Write On!

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

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

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?