One Word, One Rung, One Day

Revisiting My Ho Filled Past

2009-12-17T15:46:00.002-06:00

I've been meaning to write up a post but I just don't seem to get it done. So for those who missed it the first time around Here is a recap of my days as a mall Santa. I am including my first two posts. The first explains how I came to be a mall Santa and the other should help explain why I'd never do it again.

That's right folks, that is me lurking beneath those snow-white whiskers and red hat. And here is the real story of how I became a mall Santa and happened to have a six foot plus two hundred and something pound red-headed man sitting on my lap.

The years was 2001. I was just shy of my 29th birthday, far too young to make a good Santa but then again I never claimed I was a good Santa. The previous spring I had agreed to play the Easter Bunny at the mall so the Santa gig was my second stint for the company. Who ran the company -- the red headed man on my lap, who also happened to be my boss at the Post Office. He knew I had a new family and could use a bit of extra money so he hired me for nights and weekends.

The Easter Bunny was easy. Ten bucks and hours plus commission if we met our goals of getting so many pictures. Later, I will share some Bunny stories, which are actually funnier than the Santa ones, but y'all will have to wait for spring for those. The good thing about the Easter Bunny was I just had to sit there in my suit. No talking, no Ho, Ho, Ho'ing. Just wave and sweat in a gimongous fur covered suit while the sun beat in through the mall's atrium windows. Easy money.

There was nothing easy about being Santa. First, because I was young and my eyebrows are black, I had to get this wax pencil and color my brows white each time I donned the suit. Also the middle part of my mustache bled through the fake beard so I'd have to use the pencil to color what I'll call the Hitler portion of my 'stache white as well. Then, despite having a fairly ample gut of my own, I'd have to tie this big poofy pillowed girdle around my torso. Then I'd slip into the red velour trousers and shirt, hoist up the black suspenders, and then slip into the leather boots. Did you know Santa's footwear isn't much different from a Hell's Angel's?

Last, I'd slide the beard into place. It itched like hell and those little fine grey hairs constantly found their way inside my mouth and nostrils. They tickled like hell and over the course of a night spitting out the hairs and keeping them out of my nose proved to be nerve racking. For all I know they gather that crap my the backside of Polar Bears so who the hell knows what kind of germs I was ingesting. Of course every sick and snotty nosed kid in town ended up on my lap, so it didn't really make a difference.

So after a half hour of getting dressed I'd wait for the Santa on duty before me to come back so I could take his place on the throne. Then the fun would really start.

At Easter you might get three or four people in line at the busiest time. The parents are calm and relaxed for the most part since they haven't spent all day running around from store to store maxing out their credit cards in the name of good cheer.

Christmas was an entirely different story. After a ten minute break the line would be twenty screaming kids long. Parents would be eyeballing their watches and scowling like constipated elves forced to eat prune-laced fruitcake.

Between now and Christmas I'm gonna tell y'all many a tale of what went on after that. From sad, to funny, to head shaking, people- are-crazy. But I just might have been the craziest of them all. I also might have been the worst mall Santa the world has ever witnessed, but my pain, and the scarred memories of many a child is y'alls gain. So get ready to read all about, The Saga of a Second Rate Santa.

** a couple of notes**

The man on my lap's name is Galen, As I said he was the boss at the Post Office at one time. I took a good amount of flack for working for him on the side. Things like Santa's nose is supposed to be red, not brown. This picture was taken to really give them something to talk about and to prove I could take anything they wanted to dish out. Don't worry I paid them back. If there is one thing I'm good at it is getting even, or even better getting ahead.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Second Rate Santa and the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly ... but mostly the Ugly.

When you mention mall Santa's, most people think of kids, and probably 90% of the people who stood in line and came to sit on my lap were under the age of twelve. Then you had the older kids who hated to be there but their parents still wanted that yearly picture so they forced them to shuffle up and plop down beside Santa in the over-sized chair. There was no way those 'tweens and teenagers were about to sit on my, or any other Santa's lap.

Then there were the older people, women mostly, but a few men as well. They were a mixed bag. Some were all too eager to sit on Ol' Saint Nick's lap and reveal their heart's desire and then ran the gamut from ...

The Good - An entire shift of Hooter's girls, a couple of shapely twins, and pretty young woman who only wanted to ask Santa for her fiance to be sent back stateside from Croatia in time for their planned Valentine's day wedding.

The Bad - An obviously gay man in a trench coat, no I can't say for certain that he had on anything else, the women who obviously had some kind of Santa fetish and delighted in making my cheeks rosy, and the plethora of hacking, wheezing flu ravaged people who thought I as a mall Santa had the magical ability to ward off disease.

The Ugly - The ugly took many, many forms and will be fodder for this series throughout. When I say ugly I don't just mean physically though Frosty knows there were plenty that filled that sleigh. Along with the aesthetically challenged I had to deal with the hygiene deficient, the personality perplexed, and the downright delusional that actually thought I could fulfill their wishes. Then, there were those who fell into all of those categories and then some. Like the couple from today's installment.

It was early on, in that first week after Thanksgiving, before I'd become completely jaded against the entire legend of Santa Claus. I'd already encountered a few weird things, but I chalked those up as anomalies. The night had been steady but far from the hectic madhouse it would become in a few short weeks, and with less than an hour to go until the mall closed I was feeling rather jolly. (A couple of weeks alter the mall started staying open til midnight and then with an hour to go I was just trying to sane.) Most of the elves had gone come so it was just Galen and me. He took the pictures, I smiled and took the kids list.

But our next customers were far from being kids. And as they walked up Galen whispered out the the side of his mouth, "Get a load of these two."

They were in their early twenties. She had on a pair of ratty red sweat pants that were two sizes two small and with her rotund build the overall package looked sort of like Santa's gift bag. If it were overstuffed with about two dozen Christmas hams. The woman's hair hadn't seen a brush since Prancer was nothing but a twinkle in his mother's eye, but she wore enough make-up to make Rudolph's nose seem dull.

In stereo-typical fashion her boyfriend was as skinny as she was large. His body was all angles and bones, like a broken up candy cane. And there was a smudge above his upper lip that could have been a moustache or a smudge of soot. A chain hung from his grease-stained jeans and the cap on his head said something like, Truckers Do It For The Long Haul.

I made room for them to sit one on each side but of course she plopped down right on my left knee. With a pat on my right, she said, "Bobby you sit here."

He shook his head. "I don't think so." His filthy hair hung stiff like icicles. Though I'd never seen icicles made of oil. But just because I'd never seen it didn't mean 10w-40 didn't freeze.

Like I said, I still had a bit of holiday cheer in me so I gave Jack Sprat and his girlfriend a hearty, "Merry Christmas!"

He mumbled something that might have been " F ... off and die," but I can't say for certain.

Next as was customary I asked what they wanted Santa to bring them this year.

She giggled and said, "An engagement ring would be nice."

"Dream on," he answered.

"Maybe a puppy then."

He cast her a dirty look. "What are you stupid?" You know my mom is allergic."

She returned his nasty expression with one of her own. "Then maybe we could move to a place of our own."

At this point Galen said smile and the flash went off just as the boyfriend said, "This is bullshit. I ain't made of money."

He grabbed the girls hand and yanked her down from my lap. My knee thanked him.

Galen said to them," Want to have a look at your picture?"

"Hell no. We ain't buying no effin picture."

"The girl stopped walking. She crossed her arms across her chest and stuck out her bottom lip like a two year old. "I want a picture."

"What for?"

"I just do."

