Checking In

I'm neglecting this blog like a husband with a gambling addiction and a girlfriend on the side neglects his wife. I do like to gamble but I've had neither the time or money for such. However, I do have another writing outlet as most of y'all know and she has been taking nearly all of my creative juices.

But I'm proud to say things are progressing nicely on Plundered Booty. I have added an entirely new character to the mix and he is adding a good bit of punch and comedic aid to that sagging middle of the novel. Matter of fact once I'm finished with Plundered Booty I just may write an entire novel around this former televangelist turned day time talk show host. Think Jerry Springer meets Benny Hinn. Add in my first person narrator Hank, a middle aged car salesman with a heart of gold, but a lifelong pirate fetish, a six pack of sexual deviants, one nymphomaniac, a bitchy diet crazed wife, and an accountant with a secret crush and you have the cast of characters. Oh I forgot the reformed hooker that is the reason the preacher is a former televangelist.

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In other news, this blog is now available on Kindle. For a mere 99 cents a month you can have it sent directly to your Kindle if you so choose. Click here to order, or of course you can continue to read right here for absolutely nothing. Also if any of y'all have time stop by the Amazon order page and write up a review of One Word, One Rung, One Day so others will have a clue what this blog is about.

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Next week, I'm going to devote the blog to actual talk about the craft of writing. (With the exception of My Town Monday) It's been a while since I've done much of that. Since I consider my writing to be character driven and I feel that creating characters is my strong suit, next week will all be about creating characters. I know not all of you are writers, but most of you are readers if nothing else and I hope to keeps the posts entertaining enough that the non writers will get something out of them as well.

I hope to do three separate posts on characterization, beginning Tuesday.

But for now, it's Booty time.

Blog Hopping

Hey! What are you doing here?

Don't you know I'm guest blogging over at Criminal Brief today?

Go. Get on over there.

And please leave a comment, so I know you stopped by.

A Spark - My Town Monday

Where does the urge to write come from? For me it started with a love of books and great stories. From the time I could read I devoured tale after tale and today's My Town Monday I'm going to go back in time to one of my earliest reading memories.


In the early 80s I was a student at Oakdale Elementary here in Amarillo. And while I always liked school, my favorite class by far was that one magical hour each week when had library time. I must have been in about the second or third grade when our librarian sat us down and read us a a hilariously funny tale about a misguided, and over-serious cowdog. The dog proclaimed to be head of ranch security and while large of heart, he was a bit small of brains. And even cooler, the fictional ranch the dog lived on and guarded just happened to be situated right in the Texas Panhandle.

That dog's name was Hank, and after the librarian read a few chapters I was hooked. Of course I wanted to check out the book, but she only had one copy and with other classes to read to the librarian denied my request. I was desperate to know how Hank's adventure ended, but despite my disappointment I selected another title. Probably an Encyclopedia Brown tale. However, the librarian sensed my dejection and handed me a flyer.

With a kindly smile, she explained," The man who wrote Hank the Cowdog still lives near Amarillo. This Saturday he is going to be at the museum down in Canyon. He's going to read some from the book and sign autographs. I'm sure he'll have books available to buy. Maybe your parents will take you."

Of course I went right home and begged and pleaded to go. Ever the proponent of literacy, my mom quickly agreed, and that Saturday I sat on the concrete floor of the Panhandle Plains Historical Museum and listened to John Erickson read aloud. At the time I believe there was only one Hank the Cowdog book, but over the years the series has continued to grow and flourish and there are dozens of Hank titles now. As well as audio books, cartoon, and other assorted merchandise.


Did that long ago Saturday reading make me want to be a writer? I can't say that for certain, but I do know that Mr. Erickson and Hank built upon my love for books and that he was the first author I ever met in person. He smiled and signed a book for me that day. A book that sadly is gone now along with all of my other signed books that I had collected over the years. The fire took them but the flames did not take my memories or my love of books.

If you have never read any of the Hank the Cowdog series you should check it out. John Erickson still lives in the Texas Panhandle. In the small town of Perryton, Texas which is about 2 hours north of Amarillo. You can check out the Hank website here and read about John's refusal to take no for answer. With a stack of rejections and $2,000 of borrowed money he started his own publishing company, Maverick Books back in 1982.

And I'm also proud to report that this year, my son, a second grader, discovered Hank in his school library and we are several books into the series now. I say we because even though he enjoys reading them to himself, the boys like it even more when I read them aloud using a variety of goofy voices. I do a mean Drover if I do say so myself.

For More My Town Monday posts check back here throughout Sunday and Monday for links from all over the globe.

Lyzzydee -- Scratby, Norfolk, England
Jenn JIlks - Muskoka, Ontario, Canada
Cloudia -- Honolulu, Hawaii
Chris -- Hong Kong, China
Debra -- Village of Peninsula, Ohio
Barbara Martin -- Toronto, Canada
Clare2E -- New York City. New York
J Wnter -- Cincinnati, Ohio
Mary -- Olmsted Falls, Ohio

Rambling Again

I've been hard at work shaping my booty. Both the one attached to my body and the book.

