Topher Graves's Blog, page 5

The Force Was Always With Us

Back in 1999, when I was an enviable twenty years old, the first new Star Wars movie in sixteen years arrived in theaters, called “The Phantom Menace.” In those days, movie tickets weren’t sold in advance, so my mom dropped me and my then-girlfriend off at the Indian Lake Cinema just before noon, to wait over TWELVE HOURS (ugh) in the hopes of nabbing tickets to the midnight premier.
Mind you, this was twelve straight hours of sitting on a concrete sidewalk. We didn’t have the foresight to bring any board games, books, or literally anything to occupy us during that miserable wait. (We were still several years away from the dawn of the smartphone era and ubiquitous WiFi.) We were literally on our own with nothing but our imaginations, and our excitement over what was to come.
(Side note: Later that evening, I do recall that my dad and sister joined us in line, which by then was wrapped all the way around the cinema.)
The time finally arrived for our long-awaited anticipation to be sated. We got our tickets! We had our seats! WE MADE IT, YOU GUYS; WE’RE HERE! Look, those dorks are swinging their lightsabers around at the front of the movie theater, tee hee! (*This was a few years before I would own my own lightsaber, thus joining the ranks of those noble dorks.)
The lights went down. Unwanted previews played, to quite a few “boos.” At long last, the familiar 20th Century Fox fanfare began to blast out of those Dolby surround speakers.
And that crowd...went...insane. Lucasfilm logo? You’d think your team just won the championship. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away” fades in, and a few dudes in the front row spontaneously creamed in their pants, then fainted from too much stimulation.
The Star Wars theme blasted our eardrums, and the famous logo careened off into uncharted space, presumably to rendezvous with other famous film logos. People shot to their feet, hootin’ and hollerin’ like Oprah just showed up to give everyone free mansions for life.
The turmoil finally settled down a bit as the crawl began rolling. The roar faded to a few scattered claps, then one last dude shouted a half hearted “woo,” then silence finally descended over the theater.
The remaining run time of the film was spent in similar silence. Even at the closing credits, a somber crowd ambled out of the theater, blinking their bleary eyes in the bright, neon lights of the lobby.
Maybe it was waiting so many hours on the cold, hard cement. Maybe it was due to having to go to work in a few hours. Or, maybe, it was because the film didn’t quite live up to our expectations at the time. (But hey, intergalactic politics, amiright? We all had fun...while learning!)
I’ve never done anything quite so extreme since. Even with the final "Skywalker Saga" movie arriving in cinemas later this week, I won’t be waiting in line for hours. I already have two tickets (for me and my now-girlfriend) for a 2:30 am showing at the local IMAX. I even have my seats already assigned. I’m in the fourth row from the back, in case you’re curious.
I’m excited to see the movie. I’m excited to not have to wait outside on the sidewalk for several hours. I’m excited to have a smartphone now for the few minutes I do have to wait, because I’m older now, and these cat videos on YouTube won’t watch themselves.
The Force is definitely with us...this time.

What's in a Decade?

It is natural while standing on the precipice of a new decade to gaze back upon the past one—whether we wish to or not.
This decade began with the death of my sister. Like any major life event, the gravitational waves from that incident completely altered my trajectory in ways that continue to affect my orbit today.
In the past ten years, I have met an entirely new cast of characters in my personal story. I have re-acquainted myself with my childhood love of the written word. I have moved more times than I can remember; in fact, I spent the holidays in a tent just a few winters ago because I couldn’t afford anywhere else to live. (Pro Tip: Heavy plastic sheeting helps keep tents warm during cold nights.) While I haven’t become a success by any “traditional” metric, I am quite wealthy by virtue of my collection of experiences, family, and friends. (That means you. Awww.)
The theme of this past decade was not “stability.” It was “transition.” I’ve failed, I’ve succeeded, I’ve learned, I’ve failed again, I've made a complete ass of myself on multiple documented occasions…and after decades of relationship mishaps, I found love. (Technically, it found me.) All the while, I was constantly endeavoring to figure out just who I am and my ultimate life purpose. After many long, arduous years of research, I can officially report: I still have no freakin’ idea. Maybe I'll adopt another cat.
In any event, expect more wacky Topher tomfoolery in the coming decade, and definitely more fedora pictures.
The 2010 Topher model looked very sleek and snazzy.
The modern Topher has completed the facial hair accessory, but the fedora remains spot-on.

la Década de los Muertos

I took this picture back in 2011: my first Día de los Muertos celebration. Then, I was just starting my journey of getting to know myself, symbolized by my transition from "Chris" to "Topher." My sister died a year prior, and my cousin passed a year before that. (My aunt passed around this time as well.) My sister's death in particular directly inspired my current writing trajectory, so in a strange way, I'm grateful for that gift—I just regret the cost.