He hauled out his wallet by tugging on the chain." Okay, but this counts as part of your present."

As he paid Galen, the girl said, "Gawd, Bobby you can be an asshole."

He shrugged. "And you can be a bitch."

Smiling, she draped an arm across his skinny waist and slid her hand into his back pocket. "I know, but that's why you love me."

Galen handed the happy couple their photo and they walked away, arm in arm. Just before they rounded the corner he grabbed a handful of her ample sweatpant covered ham.

Throw Me A Rope

2009-12-10T15:35:00.004-06:00

One example gone awry and there I was, neck deep in quicksand.

I've mentioned before that I have undertaken the pleasurable task of guiding a literature club for the Catholic School where both my boys attend and my wife teaches. The club is made up of forth and fifth grade students and we split our time between discussing the craft of writing and discussing books. This first semester we have been discussing Erica's fantastic YA novel, Magickeepers.

Yesterday we finished up our discussion of the novel as well as my planned talk about the craft. So I opened up the floor for questions.

Several inquiries in, one little girl asked, "Why do some authors change their names?"

I explained that some people wanted to keep their true identity secret and others changed it because maybe their name was too hard to pronounce or even another famous writer shared their name.

The same little girl then said, "But what about the lady who wrote Harry potter? She used her initials but everybody still knows who she is?"

"Well," I explained. " I have read that she went by her initials because someone, an agent, editor, or maybe marketing person thought young boys would be more likely to read the series if they did not realize a woman had written it."

At this point several of the little girls chimed in, "That's dumb. Boys are babies. they should know girls can write good books as well as they can."

I agreed but said it goes both ways. "Sometimes men who write romance books have to change their name so people will think a woman wrote it."

And then, I really blundered.

Pointing to a sweet and innocent looking little girl in the front row I said, "What if Mackenzie (name changed to protect the innocent) here wrote a book about spies or serial killers? no one would ever believe a young girl like her could write a good novel on those subjects so she would have to pick a pseudonym.

Thinking I had sufficiently answered the question I said, "Next question."

A blond little boy raised his hand so I called on him. "What's a serial killer," he asked?

I cringed, not wanting to try and explain this to a group of other people's children.

"That's not really important" I said trying to sweep my blunder under the rug. "I was simply trying to make a point that an author might need to disguise their gender to draw in their readers. Next question."

This time a girl stuck up her arm. She looked extremely pleased when I called on her. With a smile she announced, " a serial killer is a person that kills lots of people. isn't that right?"

Taking a deep breath I nodded. Yeah, but let's stick to talking about writing. Next question."

"Do serial killers cut off people's heads?" Came the next inquiry from a very eager young lad.

"If you want to know anymore about serial killers you are going to have to ask your parents," I answered. "It's not really my field of expertise."

"Why would anyone want to read a whole book about people getting their heads cut off?"

"How come they are called serial killers? Do they like to eat cereal?"

"Have you ever wrote a book about a serial killer?"

"Do you know any serial killers?"

No matter how hard I tried they questions kept coming, so finally I said, "Guys, we are supposed to be talking about writing and books you can read. I can hear it now, When class is over y'all are gonna run out to your parents car and when asked how was books club, the first words from your mouth will be, WE LEARNED ABOUT SERIAL KILLERS FROM MR. ERWIN. and guess what? That will be the end the end of me as your teacher, so unless you guys are trying to get rid of me let's please talk about something else.

One bright little girl threw up her arm and shouted, "Can I ask you about a book idea to see if it's a good?"

Pleased to talk about anything but serial killers I said sure.

"What if I wrote a book about a fat kid at school that ate all of the cereal in the cafeteria and all the other kids started calling him serial killer. Would that make a good story?"

I did the only thing left I could and called it quits for the day.

On the way home I thought man, do I respect teachers, not only for their wisdom and patience but their ability to avoid getting drug smack dab into a huge pool of quicksand.

To read more about the literature club please check out my other blog, here.

Write On!

2009-12-03T15:17:00.002-06:00

Back when I first got serious about writing I subscribed to Writer's Digest magazine. But after a few years of reading I became cynical or realistic, depending on your take.

Articles with titles such as, Write That Best Selling Novel In Only One Weekend and Ten Step Guide to Becoming the Next J.K. Rowling lost their appeal as I discorved the true odds of the business.

Okay I made those title up, but back 8 or 9 years ago Writer's Digest did crank out some sensationalized articles.

I also subscribed to The Writer for a few years after playing host to one of their editors at our local conference, but over time I let that one drop as well.

So it's been a good long while since I've picked up and read a writing magazine but earlier this week one of my critique partners, the oh-so-talented, Caron Guillo, gave me a recent copy of Writer's Digest.

Knowing that I am writing a memoir she gave it to me so that I could read an interview the magazine did with Mitch Albom. Caron knew some of the struggles I was having in writing my Feedstore Chronicles and she correctly guessed that I would appreciate Mr. Albom,s answers regarding his notable memoir, Tuesdays With Morrie.

Odd as it sounds I think there are some parallels between my story and his so now I am eager to finally reading the memoir and study it for structure. But the thing that stuck with me most about the interview was when they asked Mr. Albom the secret behind his being successful as a sports writer, a memoirist, and a novelist.

His answer was that he could his skills lay not in writing so much as they did in storytelling and he said regardless of what you are writing every author should have the same goal -- make the reader constantly ask the same question ... WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

Yeah I know that statement sounds so simple, but for whatever reason it struck a chord within me. Perhaps I've been trying too hard shape and bend my story to fit within the standards and guidelines. Perhaps I should simply tell these tales the way I have countless times over the years. maybe I need to forget I'm writing at a computer desk and start imagining I'm pontificating over a few beers.

Thoughts?

A Little Dark Humor

2009-12-01T21:59:00.006-06:00

A good while back I posted a blog about a friend of mine who'd been given only a short time to live by his doctor. Of course I can't find the post now, but in it I told my favorite story about my friend. Both then and now I will call him Joe.

I'll retell the short version for those that missed it. Joe came into work one night looking like someone had decided to grind his face into hamburger. His nose was bleeding, his lip swollen and busted, and the skin on his face was battered and red. When someone asked Joe what happened, he matter-of-factly stated, "I stopped at Toot and Totum on the way into work. While I was pumping gas I spotted this old boy I owed an ass whooping."

Before anyone could say a word, Joe piped in with, "Now I owe him two."

Shortly after that original post a miracle happened when Joe's cancer suddenly went into remission. The doctor's couldn't explain it, but the three months they had given him turned into better than a year of cancer free life fro Joe.

Three weeks ago those same doctors confirmed what Joe's body had already been telling him. The cancer was back.

Joe's stomach tumor grew five times in size in less than a month and now Joe is in yet another round of chemo in a battle for his life. Of course I'm pulling for him to win this battle, but given our usual banter is one of harassment and good natured ribbing I'm not going to put on satin gloves and treat him as a frail sickly invalid.

Joe would never want or expect me to do that.

So that brings us to my story. Last night while watching my beloved New Orleans Saints, under the stellar leadership of their QB Drew Brees, dismantle the Tom Brady led, almighty New England Patriots, Joe says, "Brees is okay but he's no Romo."

Joe like most folks here in Texas bleeds Dallas Cowboy blue. No one in their right mind would ever claim Dallas QB Tony Romo is better than Drew Brees but in the nature of our fun, Joe threw that statement out."

I countered with the truth that the sweat dripping from Brees's balls has more talent than Tony Romo.

