A Smart Lottery

I don't think much of lotteries. Study after study has shown that the people who play lotteries are those who can't afford it--the poor and uneducated. They also spend a larger percentage of their income on tickets, making it a kind of regressive tax.

I was listening to a Freakanomics podcast the other day, and heard what I think is one of the best ideas to come along in a long time. It's called a prize-linked savings account. It's changed my mind about 'lotteries', and I think it's time Utah allows this kind of lottery.

Let me explain.

Americans, on average, spend more than they make. We like to put things on our credit card. When bank accounts get drained, many people often become desperate and play the lottery, hoping to strike it rich. And of course, the odds are against them, and they only end up deeper in the hole.

What Americans really need to do is save more. They need to put money away in case it's needed later. It's a simple concept, but one that millions just don't seem to get.

A prize-linked savings (PSL) account could be the answer to this problem. PSL is often called the no-lose lottery. The idea is simple. When you buy a lottery ticket you either win or lose. If you lose, you've lost all your money. If you win, you get more than you spent, but the odds are against you.

With a PSL, you put money in a savings account. Every month, the bank picks a handful of lucky winners, and gives them a large sum of money. The banks pay this money from the interest earned on all the accounts. If you didn't win, no big deal, you haven't lost a cent. You can either pull your money out, or you can keep it in for a chance to win next month. In other words, the only thing you lose is the interest you would have earned in a regular savings account.

The PSL idea was tried in South Africa with incredible success. Poor people, many of whom never even had a bank account to begin with, suddenly were pouring into the banks and putting money in PSLs. It was so successful, in fact, that the government of South Africa sued the bank, and shut down the program. Why? Because the government of South Africa runs a lottery, and they realized they were losing revenue. That's right, people stopped playing the lottery, and were saving money. And the government shut the program down.

Here in the states we're no better. It's illegal in almost every state to do something like PSL, because it competes with the state run lotteries. States don't want to lose money. Banks could encourage people to save, and American needs it's citizens to be more responsible with their money, but it's illegal because it would hurt State's bottom line.

Here in Utah, we don't have a lottery. Many people cross over to Reno, or up into Idaho or Colorado to play the lottery. Why not be trailblazers and allow PSL here in Utah? It would encourage our citizens to save, and it would very likely  keep more money here in the state.

I wouldn't use PSLs, because I think I can get a better return through careful investing. But for thousands of people who play the lottery, and see it as a wealth building strategy, this would be a much better option. Both for them, and for the rest of society, because they'd be more responsible, and would need to turn to social programs less often. The Legislature is in session. Let's allow PSLs here in Utah, and see what happens.

By the way, I linked to the Freakonomics article above, I highly recommend reading the whole article, as well as listen to the podcast (15 minutes or so). Michigan is currently experimenting with PSLs, with some intriguing results. Billie June Smith deposited $75, and won $100,000.

And everybody else? Well, their savings accounts are still full.

Something We Can All Agree On

I happened to be driving my son to scouts, and heard part of President Obama's speech at the Tucson Memorial. His words were powerful and moving. You can read the entire speech here, but I wanted to especially quote this bit:

When a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations - to try to impose some order on the chaos, and make sense out of that which seems senseless. Already we've seen a national conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these killings, but about everything from the merits of gun safety laws to the adequacy of our mental health systems. Much of this process, of debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future, is an essential ingredient in our exercise of self-government.

But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized - at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do - it's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.

Scripture tells us that there is evil in the world, and that terrible things happen for reasons that defy human understanding. In the words of Job, "when I looked for light, then came darkness." Bad things happen, and we must guard against simple explanations in the aftermath.

For the truth is that none of us can know exactly what triggered this vicious attack. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped those shots from being fired, or what thoughts lurked in the inner recesses of a violent man's mind.

So yes, we must examine all the facts behind this tragedy. We cannot and will not be passive in the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old assumptions in order to lessen the prospects of violence in the future.

But what we can't do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on one another. As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a good dose of humility. Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame, let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together.

And then this:

I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here - they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

That's what I believe, in part because that's what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed. Imagine: here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship; just starting to glimpse the fact that someday she too might play a part in shaping her nation's future. She had been elected to her student council; she saw public service as something exciting, something hopeful. She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure was good and important and might be a role model. She saw all this through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we adults all too often just take for granted.

I want us to live up to her expectations. I want our democracy to be as good as she imagined it. All of us - we should do everything we can to make sure this country lives up to our children's expectations.

Christina was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day to be pictured in a book called "Faces of Hope." On either side of her photo in that book were simple wishes for a child's life. "I hope you help those in need," read one. "I hope you know all of the words to the National Anthem and sing it with your hand over your heart. I hope you jump in rain puddles."

If there are rain puddles in heaven, Christina is jumping in them today. And here on Earth, we place our hands over our hearts, and commit ourselves as Americans to forging a country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.

Merry Christmas

I'm hopping to have time to blog more next year. But I couldn't let a Christmas season pass up without one of my favorite Christmas songs.



Merry Christmas.

TwHistory

There is a great scene in Spinal Tap where . . . actually, let me show you.




Over four thousand people have entered the Pepsi refresh challenge. The top ten get funded. TwHistory is currently number eleven. We'd love to be in the top ten. We'll use the money to pay educators to develop lesson plans that can then be used by thousands of students to create their own TwHistory reenactment.

Help get us to eleven, and vote every day from now to the end of the month.

Thanks!

Where is LDS Fiction Going? A Response

Jennie Hansen has an article over at Meridian Magazine that does a good job of summarizing where LDS fiction is today, and where it's headed in the future.

