Q: Did/do you use any reference books on writing? Are there any you
would recommend? (Or any novels you would recommend?) Wolfgirl.
A:
John Dufresne's "THE LIE THAT TELLS THE TRUTH."
Stephen King's "ON WRITING."
Ken Macrorie's "TELLING WRITING."
Janet Burroway (several texts on writing).
Bernays and Painter’s "WHAT IF?"
PRIZE STORIES: THE O. HENRY AWARDS.
BEST AMERICAN SHORT STORIES.
PUSHCART PRIZE STORIES.
The short works of John Cheever.
The short works of Flannery O'Connor.
The short works of Ray Carver, but especially the collections "WHERE I'M CALLING FROM" and "WHAT WE TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT LOVE."
Isaac Asimov's short stories, but especially "I, ROBOT" and the novels in the FOUNDATION TRILOGY.
Ray Bradbury's short stories, but especially "THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES," "R IS FOR ROCKET" and "S IS FOR SPACE."
Thanks,
Preston
At the Pen Festival 2010
© PEN American Center/Susan Horgan. All rights reserved. Please contact media@pen.org for usage and rights.
July 19, 2008
Luck . . . Again
Q: What lucky or coincidental things have happened to you in your life and maybe helped you to write you novel ALL OR NOTHING.
A: Please let this be the last luck/fate question. Please.
I believe in skill, not luck. I do not believe that things are pre-ordained or predestined and will not believe until someone shows me some hard evidence or makes a more convincing argument than any I have heard so far.
That being said . . .
1) At work, my office was the office of novelist James Lee Burke when he taught at my college. People are always saying to me, "What a coincidence. That is the same desk James Lee Burke sat at. You are destined for great things."
2) As concerns poker, I seem to have a lucky seat--seat 3. I have caught seven royal flushes in seat 3. Seat 7 is also lucky for me. I have caught 4 royal flushes in seat 7. In a ten-handed Texas Hold'em or Omaha Hi-lo game, both seat 3 and seat 7 are three seats away from the dealer. As far as I can recall, I have never caught a royal flush in any other seat.
3) I seem to have had a lucky friend. While at the casino in the swamp one night, I was losing my shirt. This guy walked in, sat down at the table, and said to me, "You look like you are having bad luck. I'm gonna give you some luck." Players often joke like that to each other. I few minutes later, I hit a royal flush. It had a nice jackpot attahced to it, so I tipped all of the players at the table as well as the dealer. My new lucky friend said to me, "I brought you luck. You should tip me more than you did the rest of them." I laughed and gave him another hundred.
The very next night, while at the casino up in Broward, I was losing my shirt. The lucky guy I had met down in the swamp came in. He was not seated at my table this time, but at a table next to mine. In fact, we were back to back. I joked ove my shoulder to him, "If you are so lucky, bring me some more luck." He joked back, "I'm doing my best, bro." A few minutes later, I caught another royal flush. When they paid me the jackpot, I tipped everybody at my table and then turned around and tipped my lucky friend, too.
Every time we saw each other, we would joke around about how he brought me luck. It was kind of funny, really. And on nights when he was in the casino, I tended to win. I made note of this . . . coincidence. One night as I was leaving the casino, I found him hanging out in the parking lot. He had lost all of his money, he was afraid to go home to his wife, he had bills to play--blah, blah, blah--typical gambler spiel. What he really wanted was money to gamble with.
I had won a couple hundred that night and so I split it with him, but he said, "I am your good luck, bro. You should give me more money. Give me everything you won because I need it. Then go back inside and use the luck you get from me to win something really big."
This was complete BS, and I knew it, but I had been lucky with him. So I gave him all of my winnings from that night, then went back inside and sat down at the poker table. As I recall it, I could not seem to LOSE a hand that night. Before I knew it, my chips amounted to way more than the $200 or so that I had given him. Then a few hours later I hit a royal flush for about ten grand.
When I saw my lucky friend again a few weeks later, I pulled out a few hundreds and stuck them in his hand. He was suprised because he had not asked me for anything. He said, "What's this for?" I told him about the royal flush I had hit the night I had met him in the parking lot.
We laughed and laughed. "What do you think it means?" he asked.
"Well, I don't believe in luck, so I have no idea what it means," I told him.
And he said, "Well, believe this. I am moving out of town. I got a new job up in New York. I'm leaving tomorrow. Let's see how you do when I'm gone."
I laughed and told him, "I'll do just fine."
We slapped five and I never saw him again. I guess he moved to New York.
I also have never hit another royal flush.
4) After my divorce, I told my mother that I would never marry again. I had just started my new job that week. I had left the public schools for the community college. I was looking forward to making money and being single for the rest of my life. What need had I of marriage? I already had two kids from my ex, and I did not desire any further "marital torment," as I described it to my mother. I meant it. I was adamant about this thing.
The next day at work, my new boss, who, to my delight, seemed to like me very much, asked me to do some extra work (over time, more money!) in the writing lab at our satellite campus in Hialeah. Well, I was going through a divorce and needed the money, so I said, eagerly, "Yes."
So after work, I went to do my part-time night gig at the Hialeah Center, and upon meeting the woman who ran the lab felt a bit of the old lightning bolt. When I got home that night, I told my mother, "I just met the woman I am going to marry."
My mother could only nod her head, smiling at her fickle son.
Fickle, my big fat butt. My wife and I will have been married seventeen years in October.
In one of my many chats with my colleague and fellow writer poet/novelist Geoffrey Philp, I mentioned how I met my wife. I said, "If Elaine hadn't sent me over there, we never would have met."
And he said, "Elaine put me and my wife together too. She was in charge of the labs back then and assigned us to work together."
