Come August I will have been writing seriously for exactly 8 years. When I say seriously, I mean with publication in mind.
In those 8 years I have found some successes in the form of contest wins, short story publications, and this blog. Yes I count my blog as a success. How could I not when I am fortunate enough to have so many of you come back to read and offer your comments on a nearly daily basis.
Despite the above mentioned successes, I have still failed in my main objective. To publish a novel. At this point I have failed to so much as acquire an agent. Eight years in an in some way i feel like I'm farther away than I was even a few years ago.
It seems to be harder to get agents to request material than it was even a couple of years ago. If only the publishing business fell in with horseshoes and hand grenades ... because I have been close. Matter of fact my very first novel a romance did catch the eye of an editor that I met at a conference. She requested the full manuscript and then asked for rewrites. She then took my novel to their acquisition meeting where the marketing team nixed it on the grounds I brought nothing special to the table as far as helping it stand out among the crowded shelves. that same editor also liked my third novel enough to ask for rewrites, but those revisions failed to excite her the way she'd hoped.
And once upon a time I engaged in a series of phone calls when an agent. That particular agent and I met at a workshop where I read a few chapters aloud for her. She told me that my writing was much stronger as long as my speaking voice and Texas accent remained strong in her mind but as they faded from her memory the novel lost a bit of it's charm and flavor. she said unfortunately editors and ultimately readers would never have the experience of me reading it for them so she was going to have to pass. That phone conversation literally broke my writers heart, but my spirit and determination remained strong.
But now even they have began to wane. is till love to write every bit as much as I ever did, but the shadows of doubt have infected my brain . this year has been tough. finding time to create and tell stories has been tough. Getting anyone in the business to actually read my words has been tough and for the first time I've begun to question my abilities. Don't get me wrong. I think I am a good writer, actually I realize that I am a much better storyteller than writer. Not to sound conceited but I believe myself to be a damn good storyteller and a pretty decent writer.
The problem is I may not be good enough. Evidence indicates that may be the case. Or maybe I simply have not hit upon a story idea good enough to put me over the edge. Either way, whether it's my talent, or ability to create a compelling enough plot, I somehow have to find a way to improve, or face the fact that some dreams never come true.
I'm not ready to quit dreaming, so I guess I better get to improving because 8 years from now I dang sure don't want to be whining about this very same thing in yet another post.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Dogging It
I've heard a lot of poetic waxing about the good ol' days. about a simpler time when a person's handshake actually meant something. Most of the time I think rants about the so-called good ol' days are simply the products of selective memories. After all no one wants to hold onto and remember the bad stuff, so I understand that inclination.
They way i see it there is a tragic flaw to the whole concept of a handshake, whether that hand shake be offered as the punctuation on a sealed deal or even as a simple greeting. And that flaw is that there is no commitment to it. It takes nothing to stick out your paw and grasp another.
Heck, just look at the handshakes most frequent users ... politicians and car dealers. That alone ought to be enough to shed the handshake in a negative light.
Step on any car lot in America and chances are you'll have some dude with slicked back hair and over-starched slacks reaching for your hand. Or get anywhere near a political candidate and see how eager he is to grab on and promise to represent your true interests. Neither of this fellas gives a damn about really helping you but they try to make it seems as if they do by simply shaking your hand.
Know what I say? Dogs are more advanced than humans.
Now I know that every comedian in the land has made mention of the way dogs sniff one another when they first meet. And like you I cringe at the very thought of walking up to a stranger and immediately taking a whiff of their butt, but you gotta admit that kind of get-to-know you gesture comes with a certain commitment that a handshake simply can't compete with.
And you gotta admit, we'd find out real fast just how bad that salesman wanted to make a sale. Or how far that candidate was willing to go for your vote.
And I myself will freely admit that I'd be a bit more forthcoming about my true feeling when encountering friends and acquaintances. Right now I'll stop and shake some former coworkers hand when I see him at the grocery store. Yes, even that guy who was a jerk and ratted on me for taking an extra break. But you can bet your dog biscuits that I'd walk right on by that idiot if we humans employed the same greetings as the canine world.
Matter of fact, I might not ever stop and talk to anybody ever again.
P.S. Please think of me the next time you pause to shake some one's hand.
They way i see it there is a tragic flaw to the whole concept of a handshake, whether that hand shake be offered as the punctuation on a sealed deal or even as a simple greeting. And that flaw is that there is no commitment to it. It takes nothing to stick out your paw and grasp another.
Heck, just look at the handshakes most frequent users ... politicians and car dealers. That alone ought to be enough to shed the handshake in a negative light.
Step on any car lot in America and chances are you'll have some dude with slicked back hair and over-starched slacks reaching for your hand. Or get anywhere near a political candidate and see how eager he is to grab on and promise to represent your true interests. Neither of this fellas gives a damn about really helping you but they try to make it seems as if they do by simply shaking your hand.
Know what I say? Dogs are more advanced than humans.
Now I know that every comedian in the land has made mention of the way dogs sniff one another when they first meet. And like you I cringe at the very thought of walking up to a stranger and immediately taking a whiff of their butt, but you gotta admit that kind of get-to-know you gesture comes with a certain commitment that a handshake simply can't compete with.
And you gotta admit, we'd find out real fast just how bad that salesman wanted to make a sale. Or how far that candidate was willing to go for your vote.
And I myself will freely admit that I'd be a bit more forthcoming about my true feeling when encountering friends and acquaintances. Right now I'll stop and shake some former coworkers hand when I see him at the grocery store. Yes, even that guy who was a jerk and ratted on me for taking an extra break. But you can bet your dog biscuits that I'd walk right on by that idiot if we humans employed the same greetings as the canine world.
Matter of fact, I might not ever stop and talk to anybody ever again.