As I look back on my personal journey over the last few years, it is amazing how much the dead have influenced how I've lived. That is why I cherish this time of year in particular. Those of you who read "Three Short Ghost Stories" discovered they were written with love in mind...not fear. (Well, the hotel might have been one minor exception, but it can be argued that those ghosts were simply being eternally hospitable, right?)

In fact, I try to do everything now with love in mind, first and foremost. In the end, it is all that will matter. 

Happy Day of the Dead, for all of you, no matter which side of the veil you inhabit.

The Screamer in the Woods

The town where I live (White Bluff, TN) is home to not just one but two local supernatural legends.
I’m referring both to the “White Bluff Screamer” and “Werewolf Springs,” respectively. (A quick Google search will yield more information about these old legends than you could possibly want.)
It is with these stories in mind that I recount a recent experience of my own. A few nights ago, A. M. and I were driving down the back road which leads to the house. It was after dark, and since this is the middle of the country in a heavily wooded area, we typically drive with our headlamps on high beam. As I began to slow down in preparation of turning, a sudden shape appeared on the road.
Swerving, I narrowly avoid hitting...a raccoon. Apparently, it decided to have its fine evening dining right there on the asphalt.
The story would end rather anticlimactically right there, but for what happened a couple of minutes later. We pulled into the yard. Extracting a few sacks of groceries from the back of the Trailblazer, we walked across the pitch black yard towards the house—and that's when we heard the noise.
It sounded like a woman's scream, only it was distorted somewhat. I can't describe it any further other than saying it sounded like it was not of this world. (Yes, that sounds crazy, but if you heard it, you might be at a loss to desbrite it yourself.) We both looked at each other and whispered, "did you hear that?" Fumbling with the house keys, we ran into the house, and because we were obviously concerned with our neighbors' safety and well-being, we quickly locked the door and closed the blinds.
I posted about what we heard in a local Facebook group. We received several responses from people who have heard a similar noise before, so naturally we began to discuss the famous White Bluff Screamer of local lore. There were also other (perhaps more rational) explanations offered, such as the mating cry of foxes and other nocturnal critters. We listened to a few YouTube recordings, and while certain animal cries are certainly unsettling, it wasn’t quite what we heard.
Yes, it might have been our collective imaginations. We both really get into the spirit of Halloween, after all. Maybe it was simply a wildcat, or a coyote, or a fox. (What foxes really say, after all, is far more troubling than the song suggests.)
All I can tell you for certain is that we heard a scream coming from the forest near the house, and we aren’t likely to soon forget it.

Bumps in the...Daytime?

I have lived here for around a year and a half at this point. In that entire time, the ceiling fan in the bedroom has been completely non-functional. This is fine, because I normally use a bedside fan anyway. No worries.
Earlier, all three cats were running around the bedroom, looking intently around at nothing I could see, as cats do. We get a lot of mice out here, and the felines are proven hunters. There’s nothing particularly noteworthy about this behavior.
A few minutes ago, I was cleaning out their water fountain, when I heard an odd whine from nearby, accompanied by a whoosh of air. I didn’t think much of it—that is, until I looked up. The ceiling fan, long rendered impotent, was happily whirling about with reckless abandon.
There’s been a lot of weird stuff going on in the last few weeks, such as the feeling of “being watched” (there’s a lot of wildlife, so that’s probably accurate), footsteps crunching through the leaves in the darkened yard (wildlife again?), the cats constantly seeming agitated, and the occasional smell of an old woman’s perfume (um...saucy wildlife?) Old Pagan legends speak of the thinning veil between the realms of the living and the dead during this time of year, and I’ve always been a believer in the unexplained, having experienced such oddities before.
Of course, it all could easily be nothing more than a string of coincidences and well-timed electrical happenstances. That is, in fact, the likeliest explanation. 
But you know me and my imagination. I like to picture an old resident, returned to see her old place once again, and very likely disappointed to find the likes of me and mine living there.
...I hope she likes cats.

The Learning Curve

As of today, A. M. Fields and I have not just one, but two published works to our names, with even more to come.
Yes, they are self-published titles, which technically anyone can do, but not everyone does.
The process for us included doing every aspect of the books ourselves: Writing, formatting, illustrating, designing covers, writing the synopsis, learning how to use several different types of software, and infusing love and pride into every project.
They say you never write for money. That's true. Both of us write because we love it. To have created a thing that's now available to the world is something I have personally dreamt about since I was a kid, but never had the confidence to actually attempt...until recently. (This blog helped kick-start that confidence.)
So, to those of you who have supported us, thank you.