I forget who our other colleague was, but she overheard us and exclaimed, "Elaine put me and my husband together, too!"
5)
This is the one that makes me sad, but here goes. My mother passed away a year ago.
On the anniversary of her passing, I kept seeing three 7s. I saw them on a license plate. I saw them on a billboard. I saw them painted on the side of a truck. Then I even saw three Zs on something, but the bottom was obscured and the three Zs looked more like three 7s.
That night in the Play-4, the number was 7773, which was mother mother's phone number.
The next night 1972 came up boxed in the Play-4. My brother Anthony, who was not at the funeral and for all intents and purpoes is estranged from the family, was born in 1972.
I told my other brothers about it. It freaked them out.
6) One day I was playing Hold'em, and my cards were bad. Bad. For about three hours I was getting nothing but crappy hole cards. So I said to myself, I don't care what kind of crap I get in the hole, I am going to play the next hand. When I got my next hand, I looked at my hole cards: 2, 9. More crap. But I kept my promise and I played bad cards. The flop came 2, 2, 2. This meant that I now had four 2s, an unbeatable hand. Amazing.
7) I once picked up a hitchhiker during a very bad storm. She was a tall young woman with a dainty umbrella. When she got into my car, she said, "Do you smoke?"
I said, "No."
She said, "Do you get high? You mind if I get high?"
What kind of girl was this? She looked to be maybe 16. She had tattoos and piercings all over her face and arms. Her hair was cut short like a man's. As the rain and wind pelted thec car, I said, "No. I do not get high, and you will not get high in my car, either. Ma'am, would you just tell me where you'd like me to drop you off."
"No problem," she smirked, brushing me off as old school, out of touch, a square, a geezer. "The house is in Opa-Locka. You know where that is, pops?"
"Yes."
I knew where it was. Opa-Locka is not the safest neighborhood in Miami. In fact, it is reputed to be one of the most dangerous. I grew up in Opa-Locka back when it wasn't so bad.
When she gave me the address, I was in for another surprise. It was my old address! This girl lived in my old house.
I told her this, and her attitude changed. She became friendlier, more respectful. I told her which room used to be mine and she said, "That's my room now. Me and my little sister's!"
When we got to her house, the rain had abated, and we were both in for another surprise--she more than I. I spotted a man standing at the open door of her house and asked her who he was. She said, "My dad."
But he looked familiart. A little taller, a little stouter, but the same sleepy eyes and fat cheeks. I told her, "His name is __________ __________, right?"
She said, "Yes! How do you know him?"
"We were in fourth grade together. We sat next to each other in fourth grade."
The tattooed girl said to me as I was getting out of the car to go greet my old buddy, "Don't tell him what I asked you about getting high, okay? Please don't tell him."
I winked at her. It would be our secret.
A: Please let this be the last luck/fate question. Please.
I believe in skill, not luck. I do not believe that things are pre-ordained or predestined and will not believe until someone shows me some hard evidence or makes a more convincing argument than any I have heard so far.
That being said . . .
1) At work, my office was the office of novelist James Lee Burke when he taught at my college. People are always saying to me, "What a coincidence. That is the same desk James Lee Burke sat at. You are destined for great things."
2) As concerns poker, I seem to have a lucky seat--seat 3. I have caught seven royal flushes in seat 3. Seat 7 is also lucky for me. I have caught 4 royal flushes in seat 7. In a ten-handed Texas Hold'em or Omaha Hi-lo game, both seat 3 and seat 7 are three seats away from the dealer. As far as I can recall, I have never caught a royal flush in any other seat.
3) I seem to have had a lucky friend. While at the casino in the swamp one night, I was losing my shirt. This guy walked in, sat down at the table, and said to me, "You look like you are having bad luck. I'm gonna give you some luck." Players often joke like that to each other. I few minutes later, I hit a royal flush. It had a nice jackpot attahced to it, so I tipped all of the players at the table as well as the dealer. My new lucky friend said to me, "I brought you luck. You should tip me more than you did the rest of them." I laughed and gave him another hundred.
The very next night, while at the casino up in Broward, I was losing my shirt. The lucky guy I had met down in the swamp came in. He was not seated at my table this time, but at a table next to mine. In fact, we were back to back. I joked ove my shoulder to him, "If you are so lucky, bring me some more luck." He joked back, "I'm doing my best, bro." A few minutes later, I caught another royal flush. When they paid me the jackpot, I tipped everybody at my table and then turned around and tipped my lucky friend, too.
Every time we saw each other, we would joke around about how he brought me luck. It was kind of funny, really. And on nights when he was in the casino, I tended to win. I made note of this . . . coincidence. One night as I was leaving the casino, I found him hanging out in the parking lot. He had lost all of his money, he was afraid to go home to his wife, he had bills to play--blah, blah, blah--typical gambler spiel. What he really wanted was money to gamble with.
I had won a couple hundred that night and so I split it with him, but he said, "I am your good luck, bro. You should give me more money. Give me everything you won because I need it. Then go back inside and use the luck you get from me to win something really big."
This was complete BS, and I knew it, but I had been lucky with him. So I gave him all of my winnings from that night, then went back inside and sat down at the poker table. As I recall it, I could not seem to LOSE a hand that night. Before I knew it, my chips amounted to way more than the $200 or so that I had given him. Then a few hours later I hit a royal flush for about ten grand.
When I saw my lucky friend again a few weeks later, I pulled out a few hundreds and stuck them in his hand. He was suprised because he had not asked me for anything. He said, "What's this for?" I told him about the royal flush I had hit the night I had met him in the parking lot.
We laughed and laughed. "What do you think it means?" he asked.
"Well, I don't believe in luck, so I have no idea what it means," I told him.
And he said, "Well, believe this. I am moving out of town. I got a new job up in New York. I'm leaving tomorrow. Let's see how you do when I'm gone."
I laughed and told him, "I'll do just fine."
We slapped five and I never saw him again. I guess he moved to New York.
I also have never hit another royal flush.
4) After my divorce, I told my mother that I would never marry again. I had just started my new job that week. I had left the public schools for the community college. I was looking forward to making money and being single for the rest of my life. What need had I of marriage? I already had two kids from my ex, and I did not desire any further "marital torment," as I described it to my mother. I meant it. I was adamant about this thing.
The next day at work, my new boss, who, to my delight, seemed to like me very much, asked me to do some extra work (over time, more money!) in the writing lab at our satellite campus in Hialeah. Well, I was going through a divorce and needed the money, so I said, eagerly, "Yes."
So after work, I went to do my part-time night gig at the Hialeah Center, and upon meeting the woman who ran the lab felt a bit of the old lightning bolt. When I got home that night, I told my mother, "I just met the woman I am going to marry."
My mother could only nod her head, smiling at her fickle son.
Fickle, my big fat butt. My wife and I will have been married seventeen years in October.
In one of my many chats with my colleague and fellow writer poet/novelist Geoffrey Philp, I mentioned how I met my wife. I said, "If Elaine hadn't sent me over there, we never would have met."
And he said, "Elaine put me and my wife together too. She was in charge of the labs back then and assigned us to work together."
I forget who our other colleague was, but she overheard us and exclaimed, "Elaine put me and my husband together, too!"
5)
This is the one that makes me sad, but here goes. My mother passed away a year ago.
On the anniversary of her passing, I kept seeing three 7s. I saw them on a license plate. I saw them on a billboard. I saw them painted on the side of a truck. Then I even saw three Zs on something, but the bottom was obscured and the three Zs looked more like three 7s.
That night in the Play-4, the number was 7773, which was mother mother's phone number.
The next night 1972 came up boxed in the Play-4. My brother Anthony, who was not at the funeral and for all intents and purpoes is estranged from the family, was born in 1972.
I told my other brothers about it. It freaked them out.
6) One day I was playing Hold'em, and my cards were bad. Bad. For about three hours I was getting nothing but crappy hole cards. So I said to myself, I don't care what kind of crap I get in the hole, I am going to play the next hand. When I got my next hand, I looked at my hole cards: 2, 9. More crap. But I kept my promise and I played bad cards. The flop came 2, 2, 2. This meant that I now had four 2s, an unbeatable hand. Amazing.
7) I once picked up a hitchhiker during a very bad storm. She was a tall young woman with a dainty umbrella. When she got into my car, she said, "Do you smoke?"
I said, "No."
She said, "Do you get high? You mind if I get high?"
What kind of girl was this? She looked to be maybe 16. She had tattoos and piercings all over her face and arms. Her hair was cut short like a man's. As the rain and wind pelted thec car, I said, "No. I do not get high, and you will not get high in my car, either. Ma'am, would you just tell me where you'd like me to drop you off."
"No problem," she smirked, brushing me off as old school, out of touch, a square, a geezer. "The house is in Opa-Locka. You know where that is, pops?"
"Yes."
I knew where it was. Opa-Locka is not the safest neighborhood in Miami. In fact, it is reputed to be one of the most dangerous. I grew up in Opa-Locka back when it wasn't so bad.
When she gave me the address, I was in for another surprise. It was my old address! This girl lived in my old house.
I told her this, and her attitude changed. She became friendlier, more respectful. I told her which room used to be mine and she said, "That's my room now. Me and my little sister's!"
When we got to her house, the rain had abated, and we were both in for another surprise--she more than I. I spotted a man standing at the open door of her house and asked her who he was. She said, "My dad."
But he looked familiart. A little taller, a little stouter, but the same sleepy eyes and fat cheeks. I told her, "His name is __________ __________, right?"
She said, "Yes! How do you know him?"
"We were in fourth grade together. We sat next to each other in fourth grade."
The tattooed girl said to me as I was getting out of the car to go greet my old buddy, "Don't tell him what I asked you about getting high, okay? Please don't tell him."
I winked at her. It would be our secret.
Wolf Girl 2
Q: When did you publish your first novel and how did you feel about it? Wolfgirl.
A: I self-published my first novel HOOCHIE MAMA in 2001 and I felt great
about it.
I had another book that was supposed to come out that year,
CHURCHBOYS AND OTHER SINNERS (Carolina Wren Press, 2003), but there
were delays at the publishing house and so the book was put on hold.
I self-published that first book because I was tired of delays. I wanted
control. I wanted to see my name in print. I wanted to feel good. I
wanted to dance on the ceiling. When it came out, I danced on the
ceiling.
HOOCHIE MAMA is self-published, but it is well edited and it
says what I wanted it to say. I got wh at I wanted--control.
Thanks,
Preston
A: I self-published my first novel HOOCHIE MAMA in 2001 and I felt great
about it.
I had another book that was supposed to come out that year,
CHURCHBOYS AND OTHER SINNERS (Carolina Wren Press, 2003), but there
were delays at the publishing house and so the book was put on hold.
I self-published that first book because I was tired of delays. I wanted
control. I wanted to see my name in print. I wanted to feel good. I
wanted to dance on the ceiling. When it came out, I danced on the
ceiling.
HOOCHIE MAMA is self-published, but it is well edited and it
says what I wanted it to say. I got wh at I wanted--control.
Thanks,
Preston
Wolf Girl 1
Q: What experience or knowledge is required to do your job? Wolfgirl.
A: By my "job," I presume you mean "Writer" or "Novelist," as opposed to
teacher/professor of English.
As far is knowledge is concerned, a writer must have lived and experienced the world. I once heard that by the time you reach16, you have at least one full-length book in you--your autobiography.
Writers go through life with their eyes open.
Writers pay attention to everything. They are fascinated by life and
humans and culture and conflict--they want to know what makes people
tick.
Also, a writer must be a good reader. A writer must love
reading. Many great writers never completed a formal education--but
they had read probably every book they could get their hands on.
Writers must be readers, but of course this only makes sense. Writers
are in the business of putting words on the page, in the business of
making books--why then should it be a surprise that they love books?
The best way to learn how to write is to read. A writer must always be
reading.
Thanks Wolfgirl,
Preston
A: By my "job," I presume you mean "Writer" or "Novelist," as opposed to
teacher/professor of English.
As far is knowledge is concerned, a writer must have lived and experienced the world. I once heard that by the time you reach16, you have at least one full-length book in you--your autobiography.
Writers go through life with their eyes open.
Writers pay attention to everything. They are fascinated by life and
humans and culture and conflict--they want to know what makes people
tick.
Also, a writer must be a good reader. A writer must love
reading. Many great writers never completed a formal education--but
they had read probably every book they could get their hands on.
Writers must be readers, but of course this only makes sense. Writers
are in the business of putting words on the page, in the business of
making books--why then should it be a surprise that they love books?
The best way to learn how to write is to read. A writer must always be
reading.
Thanks Wolfgirl,
Preston
July 13, 2008
A Page from the Diary of Fate 2
Man oh man, have I been getting some heat for my blog on luck!
Some emailers are saying "what about my lucky hat?" "What about how I met my wife? If I hadn't been at that party that night . . ." "What about Bob Marley? If he hadn't been a welder on the same job with rising singer Desmond Dekker when Desmond got hit in the eye and couldn't peform that night at the show, he may never have gotten his shot." "What if I had folded that night? I had nothing but 2,7. But I kept it, I did not fold, and the flop came 2,2,2. I won my first million that night because of that good luck."
Let me put it another way. There is no luck that controls things. There is only what we call "luck" after a thing has happened. In short, there is only "what will be will be."
Think of it like this. There are two giant wheels spinning independently of each other. Each wheel has a thousand points of contact. Most of these points of contact have CRAP marked on them. In fact, Only 20 out of a possible 1000 have GOOD STUFF marked on them. If your two wheels spin for you and you get GOOD STUFF on BOTH wheels when they stop, then you win. Most of the time you will get CRAP/CRAP. You will often get CRAP on one wheel and GOOD STUFF on the other. Often you will get GOOD STUFF on one wheel and CRAP on the other. It is very exciting, but you do not win. Close, but no cigar. Sometimes you will get the magical, wonderful, amazing GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. When this happens, we say that you are lucky.
Well, yes. You are lucky because it was your turn to spin when the wheel came to GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. You did not earn it through hard work. It was simply your turn and the wheel was ready to hit. You did not deserve to win it any more than anyone else who had played and lost. You are called "lucky" and you feel as though you have been chosen by the gods, you and only you. But luck only means "what will be will be," not a pre-ordainment. Luck is not a compliment to your talent and skill--it is a comment on what happened.
But you will say, "There were only 20 winners on each wheel out of a thousand. The odds of winning were therefore 400 out of a million, or 1 out of 2,500." Yes the odds were great, and so then luck should mean, "I have no special quality, I am simply the one who spun when the wheel hit. I did nothing to earn this but spin as did all of the others before me."
But we take luck to be a quality attached to the person--he is lucky. We argue Backwards and say, "But who put him in that spot at that time? Who did that? Who made him play on this certain day? Who set the wheels to hit just when he was playing."
We try to make luck a function of preordination. We anthropormorphize luck. Luck is a creature, a sentient being that controls what will be. We make luck a deity, a god.
But luck is not a god. Luck is, actually, the absence of a god.
Consider the following exchange:
1
"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. You are quite a skilled player."
"No, Roger, I am not skilled at all. I hardly even understand the game. It was all luck."
2
"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. I could tell from the way you played that you have no great understanding of the game. Clearly God was on your side, guiding your play."
"No, Roger, I doubt God had anything to do with it. I was just lucky."
Luck is the absence of skill or a god. Luck is a factor of probability. Luck, in fact, is about science.
There is a mathematical formula to represent how often our two spinning wheels will land on GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. If you spin 2500 times, you are likely to hit GOODS STUFF/GOOD STUFF once. This does not mean that you will hit it. It simply means that we can look at every spin of the two wheels and count how many times GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF shows up, and that number is 1 out of 2500.
How do gamblers use probability?
Let's say the odds of hitting a royal flush are 1 out of 250,000 (I don't have the numbers in front of me, but this ratio is not too far off); this means that if you are holding a JACK, QUEEN, KING, and ACE of hearts against an opponent who is betting like crazy and you suspect he has a full house, you should fold your cards. Why not wait for the TEN of hearts and your royal flush? Because the odds are pretty good that you will not get it.
Now a bad gambler, or a brave one, or a desperate one, or one who is so rich that losing money means nothing to him/her will stay in the hand hoping to catch that TEN of hearts to complete the royal flush. And sometimes they do catch it.
To date, I have caught 11 royal flushes. This is no testament to my poker-playing skill; I was at different times a brave gambler (I knew the odds, but I defied them), a desperate gambler (I knew the odds, but I was so broke I had no choice but to play and pray that I won so that I could get my money back), a bad gambler (I had no idea what the odds were and no idea that a good gambler would have folded in this situation).
A poker player's skill comes from knowing the odds of catching this hand or that, and knowing the tells and tendencies of the other players at the game so as to determine whether they are bluffing or not.
See, most winning hands of poker played at a table with "good" players are never revealed. A player who gets ACE/ACE in the hole will bet a certain way and usually the other good players will fold, sensing he has something very strong--it matters not that the player holding the crappy 2,7 actually would have won if he had stayed in because the flop, turn, and river cards were going to be 7, 7, 7. Only a bad player would stay in with crap like that--and if the bad player stays in, he/she will beat the ACE/ACE and win. But the other good players at the table will grumble disparagingly, "He/she got lucky. What a bad player. No skill at all. Just blind luck."
Not God, not skill, not fate--just blind luck. Good gamblers don't like luck very much. Luck is what the amateurs need to beat the better players.
Luck is not a good thing. Luck is an un-earned scientific thing that the skilled have to overcome when matched up with the un-skilled.
But what about Bob Marley?
Okay, let's leave our hypothetical casino for a moment, though the two giant wheels are spinning out here in the real world too.
The story as told to me goes like this: A young Bob Marley was working as a welder alongside another young singer Desmond Dekker (REMEMBER THAT FAMOUS SONG, The Israelites?), who had an upcoming gig that night but hurt his eye so badly that day on the job that he could not perform. Bob Marley piped up something like, "Don't worry, boss. I can sing too. I can do it." The rest is history.
Here is a case where preparation, hard work, and skill meet opportunity (or mathematical probability). Call it luck if you will, but I will argue that this is no deity pulling the strings. Marley, though a young man, had been singing for years and mastering his craft. He took the job as a welder so that he could eat, but he was in his mind a singer looking for an opportunity.
In life, opportunities are not so numerous as lack of opportunity, but they do exist. Let's say there will be 20 opportunities on a spinning wheel of 1000.
If that spinning wheel offers an opportunity to, say, the non-musical Preston L. Allen, that is like a GOOD STUFF/CRAP spin. It can't help me. I'm a writer, not a singer. I help my co-worker Desmond Dekker find some ice to put on his eye, and I keep on welding. That's it.
But if that spinning wheel lands for Bob Marley, then we have a GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF hit and Marley will make the best of this opportunity. He had nothing to do with this opportunity, true, but he can take advantage of it because he has been preparing most of his life for it.
I know, I know, you have objections:
You say, but what if Dekker hadn't hurt his eye? Marley, I'm sure, would have kept spinning that wheel. Maybe he strikes up a friendship with Dekker and breaks into the business that way.
But what if Marley had not taken a job as a welder? He would have taken a job as busboy and kept right on spinning--opportunities exist.
And Marley will find one of those opportunities, and if he never finds one, he will become a very talented, very avante garde teacher of music in Jamaica, unheard of by most, but beloved by his students, especially those with a little rebellion in their blood.
We can't always create or find opportunities, but we can work hard on our craft, work hard at improving our skills. Then when opportunity meets preparation, we are ready to rock.
At that point, you can call it luck, fate, God, or whatever you will as you soar to the top.
The big wheels just keep on spinning.
Preston
Some emailers are saying "what about my lucky hat?" "What about how I met my wife? If I hadn't been at that party that night . . ." "What about Bob Marley? If he hadn't been a welder on the same job with rising singer Desmond Dekker when Desmond got hit in the eye and couldn't peform that night at the show, he may never have gotten his shot." "What if I had folded that night? I had nothing but 2,7. But I kept it, I did not fold, and the flop came 2,2,2. I won my first million that night because of that good luck."
Let me put it another way. There is no luck that controls things. There is only what we call "luck" after a thing has happened. In short, there is only "what will be will be."
Think of it like this. There are two giant wheels spinning independently of each other. Each wheel has a thousand points of contact. Most of these points of contact have CRAP marked on them. In fact, Only 20 out of a possible 1000 have GOOD STUFF marked on them. If your two wheels spin for you and you get GOOD STUFF on BOTH wheels when they stop, then you win. Most of the time you will get CRAP/CRAP. You will often get CRAP on one wheel and GOOD STUFF on the other. Often you will get GOOD STUFF on one wheel and CRAP on the other. It is very exciting, but you do not win. Close, but no cigar. Sometimes you will get the magical, wonderful, amazing GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. When this happens, we say that you are lucky.
Well, yes. You are lucky because it was your turn to spin when the wheel came to GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. You did not earn it through hard work. It was simply your turn and the wheel was ready to hit. You did not deserve to win it any more than anyone else who had played and lost. You are called "lucky" and you feel as though you have been chosen by the gods, you and only you. But luck only means "what will be will be," not a pre-ordainment. Luck is not a compliment to your talent and skill--it is a comment on what happened.
But you will say, "There were only 20 winners on each wheel out of a thousand. The odds of winning were therefore 400 out of a million, or 1 out of 2,500." Yes the odds were great, and so then luck should mean, "I have no special quality, I am simply the one who spun when the wheel hit. I did nothing to earn this but spin as did all of the others before me."
But we take luck to be a quality attached to the person--he is lucky. We argue Backwards and say, "But who put him in that spot at that time? Who did that? Who made him play on this certain day? Who set the wheels to hit just when he was playing."
We try to make luck a function of preordination. We anthropormorphize luck. Luck is a creature, a sentient being that controls what will be. We make luck a deity, a god.
But luck is not a god. Luck is, actually, the absence of a god.
Consider the following exchange:
1
"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. You are quite a skilled player."
"No, Roger, I am not skilled at all. I hardly even understand the game. It was all luck."
2
"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. I could tell from the way you played that you have no great understanding of the game. Clearly God was on your side, guiding your play."
