A Recipe of Double Portions

I have heard many of us writers refer to our written creations as children. I have two small boys and let me tell you raising them is easier on my mental stability that simultaneously penning two novels. Two vastly different novels at that.



For the boys I can cook up one box of Macaroni and Cheese or throw a package of weenies on the grill and they will both eat it. These two novels have totally different palets, so I'm continually trying to decide which one to feed. I'll work on one until I sense the other starting to shrivel and die, then its off to provide a bit of nourishment to the other story. This has basically resulted in the starvation of this blog. I sense the quality of my posts lagging and I apologize but unless each of you are going to start sending me a dollar a day to subsidize my dreams of making a living with words, then the blog will be the thing that suffers most from my limited creativity.



Over at the Women of Mystery blog blogger and regular commenter here, Terrie Farley Moran suggested I blog about my attempts at converting an 8,000 word short story into an 80,000 word novel, so that is what I'm going to do. Right after I explain that led me to be writing two novels at once.

Back in February I headed out to Arizona to a writers conference put on by Michael Neff, the man behind Webdelsol. The conference was great, I learned a lot, met several interesting people, including blog regulars Bluefingers and Alex Keto, and made some valuable contacts with agents. At the tail end of the week long workshop Michael sat down with each of us and really went over some of our writing and he offered up his brand of advice.(very insightful, but blunt)

Michael basically told me that he liked my writing but it came across as dark and emotionally heavy and it listening to me over the weak he'd heard a lot of really good humor in my story telling. He encouraged me to try and get some of that down on the page. His suggestion was to sit down and write a short story in the same manner and dialect as I would use if I were sitting in a seedy bar telling a story to the man sitting on the stool beside me.

So I flew back home to Texas and thought about it. I was already on the verge of starting a new novel that I knew would require more a more humorous tone that my previous work so I decided Michael's advice would be a great exorcise to get in that frame of mind. And my short story Plundered Booty was born.

Truthfully, I never intended a word of it to see the light of day but the more i wrote the more I laughed. Finally I decided to send what I had to a couple of people to see if they found it funny or if I had finally gone over the edge. I was surprised at the reaction I got. I literally had people begging to read the rest of it. Only I didn't have anymore. So I hurried and finished the story. Then everyone started telling me this is the best thing you've ever written. You should make it into a novel.

At first I blew the comments off. Sure I appreciated them. I like my ego stroked as much as the next guy but by this time I was already well into another novel. A twisted love triangle involving a woman named Grace who blames sex for ruining her life, her husband, the Texas Panhandle bull semen king, and the father of her teenage son's girlfriend.

But Captain, the first person narrator of Plundered Booty kept whispering in my ear, Feed me. Int he short story he had no name other than Captain, he will keep that moniker for the novel but right off the reader learns his full name. Here is an excerpt from the very end of the first chapter.


I will tell you my name is Hank Petty Zybeck. Hank, after the greatest country and western singer of all time. My dear departed daddy's description, not mine. Petty, for the king of all racecar drivers. Again, my daddy's opinion, but one I happen to share. And Zybeck, because I'm my father's son. Least that was my momma's claim to her dying day.
Who knows, it might even be true, but neither of my parents stood over five and a half foot tall, and I’m a good five inches better than six foot. My dad's hair was the color of axle grease and my momma's was a couple of shades darker if anything, whereas my hair has always been the same shade of red as fender rust.
But this story isn't about my questionable heritage, and it's been a long while since I went by Hank. Most folks call me Captain.
Why?
Well, that happens to be where this story begins.

Now I can't get Hank to shut up and Grace is losing weight faster than an incarcerated Paris Hilton. I had to let one of my children starve but Grace better speak up or she's liable to wither away.

This post is long enough for now, but soon I'll talk about the actual process of adding more than seventy thousand words while maintaining the flavor and integrity of the original story. That is if something titled Plundered Booty can be described as having integrity. Here's a better description. Throw a Kinky Friedman novel in the blender with a Jimmy Buffet CD, add in two bottles of Caribbean Rum, a splash of sea salt, and a quart of motor oil and voila -- you have Plundered Booty- The Novel.

I know it's Sunday but ...