The Journey has Just Begun!

As proud as A. and I are of our "Three Short Ghost Stories" (which incidentally is now available as a print-on-demand paperback on Amazon), the primary purpose of publishing the little volume was one of experimentation. We have had to learn many things along the way, such as:

* Formatting manuscripts ("The Smashwords Style Guide" was immensely helpful for this, as it made everything else a breeze. Utilizing your word processor's "styles" feature is absolutely essential.)
* Editing graphics and illustrations. (I've colored many sets of Elf ears recently, so yea, stay tuned for that.)
* Creating eye-catching cover photos. (I knew I would get a lot of mileage out of my Facebook cover photo!)
* The best hours to use McDonald's free Wifi. (For when you don't have home internet because you're poor, lulz.)
* My poor 'ole, out-of-date laptop really is a trooper. Hang in there, buddy. (See "current economic status," above.)

Now, we're learning about the wacky world of promotion. Ugh. This is the biggest headache, because we're both extreme introverts with high levels of social anxiety. (A huge thank you to those who are pushing our writings out there! Props to you, with a cookie or two!*)

*Cookies only available only while supplies last.

All of this is to say "thank you" for all of the support everyone has shown us recently. It is really appreciated, as we have put a lot of work into making these projects as enjoyable for you as possible. We're excited to bring you our upcoming Christmas book, and that novel I keep teasing! (If you read "The Strange Tale of Top Hat Jack," the third short story in our little collection, then you're already slightly ahead of the curve on that one.)

Stay tuned, because there is definitely more to come!

Three Short Ghost Stories: The Prelude to a Self-Publication Adventure

It all started with a gathering of magical elves. (No, I wasn’t taking any hallucinogenic substances at the time.) Last year, Amanda had the idea to make a gift for both of our families: a fully illustrated Christmas book, featuring the elves of the North Pole. We finished the project right before Christmas, and showed it to everyone in the form of a slideshow presentation.
The feedback was pretty much unanimous. “Y’all need to publish this!” We looked at each other and shrugged, and decided that maybe, just maybe, we would eventually do just that.
In the meantime, we began working on a novel. It was originally intended to be a short story, but it just kept growing and growing, much like Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors. It demanded to be fed, so we kept feeding it, much to our delight (and occasional dismay.)
So, it is with some humor that the first thing to actually see publication is a project that was put together in less than a month. Taking a brief respite from the novel, Amanda came up with the idea of writing a couple of short, Halloween-themed ghost stories. She pitched the first two stories, I expanded on her outlines and wrote them, then we edited and revised them as needed.
It was then that I had an idea of my own: If we wrote a third short story, we could potentially publish the collection. Since we wanted to self-publish the Christmas book and the novel anyway, this would be a good opportunity to get a “feel” for the entire process.
“I came up with the first two stories, so you can do the third one,” Amanda said. “You need to write one from a ‘guy’ perspective.”
Well, shit. Okay. I thought we were supposed to be a team, but whatevs! (I’m kidding, Amanda!) With my best friend Caffeine sitting quietly next to my laptop, I went to work.
My initial draft was titled Dave the Wizard and the Halloween of Destiny—but Dave’s adventure just didn’t seem to fit the tone of the other stories. I buried Dave back to the bottom of my idea drawer, told him to stay quiet, while I tried to think of a different idea.
Then it came to me: why not write a self-contained, short story that occurs just prior to the events of our novel? Thus was born The Strange Tale of Top Hat Jack, which introduces a magical town and a mystical creature (who, presumably, has been trained to use a celestial litter box.)
“You clever son of a so-and-so,” I said to myself while cackling maniacally, trying not to cuss around the cats. (I have to be a positive role model for my kids, after all.)
So, it is with some pride that I now present to you the first of several projects. This is a small collection of short stories which all take place around Halloween. The only thing they have in common is that they are stories about people—some of them just happen to be dead. The tales are not intended to be scary, because ghosts aren’t supposed to be scary. (There are horrors elsewhere, but they don't appear in these tales.)
The book, entitled Three Short Ghost Stories , is currently available for the Amazon Kindle e-reader and associated apps. (A print-on-demand paperback version may be available soon, but due to additional printing and shipping costs, it will be a bit more expensive.)
As for the elves? They'll be frolicking in a Kindle near you in a few weeks.
Click HERE for the Amazon listing!