P.S. Please think of me the next time you pause to shake some one's hand.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Wishing
Do me a favor. Vote for my blogworld friend Lana Gramlich in this contest. Her photo (Number 5, the shot of the Louisiana swamp) has made it to the finals in this week's "My America" contest, held by Superstation WGN. Please vote for it here!
Now one last question regarding books and anticipation.
What one book would you most want to see written? Feel free to get crazy here by assigning a plot of subject matter for some long dead writer or making a current literary superstar jump genre.
I have two.
1) A satirical look at the modern world from Mark Twain.
2) The tale of a man addicted to Viagra by Ernest Hemingway
And yours?
Now one last question regarding books and anticipation.
What one book would you most want to see written? Feel free to get crazy here by assigning a plot of subject matter for some long dead writer or making a current literary superstar jump genre.
I have two.
1) A satirical look at the modern world from Mark Twain.
2) The tale of a man addicted to Viagra by Ernest Hemingway
And yours?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Anticipation
Thanks to everyone who took the time to weigh in about the books they have most eagerly anticipated. Lots of diversity and some real surprises to go along with the titles I expected to see.
And yeah, I'm giving suck-up points to both Stephen Parrish and David Cranmer for stroking my ego. I think the three of us men are secure enough for me to use the words suck and stroke in the same sentence.
My curiosity about highly anticipated books stemmed from a conversation about the Harry potter series. And yes Book 7 makes my own personal list. I didn't start reading the series until the hullabaloo surrounding book 4, but once I caught up with the frenzy and finished Goblet of Fire I was already anticipating and speculating about the finale of the series.
I'll just come out and say it. I was disappointed with the actual book. (SPOILER ALERT -- Read no further if you have yet to read the end of the series, but think you might.) All that time in that damn tent and the ease with which Voldemort went down in the end. Matter of fact I can't even recall the exact scene know that how unmemorable it was for me. Seems like some spell bounced off a shield or something. Somebody correct me if I'm wrong. And that epilogue. I understand Ms. Rowling didn't want to leave the door open for someone to later pull a Sherlock Holmes and resurrect her characters but the whole thing was a bit too tide for me taste.
Maybe my disappointed stemmed from the fact I was wrong. I always guessed that Harry would remain a tragic hero right to the very end. I didn't necessarily think he'd die, but I thought he would be forever changed in some way. Maybe lose his magical abilities for example. In the end I felt as if Ms. Rowling changed her direction. Gave into pressure and gave the world the Disney-esque happy ending. I recall an earlier interview in which she said, and I'm paraphrasing People will be shocked and quit likely angered by the ending. Frankly there was very little in the ending that could be confused for shocking or angering.
But having said that, I wondered if myself and the entire world had built the series up to the point that there was no way for her to write it that wouldn't be disappointing. Maybe the mere fact the phenomenon was over would have made the ending anti-climactic.
So that got me to thinking ... what other books have I anticipated.
EVENTIDE by Kent Haruf -- I loved PLAINSONG so when I heard about the novel's sequel, EVENTIDE I was stoked. And guess what? Despite my eagerness I liked the sequel even more than the original. Critics didn't give it as high a kudos, but I literally grieved when one of the principal characters died. I felt that last breath leave him and I was saddened by the loss just as if a friend from my real life had died. I didn't just read that highly anticipated sequel I felt it. I can only hope that once again Mr. Haruf takes me to their world with another novel.
Richard Russo is my favorite contemporary author so when Bridge of Sighs came out I was at the bookstore when it opened that morning. And? I wasn't exactly disappointed but his latest novel didn't stack up with my Russo faves. The Risk Pool, Nobody's Fool, or Empire Falls. Now I hear he is working on a sequel to Nobody's Fool and I am salivating at the thought of reading about those characters again. But will the book measure up.
So here's my questions. How have the books you waited on the most measured up? Do you think anticipation puts unfair pressure on an author, or is that kind of eagerness from readers the very thing every writer should hope for? Do you holed a disappoint book against the author or do you easily forgive and get just as excited about their next book?
And yeah, I'm giving suck-up points to both Stephen Parrish and David Cranmer for stroking my ego. I think the three of us men are secure enough for me to use the words suck and stroke in the same sentence.
My curiosity about highly anticipated books stemmed from a conversation about the Harry potter series. And yes Book 7 makes my own personal list. I didn't start reading the series until the hullabaloo surrounding book 4, but once I caught up with the frenzy and finished Goblet of Fire I was already anticipating and speculating about the finale of the series.
I'll just come out and say it. I was disappointed with the actual book. (SPOILER ALERT -- Read no further if you have yet to read the end of the series, but think you might.) All that time in that damn tent and the ease with which Voldemort went down in the end. Matter of fact I can't even recall the exact scene know that how unmemorable it was for me. Seems like some spell bounced off a shield or something. Somebody correct me if I'm wrong. And that epilogue. I understand Ms. Rowling didn't want to leave the door open for someone to later pull a Sherlock Holmes and resurrect her characters but the whole thing was a bit too tide for me taste.
Maybe my disappointed stemmed from the fact I was wrong. I always guessed that Harry would remain a tragic hero right to the very end. I didn't necessarily think he'd die, but I thought he would be forever changed in some way. Maybe lose his magical abilities for example. In the end I felt as if Ms. Rowling changed her direction. Gave into pressure and gave the world the Disney-esque happy ending. I recall an earlier interview in which she said, and I'm paraphrasing People will be shocked and quit likely angered by the ending. Frankly there was very little in the ending that could be confused for shocking or angering.
But having said that, I wondered if myself and the entire world had built the series up to the point that there was no way for her to write it that wouldn't be disappointing. Maybe the mere fact the phenomenon was over would have made the ending anti-climactic.
