Journal Notes

Rejection. I’ve experienced a lot of rejection as a writer. Well, not just as a writer?. You’d think I’d be used to it. But it still stings. One of my books was recently rejected by Bethany House publishing. I was sure hoping that material would be approved. It seems like when you’re down about disappointing circumstances in life you can’t escape other people who are feeling the same way. It’s a little comforting I guess and I’m ashamed that it?s that way. Misery does love company. Just look at a fly strip. You never see a fly stuck there saying, “Go around! Go around! Rejection is just a nature of the line of work I’m in. But I’m in good company. William Young, the gentlemen who wrote The Shack, had his book rejected by more than a dozen publishers. Young kept trying. He kept making submissions and someone finally said, “yes”. The book became a bestseller. That’s the happy ending I’m looking for. Maybe several happy endings. I need it to make up for some of the rejection letters I’ve received. One rejected letter said, “Opened by mistake.” Another one said, “You’re one of those writers who is worth watching. Not reading; just watching.” One of the difficult aspects of this job is to keep writing after you’ve been told that you can’t. But that’s what I’ve got to do. Maybe it’s not too late for clown college.

Prior to the holidays, my friend Lisa, loaned me a copy of a book entitled Forgiving the Dead Man Walking. I had shared with her many times about how I struggle with an unforgiving spirit. The book, written by Debbie Morris, is the untold other half of Dead Man Walking, the movie that depicted killer Robert Willie’s death-row relationship with spiritual advisor Helen Prejean. Debbie was one of Willie’s victims and in her book she recounts the story of being kidnapped by him in gripping detail. She is living testimony to the grace we long for; grace that shines more brightly than we dare believe, bright enough to triumph over the darkest evil. Morris divides the work of forgiveness into two areas or goals: salvage and restoration. She pointed out that “there are times we’ve been hurt when the only reasonable goal is to find a way to get over the incident, to minimize the damage, to get on with the healing, to learn from the experience, and to move on. Making the best you can from a past experience is the goal of what she termed “salvage.” I want so much to grasp this concept. To make it alive in my life. I’ve been mad for so long over the situation with my brother. Mad at the injustice, the lies, and deception, especially from one of the attorneys my family and I hired. I don’t believe this particular law firm cared anything about my brother. Cared anything about defending his rights. I will go to my grave believing they had some underline deal going with the prosecution. I learned yesterday that they have been monitoring my website. No explanation was given when I called to inquire. I’m more suspicious of them now than ever. I can’t help but wonder which one of their current clients is getting billed for them to watch my website. All that being said, the ultimate goal must be forgiveness. Debbie Morris writes, “How badly do we want to be healed? For so many years my reluctance to forgive was like a darkness inside, a barrier that barred joy and love and so many good things from my life. Forgiveness smashed the barrier and has enabled me to experience the giving and receiving of love again.” I want that. I want what forgiveness can deliver. I still miss my brother and feel very sad and guilty about asking him to take a plea. I shouldn’t have done it. He’s innocent. Justice won’t do a thing to heal me though. Forgiveness will.

It was an encouragement to read the following review for the book Frontier Teachers. Great way to start 2009! “Teachers were the female trailblazers of the West, yet they often are overlooked. Thanks to Chris Enss, who once again breaks new ground in the realm of historic women, we learn teachers often inspired many who went on to progress in the frontier. She tells the stories of 12 women who come from different circumstances but share the same goal-furthering education. Eliza Mott taught the alphabet from tombstone instructions while Lucia Darling taught in a one-room cabin that was the first school in Montana Territory. Their experiences were enough to pass on wisdom; and their knowledge still educates generations today.”
Linda Womack – True West Magazine January/February 2009