So today Joe calls me up and says, "I can't take the risk of you being a pall bearer at my funeral and having you lean down and say Romo sucks just as they close the casket. So I'm gonna scratch your name off the list and add Tony Romo's."

Not about to give in I said, "Don't do that. Romo will miss the hole in the ground and dump you out right there on the hard cold earth."

Joe was admitted into the hospital tonight, but just a few minutes ago he called to tell me not to get my hopes up, he's not going anywhere until the Cowboys ruin the saints perfect season in a few weeks. I can only hope and pray that Joe will feel up to watching the game with me on December 19th, because despite his poor choice in football teams, he truly is a hell of a friend.

I almost feel bad for the beat down the Who Dats are gonna put on his beloved 'Boys. I said almost. I've been a Saints fan for far too many lean years not to thoroughly enjoy this shining season.

Geaux Saints!

The original Joe story can be found here. I owe the location of the link to the sleuth work of Hilary. Thanks Hilary.

Thankful

2009-11-26T07:53:00.005-06:00

Oh do I have a lot to be thankful for ...

The list is long but I want to take this opportunity to address each of you. My friends the world over. With out y'all this year would have been a struggle beyond any I've ever known.

Our year began looking like this ...

But thank to the love, support, and generosity of family and friends like y'al,l we now can be thankful it looks like this ...

From my family to your, let me carve off a large slice of gratitude and serve it to all of you that helped to transform this year into one to be truly thankful for. House payments and all, I never imagined that we would be this far removed from that devastating day. I only hope each of you are as blessed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

PO'd

2009-11-24T15:42:00.003-06:00

I've told a few tales about previous places of employment here on this blog. There were The Feedstore Chronicles which I am now turning into a memoir. The were the stories about my stint as a shopping mall Santa. A few more about my days as a high school football reeree..

But I've not written much about my adventures at current and longest lasting employer, The United States Postal Service. I'm a big believer in that old saying, You don't crap where you eat but given that I don't have another topic in mind and this story is not derogatory in nature I feel safe in telling it.

This may come as a shock to y'all but I can be a bit of a smart ass when need be, and around the Ol' PO that need often arises. Here is my favorite tale illustrating that point.

Once was the time when I bought a newspaper every morning before work. Given the fact that the Amarillo Paper is small I would fold up the pages and carry the paper in the back pocket. Of course the paper would stick out a good bit as it resembled a flattened tube.

Being that I was in the maintenance department and not the sortation or delivery side my job comes with a certain amount of ... shall we say downtime. We are Gov't workers you see and it wouldn't do to injure ourselves by running from one project to the next.

At this particular point of my postal career, my immediate supervisor was a guy I'll call Slick Willie. Now Slick Willie fancied himself as a the end all be all of the male species. A ladies man extraordinaire. In his mind he put the cock in cock a doodle dandy. Never mind the fact he wore polyester suits and had a pompadour hair-do three decades out of fashion.

Slick Willie liked to make himself feel important by asserting his position of power of his minions, me included. Sure he was the boss, but given the strength of our union and the built in checks and balances, he didn't have near the power or control that he thought he possessed.

Nevertheless one day Slick Willie summonsed me to his office for an official reprimand. The following is our conversation up to the point he threw me out of his office.

Slick Willie -- Travis, you need to stop carrying that paper in your back pocket.
Me -- Why?
Slick Willie -- It looks bad. It looks like you are going to read it.
Me -- I am going to read it. Why else would I buy a copy every morning?
Slick Willie -- No, I mean it looks like you are always going to break. Like you are going to read it right now.
Me -- What about all the smokers. They carry their cigarettes with them. Does it look like they are going to break?
Slick Willie -- Kenny (Kenny was the Slick Willie's boss. The Maintenance Manager) smokes so I can't say anything about that.
Me- So you can't get after the smokers for carrying the cigarettes because Kenny smokes, but you are chastising me for carrying me paper?

Slick Willie leaned back in his chair and smugly nodded.
Me -- What? Kenny can't read.

That's when Slick Willie threw me out of his office, but he never said another word about the folded up paper in my back pocket.

Juevos

2009-11-18T15:38:00.003-06:00

It's no secret I have some odd eating habits, but odder still are the people who "discover" some new food item. Perhaps these people were simply hungry and willing to try anything.

Take eggs for example. I can't imagine what was going through the dudes head that ate the first one, but I bet the conversation went something like this.

"Hey Frank! See that thing that just fell out of your chicken's arse. What do you think the goo inside that would taste like?"
"Beats the hell outta me Joe."
"Well, I think I'll break one of them open and find out."

And while I know enough about animals to understand the benefits a rancher gains by castrating his cattle I will never understand the working behind the cowboy who first thought ... Man that bucket full of severed balls sure looks tasty.

Oysters? Come on no one in their sober mind would say that snot-like gel inside that shell has to be good to eat. After all they they filter fish crap from the bottom of the sea. How could they not be scrum-dili-umptious?

Speaking of sober, think about the dude who discovered booze. He had to be thirsty when he said, "Look those grapes have rotted and turned into mush. Let's slurp some up." Of course after he did it's no wonder he decided to start letting corn, hops and barley ferment as well.

Nope, this post doesn't have a real point. Carry on with your day, but before you go drop me a comment and point out some food item that makes you scratch your head.

For the record, I'm fine with eating deep fried calf testicles and washing them down with a beer or other adult beverage but you can keep the ocean filters and chicken droppings for yourself.

I Should Wear Pink Underwear

2009-11-10T15:22:00.006-06:00

Let's talk women's underwear.

But before we do, let me explain exactly how this subject came to be my latest blog post.

Last Saturday was the opening day of deer hunting here in Texas, and me being the procrastinator I am I chose to wait until Saturday morning to buy my license. After all, I wasn't going to hunt until Saturday afternoon and evening so no need to rush right down to my local sporting goods store and purchase said hunting license.

No ... It was much better to wait in a long line with the nine hundred or so other hunting procrastinators that dwell here in the fine city of Amarillo. Matter of fact, the line was so long it backed up into the clothing section at Academy Sports.

Now for those of you not fortunate to call The Lone Star State home you may not have heard of Academy Sports. They sell everything from exercise equipment to grilling items. Hunting fishing, Tennis shoes, athletic apparel. They sell it all for men, women and children.

So there I was standing in the long line with my two boys. As I said it extended back into the clothing area. The area reserved for sports apparel. Hats, shirts, jogging suits and the like all adorned with Longhorns, Aggies, Red Raiders and of course the ever-present blue star of the Dallas Cowboys.

My youngest son suddenly asks, "Dad, are team clothes all for girls?"
"No," I answer. "What makes you ask that?"
"Look," he points.

There was an entire rack of team logo panties. National Football League, Major League Baseball, NCAA. NBA Just about every sport was represented in both thong and lacy bikini brief style.

Now if a woman buys herself these cause she is a diehard fan and wants to show her support for her team I don't have a problem with it, but by show I mean show. There is no need to keep your team affiliation secret. Be proud, be bold. Show us who you root for. Hell, you may convince me to start cheering for your team.

But, and I suspect this is the case, if you are a woman who buys these to please your man, or you are a man who buys these for your gal than I got serious issue with it.

Don't get me wrong I'm happy as the next guy when Jennifer pulls for the teams I like. I find it nice to watch a sporting event together and cheer for the same team, but I don't need to see the Cornhusker logo or the gold Fleur-De-Lis of my beloved Saints to get me in the mood. Matter of fact I don't really want to things associated with sports such as sweaty men, and balls flitting into my mind at that given time.

