July 20th, 2009

All too often I find myself in ridiculous situations in which there is no way out. Generally, I sign up for a beating, I get a beating, and then I’m surprised I got the beating.. Such was the case with the book event I attended in Texas this past week. Exhausted and struggling with bronchitis, I drag myself to a location across from the Alamo to promote Thunder Over the Prairie. Most of the people I met were incredibly kind. I learned some interesting facts about history listening to some of the other authors at the program talking about their books. One of the speakers had written a book about John Ringo and had researched the outlaw’s death and concluded that Ringo had committed suicide. It was fascinating to hear him discuss the documentation that led him to that thought. He shared Ringo’s death certificate and historical information with a coroner he knows. Brilliant idea! There were a few self proclaimed historians sitting around me during the author’s talk who were jotting down mistakes they believed the writer made in his book. They couldn’t wait to share their mean-spirited critique. I realized in that instant that I was guilty of the same thing. I made a mental note of every snub and hurtful comment that was made to me about my work while I was there. And I couldn’t wait to share my thoughts with others if anyone asked. Many of us our critics. From the comfort of my couch I’ve sniped at a few active individuals struggling to effect political change, make a movie, write a book, tell a joke, design a faucet – okay, that guy is a jerk. The faucets are fine, stop messing around with them, all right. The ones in airports are like science projects with the electronic eyes and motion sensors, water-saving springs – Faucet guy! Stop it! I’m not saying there isn’t a place for solid, intelligent, constructive criticism. But when was the last time you read a review of something, a movie, play, book, that gave you a real feel of what the author was trying to say? Now I don’t have any personal ax to grind here. Bad reviews don’t even affect me that much. I’m not the kind of person who names names – in fact, I don’t even know the name of that insufferable blow-hard from Wyoming. But uh?I feel so cleansed? The key thing to remember about all critics is that they remain dependent on the innovator, the person doing the real work of creating. And because they just sit on the sidelines of life, never the hunter, they are doomed to be forgotten. I hope to have further news to report this week on the progress of the film based on Thunder Over the Prairie. I know I’ll have news to report about my brother Rick’s condition. In the meantime, here’s a review of Thunder that was emailed to me. If only every reader felt this way? “Earp! Bassett! Masterson! Imagine joining a posse that is after a murderer, corrupt with a sour passion of lust and love. That’s what it its like reading THUNDER OVER THE PRAIRIE! Ms. Enss has done it again! Surpassing her other great books such as Pistol Packin’ Madams, A Beautiful Mine, and The Lady was a Gambler. Being a amateur historian, its totally amazing how much time, effort, and travel has been made on research just for one book. All I can say is THANK YOU, Ms. Enss, THANK YOU!!!!! Waiting for another book. TL Smethers.”