So that got me to thinking ... what other books have I anticipated.
EVENTIDE by Kent Haruf -- I loved PLAINSONG so when I heard about the novel's sequel, EVENTIDE I was stoked. And guess what? Despite my eagerness I liked the sequel even more than the original. Critics didn't give it as high a kudos, but I literally grieved when one of the principal characters died. I felt that last breath leave him and I was saddened by the loss just as if a friend from my real life had died. I didn't just read that highly anticipated sequel I felt it. I can only hope that once again Mr. Haruf takes me to their world with another novel.
Richard Russo is my favorite contemporary author so when Bridge of Sighs came out I was at the bookstore when it opened that morning. And? I wasn't exactly disappointed but his latest novel didn't stack up with my Russo faves. The Risk Pool, Nobody's Fool, or Empire Falls. Now I hear he is working on a sequel to Nobody's Fool and I am salivating at the thought of reading about those characters again. But will the book measure up.
So here's my questions. How have the books you waited on the most measured up? Do you think anticipation puts unfair pressure on an author, or is that kind of eagerness from readers the very thing every writer should hope for? Do you holed a disappoint book against the author or do you easily forgive and get just as excited about their next book?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Eager Reader
Let's talk books.
One simple question.
What one book's release have you most eagerly anticipated?
Maybe it was the finale of a series. Or the next work of your favorite author. Or a premise you find totally captivating.
Discussion to follow in my next post. Right now I simple want to know the title of the book.
One simple question.
What one book's release have you most eagerly anticipated?
Maybe it was the finale of a series. Or the next work of your favorite author. Or a premise you find totally captivating.
Discussion to follow in my next post. Right now I simple want to know the title of the book.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Cracking Up
The world is full of things I simply don't get. I've blogged about a few before such as those fluffy toilet seat covers, eyebrow pencils, and coffee enemas. I like to categorize these items under the Riddle Me This grouping.
Today I'm taking a random approach and adding two items to the list. Two totally unrelated items I might add.
1. Wake Up -- A common enough phrase. Heard at home, work and even the radio.
"Billy wake up, it's time to school."
"Hey Idiot, wake up and smell the roses."
"Wake me up before you go-go."
But riddle me this. Why must we always wake up? Just once I want to wake down. Or wake sideways. After all we don't say time to sleep down. I suppose you can shut down you mind, though in my case my mind seems to go into hyper thought when I get I bed for the night.
A person can lay down. I get that. And they can get up. But can they really wake up? I think not.
2. SpongeBob SquarePants I do not like Sponge Bob. My boys however love the show. Who do I not like it? The reasons are many. The porous protagonists nerve-wracking voice and laugh. The fact nary an episode goes by that one or more characters is shown in their underwear. (Why didn't they call it Sponge Bob No Pants?) Then there is Mr. Krab. The cantankerous crab that owns the Krusty Krab and sells Krabby patty's.
His name is Krab. He has larger red pincher's so I think everyone will agree that SpongeBob's boss is a crustacean. A crab.
Mr. Krab has one child. A daughter. Named Pearl. Riddle me this if Mr Krab is a crab, why is his daughter a sperm whale?
Far as I know there has never been mention of Pearl's mother. Maybe Mr. Krab and her had a one night stand and the baby was dumped on the doorstep of his restaurant nine months later. Maybe they are divorced and Mr. Krab is so miserly because he pays a hefty child support. Here's me theory. Pearl's mom is dead. She was also a two-timing whore.
Why you ask. Follow me as I deliver the evidence. It doesn't take Jerry Springer or a DNA test to unearth the fact Mr. Krab's is not Pearls real father. That means Mrs. Krab's sold him a bill of goods. It's rather obvious she stepped out one night and got drunk. Maybe Mr Krab's was away at a Small business owners convention and she simply got lonely. Who knows. But it is obvious she and a whale got busy.
So from there it's easy to arrive at the fact she's dead. If, and this is a mighty big if, Mrs. Krabs survived the actual deed. I'm saying that because .. well let's face it, a sperm whale and a Krab don't exactly fit together like fish and chips. There had to be some residual damage from the actual deed, but back to that if. If Mrs. Krab's survived the deed I gotta think a crab giving birth to a whale is gonna do more damage than a fat guy at Red Lobster with a pair of these.
Today I'm taking a random approach and adding two items to the list. Two totally unrelated items I might add.
1. Wake Up -- A common enough phrase. Heard at home, work and even the radio.
"Billy wake up, it's time to school."
"Hey Idiot, wake up and smell the roses."
"Wake me up before you go-go."
But riddle me this. Why must we always wake up? Just once I want to wake down. Or wake sideways. After all we don't say time to sleep down. I suppose you can shut down you mind, though in my case my mind seems to go into hyper thought when I get I bed for the night.
A person can lay down. I get that. And they can get up. But can they really wake up? I think not.
2. SpongeBob SquarePants I do not like Sponge Bob. My boys however love the show. Who do I not like it? The reasons are many. The porous protagonists nerve-wracking voice and laugh. The fact nary an episode goes by that one or more characters is shown in their underwear. (Why didn't they call it Sponge Bob No Pants?) Then there is Mr. Krab. The cantankerous crab that owns the Krusty Krab and sells Krabby patty's.
His name is Krab. He has larger red pincher's so I think everyone will agree that SpongeBob's boss is a crustacean. A crab.
Mr. Krab has one child. A daughter. Named Pearl. Riddle me this if Mr Krab is a crab, why is his daughter a sperm whale?
Far as I know there has never been mention of Pearl's mother. Maybe Mr. Krab and her had a one night stand and the baby was dumped on the doorstep of his restaurant nine months later. Maybe they are divorced and Mr. Krab is so miserly because he pays a hefty child support. Here's me theory. Pearl's mom is dead. She was also a two-timing whore.