Bumps in the Night

The disembodied voice of a small child laughs in a house where no children ever play. An unplugged organ emits a single, sustained chord in the middle of the night. A muddy footprint appears to pass through the middle of the hallway, passing out of one wall and vanishing into the next. Tiny handprints suddenly manifest all over the passenger window during a cold, Autumn evening. The sound of quickening footsteps give chase over a wooden bridge, only to stop halfway across. A rhythmic tap-tap-tapping repeatedly clicks on a full-length closet mirror, which only stops several days later when the cats finally take it upon themselves to break the glass. (Goodbye, security deposit.) Scratches appear on my then-girlfriend's back while she is in the shower. A locked-from-the-outside basement door handle begins to rattle at 3am, accompanied by a loud knocking, as though something trapped down below desperately wants to get out.

These phenomena sound like creations of fantasy—at best, the products of an overactive imagination, at worst, the misfired neural detritus of a delusional mind. It is easy to understand why I don’t often speak of these things, given my family's well-documented history of mental illness.

I assure you, the occurrences mentioned are no mere conjuring of imagination. I, Christopher A. Graves, do firmly attest that I personally witnessed each one of these phenomena in a clear minded, wide awake, definitely non drug induced state of absolute, assured lucidity.

With those events in the back of my mind, several years ago I created a Facebook group called Shady Hollow. It was originally intended to be an online gathering place for people to discuss all things paranormal―or at the very least, unexplained and mysterious―in an open, supportive environment. It didn’t really take off the way I hoped. Instead, it became a dumping ground for spooky memes and online articles. I still have hope it will someday take off the way I always imagined, but it typically only peaks around Halloween, when most members (and its creator) suddenly remember it even exists.

A short time before her death in January of 2010, my sister confided something in me that was quite surprising at the time, because it was something she had never spoken of before. All of her life, she always kept a special chair in her room. At night, the spirit of an old Native American (a chief, presumably) would come into her room and sit in the chair. That’s it. He just sat in the chair, every night, for years and years and years while I snored blissfully away in the next room, and I never once heard about it. Uncharacteristically for me, I didn’t follow through with any additional questions, and my curiosity has not stopped bugging me for years wondering what it all meant. Regrettably, I no longer have a chance to ask her about it.

Eventually, I realized I’m not supposed to know. It wasn’t my experience―it was hers. But it did serve to assure me that my own occurrences were nothing to feel any shame or embarrassment about.

Since then, many of the folks I’ve met in my worldly travels have shared similar tales of the unexplained. Often, they worry they’ll be considered nuts, or simply not taken seriously. I usually invite them to Shady Hollow, where I hope they’ll share their tales. For most people, however, it is intimidating to share in front of a large group. As someone who writes, often baring my own thoughts and feelings before a large audience, I completely understand that mentality.

As we approach the time of year when the veil between realms is supposedly at its thinnest, it is of interest to be aware of many of the wonders, mysteries, and phenomena that surround us in this vast, unexplained Universe.

That tapping you hear? It might simply be your cat chasing a wayward bug up the mirror. Or, just perhaps, it may be something else altogether, desperately trying to get your attention...

All That Remains

Standing in what is now the front yard, protruding a meager nineteen centimeters above the earth, is a simple gas line connector―the sole remnant of a home that once stood on this exact location.




In March of 1992, the natural gas pumping station up the street exploded, sending out a massive fireball that propagated down the line and destroyed or severely damaged several of the homes in the neighborhood. The house that once stood here was among the casualties. Five people were injured, some requiring hospitalization, but fortunately there were no fatalities. Unfortunately, their homes were not so lucky.

This spot, which was once a home full of memories, has been relegated to a small hazard I cautiously avoid with the lawnmower, lest I accidentally experience a similar fate.

All too often, each of us gets so wrapped up in trivial (read: unimportant) matters of day-to-day existence, that we forget to stop and appreciate the things that we have. The old adage "You never know what you have...until it's gone" rings with so much truth it's nearly deafening.

In our modern world, it is hard to avoid the negativity that seems to permeate the very air we breathe. Whether it's the current newscycle, traffic, kids acting up, cat vomiting on the freshly vacuumed carpet (I'm looking at you, Knyght), or the air conditioner going out on a hot day, it is easy to get trapped in a perpetual cycle of negativity. For those of us who often experience depression or anxiety, this can be even worse.

After that disaster so many decades ago, a new home was eventually placed on the property (several yards away from the gas line and utilizing electric heating), and I currently call it home. I try to make it a point each and every day to be thankful for what Life has given me, because it can all literally disappear in a flash. Some of you already have experience with this, and my heart goes out to you.

We are here for such a brief moment in the Cosmic scale of things. Some might consider this reason enough to be grumpy about their existence, but I find it reason to celebrate. My moment may be simply a brief flash in the eyes of the Universe, but it's my flash.

May it (and yours) burn ever bright.



(The source article about the accident can be found by clicking here.)