Yes, scoring is a word associated with scantily clad women but you go bringing sports into the bedroom and the next thing you know there is some doofus in a striped shirt throwing a flag on you for illegal contact.

And while I'm ranting ... how ridiculous are these?

Camo is supposed to hide, disguise things. The last thing men want to do is make the goods harder to locate. I suppose women could be trying to hide themselves rather than relying on the old, "I've got a headache" line, but if that's the case they need to go outside and stand in a bush.

And again if this is about catering to a man's so-called interests than I say why. Most of us men are already interested without you going to so much trouble. Matter of fact, if this theory of encasing your genitalia in things the opposite sex really worked I would be wearing boxers adorned with my wife, Jennifer's favorite things.

What do y'all think? Would I look good in pink boxers plastered with the likeness of Vince Vaughn and QVC channel logo?

If I really wanted to go all out my new drawers would come with a button that when pushed would ask in Sam Elliott's, "Do you feel lucky tonight?"

Or better yet Sam could utter his old commercial slogan ...

I'd Show You But I'd Have to Kill Ya

2009-11-06T15:40:00.009-06:00

Thanks to everyone who sent me stories for Literary Agent Appreciation week. I have a few more but they are very similar to those I've already posted in either content or agent named so I'm going to move on and post about other things going on in my life.

Writing wise I finally got the kids literature club at school launched this week. I'm really proud of how the first official meeting went. We discussed SHOWING versus TELLING this week, but for more details about my talk or the club please check out the YOUNG LIT BLOG. And any of you fellow bloggers who might know a budding young writer or reader please share the link as I hope to get an online representation of the Literature Club going as well.

In other news we had our annual costume party this past week. My costume was not up to par this year, but I hope to do better next October.

Your guess as to what or who I am is as good as mine. I was supposed to be a a magician, but I lost my magic wand. Feel free to make your own joke up there.

Other speculated I was a circus ringmaster and yet others said I looked like Dick Dastardly, the evil dude that used to tie Penelope Pitstop to the railroad tracks.

Luckily some of the other party-goers did better with their get-ups than me.

Rebecca and Toby are all about Love and Peace.

The Keg man and his flapper wife.

A group shot that includes a witch and Aphrodite in the forefront. Mr Gadget, The Joker, and Nacho Libra in the back.

A couple of deviled eggs.

Lady Gaga and a fangless Vampire.

The prom king and queen circa 1982.

Nascar Newlyweds.

The Wild Thornberry's.

Which one is your favorite? Did you dress up this year and if so, as what?

Literary Agent Appreciation Story # 6

2009-11-04T19:43:00.000-06:00

This tale of success comes from Cicily Janus.

I have a story about Gary, AKA SUPER AGENT G or SECRET AGENT G or  
GDUDE.
 
Once upon a time, Gary and I met at an illustrious wreck of a  
conference in Massachusetts.  There were writers, agent(s), mainly  
him, one show-running dude and a very bad cook.  Got it?
 
I was, more or less, forced by the hapless leader of this group to  
pitch a novel I hadn't written yet, seeing as he didn't like my  
completed novel, to Gary.
 
Setting: Gary sat in the middle of a circle of seething, blood-seeking  
shark like humanoids, known as UNPUBLISHED writers.  We were supposed  
to pitch him while in the group and get instantaneous, loving, adoring  
smiles and agent representation...(AKA: REAL FEEDBACK) on the idea of  
our novels.  Gary liked my idea, wondered aloud if someone with no  
novel writing experience could pull it off and then proceeded to move  
his Texas twangy good nature around the room.  Only one gal teared up  
as he said, I don't get it.  (Knowing Gary very well now, I know for a  
fact that his pseudonym/nickname is Mr. Agent Ambiguity Man.  He's the  
king of finding all ambiguity in all works of art)
 
Later that afternoon Gary approached me, or maybe I kidnapped him and  
said, well, if you're going to pull off that novel, I suggest you read  
x, y, z yadda yadda.  He sat down with me in front of Amazon.com and  
gave me a frackin' long list of books to read.  And I bought every  
single one. And read them.  Relished them.
 
Fast forward a month later: I met a kind young man on an airplane,  
whom I watched kiss goodbye his very pregnant wife and then hobble  
onto the plane via crutches.  Grimace and all in tow.  It was ski  
season in Colorado.  Oh yes!  I got on the plane (I am also a nurse)  
and sat next to him (Southwest airlines, choose your own seat)
 
We began talking, as I believe he wanted a distraction from the broken  
bones he was about to have surgery on, pondering aloud if Vicodin and  
Chardonnay or Rum was okay on a flight.  He was in a LOT of pain.  Of  
course he asked me what I did. I said a nurse. He said, oh. Cool. We  
talked about the surgery, fractures etc.  then I asked him, so, wadda  
ya do?  He said, oh, I'm a writer.  ESPN Sportscenter something or  
other.
 
Dammit.
 
I said, awesome.  After a few minutes of listening to brilliant (not  
joking) sports writerly talk, I fessed up.  I like to write too.  Or  
so I said.  He said, oh really?  (I'm sure he was thinking, GREAT,  
everyone thinks they're a writer...) And I told him about the  
impossible novel.  The one Gary had directed me to start on when I was  
at that conference.  He said, MY WIFE WOULD LOVE TO READ THAT.  Uh?   
Sure...I said, well, it's not out, it's, as a matter of fact, in its  
infancy.  It's barely a conjoined sperm and egg lovemaking concept of  
strings of thoughts etc...wait, who's your wife again?
 
Shana Drehs of Source Books.  Editor-at-large.
 
GULP.
 
SHIT.
 
INSERT ENLARGED, BATTERED, SWOLLEN, SORRY-ASS FOOT.
 
She would?  Really?  You're too kind.  Really.  REALLY?????
 
Next day, I wake up and receive the email.  GREAT TO HAVE MET YOU AND  
THANKS FOR THE GREAT TALK.  HERE'S HER ADDY.  SHE WANTS TO SEE IT.
 
FLIPPIN' A!
 
So, I email Gary, tell him, hey you, you remember me don't you?  Can I  
run a few para's by you and ask for some literary valium/advice?
 
His response?  You Betcha.  Of course I remember you.
 
He critiqued, read through and offered advice within a two day  
period.  It was invaluable.
 
A year, some odd change and a few days later, I email him again.
 
Hey Gary, Remember me?
 
His response?  You Betcha.
 
I briefly gave him a run-down of the jazz book I was thinking of doing  
and he answered me back within 48 hours: For practitioners or  
listeners or both?
 
We've been literarily married ever since.  Random House was our  
first child's home and to this day, we're working on my new book prop  
together.  He's my rock in this crazy business...they're not all like  
him, but I sure as hell am one lucky writer to have him on my side. 


The Jazz book Cicily modestly refers to is titled The New Face of Jazz:
An Intimate Look at Today's Living Legends and the
Artists of Tomorrow

It is available now for preorder on Amazon.com

Literary Agent Appreciation Story # 5

2009-11-04T06:30:00.000-06:00

Nathan Bransford is known far and wide among writers that frequent the blogosphere and his efforts to help and educate writers is no secret, but J. J. DeBenedictis, author of the OxyJen blog offers up a unique perspective on Mr. Bransford's kindness.

~~~~~~~

I had a novel. It was polished and awesome, and I thought it good enough to publish. I started to query it.

I did this properly: I crafted a strong query letter. I always sent five sample pages. I personalized my letters to the agents, and I sent out small batches at a time.

After twenty-five rejections with only one small nibble, I was really wondering what was wrong. I didn't believe it was the book, and I didn't think it was my query letter.

Nathan Bransford, literary agent, had said on his blog that if he rejected you, and you emailed back to give him permission to critique your query on his blog, he might do so.

One of my rejections was from Mr. Bransford, so I gave it a shot. He emailed back to say he wanted to take me up on the offer. His blog post went up that same week.

Reading the critique was excruciating--not because Mr. Bransford was anything but kind, and not just because it was public--but because I got exactly what I asked for. He told me what was wrong.

Heaven help me, it was the book. Blaming my query letter would have been soooo much easier on my ego, but it was the sample pages that were turning agents off.

Mr. Bransford pointed out my opening was simply confusing. I had started in media res (because I'd heard that was a great way to get the reader right into the action), and Mr. Bransford's advice boiled down to: "Back up, and slooooow down."

My ego crawled under the bed and wailed for a few days, while the horrified and embarrassed remainder of my psyche politely thanked Mr. Bransford and his readers for their comments.

After I recovered, I re-outlined and re-wrote my first scene.

And sent out five more query letters.

And, from one of them, got a request for a full and eventually an agent.

Mr. Bransford is not that agent. He will not make any money from helping me. His critique was a pure donation of his time and expertise, but it got me over the last hurdle. If he hadn't helped me see into my own blind spot, it might have killed my chances of finding representation for that novel.

And he did it just to be nice!

Thank you, Nathan Bransford. I greatly appreciate you and your generosity.

**********************

Having had the extreme good fortune to have won Nathan's latest contest I just recently received a very detailed critique of my first three chapters. He took a lot of time to really explain his take and I can only hope his advice will open the kind of doors for that it did for J.J.

Literary Agent Appreciation Story #4

2009-11-03T18:23:00.002-06:00

Here's another great story that highlights the fact that Literary Agents are often much more than business associates. This one comes from Jackie Brown.

The wonderful agent with whom I entrust my writing career is an outstanding businesswoman; her eponymous agency is world renown for representing certain niche markets, as well as for general representation. Working on a nightmare-of-a-screenplay-project/rights acquisition deal on my behalf, she paid out of pocket for services and disbursements for over two years, never hesitating, never backing down. That long ago deal fell through, through no fault of her own, but she and her associate have never given up on me; their encouragement and faith in my talent is one of the major enhancements of my life.

I am currently working through a biologically-based mental "dis-ease," and during an episode last year I contacted her with several book proposals. She set up a meeting during which she sensed something was amiss about me. When I confided in her and her associate, they listened patiently, pushing aside our business at hand and focusing instead on my well-being. I had been having difficulty finding a specific practitioner; fortunately for me, they have an out of town client in the field, whom they contacted for a local referral. Two days later I consulted with my new doctor who met all my requirements, thanks to the two agents’ thoughtfulness, compassion, and care.

I’ll never have an agent horror story to relate because, for my part, I hope to maintain this relationship for life.

Jackie Brown

Literary Agent Stories Part 3

2009-11-03T06:30:00.000-06:00

This one comes from T. Anne at White Platonic Dreams

Here's my helpful albeit slightly painful experience. I once wrote a novel then queried said novel, then received a myriad of rejections for said novel that were bland and meaningless and politely said, "sorry I don't think we are a good fit".

Nevertheless I continued with my query fest until I finally received a request for a partial. 'Super agent' (who was also wise in my eyes for requesting a partial in the first place) sent back something just this side of worse than a bland rejection.

It was a harsh, hard boiled, non sugar coated, not for the meek or week or basically for anyone who had a heart. It was cruel.

"It" I later learned was called a critique. It hurt like hell and I wanted to hide from the free world and mostly the cyber world and any alternate reality that might have mistakenly known me as a writer. Clearly according to 'super agent' I was anything but. Then after a few hours I slinked back to my computer and re-read the darn thing again. OK. She said she liked my voice. She also asked me to rewrite the first three chapters and please send it back to her because she really was interested.

Was this a pity rewrite?

I wasn't sure. But rewrite I did and you know what? My story rocks now. I'm no longer embarrassed to show it to humans of all ages and sizes. Was I before? You bet. Why? Because I should have been.

I'm very grateful for that experience. As painful as it was (and it so was) I don't regret it. In fact, I'm so very thankful.

T. Anne

*****************************

There is nothing like a cold hard dose of the truth to wake us up and painful as it is sometimes we need agents to hear the truth. it's rare to find that friend or family member that is gutsy enough so this is yet another service that often falls upon agents shoulders. I've written on here before about my first personalized rejection but since I have a few new readers I will share the handwritten words with you again. the agent said and I quote, "Your meandering story telling and excessive verbiage does not appeal to me now or never."

And yes, that particular agent was correct in his brief summary of my writing at that time. And his harshness motivated me to get better. I at least like to think I have.

Literary Appreciation Week Part 2

2009-11-02T18:18:00.001-06:00

This one from Betsy Dornbusch, the author of the fabulous Sex Scenes at Starbucks blog ...

I've had several kind words, helpful personal rejections, and friendly smiles from agents over the years. I've met several agents in person and rarely had one look down at me for not having a book on shelves. Indeed, I feel they tend to look at me hungrily, as if I might be fresh meat for their grill. (Which I hope to be!) But Nathan Bransford (of course!) went far and above the call. He asked for a detailed rewrite on the first chapter of my first book. I don't think he really reps fantasy, so I fancy he did it out of the goodness of his heart. He ended up rejecting it, (nicest rejection I ever got), but his critique launched the discovery of my preferred style and voice. It was like he reached beyond the chaff and saw what the work was meant to be. The book is as of yet unpublished, but I've had many, many requests based on the first chapter I revised for him, and it's now under consideration by a NY editor.

*************************************

I love Betsy voice and style and can't wait to read one of her novels.

I have several Nathan stories which I will be sharing. All of the agents that take the time to blog and educate we writers on the business side of the publishing world go above and beyond. I have learned and continue to do so by reading their posts. It's nice to have that little bit of insight into what goes on at the other end of those query letters.

Question, what is your favorite agent blog and more importantly, why?

Literary Agent Appreciation Week

2009-11-02T13:15:00.003-06:00

Sorry for the delay. Laptop is still flaky. It reboots itself about every five minutes or shuts down and stays kaput for several hours. Given that this post maybe have to come in installments. Therefore, I'm changing the scope of the event from day to week.

First off let me say I'm surprised at the number of emails and comments I've gotten that fall on the bitter side. One of my goals for this idea was to remind unagented writers, (such as myself) that agents do not exist to be dream killers. These agents have very difficult jobs and they are unpaid for much of that work. Matter of fact the only chance reputable agents have of getting paid is to find writers of quality work and then to sell that work so saying no is not what they want to do.

I have been there and understand the sting of rejection. The closer I get to landing an agent or book deal the harder those rejections hit, but I understand this is a business and I truly believe my writing career would be better off with a knowledgeable agent guiding, negotiating, and partnering with me for the ride.

Now to the stories ...