Why you ask. Follow me as I deliver the evidence. It doesn't take Jerry Springer or a DNA test to unearth the fact Mr. Krab's is not Pearls real father. That means Mrs. Krab's sold him a bill of goods. It's rather obvious she stepped out one night and got drunk. Maybe Mr Krab's was away at a Small business owners convention and she simply got lonely. Who knows. But it is obvious she and a whale got busy.
So from there it's easy to arrive at the fact she's dead. If, and this is a mighty big if, Mrs. Krabs survived the actual deed. I'm saying that because .. well let's face it, a sperm whale and a Krab don't exactly fit together like fish and chips. There had to be some residual damage from the actual deed, but back to that if. If Mrs. Krab's survived the deed I gotta think a crab giving birth to a whale is gonna do more damage than a fat guy at Red Lobster with a pair of these.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Write Now
I just nominated some of my favorite bloggers for Book Blogger Appreciation Week. There are lots of categories so check it out and nominate a few of your favorite bloggers if you get the chance.
Speaking of favorite bloggers, Janna and Natasha and Melanie all did this little writer questionnaire, so now I'm taking a turn.
A Writers Meme
What was the last thing you wrote?
A new scene for Plundered Booty involving a prostitute, a bunch of car salesmen, and a tarnished televangelist turned talk show host.
Was it any good?
I just hope it's funny.
Write poetry?
nope unless you count the goofy song lyrics I create and sing to torture my wife and kids.
Angsty poetry?
No I prefer to drown my sorrows and angst in rum
Favorite genre of writing?
To read or write? I'll say humor.
Most fun character you ever wrote?
Gotta be Junior Habershaw, the antagonist in Plundered Booty
Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Tristan, a wimpy environmentalist from Waiting On The River. I cut all but a mention him in the rewrites.
Best plot you ever wrote?
Waiting On The River. A romance novel involving a pro poker player whose wife dies in childbirth and Lindsay, a former long distance runner who has spent her life running from the abortion she had in high school.
Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
The one I'm working on for Plundered Booty involving the earlier mentioned hooker and tainted televangelist with a TV show. I'd actually like to pitch the show idea. If only I knew how to go about that.
How often do you get writer’s block?
Life block is what gets me. I always have more to write than I have time to write.
How do you fix it?
Stay up late and get up early. Or sneak away at work while the boss isn't looking.
Write fan fiction?
No. I have my own characters to bring to life. That's is my favorite part of writing so no way am I going to build on already established characters.
Do you type or write by hand?
Both, but my best work comes when I do it by hand. Ooh. that just sounds wrong.
Do you save everything you write?
ALWAYS. Even if I cut it it goes into a scrap folder and I sometimes pull things out of there for later projects.
Do you ever go back to an idea long after you abandoned it?
Yep, I'm a clinger. Usually it's not the idea I tire of as much as it is the realization I'm not good enough to pull off the story. As I improve I like to go back and see if I can now get it to work.
What’s your favorite thing you have ever written?
As far as the published stuff, I'm going to say my short story, The Simplest of Sounds appeared in Underground Voices back in November of 07. The link is still active if you haven't read it.
What’s everyone else’s favorite thing you’ve written?
Most people seem to think PLundered Booty is my best but Waiting On The River has gotten the most attention from agents.
Do you show people your work?
My crit group along with a few beta readers.
Did you ever write a novel?
4 complete and four others in various stages of disrepair.
Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror?
Nope, but if I go back and look at my early stuff it does scare me.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
No teen drama, but I have written two romance novels and my head is full of ideas for many more.
How many writing projects are you working on right now?
Three. Querying for Waiting On The River. Rewriting Plundered Booty, and creating my Feedstore Chronicle Memoir.
Do you want to write for a living?
Damn right!
Have you ever won an award for writing?
Quite a few. Both for short stories and novel length, but I tend to think most contest victories are meaningless in the grand scheme of getting published.
Ever written something in script or play format?
Tried but failed.
What character you've written most resembles yourself?
The Feedstore Chronicles are about my life so me. Other than that maybe Dillon in UnLuckLess.
Where do you get the ideas for your characters?
From the same place I get my oxygen. The world around me.
Do you ever write based on dreams?
I guess so, because I've dreamed entire scenes. I nearly always dream of the characters I'm currently writing. Gets complicated when you have multiple projects going on.
Do you favor happy endings, sad endings or cliff hangers?
No cliffhangers. You have to resolve the story. It's okay to lay groundwork for a sequel but you can't leave a reader hanging. Happy or sad depends on the story and genre.
Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen?
No, but I want to write a novel based on a song. Just not sure if that is legal or not. Anybody know?
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Come on, You've read this blog. It's pretty clear no is the answer. I write first second and third. and then edit.
Ever written anything entirely in chatspeak (How r u)?
I hate chatspeak and those stupid cheeseburger cats that use it as well.
Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well?
Yeah. As one of my friends once said, "Hell by looking at you I'd never guess you could read, much less write."
Quote something you’ve written. The first thing to pop in your mind.
A bit of dialogue from Plundered Booty ...
"Think those are real?" Dave whispered.
"Who cares," Rex answered. "Half the lakes around here are man-made. That doesn't mean I don't wanna fish their waters. " His eyes remained glued on the swish of Eva's short skirt.
Speaking of favorite bloggers, Janna and Natasha and Melanie all did this little writer questionnaire, so now I'm taking a turn.
A Writers Meme
What was the last thing you wrote?
A new scene for Plundered Booty involving a prostitute, a bunch of car salesmen, and a tarnished televangelist turned talk show host.
Was it any good?
I just hope it's funny.
Write poetry?
nope unless you count the goofy song lyrics I create and sing to torture my wife and kids.
Angsty poetry?
No I prefer to drown my sorrows and angst in rum
Favorite genre of writing?
To read or write? I'll say humor.
Most fun character you ever wrote?
Gotta be Junior Habershaw, the antagonist in Plundered Booty
Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Tristan, a wimpy environmentalist from Waiting On The River. I cut all but a mention him in the rewrites.
Best plot you ever wrote?
Waiting On The River. A romance novel involving a pro poker player whose wife dies in childbirth and Lindsay, a former long distance runner who has spent her life running from the abortion she had in high school.
Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
The one I'm working on for Plundered Booty involving the earlier mentioned hooker and tainted televangelist with a TV show. I'd actually like to pitch the show idea. If only I knew how to go about that.
How often do you get writer’s block?
Life block is what gets me. I always have more to write than I have time to write.
How do you fix it?
Stay up late and get up early. Or sneak away at work while the boss isn't looking.
Write fan fiction?
No. I have my own characters to bring to life. That's is my favorite part of writing so no way am I going to build on already established characters.
Do you type or write by hand?
Both, but my best work comes when I do it by hand. Ooh. that just sounds wrong.
Do you save everything you write?
ALWAYS. Even if I cut it it goes into a scrap folder and I sometimes pull things out of there for later projects.
Do you ever go back to an idea long after you abandoned it?
Yep, I'm a clinger. Usually it's not the idea I tire of as much as it is the realization I'm not good enough to pull off the story. As I improve I like to go back and see if I can now get it to work.
What’s your favorite thing you have ever written?
As far as the published stuff, I'm going to say my short story, The Simplest of Sounds appeared in Underground Voices back in November of 07. The link is still active if you haven't read it.
What’s everyone else’s favorite thing you’ve written?
Most people seem to think PLundered Booty is my best but Waiting On The River has gotten the most attention from agents.
Do you show people your work?
My crit group along with a few beta readers.
Did you ever write a novel?
4 complete and four others in various stages of disrepair.
Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror?
Nope, but if I go back and look at my early stuff it does scare me.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
No teen drama, but I have written two romance novels and my head is full of ideas for many more.
How many writing projects are you working on right now?
Three. Querying for Waiting On The River. Rewriting Plundered Booty, and creating my Feedstore Chronicle Memoir.
Do you want to write for a living?
Damn right!
Have you ever won an award for writing?
Quite a few. Both for short stories and novel length, but I tend to think most contest victories are meaningless in the grand scheme of getting published.
Ever written something in script or play format?
Tried but failed.
What character you've written most resembles yourself?
The Feedstore Chronicles are about my life so me. Other than that maybe Dillon in UnLuckLess.
Where do you get the ideas for your characters?
From the same place I get my oxygen. The world around me.
Do you ever write based on dreams?
I guess so, because I've dreamed entire scenes. I nearly always dream of the characters I'm currently writing. Gets complicated when you have multiple projects going on.
Do you favor happy endings, sad endings or cliff hangers?
No cliffhangers. You have to resolve the story. It's okay to lay groundwork for a sequel but you can't leave a reader hanging. Happy or sad depends on the story and genre.
Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen?
No, but I want to write a novel based on a song. Just not sure if that is legal or not. Anybody know?
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Come on, You've read this blog. It's pretty clear no is the answer. I write first second and third. and then edit.
Ever written anything entirely in chatspeak (How r u)?
I hate chatspeak and those stupid cheeseburger cats that use it as well.
Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well?
Yeah. As one of my friends once said, "Hell by looking at you I'd never guess you could read, much less write."
Quote something you’ve written. The first thing to pop in your mind.
A bit of dialogue from Plundered Booty ...
"Think those are real?" Dave whispered.
"Who cares," Rex answered. "Half the lakes around here are man-made. That doesn't mean I don't wanna fish their waters. " His eyes remained glued on the swish of Eva's short skirt.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Man Detergent
"Smell my face."
That's an odd command anytime, but when it comes from an 8 year old boy there is extra cause for concern. I'd just picked up my boys from my mom's house when T the oldest made that very statement.
Needless to say I declined, but he insisted. "Come on Dad. Just smell my face."
"Why?" "Because Meme bought me some man detergent at Wal-Mart."
"Some what?"
"Man detergent," he said with a bit of extra bravado to his voice.
"What is man detergent?" I asked.
Now before I go on let me say that T has always been a bit girl crazy. He got in trouble numerous times in preschool for kissing one particular school. When I told him he couldn't kiss girls at school he said it was okay because she wanted him to. Then in Kindergarten he got in trouble again for kissing this time a first grader. Once again I lit into him about kissing girls particularly at school. His answer. We went out in the field so we weren't really at school. Over the years we have gotten his lips under control but he has proposed to three different girls all at least 8 years older than him.
Yes I fear what will happen once puberty really strikes, but back to my question of what man detergent is.
"You know Dad. Like perfume for boys. The stuff that smells good. Meme bought me some and it's going to drive the girls WILD. Now please smell my face."
I wish you could have heard the excitement in his voice when he uttered the word wild.
"It's called cologne not man detergent," I explained. "And you can't wear it to school when it starts."
"Why not?"
At this point he dug in a Wal-Mart bag and produced a bottle of Gillette After Shave Lotion for Sensitive Skin.
I hid my smile. Here T thought he had Love Potion #9, when in actually he had little more than liquid deodorant. But at 8 that was about all he needed so I said, "Okay let me smell."
He proudly jutted out his chin.
"Yep, I said. "That will drive them wild alright."
At this point my youngest, Z, who is 6 chimed in. "Let me smell."
Now Z would rather eat worm dirt than get caught so much as talking to a girl. He's also a world-class trash talker who spends a lot of free time attacking his older brother with both verbal and physical barbs.
