have been speaking about. I think they’ve been trying to describe what is essential about Christianity as a religion.

Sure, Christianity is a religion. We have things we do, things we follow, things we say we believe. We have an entirely natural organization of buildings and meetings and programs, lawns to take care of and children to keep safe, dry, and warm while they’re in our care. We have the usual human interactions of joy and comfort, moments when everything is going smoothly, and moments where misunderstandings and long histories of failure leading to conflict and anger. We are, in short, merely humans gathered together on our journey, sometimes to help, and sometimes—let’s be honest—to impede.

And then there are moments when we get it, that there is an other-worldly—ness to it all. That we get it that Christ is risen indeed, and that Christ does live within us, impelling us to live better, be stronger, love harder. There are moments when we are in ourselves here on this planet circling the sun and at the same time participating in an eternal kingdom of love and grace.

The problem is how we see it, and how we handle this religion. Think back to the monkey and his canvas. All he saw was the bars of his cage, and that defined him. We can get trapped in the same way in a religion, where we see the bars, and not beyond the bars.

The bars are the things that keep us bound here, and they can actually be a good thing. It’s good to stay connected, to be in community with others, to behave well, to give and serve and sacrifice—all things that are part of being “religious.” But they can become bars that keep us in religion, forgetting what the religion is really about, which is a connection to God through Jesus Christ.

Yeah, it’s easy to see only the bars, and if given the chance to describe our religion to mention only the bars. But the essence of the Christian faith is not the things. Not the actions. And, I will say, not even the faith. The essence of being a follower of Jesus is taking him at his word and living the life he describes because he himself asks us to and empowers us to by reason of his living within us.

It really is Christ in us, the hope of glory. Not bars, but stars.

Walking the American Landmine

There are two issues in contemporary America that are difficult to talk about without an explosion of feelings: race and sex.

Being the kind of person I am, I only was able to talk about one of them in my latest book, Stars in the Texas Sky, which is a book about growing up in East Texas in the 50s.

The protagonist, Henry Valentine, is white, freckly, and a good honest kid without a care in the world. He’s only 13, so what does he know? His mother and father, both loving, keep him from the dangers of life—which every parent tries to do, I imagine—and Henry does not face the complexities of his own society. People know their places, and keep to them, and that’s all to the good.

Living alongside him, though, are other Americans who are not white and freckly, who have as much a history as Henry and his family, but who are not given a place and an account in society. We’re talking about a host of people who were largely invisible to the America they not only lived in and died in, but an America that was literally built from the sweat of their brow and the stripes on their backs.

It took a wrenching Civil War to figure out that African-Americans were not just as equal as “real” Americans, but that they were “real” Americans. Over the course of the next 100 years black Americans struggled to claim their rights; only with the shattering change brought by the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were they finally brought into the sunlight of American history and perception.

Now, I grew up in a land where TV was my education, in Southern California of the 50s and 60s. I lived not 10 miles from the towers of Watts and the streets of Compton, but knew not one black American, child or adult. I have a vague memory that our neighbors down the street had a black maid, but I can’t really remember her face or her name, or whether she really existed. Not until my late 20s did I have a single person in my life who was not just like me, and that was a fellow employee with whom I had a work relationship. She was the first person I ever met who expressed to me an alternate viewpoint about current political and social events—and she was not an African American. She was from Africa itself, and she had strong opinions about how we did things.

I have not really worked with or socialized outside my group, and only recently crossed boundaries to have relationships with people who are not exactly like me. I’m still working on my attitudes and my thinking, and every so often I get an inkling of how I might sound to someone who listens to me. I expect that I sound privileged and clueless and nice, as if my approval or insight is “helpful” or “comforting,” but in the meantime others are thinking “At some point he’ll shut up and listen himself.” I talk a great talk, but the working out of my changes in attitude is hard.

Race relations in America is hard. I don’t know if it’s this way everywhere, or only in America, but certainly there is a uniqueness to it in America. As far as I can tell, like other countries in the world America had slaves; we are unique in that we both freed them to incorporate them into public life and have also remained two worlds apart. Black Americans and white Americans have little in common except, perhaps, the same general state of residence, but in so many ways there is still a separate life and uncrossable chasm between blacks and whites. I cannot & will not speak for African Americans, but from my own viewpoint it seems that there is a lot of talking and lecturing being done by White Americans, often convinced that they are the aggrieved ones, that somehow their fellow citizens taking their rightful place in society diminishes their own importance and privilege.

Well, it does—diminish the privilege, I mean. White Americans, as has been said, are born on third base but treat their lives as if they hit a triple. White Americans take it as their due the ability to live pretty much where they will, take whatever job they want, have no fear of being unqualified for anything they want, and assume that their ownership of their society gives them the right to keep others locked in their places. Any attempt by non-whites to live out their own lives with that same freedom is seen as uppity and a challenge to normalcy. White culture is seen only in its good aspects, and other cultures are always seen in the extremes. White people are the default “good” people, and in nearly every case of something happening, it is the white audience that it treated as normal.

I don’t think I can change all of that, and maybe not any of it. It’s so ingrained in our culture it will take generations to burn it out. Some things might not ever go away—we still use phrases in our games that come from the original Saxons who invaded England a thousand years ago (“Alle Alle Ach Sind Frei” becomes “Olly Olly Oxen Free”), so the change in understanding and acceptance of black Americans might not happen for a few more generations.

But I can add to the impetus for change in what I do and say.