On this last day of the year I want to reflect on the life of my brother, Rick. In a few short months he will have been in prison five years. He was once a vital, happy man, refereeing ball games for his son, escorting his oldest daughter down a football field when she was part of her high school homecoming court, romping around with his youngest child and laughing at her antics. He loved to buy presents for his children. I was with him when he purchased a new bicycle for his son. He was excited about the gift and meticulously searched for just the right bike. Tall, handsome and thin, my brother is now a near lifeless shell, bloated from the medication he is on due to injuries he sustained from inmates at the Beaumont prison in Texas who beat and raped him. I’ll never see the brother I knew again. In my estimation the mother and daughter who did this to him are murderers. My grandmother lives at the rest home where one of the killers works. According to my grandmother the killer recently told her that “she never meant things to get this far.” If she wanted out of the marriage and wanted money, I would have given it to her. More than $345,000 was spent on my brother’s defense. I would have given her the money and anything else she wanted. They lied and the brother I knew is gone. I will not forget him, nor what was done to him. I will try to move into 2009 with hope. Hope that I can heal. That we all can heal.

The trip to Missouri for the holidays was long and I had plenty of time between flights to work on the next idea for a book proposal. A month ago, Howard Kazanjian, the film producer I’ve had the pleasure of collaborating with on several occasions, suggested looking into the life of a lawman named Sam Sixkiller. Sixkiller was a Deputy Marshall in Oklahoma who became the first captain of the United States Indian Police headquarters in Muskogee. As Captain, Sixkiller had 40 men under his command. He was an exceptional officer who was eventually shot down in the line of duty. He led an interesting life and I’m anxious to write about him. I can either get a lot of writing about Sam done at my office or at an American Airlines terminal should I ever have to fly with them again. And I probably will. I’ve had to fly with them a lot this past year. American boasts painfully long layovers and numerous crying children once the flight boards. When did it become a federal regulation that you have to have at least seven crying babies on every flight? I just want to know: Where are they going? Why are they on planes? They have no appointments, they were just born days ago. Are times so hectic that babies are born and instantly tell those around them, “I just popped out of the womb, I gotta dry up, learn to breathe-I’ll be on the two o’clock, it’s the best I can do?.” If I had a good time at Christmas I can’t remember because the flight itself drained all my good will and pleasant memories. I took a lot of pictures so something good must have been happening. It’s great to be home and making plans for the new year. I’ve got three new books that will be released over the next 12 months. How I pray 2009 is better than 2008, or 2007, or 2006, or?. I’ll keep the website updated on that subject or, you can drop by the American Airlines terminal at the Dallas/Forth Worth airport to find out how it’s going. I seem to spend a lot of time there.

Over the past couple of days I’ve received information about my 30th high school reunion that’s going to be held in September. The people planning the reunion are doing a great job. There’s a website specifically for Buena High School class of 1979 alumni. In addition to whether or not you’re going to attend the festivities, you’re asked to give a little information about yourself. The very first thing they want to know is how many children you have and their ages. Now I know the majority of people have children, but for those of us who don’t, or in my case couldn’t, you’re left to feel as though procreating is the highest goal one could achieve. When I went to my 20 year reunion the class president brought his baby into the hall where the event was being held and announced to everyone that “this is what it’s all about” and that “nothing else mattered.” He was a proud dad. I bet there’ve been days since then that he hasn’t felt so proud. I’ve watched people struggle to raise kids. They’re not easy. But there has to be some penalty for sex. For many, parenting is the easiest job to get – you just have to screw up once and it’s yours. I have a 17 year-old niece who found out how easy it was to get the job. Nothing else matters much to her either. I take exception to those who think childbirth is a miracle. I don’t think it is. It’s a chemical reaction, that’s all. Raising a kid that doesn’t talk in a movie theatre – now there’s a miracle. It’s not a miracle if every nine months any ying-yang in the world can drop a litter of mewling cabbages on the planet. And just in case you haven’t seen the single-mom statistics lately, the miracle is spreading like wildfire. All that being said, I’m really looking forward to my high school reunion. Even if I have nothing to show for my life but a degree and a couple of dozen books.