I'm seventeen pounds down on the first and progressing well on second. I'm hoping to be back to querying the new and improved Plundered Booty by mid-summer. Blogging may be sporadic while I'm hard at work revising.

But I have had time to make a few recent observations.

The other night I was flipping through channels and nothing was on. So I ended up on one of those countdown shows. I can't even remember what the topic was. Most Shocking Celebrity Hair-Do's or World's Loosest Grip on Stardom. You know the ones I'm talking about.

What struck me odd was that here was this show, critiquing and ranking celebrities, and who is making the commentary and criticism? Celebrities no longer famous enough for anyone to care where they rank in such matters. Donny Bonaduce, Vanilla Ice, the girl who played Punky Brewster.

I think we need a show that has current celebrities pinpointing when it all went wrong for those faded stars. Johnny Depp could laugh and make a, What you talkin' about Willis? crack while a video played of Todd Bridges various mug shots. Angelina Jolie could offer a pun about Tonya Harding being the charter member of the thin ice club. Britney Spears could diss Shannon Doherty.

After that show ended I began watching World's Craziest Police Chases. Now I'm wondering. why ever video had some dude in a worn out four door sedan. I know criminals are stupid but are there really that many people who think they can outrun the fuzz in a '78 Buick Le Sabre?

My guess is they never show us the ones in Corvettes or Camaros. The ones that do get away at times. I thought it was reality television. Show them all. or how about the videos of the cops wrapping their car around a telephone poles?

Now those are videos they could trot out the former child stars and assorted B-listers. Leif Garret, MC Hammer, Gary Coleman and the other one time celebs that actually know a thing or two about brushes with the law.

Coo, Coo Kachoo

Chris Eldin recently had a little trouble with a raccoon, which reminded me of a raccoon story from my past. I might have blogged about this one before, but if so i can't find it in my archives so I'm gonna tell it again.

Back until a few months ago my family dwelled out in the boonies. There were deer and quail, and skunks, and porcupine, and ... well you get the idea. Critters were plentiful, including raccoons.

Generally speaking the masked marauders are nocturnal so we only saw them once the sun set, but one hot summer day I get a call from my wife while at work. She explains that her and my oldest sun were outside swimming in the hillbilly pool (a large metal stock tank that was designed to water livestock, but that we used as a swimming hole) when a large mangy looking coon walked right up to the edge of tank.

At the time my wife was five or six months pregnant with our second child and she was in hyper-protective mode. Given the ragged appearance of said raccoon and the fact he was wandering about in the hot sunny part of the day she decided it must have rabies. At the time there was a rabies outbreak in our county and every night on the news they mentioned that animals behaving weirdly could be infected.

Like I said I was at work so I listened to her concern but there wasn't a thing I could do. For the rest of the afternoon the raccoon wandered about our property and my wife kept close tabs, but when i got home the thing was no where to be found. Her mind made up that the animal had rabies and that her and my son were under house confinement as long as the thing was around she urged me to get rid of it.

Now to fella like me get rid of it means only one thing -- Shoot it dead. Remember I am a true Texan. That's just the way of the land here in the Lone Star State.

So I load up the twenty-two and begin my coon hunt. I tromp around the woods behind our house looking for the diseased critter but to no avail. My wife insists that the thing is under our house so I go to the kitchen, open a can of peaches, and set set up for an ambush.

The wait as short as out waddles this sad-looking decrepit raccoon. Half of it's fur is missing and my wife was right it does look sick. I peer through the cross hairs and when the time is right squeeze the trigger. The bullet finds its mark and I think problem solved.

But no. not fifteen minutes later my wife looks out the window and cries out, "Oh my God."

I rush to look and now wandering about my yard are four or five baby raccoons.

I shot their momma. Did I mention my wife was pregnant? When she found out she'd given the death penalty to a pregnant raccoon she became somewhat hysterical and irrational saying things like. "I told you to shoot it because it looked bad and I waddle when i walk and I look bad and what if somebody shoots me."

That was one long night as we layed in bed and listened to the babies call for their mother. The next day my nephew came over and crawled under the house and caught every last one of the babies.

Yeah i know right about now you're thinking the heartless ogre probably grilled and ate them, but no we took them to a local vet that bottle fed them and raised them as if they were his own children. Okay that's crap. I don't really know what he did with them but he did say he was going to bottle feed the babies. Who knows, maybe he fattened 'em up and fed them to his pet tiger. No he didn't really have a pet tiger.

Be sure and go read Chris's raccoon post which can be found here.