I didn’t set out to write Stars in the Texas Sky because I wanted to write a book about race relations. Far from it. I wanted to write a story about growing up. But the first line and first scene set the die: Henry is standing at the crossroads, STOP sign in hand, as someone comes roaring through, ignoring Henry and his law. And that sets off the discovery by Henry of what it is in life that is a “law” and what is simply “legal.” Why we have a Pledge of Allegiance and racial separation. Why we have Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness and the squalor and misery and humiliation of black Americans by white Americans. Why we love our kids and those who look like us but hate the kids of those who are different. How we will with these two incongruous sets of values in our minds, with the value of people in general and the devaluing of blacks as compared to white.

From the moment the car ran through the STOP sign the story was completed. All I had to do was write it. Scene followed scene, character followed character—people walked into the story, interacted with Henry, showed who they were, influenced him, until the moment when he finally decided what he had to do—and realized that he had already decided.

I don’t claim I’ve solved every issue, or that I got it right. I’m sure people will read the story and think there is a set of unexamined privileges and viewpoints, that I don’t really understand what it’s like to be black, or underprivileged, or Texan, or whatever.

I’m fine with that. It’s the best I knew how to do.

Take it as a story. Examine what it says. What would you do if you discovered that your principles and your life did not match up? What would change? Would you ignore your principles for the expediency of happiness and acceptance, or would your principles lead you discomfort and social ruin?

These are all hard questions, and if you don’t really look at yourself, you won’t be able to answer them.

More to come.

You can buy the book at Amazon.com.

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Texas-Sky-Stephen-Matlock/dp/1477458786

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Texas-Sky-ebook/dp/B008NNSU3U

Free Download Resumes for STARS IN THE TEXAS SKY

There will be another free Kindle download for STARS IN THE TEXAS SKY this week at Amazon.com.

Go here and download it. The free download starts Thursday August 9, 2012.

Enjoy!

Book Group Readings

Hey, I’m working through my schedule to arrange book group readings & Q&A sessions for October and November. If you’d like me to stop by, please drop me a line at this website or using my e-mail, which is stephen @ this website.

Q&A Part Two: The Birth of the Novel

The book Stars in the Texas Sky is about growing up in the small Texas town of Windmill in 1952.

Buy it here as  Kindle download: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008NNSU3U

Buy it here as a brand-new paperback from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Texas-Sky-Stephen-Matlock/dp/1477458786

When I started writing, I can’t say I knew how the book would end. The story flowed like water, scene by scene, and the people just walked into the book when they needed to appear. I knew I had to have conflicts and crises in the life of Henry Valentine, the protagonist, but I didn’t really have an idea of what those might be.

I sketched out the story in my head, mostly, but used Scrivener to write the novel. So it looked like this:

Scene A: Henry at the gate. Introduction to the character and discomfort of Henry Valentine. Strong, rule-driven, protector.
Scene B: Benjamin takes the bat. Introduction to Benjamin, the ordinary boy who also happens to be black.
Scene C: The mayor’s wife and the sheriff come in to illustrate how things are.
Scene D: It’s Henry’s birthday and all’s right in the world. (And to give a time reference to Henry’s age, birth date, and to more fully put him into his town and culture.)

So I wrote a bunch of scene outlines like this, putting them in a kind of order, but not really saying what would happen in each.

I’d have scenes much like this:

In this scene Henry and Benjamin have their first conflict, which results in a challenge to the next conflict. They need to be nearly equally matched so the outcome is in doubt. Henry will use his power, and Benjamin will use his strength

or

In this scene Henry and Benjamin discover the things they have in common, and they have their first Real Talk about Life and Girls and the Future. They share a love for observation and discovery.

I didn’t really plot out the book or even pick a theme. I just wrote one scene after another, and not in order.

The book now has about 115 or so scenes, but there are about 500 scenes total that I’ve written. Some are just plain old backstory—the story of John Clark and George Valentine and their interaction on the USS Badger, or the story about Alice Valentine and her college education.

Some are scenes that help illustrate the main characters, such as the one between John and Benjamin Clark when Benjamin has the ‘flu, or the one that talks about the churches in Windmill.

Some are scenes that illustrate a point using minor characters.

I struck these out because they were, after all, backstory, or they weren’t germane to the main story, or they had characters with just one role or moment in the book. I tried to give glimpses of the backstory in the main story—I found that I could write scenes and assume the backstory, bringing it in as needed, and I didn’t have to bring everything in—much like in describing a person to another person who’s never seen them you can talk about motives and actions unknown to that listening person because you know the original person, so if there are gaps, there aren’t logical gaps. If you knew my friend Sam’s aversion to cats, you’d understand my story about his avoiding the pet shop, and so on.

I enjoyed writing the scenes that didn’t make it in, because they filled out the characters. There are a half-dozen frank scenes about sex and love and the mysteries of the opposite sex, where Henry and Benjamin speculate privately and discuss openly what they think. I didn’t include them because, to be honest, I thought they would become the focus of the book, and I didn’t want that. (They’re in my archives.) I wanted to keep the focus on two kids in their early teens, and not make it something to snigger at.

The scene between John Clark and his son who’s sick with the ‘flu helped to illustrate the frustration a man feels when his own, favored son is sick with something that can’t be cured by love, but I didn’t think it fit into the story arc, so it’s gone.

As the book went through iterations and beta readers, I would incorporate feedback by deleting or revising scenes, or writing new ones, so that the original story arc stays in place, and the reader is simply carried along from one point to the next without effort. I tried to make the book move through increasingly more emotionally powerful crises so that there is the sense of release and anticipation for the next one.

I’m pretty happy with the result. I feel the book really develops the main characters of Henry and Benjamin well, shows them as real people who have an honest affection for each other and expect to grow up together, and that helps to explain the depth of loss a person can have when someone they depend upon leaves.

In the next essay I’ll talk about themes, and then talk about my resources for understanding the time and place of the 50s in America.

Free Giveaway

http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/30253-stars-in-the-texas-sky

Get my book for free—just enter to win.

Details at the link above.