Brett Busang's Blog
June 29, 2017
An Annunciation
Generally speaking, Annunciations are ecclesiastical events in which the Coming of Christ (or a near-notable) is "announced" and everybody can - now that the suspense is over and done with - get on with dinner. In my case, there there will be no (or at least few) robes, virgins will keep to themselves, and ponderous messages will be few and far between.
Laughter and Early Sorrow: And Other Stories
Yet, whenever a book is published, the author doesn't - or at least shouldn't - mind telling people about it. At the very least, he or she should admit to having written it, allowing a provisional public to take that in, and sneak away sometime afterwards.
And while I may live to regret it, I want to take full responsibility for my book, Laughter and Early Sorrow, which I am about to share with the world - or such world as I can get to. This sharing might involve, but may not be restricted to: the story of its genesis, the growing-pains that accompanied its conception, and the socio/psychological origins of its characters and situations. (As to this latter phenomenon: I'm sure there are some of these. I just haven't thought much about them. Which may well be the best possible reason to publish anything: to finally come to grips with who's in it, what it means, and to either make amends for having produced such a thing or, in the event that people like it, pretend that you knew that that was going to happen all along and look complacently comfortable with something you could neither predict or, now that it's happened, understand.)
For the time being, I'm going to stop talking about a book that hasn't, as the cliche promises, hit the shelves, and stay out of the way until it does.
When the book does come out (or manages something that's just as good), I'll field questions, provide analyses, and attempt to illuminate a lost milieu, somewhat imaginary occurrences, and why lawn care became, on my watch, a national mania.
Laughter and Early Sorrow: And Other Stories
Yet, whenever a book is published, the author doesn't - or at least shouldn't - mind telling people about it. At the very least, he or she should admit to having written it, allowing a provisional public to take that in, and sneak away sometime afterwards.
And while I may live to regret it, I want to take full responsibility for my book, Laughter and Early Sorrow, which I am about to share with the world - or such world as I can get to. This sharing might involve, but may not be restricted to: the story of its genesis, the growing-pains that accompanied its conception, and the socio/psychological origins of its characters and situations. (As to this latter phenomenon: I'm sure there are some of these. I just haven't thought much about them. Which may well be the best possible reason to publish anything: to finally come to grips with who's in it, what it means, and to either make amends for having produced such a thing or, in the event that people like it, pretend that you knew that that was going to happen all along and look complacently comfortable with something you could neither predict or, now that it's happened, understand.)
For the time being, I'm going to stop talking about a book that hasn't, as the cliche promises, hit the shelves, and stay out of the way until it does.
When the book does come out (or manages something that's just as good), I'll field questions, provide analyses, and attempt to illuminate a lost milieu, somewhat imaginary occurrences, and why lawn care became, on my watch, a national mania.