I'm sure y'all have noticed, but this hasn't been the best of blogging weeks for me. My mind has been wrapped around other things -- Like the two novels I'm currently working on. So with that in mind, there will be no Feedstore Chronicle this week. I had one in mind but I'm not really in the mood to type up the particulars of Earl's family stump. Most people have have family trees but I'm sure you know enough about Earl to agree there ain't a whole lot of branches on that tree.


Last night me and my wife went to see the latest Harry Potter movie, Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix and I gotta say knowing how the series ends changed the way I watched the movie. There was a good bit of foreshadowing things to come that I never would have noticed before. Overall, the movie is good I rate it a close second behind The Prisoner Of Azkaban amongst the ones that have been made thus far. It did end with on a more upbeat tone and with a bit more optimism than the actual novel and of course a ton of things were only skimmed upon, but a worthy way to spend a couple of hours.


The girl who played Luna Lovegood reminded me a lot of the band camp girl from American Pie. I Think it was her eyes and the inflection in her voice.



Also is it me, or does Hagrid's half brother Grawp look an

awful lot like a steroided up version of Alfred E. Newman?

Take two of these, and call your Bookie

You know how there are jillions of pharmaceutical ads on the TV these days. The only thing I find interesting about these commercials is the laundry list of side affects at the end. You know, may cause dryness of mouth, headache, diarrhea, bleeding gums, sore fingernails, swollen glands, aching armpits, heavy molting of chest hair, and blood laced urine.

To me it always sounds as if the side affects are worse than the original problem. Then the other day my wife pointed out the side affects for some new drug that is suppost to help restless leg syndrome. I watched for the ad after that and sure enough she was right. Sure there was several of the usual, dizziness, headache and what not but those last tow got me.

May cause an increase in gambling activity and sexual urges

Now there is some worthy side affects. Before we know it casinos will start dissolving a couple of tablets of this stuff in you free cocktail. Not only will you be able to sit at the table longer because your legs will feel better, but you will want to gamble more, and hey when you are done losing your money, we have a brothel right next door that happens to take credit cards.

But I have a theory. These side affects are utter BS. My gut says there is some dude who works for the company. My guess is he was taking the medicine himself and went out to Vegas for the weekend. Lady Luck probably deserted him too resulting in heavy casualties to his savings account. Seeking a bit of solace he probably hired a bit of "companionship" for the night and then flew home.

Then his wife looked at the bank statement and credit card bill where she found a five hundred dollar charge from Sugar Bunny's Escort service or some other such business. Now this guy being fairly sharp quickly admitted he'd done wrong but only because he wasn't able o control his gambling activity or sexual urges. It had to be the new medicine. And some how he convinced his boss these side affects were real and now there they are, tacked on to the very end of that commercial.

I say that was one fast thinking fellow.

No Spoilers Here.

Well, I finished Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. All I'll say is hmmm ...

A Bit of Inspiration

I've talked a bit about his before, but the one thing that seems to free my mind and open it up to a good bit of creativity is a well written song. When I'm stuck or befuddled in my writing I turn on some tunes or get in the car and drive with the music turned up load. Any other writers share this remedy?

Let me quote from a couple of my favorites. I'm doing these from memory so don't beat me up if I got a word or two wrong. More than likely very few of you have even heard these songs.

From Robert Earl Keen's - The Road Goes on Forever -

Sherry was a waitress, at the only joint in town.
She had a reputation as a girl who'd been around.

Then a bit later ...

Sonny was a loner, older than the rest.
He was going in the Navy, but he couldn't pass the test.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that paint an image of these characters in very few words. It does for me.

Here is a bit from Charlie Robison's My Hometown -

Went to college like they asked me too,
but they didn't ask my friends.
Don't think I saw a single classroom, but I drank a lot of beer.
Buddies still love to listen to me when I talk about that year.

Four lines and I know this guy, of course that may be because I actually do know guys that fit this description.

I don't know that there is a point to this post, but as thought I'd pass along my thoughts.

Yes ma'am, Right away ma'am.

My recent rants about Lady Luck and Karma got me to thinking. The best of the world's mystical, mythical, and all-powerful forces are all feminine of nature.

Lady Luck- Everyone longs for a visit from her since we all know it is far better to be lucky than good.

