Thankful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.