Z took one whiff, leaned back and said, "Now your face smells like Dad's armpits."
Somehow, I kept from laughing out loud.
That's an odd command anytime, but when it comes from an 8 year old boy there is extra cause for concern. I'd just picked up my boys from my mom's house when T the oldest made that very statement.
Needless to say I declined, but he insisted. "Come on Dad. Just smell my face."
"Why?" "Because Meme bought me some man detergent at Wal-Mart."
"Some what?"
"Man detergent," he said with a bit of extra bravado to his voice.
"What is man detergent?" I asked.
Now before I go on let me say that T has always been a bit girl crazy. He got in trouble numerous times in preschool for kissing one particular school. When I told him he couldn't kiss girls at school he said it was okay because she wanted him to. Then in Kindergarten he got in trouble again for kissing this time a first grader. Once again I lit into him about kissing girls particularly at school. His answer. We went out in the field so we weren't really at school. Over the years we have gotten his lips under control but he has proposed to three different girls all at least 8 years older than him.
Yes I fear what will happen once puberty really strikes, but back to my question of what man detergent is.
"You know Dad. Like perfume for boys. The stuff that smells good. Meme bought me some and it's going to drive the girls WILD. Now please smell my face."
I wish you could have heard the excitement in his voice when he uttered the word wild.
"It's called cologne not man detergent," I explained. "And you can't wear it to school when it starts."
"Why not?"
At this point he dug in a Wal-Mart bag and produced a bottle of Gillette After Shave Lotion for Sensitive Skin.
I hid my smile. Here T thought he had Love Potion #9, when in actually he had little more than liquid deodorant. But at 8 that was about all he needed so I said, "Okay let me smell."
He proudly jutted out his chin.
"Yep, I said. "That will drive them wild alright."
At this point my youngest, Z, who is 6 chimed in. "Let me smell."
Now Z would rather eat worm dirt than get caught so much as talking to a girl. He's also a world-class trash talker who spends a lot of free time attacking his older brother with both verbal and physical barbs.
Z took one whiff, leaned back and said, "Now your face smells like Dad's armpits."
Somehow, I kept from laughing out loud.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Blood Sucking Fat Guys in Corduroy
Can't believe I have posted since last Tuesday. The good news is I've been busy writing and querying. I've changed the name of my novel A River Without Water to Waiting On The River. I also revamped my query and have been sending it out while I revise Plundered Booty.
The two novels are vastly different, one is a romance and the other an absurd comedy but I enjoy writing different things. One of these days when I finally break in I'll concentrate on building my name in one genre and style but until then I'll keep writing and telling the stories that come to mind. Waiting on the River has gained some interest from several agents so I'm hoping it finds some legs.
It's been hotter than the thighs of a fat dude wearing corduroy here in the Texas Panhandle, so I've also been watching more TV than usual.
Any of you ever watch the HBO series True Blood?
My wife pointed out something as we watched the other night. Unlike Edward's ilk in Twilight, the vampire's of True Blood cannot be exposed to sunlight, yet Bill had a definite tan line around his bare butt. I hadn't noticed, but leave it to my wife to scrutinize Bill's buns with great intensity. Truth be told, I think she'd rather have a look at the fella that plays Edward. Of course Johnny Depp would be even better.
Speaking of vampires, do they all have weak necks? If not why does every actor that portrays one tuck his chin down close to his chest and stare at menacingly beneath furrowed brows. Come on vampire dudes, raise your chins and stare menacingly straight at someone.
For the record, I haven't read any of the Twilight or Sookie Stackhouse novels, but I have seen the movie and the series, and my money would be on Ol' Bill to whoop Edward in an all out UFC style vampire brawl. Sure Edward climbs a tree like a squirrel on crack, but Bill wields a mean bar tap.
And Bill has the better side of things when it comes to lovers. Give me Sookie's sugary sweet southern drawl over Bella's uber-anxious whining any day.
But Twilight wins in the dietary category. I'd rather drain the blood of a deer, than suck down the dregs of some synthetic concoction from a bottle.
And Edward has a much cooler car. Bill doesn't even seem to own one. He's always forced to drive that goofy little yellow contraption of Sookie's.
I give it to both for getting rid of the old standard Transylvania accent. After all, Sesame Street's Count is the only one who can really pull that dialect off.
All in all I prefer to the vamps of True Blood, but to my way of thinking the HBO series Rome was the cable network's best effort to date. Yes, even better than The Sopranos.
Differing opinions?
The two novels are vastly different, one is a romance and the other an absurd comedy but I enjoy writing different things. One of these days when I finally break in I'll concentrate on building my name in one genre and style but until then I'll keep writing and telling the stories that come to mind. Waiting on the River has gained some interest from several agents so I'm hoping it finds some legs.
It's been hotter than the thighs of a fat dude wearing corduroy here in the Texas Panhandle, so I've also been watching more TV than usual.
Any of you ever watch the HBO series True Blood?
My wife pointed out something as we watched the other night. Unlike Edward's ilk in Twilight, the vampire's of True Blood cannot be exposed to sunlight, yet Bill had a definite tan line around his bare butt. I hadn't noticed, but leave it to my wife to scrutinize Bill's buns with great intensity. Truth be told, I think she'd rather have a look at the fella that plays Edward. Of course Johnny Depp would be even better.
Speaking of vampires, do they all have weak necks? If not why does every actor that portrays one tuck his chin down close to his chest and stare at menacingly beneath furrowed brows. Come on vampire dudes, raise your chins and stare menacingly straight at someone.
For the record, I haven't read any of the Twilight or Sookie Stackhouse novels, but I have seen the movie and the series, and my money would be on Ol' Bill to whoop Edward in an all out UFC style vampire brawl. Sure Edward climbs a tree like a squirrel on crack, but Bill wields a mean bar tap.