"No, Roger, I doubt God had anything to do with it. I was just lucky."
Luck is the absence of skill or a god. Luck is a factor of probability. Luck, in fact, is about science.
There is a mathematical formula to represent how often our two spinning wheels will land on GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. If you spin 2500 times, you are likely to hit GOODS STUFF/GOOD STUFF once. This does not mean that you will hit it. It simply means that we can look at every spin of the two wheels and count how many times GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF shows up, and that number is 1 out of 2500.
How do gamblers use probability?
Let's say the odds of hitting a royal flush are 1 out of 250,000 (I don't have the numbers in front of me, but this ratio is not too far off); this means that if you are holding a JACK, QUEEN, KING, and ACE of hearts against an opponent who is betting like crazy and you suspect he has a full house, you should fold your cards. Why not wait for the TEN of hearts and your royal flush? Because the odds are pretty good that you will not get it.
Now a bad gambler, or a brave one, or a desperate one, or one who is so rich that losing money means nothing to him/her will stay in the hand hoping to catch that TEN of hearts to complete the royal flush. And sometimes they do catch it.
To date, I have caught 11 royal flushes. This is no testament to my poker-playing skill; I was at different times a brave gambler (I knew the odds, but I defied them), a desperate gambler (I knew the odds, but I was so broke I had no choice but to play and pray that I won so that I could get my money back), a bad gambler (I had no idea what the odds were and no idea that a good gambler would have folded in this situation).
A poker player's skill comes from knowing the odds of catching this hand or that, and knowing the tells and tendencies of the other players at the game so as to determine whether they are bluffing or not.
See, most winning hands of poker played at a table with "good" players are never revealed. A player who gets ACE/ACE in the hole will bet a certain way and usually the other good players will fold, sensing he has something very strong--it matters not that the player holding the crappy 2,7 actually would have won if he had stayed in because the flop, turn, and river cards were going to be 7, 7, 7. Only a bad player would stay in with crap like that--and if the bad player stays in, he/she will beat the ACE/ACE and win. But the other good players at the table will grumble disparagingly, "He/she got lucky. What a bad player. No skill at all. Just blind luck."
Not God, not skill, not fate--just blind luck. Good gamblers don't like luck very much. Luck is what the amateurs need to beat the better players.
Luck is not a good thing. Luck is an un-earned scientific thing that the skilled have to overcome when matched up with the un-skilled.
But what about Bob Marley?
Okay, let's leave our hypothetical casino for a moment, though the two giant wheels are spinning out here in the real world too.
The story as told to me goes like this: A young Bob Marley was working as a welder alongside another young singer Desmond Dekker (REMEMBER THAT FAMOUS SONG, The Israelites?), who had an upcoming gig that night but hurt his eye so badly that day on the job that he could not perform. Bob Marley piped up something like, "Don't worry, boss. I can sing too. I can do it." The rest is history.
Here is a case where preparation, hard work, and skill meet opportunity (or mathematical probability). Call it luck if you will, but I will argue that this is no deity pulling the strings. Marley, though a young man, had been singing for years and mastering his craft. He took the job as a welder so that he could eat, but he was in his mind a singer looking for an opportunity.
In life, opportunities are not so numerous as lack of opportunity, but they do exist. Let's say there will be 20 opportunities on a spinning wheel of 1000.
If that spinning wheel offers an opportunity to, say, the non-musical Preston L. Allen, that is like a GOOD STUFF/CRAP spin. It can't help me. I'm a writer, not a singer. I help my co-worker Desmond Dekker find some ice to put on his eye, and I keep on welding. That's it.
But if that spinning wheel lands for Bob Marley, then we have a GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF hit and Marley will make the best of this opportunity. He had nothing to do with this opportunity, true, but he can take advantage of it because he has been preparing most of his life for it.
I know, I know, you have objections:
You say, but what if Dekker hadn't hurt his eye? Marley, I'm sure, would have kept spinning that wheel. Maybe he strikes up a friendship with Dekker and breaks into the business that way.
But what if Marley had not taken a job as a welder? He would have taken a job as busboy and kept right on spinning--opportunities exist.
And Marley will find one of those opportunities, and if he never finds one, he will become a very talented, very avante garde teacher of music in Jamaica, unheard of by most, but beloved by his students, especially those with a little rebellion in their blood.
We can't always create or find opportunities, but we can work hard on our craft, work hard at improving our skills. Then when opportunity meets preparation, we are ready to rock.
At that point, you can call it luck, fate, God, or whatever you will as you soar to the top.
The big wheels just keep on spinning.
Preston
Religion, Politics, Sex
Q: I read your collection, "Churchboys and Other Sinners" a year ago for a graduate class at the University of Florida and thorougly enjoyed it. The Elwyn Stories in that book are wonderful and should be made into a novel or even a movie. Those stories perfectly and humorously capture what it feels like to grow up as a fundamentalist, Evangelical, or Pentecostal in America; believe me, personally, I know what I am talking about. Been there, done that. And yet, the stories are not judgmental or condescending to religion and religious folk. All of the other stories in the collection are excellent too, but I especially like "Prince William Blows Good," as it recasts the Oedipus myth in a modern musical context, "Get Some," "Is Randy Roberts There?" and "Jack Move." The story I take issue with is "C Plus Baptist Virgin," a certifiable masterpiece of the history of racial politics in America. The message of the tale of a black boy and white girl locked into their own "boxes" was not lost on me, but you claimed in an earlier blog to be a writer who does not cover the topics of politics, religion, and sex. Explain that contradiction, sir. I have ordered "All or Nothing" at Amazon and can't wait to read it. Congratulations on your NY Times review.
A: Thanks for your email.
I repeat: I do not discuss religion, politics, and sex. I do not discuss religion because most people I have encountered, nost friends even, are incapable of carrying on a religious argument with objectivity.
When I used to participate in religious discussions back in the Rawlings Hall dorms at UF, it always boiled down to a question of faith. One side would say, "This is what I believe and therefore it must be correct," and the other side would say, "This is what I believe and therefore it must be correct."
That is not an argument--that is a shouting match. Whoever has the biggest mouth, or fists, will win.
When I argue, I have this bad habit of listening carefully to the other side and then posing challenges to the other side's assertions. Many people seemed to take these challenges personally; I was attacking their arguments, but they reacted as though I were attacking their person. Many feelings were hurt. I would rather not hurt feelings, so I do not discuss religion.
I smile a lot when others have religious discussions around me, but I resist the urge to participate no matter how strong it be. I have come to see that, with few exceptions, no matter what my friends' religious beliefs are, they are still very good friends and I am fortunate to have them.
Questions of virgin birth, divinity of Christ, the rapture, water baptism versus sprinkling, Sunday worship versus the Sabbath, creation versus evolution, the fallibility of bible texts, the existence of heaven, predestination, women in the pulpit, gays in the pulpit, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, which is the RIGHT religion?--these are questions I have no burning desire to have answered. I am happy not knowing.
But the truth, of course, is that these questions were answered for me long ago when I was a child and too young to resist and therefore they became part of my core beliefs.
The truth is that these questions were answered for YOU, also, a long time ago when you were too young to resist.
Thus, when we argue these things, we become like children arguing. Even though it might be fun, I would rather not have a childish argument with you. I was punched in the face a lot when arguing as a child. The bigger kid always won because he was, well, bigger.
When I became a bigger kid, the little kids lost many arguments to me because I was bigger and could punch them, and because of something else--I was . . . bigger. Little kids naturally look up to bigger kids. Little kids naturally look up to their parents, who are the biggest kids of all. Parents are the ones who give their kids . . . religion.
When you oppose someone in a religious argument, you are opposing their parents, you are calling their parents stupid and dummies and wrong and not smart, you are laughing at their parents. Thus, they feel like punching you. I would feel like punching you too if you made fun of my mom.
The easist way to make fun of my mom? Oppose me in a religious argument.
I do not discuss politics because [[see above argument for religion and substitute "politics" for "religion"; substitute "punch in the face" for "chase you off my porch with a shotgun"; substitute "punch in the face" for "tell you that if you don't like the way things are done around here, long-haired freak, then maybe you should just go somewhere else, like Russia maybe"]]. My only political argument is that we vote anonymously in a private booth and that we vote often.
I do not discuss sex because it can be considered impolite. It can be considered rude [[see Bernie Mac at a celebrity roast for Obama]]. It can be inappropriate, especially if there are children in the room. It can embarrass people. I don't like to embarrass people. I don't like to be embarrassed.
So there you have it. I do not discuss religion, politics, and sex.
But I do write about them . . . a lot.
In fact, check out my erotic stories in Brown Sugar 1, 2, 3, 4, and Wanderlust: Erotic Travel Tales. Sex? OMG, did I write about sex in those books. I remember running into a library one afternoon to use their computers to check my email for one urgent matter or another and while I was handing the librarian my ID, I noticed that she was reading Brown Sugar (#1). Naughty girl.
I said to her, "You like that book, huh?"
The naughty girl blushed and put a hand over the cover. "It's okay," she said, obviously embarrassed.
I could not resist. I said, "Have you read my story in there yet?"
She said, "You have a story in here?"
"The first one. 'Nadine's Husband'."
"Oh my god! That one is so hot. But you . . . sex, you write about it? You?" She eyed me. Baffled.
"Yes, I look like a college professor complete with tie, briefcase, shiny shoes. and middle-aged spread. I may not look hot, but I write hot."
She grinned.
After that, we chatted and she signed me up to do a presentation for her reading group.
Sex? Me? Write about it? Yes. Double yes.
In fact, the fun thing about the good little churchboy Elwyn in "Churchboys and Other Sinners" is that he is involved in a clandestine affair with the widow Morrisohn. Say Amen, brother, and drop your drawers.
The collection is not named "Churchboys and Other Sinners" for nothing--it explores a number of religous themes, and as you pointed out, political ones too.
No reviewer has written about it yet, but while the focus of my novel "All or Nothing" is gambling addiction it does have its steamy moments too.
I am a writer. It is my job to explore sex, politics, religion and other important issues in my work. This is what writers do.
And if these themes get people to talking, or arguing, there will be fewer if any punches thrown because the safe context of the fictional world of the short story or the novel provides a medium for objectivity that would not otherwise exist. In other words, "I am not talking about your religious beliefs, I am talking about Elwyn's."
Get the trick? It is safer to make fun of Elwyn's mom, than to make fun of mine. It is safer to ogle the topless hookers in the Vegas of "All or Nothing" than to discuss your peculiar bedroom habits to the crowd at the office potluck.
By the way, emailer, I am putting the finishing touches on the Elwyn/Sister Morrisohn novel as we speak.
Finally, "C Plus Baptist Virgin" is a hat trick--mixing politics (as you pointed out)with both sex and religion (as you can see from its title--Its original title was "Thomas Jefferson and the C Plus Baptist Virgin").
[[By the way, Elwyn and Sister Morrisohn are not technically Fundamentalists, Pentecostal, or Evangelical--they are members of a related sect called Holiness that has been around nearly 200 years--but you can call them fundamentalists if you like.]]
Thanks for you support and your great email! What class was it at UF that used the book?
Go gators!