Being that this is my blog, I am starting with my own.

Several years ago I was attending a week long writing workshop with a dozen other writers. As part of this workshop we honed our pitch and had the opportunity to pitch to agents and editors.

This workshop did not use the regular five minute pitch concept popular at so many writing conferences Rather we, the twelve writers pitched in front of the entire group, and to multiple agents and editors at a time. I usually comfortable speaking in public but this was an extremely talented group of writers and every last one of them had better credentials than me. There were multiple MFA grads from very impressive universities, professional journalists who had served as white house correspondents, and multi-published authors. Here I was a bullshitting Texan who'd taken a few classes at my local community college. I was feeling a bit intimidated but i refused to let it show.

The pitches began and these weren't the garden variety I'd experienced at other conferences. if the agent or editor didn't like the hook or premises they said so rather than offering up the same standard smile and reply of, "Send me the first thirty pages and I'll take a look."

But like I said these were very talented writers so there had been quite a few requests and even some "send me the full manuscripts."

Two spots before me, an editor from a small but well-respected press said to one of my peers, "I like your premises but what's the story behind the story. What made you want to write this novel? and what's going to make a reader keep from putting it down?" Addressing us all, she said point blankly said, "If you can't answer those questions without hesitation I'm not interested in anything you write."

With only one person pitching before me I began concentrating on my answers.

All too quick it was my turn. Most of the others were pitching literary novels. I was pitching women's fiction.

I pitched my novel which at the time I had dubbed A River Without Water. It is the tale of a young woman who ran away from home at seventeen and spent the last decade blaming her father for forcing her to have an abortion. Out on the road she meets a man who has spent several years grieving for his wife who died in childbirth. A large part of him wishes his wife would have had an abortion. Neither character knows of the others past yet they recognize a common sense of loss and not only do they forge a relationship but as the truth unwinds the two of them realize the toughest questions in life rarely are black or white.

The pitch was much better and more precise than that but it's been a while since I focused on that novel and given my computer woes I can't go dig up my old query right now.

So after my pitch came the question. "Why did you write this story?"

And my answer, "I wanted to write a a novel with a pro-life slant that dealt only with the human psyche and not the legality or morality of the issue."

"So your novel is intended for an inspirational audience?"

"Not at all," I explained. "The characters are too worldly to be embraced by that audience and I purposely avoid any debate on the morality, or even legality of the issue."

"But you said it has a pro-life slant."

"That slant is very subtle and not the crux of the story. It's primarily a relationship story. The conflict stems from the two protagonist relationship with each other and their family. It's a story of healing for both my male and female protags even though they have polar opposite backgrounds and beliefs on the issue."

"So what makes it pro-life?" Was the editors next question.

"In the end, the male protag realizes that his daughter is not to blame for his wife's decision and that by loving her and being a part of her life he can be reminded of the love he and his wife once shared."

"And your female protag? The one that had the abortion. I suppose she is left on the outside feeling sorry for herself." The editors tone had turned hostile, but I tried not to let that faze me.

"Not at all. The novel is in no way judgmental. If it was I'd be throwing my main character to the wolves. Part of her character growth is realizing the choices in her past were every bit hers as much as her father and that the only way she can deal with her own grief is ..."

That when things turned ugly.

"Grief!" Shouted the editor. Why must she have grief. Not every woman who has an abortion spend the rest of her life regretting it. Not every woman ends up in counseling. Not every woman should have to explain or apologize for making a choice."

"I'm not saying every woman does. But my character does have a good bit of grief and I spent lots of time researching this story and character. i interviewed two woman who have had abortion. One who regrets it and one who does not. I have also read numerous books on both sides of the issue."

"No one with a penis between their legs has the right to write so much as a single word on the issue of abortion."

It was at that point I knew my pitch had somehow gotten personal so I simply said, "John Irving did it quite well with Cider House Rules." I then sat down.

Needless to say that editor made no requests. Matter of fact she spent to next ten minutes declaring why my novel had zero market except to Midwestern farm wives engrossed in their religion.

And then an agent spoke up. A female agent I might add. She said, "I think it great that you would tackle a book like this. And I love the concept of these two characters and their varying backgrounds on the subject. Do you have any pages with you?"

I said yes, I have the first fifty with me right now.

"Great I'll read them over lunch."

Still feeling somewhat battered I handed the pages over.

After lunch the agent approached me and said, "The writing is very well done, but I'm more impressed how you handled yourself while being unfairly attacked. I'd love to read the full manuscript."

I sent off the manuscript. Several weeks later I received my first phone call from the agent. Matter of fact it was my first personal call from any agent. We talked about the book she expressed a few concerns and asked me to rewrite a few things. I did so and while she ultimately passed on taking me and the novel on she did so again with a personal call. She told me to please keep writing as I had a wonderful voice and that she would love to look at my next project.

Yeah it hurt like hell to get rejected after such a close call but I appreciated her taking the time to call. and more importantly I appreciate her having the courage to differ from that very vocal editor and stand up for me as a writer and my project. That agent could have easily went along or said nothing. And if that were the case who knows what my writers psyche would have been like coming away from that workshop.

Part of my wants to use the agents name but given there is a minute chance the editor at that small press could read this I will not. the last thing I want is to incite animosity between myself and the editor or even more so the agent and editor.

More stories to follow. Feel free to send yours to my email travis AT traviserwin DOT com.

2009-11-01T13:59:00.001-06:00

My laptop has chosen today to die. Posting all the great literary agent appreciation stories would take days via my cell so please excuse the delay.

While I'm Away

2009-10-30T07:29:00.003-05:00

My friend Cicily Janus asked me a good while back to do a guest blog for her over at WRITING ABOUT YOU. I finally got it done so hop on over and see what I have to say. And while you are there check out all the exciting stuff going on with Cicily. She has a new Jazz book that comes out soon and then there are her Writing Away Retreats which by all accounts are awesomely awesome. Though rumor has it she is still insisting upon serving attendees salad along with the meaty main courses. I'm not going until she has an all meat menu, but that's just me. Seriously check out her schedule of retreats. She has some great authors, agents, and editors lined up.

And there is still time to email me your agent story. Send them to travis AT traviserwin DOT com

Stepping Out

2009-10-21T12:51:00.003-05:00

So before I got caught up in contest fever, I was writing a series of blogs based upon the ideas and first line suggestions of my Facebook buddies. On deck for that was the post inspired by Avery Debow. She wanted me to use the line ... "It wasn't even my shoe."

So I wrote a poem.

It wasn't even my shoe,
slipped my foot in anyway.
Planned to walk a mile, maybe two.
A stroll nothing more than child's play.
But that ever-changing view,
left me confused, bathed in dismay.

Now I'm no poet. Pentameter, and all that jazz still baffles me, but I am a big fan in taking that walk in somebody elses shoes before you get up on your high horse and criticize.

Right now I'm working on a Post for a friend's blog. Soon as I get it written, and she posts it I'll share the link, but I'll give all of a preview and reveal it has to do with writer's, (specifically unagented/unpublished writers with novelists ambitions) that routinely criticize and blame literary agents for dashing their dreams.

Are there bad, irresponsible agents out there? Yes. They are people in every job that are inept, but if we as writers often get caught up in the notion that agents are some kind of evil guards. The only think blocking entrance into the magical kingdom of publication and that my friends is pure nonsense. I won't say anymore to defend that position until I write that other post, but I have plans to do my part in fostering a better relationship between we, the unagented writers of the world and the agents who simply are looking for books and writers they both love and feel as of they can place with publishers.