And Bill has the better side of things when it comes to lovers. Give me Sookie's sugary sweet southern drawl over Bella's uber-anxious whining any day.
But Twilight wins in the dietary category. I'd rather drain the blood of a deer, than suck down the dregs of some synthetic concoction from a bottle.
And Edward has a much cooler car. Bill doesn't even seem to own one. He's always forced to drive that goofy little yellow contraption of Sookie's.
I give it to both for getting rid of the old standard Transylvania accent. After all, Sesame Street's Count is the only one who can really pull that dialect off.
All in all I prefer to the vamps of True Blood, but to my way of thinking the HBO series Rome was the cable network's best effort to date. Yes, even better than The Sopranos.
Differing opinions?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Nobody Listens To Me ... Until It's Too Late
Unless this is your first time to visit my blog, you already know I have a strong aversion to veggies. Particularly green ones. If I've said it once I've said it a million times, LETTUCE IS THE DEVIL.
Go ahead snicker, laugh, say Travis is a crazy carnivore. My wife has done that very thing for years. She never heeded my warnings and very recently she paid the price for underestimating the evilness that lurks at the farmer's market. Of course me being the good guy I am, I along with some good ol' animal fat, did come to her rescue.
Let me set the scene.
Our good friends, Charlie and Cecelia were hosting a poll party. A fundraiser on behalf of the Catholic school where both My wife Jennifer and Cecelia teach. I volunteered to cook the meat (both chicken and beef fajitas) which turned out pretty danged good if I do say so myself. But I told them y'all will have to do the peppers and onions as I do not associate with such riff-raff.
Somewhere along the way the gals decided to also cook jalapeno poppers. They assigned Charlie the task of grilling the little green monsters, but first they had to prep them.
To do so my wife began scraping out the demon seeds and the guts of the jalapenos while Cecilia stuffed the hollowed innards with cream cheese and wrapped the whole shooting match in bacon. I contend it should be a crime to waste good bacon that way.
So they get the poppers finished, Charlie begins grilling them, while I mind my own business and happily grill meat.
Then it began.
THE JALAPENO HAND!
My wife washes her hand for the umpteenth time but her skin will not stop burning. The poisonous oil from the jalapeno had infiltrated her cell tissue and according to her it felt as if someone were holding an open flame to her skin.
She soaked her hand in milk.
No help.
Lime juice.
No relief.
Rubbing alcohol.
Still they burned.
Feel free to hum Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire as you read this.
The hours ticked by. The party raged on. Many bottles of wine and much beer was swallowed and still my wife hurt. Tears filled her eyes. Unshed tears but tears nonetheless.
Evening gave way to night. More booze was downed. The party-goers began surfing down the slide and doing back flips from the rock fountain. Despite inebriated swimmers doing less than intelligent stunts, my wife remained the only casualty. She sat poolside with her hands submerged in ice water. The devil's candy continued to burn five ... six ... seven hours after she'd last touched a jalapeno.
A quick trip to Google suggested toothpaste so we bid the party farewell and headed to Walgreen's. The Colgate was barely paid for when she began slathering it on her hands. The flames of hope sparkled in her eyes, but it was extinguished when the fiery pain burned on. The pharmacist said only time and repeated washing would help but it could take up to 36 hours for the capsaicin oil go away.
My wife's spirits sank. She feared there would be no sleep for her that night. At home I got in the computer and quickly learned that capsaicin pill has it's own silver bullet and wooden dagger.
I read that the oil was not water soluble, therefore a mere washing did nothing. But capsaicin is soluble by alcohol and fat. So I got out the cooking oil, which had the highest fat content of any liquid in our kitchen and some Vodka. Why Vodka? Well I didn't want to waste any rum.
So I poured the two together in a pan, the vodka and cooking oil and it made a nice clear thick liquid. I had my wife stick her mitts in, and ...
The pain immediately started to go away. The liquid quickly turned battleship gray and a tentative smile lifted the corners of Jennifer's lips. She rubbed her hands together a few times and then we dumped that batch and made a second just to get rid of the devil's juice.
She soaked her hands for fifteen minutes in that second batch and that was the last of the pain.
So despite what all the doctors say about salad being better for you than hamburgers, I single-handily proved that a meat eating carnivore, a heavy dose of fat, and a bit of Russian booze can defeat the leafy green evils of this world.
Yeah,, I'm tooting my own horn, but maybe, just maybe my wife will be now be a believer.
No need to thank me, but think of me the next time you eat a juicy hunk of meat. And if you plan to supper with Satan and his salad, please, for your sake, keep a ready supply of vodka at hand.
Go ahead snicker, laugh, say Travis is a crazy carnivore. My wife has done that very thing for years. She never heeded my warnings and very recently she paid the price for underestimating the evilness that lurks at the farmer's market. Of course me being the good guy I am, I along with some good ol' animal fat, did come to her rescue.
Let me set the scene.
Our good friends, Charlie and Cecelia were hosting a poll party. A fundraiser on behalf of the Catholic school where both My wife Jennifer and Cecelia teach. I volunteered to cook the meat (both chicken and beef fajitas) which turned out pretty danged good if I do say so myself. But I told them y'all will have to do the peppers and onions as I do not associate with such riff-raff.
Somewhere along the way the gals decided to also cook jalapeno poppers. They assigned Charlie the task of grilling the little green monsters, but first they had to prep them.
To do so my wife began scraping out the demon seeds and the guts of the jalapenos while Cecilia stuffed the hollowed innards with cream cheese and wrapped the whole shooting match in bacon. I contend it should be a crime to waste good bacon that way.
So they get the poppers finished, Charlie begins grilling them, while I mind my own business and happily grill meat.
Then it began.
THE JALAPENO HAND!