The first series of ads to promote Thunder Over the Prairie were booked today. I placed an ad in the June/July edition of American Cowboy Magazine. The price – $1800 for a half page. I want to run a full page ad in True West Magazine and one in Chronicles of the Old West. The plan is that this investment will pay off big when the book is released. It’s by far the most enjoyable piece I’ve written and I know that I’d like to write more material like it. If Thunder doesn’t sell well I might not get the chance. I think I’d like to write for Bethany House too. I finished the sample chapter I’ve been writing for them and will send it out Thursday. It always comes down to sales though – making money. Which makes a difference for all businesses, but art suffers in the process. The only thing money gives you is the freedom of not worrying about money. It looks like the comedy series Clint Black and Lisa Hartman Black’s pitched to Lifetime is going to happen. Hope that means the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans project starring the couple will get a green light. It would be nice to go into 2009 with something bright on the horizon and of course, the possibility of actually getting paid. Howard and I’ve have been working on the Roy and Dale story for more than five years. I will continue to update the site with news about the progress of the books and screenplay. In the meantime, anyone who signs up to receive my newsletter will get a copy of Frontier Teachers. The book would make a nice gift for a school or public library. Drop me a line and I’ll send it on.

I’ve never been very good a writing letters. I can never really convey what’s on my heart and mind without it coming across rehearsed or disingenuous. I stare at the stationary, struggling to transform nothing into life. I only bring it up because I am about to write the most important letter of my life and I’m not sure how to begin and looking ahead, I’m not sure how it will be received. I suspect I won’t get an answer at all and if I do I don’t think it will be a positive. Still, I’m convinced I have to try. Life turned out to be so hard. I guess most people could say that. I was at an event not long ago and somebody was talking about the Good Old Days. At the time all I could think of was, “Which Good Old Days? During the McCarthy blacklist? Or when blacks couldn’t vote? When they burned women at the stake because they were herbalists? Those Good Old Days?” Maybe after I get the letter written I could send it off to my editor to look over. He did a great job on the posse book. I’m sure he’d appreciate his talents being used in such a way. If he were forced to do that as part of his job he’d be the one lamenting that life isn’t fair. And I’d have to agree. After all, if life were fair Elvis would be alive and the impersonators would be dead. I’ll do the best I can with the letter and pray for the best.

Thunder Over the Prairie came back from the editors with a few changes they would like to see made. Most of the comments center on bibliography and additional fact checking. It’s tedious, but necessary. I want to make sure everything is as accurate as I can get for this book so I don’t mind the effort. It is the less attractive aspect of the job however. The book is more than 40,000 word, but it still seems thin to me. The cover art looks great! Globe always does such a good job. I hope to finish the sample chapter for the book proposal I’m doing for Bethany House publishing this week as well as the last chapter of the Cody tome. It would be nice to have a few days off over the holidays and I don’t just mean from work. I’d like to take a trip from me. If worry and guilt were Olympic sports I’d win the gold every time. I once wanted to save the world – now I just want to leave the room with some dignity. It’s holiday time and it seems like everyone is having an office Christmas party. I’m a staff of one so an office party would just be pathetic. They’re not in existence anymore, but I always wondered where those people who worked in those Photo-Mat booths took their breaks or had their Christmas parties. Did they just duck down on the floor out of sight? Enough! I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be with Bill Cody if anyone asks.

The last couple of weeks I set my usual writing assignments aside to embark on a number of ventures. I directed the annual Christmas in Bethlehem program at my church, spent time with my parents who were here, and traveled to see my brother at Terminal Island in Long Beach. I call it “visiting life.” It was an emotionally draining time and I feel like I’ve aged several years. No amount of makeup can hide the toll the situation with my brother has had on me. My skin is starting to lose its elasticity. I took a nap on a corduroy bedspread. It took six hours for the lines to come out of my face. But there’s always food. I ate too much over Thanksgiving. I always make too much food, especially one item, like 700 or 800 pounds of mashed potatoes. With that much potatoes I have to push them during the meal. “Did you get some mashed potatoes??.They’re hot. There’s more in the oven?some more in the garage. The rest are at the Johnsons.” I continue to work on the last bit of the Buffalo Bill Cody book and am looking ahead to the launch of Thunder Over the Prairie. I hope over planning for the event will help the book to be a success the first week out. How this title does will decide the fate of my writing career. I like my job and would like to keep doing it for some time to come. Everyone has a purpose in life. If mine isn’t writing, perhaps it’s watching television.