I am declaring November 1st, Literary Agent Appreciation Day, and as such I want writers to send me their best story involving a kindness extended to them by a literary agent. An anecdote when an has gone above and beyond to help them out. Especially if they provided that service not as your acting agent, but simply to offer a helping hand. I will post as many as a can that day and hopefully these stories will change the view of at least a few of the most jaded among us. Send those stories anytime to my email travis AT traviserwin DOT com.

And yes, I hear the voices of those very same jaded now. "Sure Travis is more than willing to suck up and kiss the arse of agents now. He just won a contest over at an agents blog and he's feeling the love. But what was he saying last week, last month, last year, when those rejection letters were stuffing his inbox?"

And to that. I say the same exact thing. Don't believe me? Then have a gander at this post titled, Put That Shoe On. And when you do, please take note of the date, April 23, 2007 when I first expressed these sentiments. So yeah I'm feeling good right now, but I truthfully do see agents for what they are supposed to be. Advocates and business partners for we writers who seek to make a living in this very complex world of publishing.

Wow

2009-10-19T10:01:00.002-05:00

I won ...

As I type the above words I am still somewhat stunned. I have won writing contests before. I made the top 500 in the Amazon contest while competing with something close to 10,000 other writers.

Sp why does wining Literary Agents Nathan Bransford's first paragraph contest feel like my greatest achievement as a writer?

Maybe it is because that paragraph comes from my very own memoir, not a fictional world I created?

Maybe because this has been one hell of a tough year and I've spent much of it debating if I really was good enough to make that top 1% of writers that get their novels published?

Maybe because I really have not been writing the way I sued to or should be?

Maybe because I read at least half of those 2600 entries and realize the talent level I was competing against?

Maybe it's all the maybes together?

Whatever I know I am truly elated and that I have new energy and desire to sit down and finish that memoir, because as cool and overwhelming as winning the contest is. there is no maybe to it. I'll need a heck of a lot more than a strong opener to finally land that agent and book deal I have been working for these past 8 years.

I'm taking this win as a sign that yes, I am good enough to be in that top 1% and yes, as long as I keep plugging away I can achieve my goals.

Thanks to all of you who took the time to vote for me or my fellow finalists. And if any of those 9 happen to find this blog I want to congratulate them and say thanks for making the contest one I am proud to have competed in. Without so many great entries this wouldn't mean quite so much.

I Feel Great

2009-10-16T12:30:00.002-05:00

Two posts in ONE DAY!

Been a long time since I managed that, but I couldn't resist tooting my own horn. I did make the finals in Literary Agents Nathan Bransford's first paragraph contest. I already feel like a winner after being one of the ten finalists out of more than 2600 entries. Hop on over to his blog so that you can read all of the finalists entries and vote for your favorite. There are some really good ones so the competition from here on out will be extremely stiff.

This Little Piggy Went To Market

2009-10-15T22:58:00.004-05:00

Yep, I fell off the wagon again and let more day than I aimed too slip by without blogging. The flu has struck the Erwin household and while both my sons and my wife have suffered I am proud to say I have remained virus free. No doubt my ultra-healthy eating habits helped stave off the evil pork-infused germies.

I am sure all of you who are writers have heard about super blogging agent Nathan Bransford's latest contest. For those who have not Mr. Bransford is hosting a first paragraph contest. I have entered several of is contest and frankly never made so much as an honorable mention. Given the fact that his current writer's battle brought in nearly 2651 entries chances are I won't again, but in a way I already feel like a winner.

Never before has anyone other than a few people who already read my blog regularly commented on my entries, but this time I've heard from quite few people both regular blog reader and nearly a dozen total strangers. Some commented on the previous post and some sent me email. It makes me feel great that after having read my paragraph they took the time to find my bog or email address and comment.

For those who are curious I will save you the trouble of scouring the nearly three thousand entries and paste mine here.

Here you go the opening shot of my memoir in progress ... The Feedstore Chronicles

Coming-of-age stories are often fraught with symbolism, hidden metaphors, and a heaping mound of other literary devices. Not this one. I came of age while working at a dusty, Texas feedstore. A place where To Kill a Mockingbird involved a twelve-year-old and a BB gun. Of Mice and Men was a problem easily solved with rat poison. And David Copperfield was nothing more than a dude that made shit disappear.

The finalist are to be announced tomorrow. It would be awesome to make that cut but there are tons of talented writers and I've read so many great entries that I know the odds are slim at best, but all of the kind comments have given me an added boost and forced me to get back to work writing the rest of the memoir. I'm about 30,00 words in so far. With any luck I'll be through with a solid draft by the end of the year.

Happy writing to all of you, and good luck to my fellow competitors.

V is for Victory!

2009-10-09T09:18:00.000-05:00

It seemed like it should have worked out fine.

That's exactly what The Missouri Tigers head coach must have been thinking when my beloved Nebraska Cornhuskers scored 27 unanswered points in the fourth quarter of last nights game to come back and triumph over their Big XII rivals. It was a sloppy game played in a torrential downpour, but at least the good guys won.

Go Big Red!

No doubt this wasn't the post Lisa had in mine when she suggested I start a post with the first line "It seemed like it should have worked out fine," but since I got caught up watching the game last night instead of writing, this is what you get.

I have another busy weekend of flag football games, but this Saturday is also the annual Carnival at St Mary School. If you are here in Amarillo be sure and stop by between 12 and 7 for some great fun and even better Mexican food. Hope to see you there.

By the Hair of My Chinny Chin Chin

2009-10-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

I have one ... A big, hairy one I might add.

Get your mind out of the gutter people. I'm talking about mustaches.

Actually I have more than a mere mustache as I have chosen to ring my entire pie-hole with hair and grow and sport the uber manly -- goatee.

Why you ask?

The simple answer ... because I can.

Like standing up to pee, growing facial hair is a staple of manhood. Sure there are women that grow a pretty good 'stache, and a few gals can even take the stubble to an elite level and grow a beard. But unless you have circus ambitions, it's generally frowned upon to have both facial fuzz and boobs. Yes men, that means even if you are manly enough to grow chin decoration that rivals ZZ Top, man boobs greatly diminishes your manliness.

But Travis you say. Is it really all that manly or cool to have something growing on your face that is named for an animal? And a goat at that.

Yes. Yes it is. Billy goats (the ones that actually sport goatees) are indeed bad ass. Need I remind you that Billy Goat Gruff did prevail over the evil troll lurking beneath the bridge.

Okay, you say. Facial hair is manly, but it tickles to kiss someone a hairy upper lip.

Given the fact I've never kissed anyone with a hairy upper lip I can't verify the accuracy of this statement, but I will say ... perhaps, some people enjoy that tickle.

What? Are those cries of BS I hear in the distant. Are there actually naysayers chanting -- shave it off -- shave it off.

Fine, fine. I'll come clean. I have my goatee for two main reasons.

One, I look about twelve without it. Or at least I did the last time I was clean shaven, which would be August of 1997, exactly two months prior to my wedding. And then I was clean shaven only as a result of an ill-timed sneeze. Trust me fellas, if you are holding an electric trimmer and feel even the slightest urge to sneeze -- stop trimming your goat until the urge goes completely away.

Two, I'm lazy. I hate to shave. Having a goatee means less surface area to manscape. It's no different than filling your yard with rocks and cactus and claiming to be environmental friendly because your new "zero"scape has less needs. Bullshit. Your just too dang lazy to water and mow. And given the fact I am one chromosome away from being Sasquatch I'd be shaving all the damn time if I wanted to maintain that sensual smoothness the shaving cream companies claim is all the rage with the ladies.

But what are the drawbacks to having a mustache, goatee or full beard?

1) Honey. No I'm not getting fresh with you. I'm talking about the sweet nectar of the bees. Honey is not a friend to facial hair. Neither is syrup.

2) Extra shampoo expense. Yes guys it is very important you suds the goat every morning. Or evening if that happens to be your shower time.