Preston
A: Thanks for your email.
I repeat: I do not discuss religion, politics, and sex. I do not discuss religion because most people I have encountered, nost friends even, are incapable of carrying on a religious argument with objectivity.
When I used to participate in religious discussions back in the Rawlings Hall dorms at UF, it always boiled down to a question of faith. One side would say, "This is what I believe and therefore it must be correct," and the other side would say, "This is what I believe and therefore it must be correct."
That is not an argument--that is a shouting match. Whoever has the biggest mouth, or fists, will win.
When I argue, I have this bad habit of listening carefully to the other side and then posing challenges to the other side's assertions. Many people seemed to take these challenges personally; I was attacking their arguments, but they reacted as though I were attacking their person. Many feelings were hurt. I would rather not hurt feelings, so I do not discuss religion.
I smile a lot when others have religious discussions around me, but I resist the urge to participate no matter how strong it be. I have come to see that, with few exceptions, no matter what my friends' religious beliefs are, they are still very good friends and I am fortunate to have them.
Questions of virgin birth, divinity of Christ, the rapture, water baptism versus sprinkling, Sunday worship versus the Sabbath, creation versus evolution, the fallibility of bible texts, the existence of heaven, predestination, women in the pulpit, gays in the pulpit, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, which is the RIGHT religion?--these are questions I have no burning desire to have answered. I am happy not knowing.
But the truth, of course, is that these questions were answered for me long ago when I was a child and too young to resist and therefore they became part of my core beliefs.
The truth is that these questions were answered for YOU, also, a long time ago when you were too young to resist.
Thus, when we argue these things, we become like children arguing. Even though it might be fun, I would rather not have a childish argument with you. I was punched in the face a lot when arguing as a child. The bigger kid always won because he was, well, bigger.
When I became a bigger kid, the little kids lost many arguments to me because I was bigger and could punch them, and because of something else--I was . . . bigger. Little kids naturally look up to bigger kids. Little kids naturally look up to their parents, who are the biggest kids of all. Parents are the ones who give their kids . . . religion.
When you oppose someone in a religious argument, you are opposing their parents, you are calling their parents stupid and dummies and wrong and not smart, you are laughing at their parents. Thus, they feel like punching you. I would feel like punching you too if you made fun of my mom.
The easist way to make fun of my mom? Oppose me in a religious argument.
I do not discuss politics because [[see above argument for religion and substitute "politics" for "religion"; substitute "punch in the face" for "chase you off my porch with a shotgun"; substitute "punch in the face" for "tell you that if you don't like the way things are done around here, long-haired freak, then maybe you should just go somewhere else, like Russia maybe"]]. My only political argument is that we vote anonymously in a private booth and that we vote often.
I do not discuss sex because it can be considered impolite. It can be considered rude [[see Bernie Mac at a celebrity roast for Obama]]. It can be inappropriate, especially if there are children in the room. It can embarrass people. I don't like to embarrass people. I don't like to be embarrassed.
So there you have it. I do not discuss religion, politics, and sex.
But I do write about them . . . a lot.
In fact, check out my erotic stories in Brown Sugar 1, 2, 3, 4, and Wanderlust: Erotic Travel Tales. Sex? OMG, did I write about sex in those books. I remember running into a library one afternoon to use their computers to check my email for one urgent matter or another and while I was handing the librarian my ID, I noticed that she was reading Brown Sugar (#1). Naughty girl.
I said to her, "You like that book, huh?"
The naughty girl blushed and put a hand over the cover. "It's okay," she said, obviously embarrassed.
I could not resist. I said, "Have you read my story in there yet?"
She said, "You have a story in here?"
"The first one. 'Nadine's Husband'."
"Oh my god! That one is so hot. But you . . . sex, you write about it? You?" She eyed me. Baffled.
"Yes, I look like a college professor complete with tie, briefcase, shiny shoes. and middle-aged spread. I may not look hot, but I write hot."
She grinned.
After that, we chatted and she signed me up to do a presentation for her reading group.
Sex? Me? Write about it? Yes. Double yes.
In fact, the fun thing about the good little churchboy Elwyn in "Churchboys and Other Sinners" is that he is involved in a clandestine affair with the widow Morrisohn. Say Amen, brother, and drop your drawers.
The collection is not named "Churchboys and Other Sinners" for nothing--it explores a number of religous themes, and as you pointed out, political ones too.
No reviewer has written about it yet, but while the focus of my novel "All or Nothing" is gambling addiction it does have its steamy moments too.
I am a writer. It is my job to explore sex, politics, religion and other important issues in my work. This is what writers do.
And if these themes get people to talking, or arguing, there will be fewer if any punches thrown because the safe context of the fictional world of the short story or the novel provides a medium for objectivity that would not otherwise exist. In other words, "I am not talking about your religious beliefs, I am talking about Elwyn's."
Get the trick? It is safer to make fun of Elwyn's mom, than to make fun of mine. It is safer to ogle the topless hookers in the Vegas of "All or Nothing" than to discuss your peculiar bedroom habits to the crowd at the office potluck.
By the way, emailer, I am putting the finishing touches on the Elwyn/Sister Morrisohn novel as we speak.
Finally, "C Plus Baptist Virgin" is a hat trick--mixing politics (as you pointed out)with both sex and religion (as you can see from its title--Its original title was "Thomas Jefferson and the C Plus Baptist Virgin").
[[By the way, Elwyn and Sister Morrisohn are not technically Fundamentalists, Pentecostal, or Evangelical--they are members of a related sect called Holiness that has been around nearly 200 years--but you can call them fundamentalists if you like.]]
Thanks for you support and your great email! What class was it at UF that used the book?
Go gators!
Preston
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