I did a book signing once with Jennie at BYU Education Week. I remember sitting there with my 15 copies of Chickens in the Headlights while Jennie sat next to me with what seemed like a mountain of titles. I think at the time she had over a dozen different titles. She was kind and considerate to me as a new author. She is a prolific writer, reader, and reviewer.

With an introduction like that, you know I'm going to take issue with something from her article. But it's a minor point, really. :) From her article:

Two factors have given rise to speculation concerning the future of LDS fiction.  One is the explosive impact of electronics on the world of the printed word.  The other is the reality of today's economic climate.

Even though today's technology makes desk top publishing easier, cheaper, and faster than going the traditional route through a publisher, it is producing a poorer quality product that can only hurt the overall market.  Some writers and publishers seem to be trimming costs by trusting electronic editing instead of using a qualified copy editor with the result of ridiculous errors that interrupt the flow of the story.  We're seeing not only there and their used interchangeably, but we have characters eating deserts, detectives perusing villains, amorphous lovers, and the road less travailed.

This concern is not limited to LDS fiction, I've seen similar sentiments echoed elsewhere around the publishing world. But it always confuses me. I don't understand why poorly written bookshurts the overall market. How exactly does that work?

For example, if we use this same line of reasoning in other art forms, shouldn't we discourage piano recitals and high school band concerts? If I hear little Jimmy slaughter Beethoven on the piano, might that not discourage me from purchasing classical music the next time I'm shopping on iTunes? 

What about independent bands who pump out their own CDs? Or independent film makers who burn their own DVDs? If I see a poorly filmed movie, will that keep me away from the theaters?

Of course not. In other types of art we see these kinds of activity as possible stepping stones to the 'next level'.  So why can't we see it this way when it comes to writing? Why isn't it natural for a person to say, "Yeah, I wrote and self-published three books before I landed my first contract.

I don't judge other LDS authors by a poorly written book. If I read a bad book from a self-published author, that in no way hinders me from my next purchase at Deseret Book.

I think we only need to look at the Internet and blogs to see this idea in action. Many of the blogs are polished and professional. Other blogs could use some editing help (this one included). And then there are blogs that are of poor to extremely poor quality. But the fact that those poor blogs exist doesn't keep me from finding and enjoying the good ones out there.

And of course we haven't even talked about the benefits that come from self-publishing. When it's easier to self-publish, there is a wider variety of material to choose from. Yes, we may need to wade through some poor quality material, but that doesn't dim our enjoyment when we find a gem--a gem that may not have made its way into the light of day were it not for the self-publishing route.

Ode to Writers Group

Writers Group, oh Writers Group, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

1) You encourage me to write. Okay, there is something inside me that is already driving me to write, but you finish the job. We meet on Thursday. I don’t have pages. I need to pull out the laptop because you expect nothing less than five pages every week.

2) You tell me that I rock. Let’s face it, the profession of writing is not exactly filled with people singing your praise. My first and worst critic is myself. I read what I write and I’m quite certain that it stinks. I get rejections from agents and editors, more than I want to keep track of. I’ve filled years with insecurity, second guessing, and doubt. But once a week I can sit in a chair, and listen to eight other people tell me how awesome I am.

3) You tell me that I suck. After telling me how good my manuscript is (and sometimes you may really have to search to find something positive to say), you show me the problems. This is painful, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I need to know my weaknesses. I need to see the holes. Not in vague terms, not in softened generalities, but the brutal, complete, and honest truth. I need to see the warts, every last one of them, so I can fix them and make my writing better.

4) Because you get it. You get it like nobody else can. The deep pain that comes with rejection. The indescribable joy that come from a partial request. The hope. The fears. Writers experience emotions only other writers can really understand. And sometimes when I’m crying, maybe in joy, maybe in sorrow, I need somebody who really understands. Somebody who has been there.

5) My writing always improves. Whether it’s from feedback from the rest of the group, or because I see strengths and weaknesses in the other pages I read, my writing always gets better. I learn tips and tricks. I see pitfalls and shortcuts that shouldn’t be made. Once a week I’m actively engaged in honing my craft, and step by step I improve.

The Present

I remember getting presents as a young boy—at Christmas, on my birthday. . .presents were an exciting part of my childhood. The best part about presents was not opening them. No, the best part was waiting to open them. The box sat there under the tree or on your lap. You'd look at the size of the box and wonder what it could be. Holding a present is magical. Holding a present with your name on it puts you in a happy place.

I've spend the last four months going over my book line-by-line, page-by-page. I’ve trimmed about ten thousand words, and added in another five thousand. I've been getting some good feedback from multiple sources and I feel good about the progress I’m making.

In other words, I’m in a happy place. I’m feeling good about my writing and my book. I’m feeling hopeful.

Struggling writers are not often in a happy place, at least when it comes to the writing world. The first years are filled with rejection and insecurity. When you look critically at your work, you often have to admit you have so, so far to go.

I'm getting ready to send out my manuscript again. That means taking steps that could lead you out of the happy place. I have to open the present that is sitting on my lap and find out what’s really inside. Once you open the present there is no more hope and wonder, just reality. There's a chance the new reality will be better than you imagined. And there's a chance the new reality will just plain suck. If it’s the former you rejoice for a few days and then get back to the grindstone. Even if the new reality is good, the journey is still long. If the new reality is the latter, you try (once again) to pick yourself up by the bootstraps, wipe away the tears, and crack open the laptop. Only writers know how hard that feat really is.

But for now, maybe I’ll take a few more moments to linger in this happy place. I'll sit here with the present on my lap and just wonder. Just hope. Maybe I’ll take a few seconds to dream about what might be, and enjoy the present.