3) Toddlers and chewing gum. Neither kids nor Hubba Bubba are all that dangerous to beards when faced individually but together they spell real trouble.

And other than the increases virility and sex appeal what are the benefits of letting the facial follicles freely frolick?

1) Extra warmth. The only time my wife will let me get away with a full beard is when I have a hunt planned for the cold mountain peaks of Colorado. And trust me a furred over face is indeed warmer when the chill of 13,000 feet is blowing across your cheeks. (Hey, I just realized that same argument could apply to justifying a hairy arse.)

2) The soup at lunch tasted really great. And now thanks to your 'stache you can enjoy that same flavor hours later with a mere flick of your tongue.

3) Should you ever become a wanted man you can alter your appearance in minutes, simply by shaving, whereas if you rob that bank while clean shaven you'll have to lay low for days, weeks, or months. (Time frame varies according to your manliness level and ability to grow facial hair)

********************************

This post was inspired by my Facebook plea for blogging ideas. My FB buddies responded and this is but the first of several posts to be inspired by their comments. I asked for topics or first lines and these are what I got and what you can look forward to. Int eh order in which I received them.

Shannon aka Bubblewench said ... Moustaches, good or evil... discuss!
Lissa served up this first line ... 'It seemed like it should have worked out fine.'
Avery tossed this line out ... "It wasn't even my shoe."
Kim handed me a serious subject .. Autism now affects one in 91 American children. Have fun...
Deborah suggested ... Oktoberfest
Melanie asked ... "Whose hair is this and why is it stuck to my chest?"
Jenn offered a trio of words and wants them all included in one post ... Mummies, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and Britney Spears.
Shonda begged for ... "Ism's"...... what are they and what can they do for you?

Should be interesting and varied blog fare.

So, let's hear it. To be, or not to be ... Hairy ...

That is the question.

Google Monster

2009-10-02T08:02:00.003-05:00

First off I want to wish my beautiful bride, Jennifer, a happy birthday today. If I wasn't a tightwad I'd be out buying her something nice rather than blogging. She certainly deserves it.

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I only served up 5 posts for the month of September. that is my all time low for the 2 1/2 years I've been blogging. I might do better this month but the pace will not pick up until after flag football ends mid month.

Not blogging as regular led to a sizable drop in hits, but enough people visited for me to still get some humorous Google searches last month. Thought I'd share my thoughts on a few with y'all now.

light a match for poo smell led one hopeful Googler to this post. What cracks me up is the word the fact the searcher used for rather than to get rid of. Unless of course they really are in search of ways to create poo smell. In that case I suggest a trip to Golden Corral and a twelve pack of beer. They might have to wait a few hours but soon enough their abode will be filled with the hearty aroma they so crave.

today is the first day of the rest of my life landed a visitor here. My concern here is that if you really do wake up feeling that optimistic about your future do you really need to turn to google for the next step. Hey Mr. Sunshine, step away from the computer and go out do something to enjoy that new beginning. Much as I like y'all to read my blog I really ain't all that inspirational.

is it illegal to scatter ashes in Amarillo I really don't get how my post on pissing cartoon characters and Osama Bin Laden has anything to do with cremating your loved ones. Furthermore, I like my hometown, but it's really not the kind of place that most people would choose to spend eternity. A high mountain peak, the currents of the ocean I get. But dumping my burn body in some bar ditch next to a feedlot just isn't all that romantic. And the way the wind blows around here you aren't going to stay put anyway.

don't pass out around your friends I'm thinking of you have to google this one you've already done it. And chances are those friends just may not fall into that category anymore. Given that the post this search led to is all about lying I'm thinking this searches might have needed a good excuse why their eyebrows are missing.

weird enema tricks I can't help but wonder of this search came from David Letterman's staff. After all stupid human and pet tricks are no longer fresh. Nevertheless, if the show deploys the procedure of this post their ratings are bound to plunge into the shitter.

ten literary characters I would totally make out with And I still stand by my list.

fruit smelling poop This inquiry leads to the same post as the poo match from above. But for the record I might know a few things about meat smelling poop, but I have no working knowledge of fruit smelling poop. What am I, a monkey?

cockamamie joke Surprisingly, this Google search does not lead to every post on my blog, but merely this one. By the way cockamamie is a vastly underused word.

St Joan of Arc sausagefest Okay this google searches leads to this post because of a comment left by one of my regular readers. Thing I find ironic is that their is a festival honoring someone who met their end by being burned at the stake, and this honor is paid by cooking the flesh of a pig. Y'all know I'm a carnivore through and through but if ever there was a time for salad this just might be it. I'm thinking St Joan would be all for a flameless celebration.

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And if you are out and about in Amarillo tomorrow October 3rd, be sure and stop by the Hastings store on Georgia between 1 and 3 to pick up your signed copy of my friend Ron's historical look at our city through postcards

Satan Is A Midget

2009-09-29T12:33:00.005-05:00

Yeah, I know that the title of this post is not PC, but given that not even the ACLU would file suit on behalf of Lucifer I went ahead and used the offensive term anyway.

That brings us to the means in which I acquired knowledge of Beelzebub's diminutive nature.

The story goes something like this and does not involve a fiddle of gold.

My grandpa dies just a few days after my oldest son was born. Due to the fact that both my son and my grandpa were in the hospital dealing with heart issues they never had the chance to meet in person. (For more on that story click here to read the tale of my journey into fatherhood)

However, my mom has family vacation videos of bygone years in which my boys have been able to see and hear my grandpa, their great grandfather.

So out of the blue my 8yo asks the other day, "Mom, will I be able to talk to Grandpa Howery when I get to heaven?"

Jennifer answers that yes, he will get that chance.

T then points to the ground and asks, " But what if I go to the other place."

"Be good and you won't have to worry about that," She answered.

"What does the other place look lie anyway," he asks next.

At this point my 6 yo son, who had been listening quietly chimes in and says, "It's hot, dark, and there is lots of lava." Then holding his hand out about chest high on his own small body he said, "And there is a little dude with horns."

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Flag football is going strong, but sadly I cannot report a victory yet. Vince Lombardi I am not. Between two years of coaching (1 team last year 2 this season) my record as head coach is 1 win, thirteen losses. The lone victory came last year when one of the teams failed to show up.

But I am proud to say all, but one kid that played last year came back so I count the experience as a success. If the kids learn and want to keep playing I feel as if I am doing something right.

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Writing is going slow, but at least it is going again. I couldn't say that for most of the summer.

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After seventeen years at the post office working first nights and evening and then daytime hours, all with crappy days off, it looks as if I'll finally get a daytime job with weekends off starting at the end of October. That will be great for family activities and mean no more 12 hour days and four hour lunch breaks to coach football.

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My goal for next year is to make at least two writer's conferences. I really need to buckle down and do more to jump start my writing career. Once upon a time a had lots of personal
contacts among agents and editors but in recent times that number has dwindled. Far too many deaths, retirements and layoffs in the business for me to not be more proactive.

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I am starting a new project involving the kids at the Catholic school where my wife teaches and boys attend. I will be teaching basic writing to the kids as well as moderating discussion on novels already published in the young adult genre. I have already started a new blog to record these lessons and discussions so be sure and sign up to follow the things that go on there. I hope it will be a great place for both kids and adults and maybe you can engage your own children and take part via the internet. Sign on the follow that blog now so you'll be aware when I update the content. http://younglit.blogspot.com/

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So that's what is going on in my world. What's shaking in yours?

ps I hope to catch up soon and start visiting your blogs with more regularity.