My wife washes her hand for the umpteenth time but her skin will not stop burning. The poisonous oil from the jalapeno had infiltrated her cell tissue and according to her it felt as if someone were holding an open flame to her skin.
She soaked her hand in milk.
No help.
Lime juice.
No relief.
Rubbing alcohol.
Still they burned.
Feel free to hum Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire as you read this.
The hours ticked by. The party raged on. Many bottles of wine and much beer was swallowed and still my wife hurt. Tears filled her eyes. Unshed tears but tears nonetheless.
Evening gave way to night. More booze was downed. The party-goers began surfing down the slide and doing back flips from the rock fountain. Despite inebriated swimmers doing less than intelligent stunts, my wife remained the only casualty. She sat poolside with her hands submerged in ice water. The devil's candy continued to burn five ... six ... seven hours after she'd last touched a jalapeno.
A quick trip to Google suggested toothpaste so we bid the party farewell and headed to Walgreen's. The Colgate was barely paid for when she began slathering it on her hands. The flames of hope sparkled in her eyes, but it was extinguished when the fiery pain burned on. The pharmacist said only time and repeated washing would help but it could take up to 36 hours for the capsaicin oil go away.
My wife's spirits sank. She feared there would be no sleep for her that night. At home I got in the computer and quickly learned that capsaicin pill has it's own silver bullet and wooden dagger.
I read that the oil was not water soluble, therefore a mere washing did nothing. But capsaicin is soluble by alcohol and fat. So I got out the cooking oil, which had the highest fat content of any liquid in our kitchen and some Vodka. Why Vodka? Well I didn't want to waste any rum.
So I poured the two together in a pan, the vodka and cooking oil and it made a nice clear thick liquid. I had my wife stick her mitts in, and ...
The pain immediately started to go away. The liquid quickly turned battleship gray and a tentative smile lifted the corners of Jennifer's lips. She rubbed her hands together a few times and then we dumped that batch and made a second just to get rid of the devil's juice.
She soaked her hands for fifteen minutes in that second batch and that was the last of the pain.
So despite what all the doctors say about salad being better for you than hamburgers, I single-handily proved that a meat eating carnivore, a heavy dose of fat, and a bit of Russian booze can defeat the leafy green evils of this world.
Yeah,, I'm tooting my own horn, but maybe, just maybe my wife will be now be a believer.
No need to thank me, but think of me the next time you eat a juicy hunk of meat. And if you plan to supper with Satan and his salad, please, for your sake, keep a ready supply of vodka at hand.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Viva La Amigos!
It feels somewhat strange not to be worrying about a My Town Monday post this Sunday. In case you missed the news, I have handed over the reins to the My Town Monday wagon to the ever-so-talented Clair Dickson. Clair has already improved the weekly meme and made it better by creating a blog devoted solely to it, aptly named My Town Monday.
The site looks great, so be sure to add it to your Google Reader or become a follower so you can keep up with all the great posts.
Speaking of great blogs, my friend Jennifer Archer has started a new one along with a friend. It is quite hilarious and if you doubt that just get a load of the blog's url and title.
The url? MenopauseMusing.com
And the blog title? Writing Without Periods
To steal the catchphrase of my fellow Husker fan and Good Ol' Boy Larry the Cable Guy ... that's funny, I don't care who you are.
Speaking of funny here's a random thought that hit me this weekend. Maybe Melanie Avila can explain this one. Why is any time you visit Mexico people tell you, Don't drink the water? And sure enough most of us do not. Why take the risk?
Yet, these same people will pay premium import prices to consume Mexican beers like Corona
and Dos Equis?
Does Mexico import the water they use for these beers? Does the alcohol simply kill off the dysentery causing microbes? Or maybe it's the little slice of lime everyone crams into those beers? Either way I'm not a fan of either beer. Give a good dark Shiner over either one. If a beer needs fruit, green fruit at that, to be good than I want no part of it.
But I could use some Mexican water right now to get me back on track. You see, it took me 10 weeks to drop 24 pounds. In the 4 days since my weigh-in I've gained five of that back. Oh well, I have had a good bit of fun these past four days.
Nevertheless, I'm going to be a good boy for a bit and try to get back down, but I fear without the threat of Barry Manilow to motivate me, I am doomed.
And like I said, don't forget to check out the brand new My Town Monday website.
The site looks great, so be sure to add it to your Google Reader or become a follower so you can keep up with all the great posts.
Speaking of great blogs, my friend Jennifer Archer has started a new one along with a friend. It is quite hilarious and if you doubt that just get a load of the blog's url and title.
The url? MenopauseMusing.com
And the blog title? Writing Without Periods
To steal the catchphrase of my fellow Husker fan and Good Ol' Boy Larry the Cable Guy ... that's funny, I don't care who you are.
Speaking of funny here's a random thought that hit me this weekend. Maybe Melanie Avila can explain this one. Why is any time you visit Mexico people tell you, Don't drink the water? And sure enough most of us do not. Why take the risk?
Yet, these same people will pay premium import prices to consume Mexican beers like Corona
and Dos Equis?
Does Mexico import the water they use for these beers? Does the alcohol simply kill off the dysentery causing microbes? Or maybe it's the little slice of lime everyone crams into those beers? Either way I'm not a fan of either beer. Give a good dark Shiner over either one. If a beer needs fruit, green fruit at that, to be good than I want no part of it.But I could use some Mexican water right now to get me back on track. You see, it took me 10 weeks to drop 24 pounds. In the 4 days since my weigh-in I've gained five of that back. Oh well, I have had a good bit of fun these past four days.
Nevertheless, I'm going to be a good boy for a bit and try to get back down, but I fear without the threat of Barry Manilow to motivate me, I am doomed.
And like I said, don't forget to check out the brand new My Town Monday website.
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