by IRA KENNEDY

eing a writer or artist in Texas is a hard row to hoe. Of course this is generally a private dilemma that hardly anyone, Texan or not, dedicates a lick of brainwork worrying over. But if you are a native Texan afflicted with the impulse to such endeavors as literature, you know that making a living wage is easier in the pecan bottom than on the printed page. And if you’re so inclined and you want to really test the limits of your dedication, stay close to the land, live in a rural area, and take up the labor of recording the stories and history of your people.

      If you follow the later course most publishers will think you’re provincial—which is another way of saying you don’t live where they do and care about the things they care about. And, piled on top of that, your neighbors are just as likely to wonder why you don’t turn to honest work in the fast food business—there are always signs up for part or full-time help.

       One of the sad ironies of contemporary life is that we assume some access to a vital history. But, in an effort to historically paint the big picture we’ve lost sight of the significant details and, consequently, severed any real connection to the past. So our youngsters look for vitality in movie stars and athletes, which are just about as nourishing for the spirit as chips and soda pop are for the body.

       Having slighted history, we also have vanquished any sense of place that arises from the true study of the topic. Without a sense of place, the natural sod of culture is busted and we haul ourselves around, rootless, from place to place like hothouse flowers. Homogenized history, and generic language are masquerading as culture; and the only sense of place that maters much any more is the parking kind.

       The fact is, our true history, or native language, and a deep understanding of our homeland are all close to being numbered among the things of the past. We deserve better, but the responsibility rests with us. If we don’t write and publish our own cultural autobiographies, or support those who do, it simply won’t get done.

        Only through the preservation of our history and language can we arrive at a true understanding of ourselves. From there we can lay claim to our place in the world as authentic, vital, and cultured people.