Karma- Has to be feminine. No man could ever be that patient and subtle in exacting revenge. There would be very little volunteer work done in this world if not for karma. Everyone hopes to be repaid in some way for their kindness and good deeds.

Mother Nature- She just might be the cruelest of all, but at eh same time we've all been inspired by a truly beautiful day. And we've all wished for good weather at some point.

The Tooth Fairy- Sure you can question her authenticity. You might even say she's not all powerful, But you can't deny she's got some serious financial backing. Heck, millions of kids are willing to let their parents tie a string to their teeth and yank out part of their body just to earn a visit from her.

Fairy Godmother- I just got one thing to say. Ain't nobody ever heard of a fairy godfather, so either she had him whacked, or he's forced to stay home and feed the chickens while she's all soaking up all the glory.

So what about us men? Who do we have on our side?

Father Time- Sure he catches up to everybody in the end but once you turn twenty-one nobody ever hopes to see him. Entire industries have come about for the sole purpose of defeating father time. Whatever power he has is negated by the fact his is despised across the globe.

Santa Claus- A fat man in a red velour suit that only visits once a year? There are a lot of people with uncles that fits that general description. And then come every December you can find thousands of impostors. In malls, on street corners ringing bells. You ever see anybody dare dress up like Lady Luck and pretend to speak on her behalf. Didn't think so.

The Easter Bunny- First off his gender is questionable. Do we really know if he is male or female, but I'll contend that if The Easter Bunny is male then he is a gay man bunny. No straight man would ever have chosen all those pastel colors. And sure candy is nice, but give the cold hard cash of the Tooth Fairy any day. that way I get to pick my own candy.

Cupid- A tiny naked dude with a bow and arrow? Excuse me language but he can only be described as a traitorous S.O.B. Sure he's male but his entire agenda is to lure us libidinous men over to the control women. And we go willingly. Cupid is the Benedict Arnold of mystical forces.

I'm sure I'm missing a few names among the all-powerful, but you get my idea.

Sock it to me.

Okay, so I lied yesterday. Really, I meant to post again, but then life got in the way.

Being back to work after a two weeks absence for training was no fun. Then I finally went to pick up my copy of Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. Then it was off to my weekly critique group. Between my travels and those from others in the group (trips to Costa Rica, Austin for the Texas League of Writers Conference, a week at the Iowa writers workshop) our group had not met in a good while. So I got to go to Houston and Norman and hang out with postal workers. My fellow member traveled abroad and hung out with other writers and learned many valuable things about the craft. I got the short end of that stick.

After critique I camped out with Harry and read until the dark side of midnight.

Twice this weekend I was reminded of a story involving my oldest son. First at a backyard party in honor of friends who are being transferred to Fort Worth. Amarillo is about six hours north a a bit west of Ft. Worth so while we will still see these friends on occasion it will not be often. The second reminder came from a fellow blogger but more on that at the end of this post. Also I haven't mentioned my sons in a good while. Probably not since the post about me doing the hokey pokey in my underwear. My son is almost seven now but this story took place when he was just shy of three.

For those who might not now my house is out in the boonies, the sticks, B.F.E. -- choose your own adjective. A simple trip to nearest convenience store is a good jog.

So one late summer day my wife decides to send me to the store for ice or something. My son, always eager to go somewhere began shouting, "I wanna go! I wanna go!"

So I instructed him to put his shoes on. He looked and looked but couldn't seem to find them or his socks. Finally after about five minuted of him whining and wanting help he found his shoes but not his socks.

Minutes later my patience was running thin so I said, "Just put your shoes on. You don't need socks."

"Yes I do. Help me. I can't find them. Where are they?" All said in a high pitched whine. His big blue eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

"If you don't hurry I'm going to leave you here."

This unleashed the tears as he sobbed, "But I can't find my socks."

Again I said, "Just put your shoes on and come one. Socks are for weenies anyway."

The sobs ceased. The tears stopped flowing as my offspring looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. Several seconds went by as he stared at me with something close to disgust on his young face. Finally he said, "Dad, socks are for my feet, not my weenie."

Once you've read this pop on over to Alicia's blog and read the post that reminded me of this story, and if you have a young child of your own, watch what you call it, or they are sure to call you out for your word choices.