Remembering - A My Town Monday Post

Many a time on this blog I've pointed out terms that I consider misnomers or poorly chosen. On this, Memorial Weekend here in the United States I wish to share yet another one.

Friendly Fire.

This is the term used to describe military incidents when service men or women of the same uniform accidentally, or intentionally, shoot one of their own.

Way I see it there is nothing friendly about a chunk of lead hurling toward you at high speed, regardless of who happened to pull the trigger. The resulting damage is just as lethal, and for those who have suffered as the result of friendly fire, the tragedy just as pronounced. Maybe more so, since you expect a declared enemy to induce harm whereas you have placed trust in the hands of those who have volunteered to serve alongside you defending your countries principles and ideology.

Amarillo recently lost one of it's one to so-called friendly fire.

Army Major Mathew P Houseal was a doctor. A psychiatrist who worked for the Texas Panhandle Mental Health and Mental Retardation Center until 2007 when he decided to reenlist in the military. According to reports I've read, he was troubled by the high suicide rates among our military and wanted to do his part to help. Mr. Houseal was assigned to a stress relief center at Camp Liberty in Iraq.


On Monday May 11th, Houseal was shot and killed by one of the men he'd volunteered to help. Mathew Houseal was 54. Four other servicemen were also shot and killed. You can read the news story here.

Mathew Houseal leaves behind a wife and seven children. He was due to return to Amarillo in June where he planned to resume his work at Texas Panhandle Mental Health and Mental Retardation. I ask that you remember him along with all of the other men and women who have made sacrifice upon sacrifice for the sake of their country.

I never met Mr. Houseal personally but for a time his children attended the same school as my boys. My heart goes out to all of his family but especially to his children who have been robbed of their father. A college trust has been established on their behalf.

Benefit fund for Dr. Houseal's minor children, in care of Amarillo National Bank, 410 S. Taylor St., Amarillo, TX 79101.



Check back to discover links to other MY TOWN MONDAY posts from all over the world.

Patti Abbott - Detroit, Michigan
Jenn Jilks - Muskoka, Ontario, Canada
Chris - Hong Kong, China
Debra -Village of Peninsula, Ohio
Barbara Martin - Toronto, Canada
Terrie Farley Moran - Arlington, Virginia
Barrie Summy - San Diego, California
Mary - Olmsted Falls, Ohio
Clair Dickson - Livingston County, Michigan

Blowholes and Gum Drops and Barley with Hops

Holier than thou, Priggish, Do-Gooder, Strait-laced, Prudish, Old-Fashioned, Puritanical, Prim, Proper, Conservative, Teetotaler.

All adjectives often used to describe people. People that fall into the goody-goody category.

Speaking of goody-goodies ... Why do they get all the gumdrops? Oh that's right, because the rest of us get all the booze.

Seriously, is there any sillier word grouping that goody-goody?

We don't don't call hell raisers baddy-baddies. And for good reason. Because they would kick you square in the arse if you labeled them with such nonsense.

No, I'm not going anywhere with this observation just simply sharing a recent nugget of my mind drippings. Matter of fact this entire post isn't going anywhere in particular. I'm just blogging to amuse myself I guess because I can't seem to string a cohesive thought lately much less a well put together post.

My youngest continues on with his fascination with animals butts. He calls ham pig butt, and back in hunting season he wanted to know why animals only have holes and not butt cracks. Last night he wanted to know, why whales, and dolphins are the only animals with blowholes. As if on cue his older brother released a bit of flatulence before I could answer and in perfect deadpan Z says, "See, that's why butts should be called blowholes."

I fully expect my wife to reprimand me for once again being gross on my blog, BUT (pun intended) being nice isn't all it's cracked up to be. After all, I don't want anybody calling me a goody-goody.

Saying that, I must admit that I do have a tender heart. Monday night my youngest child, the kid we've often called Baby Z since his arrival, the butt man himself graduated from kindergarten. I was and am quite proud of him because despite being a hoodlum of epic proportions at home, he is a model student. Respectful of his teachers, quiet and eager to learn, and if I do say so myself, downright brilliant at times.

But despite my pride, I was truly saddened to watch his class sing and accept their graduation certificates the other night. My eyes might have even teared up a time or two during the slide show. I can't believe how fast these first six years have gone.

Somehow it was easier with my older son. Maybe because I knew I had another child to come along a few years later. But Z is our last. There will be no more Erwin spawn to come along. I will never again have a kindergartner. Never again have a child lose their first tooth. Never again see that expression of pure excitement in my child's eyes at the promise of their first ever day of school.

Sure I know there will be lots of other exciting days to come. Of first times to experience and new adventures for us to have, but on that one night I couldn't help but think of all the ones we've already had. So go ahead and call me what you will, a nostalgic fool, a sentimental sap, yes even a goody-goody, but damn it, at least give me a gumdrop if you do.


And come on admit it, the title of this post is more accurate than Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails.