Mark Myers's Blog, page 40

Irony & Ice Cream

I’ve always said that if the world could just taste Blue Bell Ice Cream, there would be no more wars. World peace is obtainable by the gallon for about $5.99.  It is so good that upon my first introduction to their chocolate chip cookie dough variety, I called my wife of about a year and said, “I think I just had an affair!”  Until then, I didn’t know I could love something so cold.  Funny thing is, I don’t really like chocolate.  I’ve found over the years it doesn’t matter what’s in it.  If they mix it, freeze it, and put their label on it – I’ll buy it.  They are a good Southern company which likely explains why so many Yankees are trying to get down here.

My 30’s brought family busyness and extra pants sizes.  I really don’t blame Blue Bell.  If it is her fault, I readily forgive my velvety temptress.  I went back to the gym, ran a few marathons, and lost the weight while staying true to ice cream.  I still run so I can eat it.

All of that brings me to this week.  Tuesday, I had to pick up coffee to fuel my early morning writing obsession.  When I find myself in any store that has a freezer section, I am compelled to check the ice cream aisle.  Lo and behold, Blue Bell was on sale!  Most of my family prefers the aforementioned cookie dough, but I have one dissenter who likes cookies and cream (I think they might spell it with an ‘n’ instead of the word ‘and’ which is lazy, ugly, and I can’t bring myself to type it that way).  My last purchase had been cookie dough, so I dug out the last gallon of cookies AND cream.  When I got home, I stashed it and somehow forgot about it until today.  I was shaving this morning when my dissenter came and reminded me about her appointment to get a painful appliance added to her braces.  With her lip poked out, she said, “You should go and get me cookies AND cream ice cream today.”

My memory is not great, but my purchase came to mind immediately.  With my lance in hand, I gallantly mounted my white steed, lifted the faceguard on my suit of armor and simply said, “Check the freezer.”

Thank you, Lord for Blue Bell Ice Cream.  More importantly, thank you for the ironic way you love on my daughter and let me take a little credit.  I promise I’ll tell her…sometime.

Presidential MEN

I’ve been having to do some research lately with one of my daughters on some of the Presidents of the United States.  I do not care for politics and this is most definitely not a political blog, unless you count Mayor Shambley’s posts.  He is always glad-handing the citizens for a vote.  While I don’t keep track of politics, I do love history.  Anyway, we were talking about one president and I stated that he is a great example of a man’s man.  Having all girls, I had to define the term, but found it difficult to do so.  A website called wisegeek.org defines it this way:

A man’s man is a man who engages in activities that are traditionally viewed as masculine, and who earns the respect of other men. Such men may also be described as “manly,” emphasizing their masculine personality. They tend to be domineering, confident, and bold, because these character traits are reinforced by traditional gender roles.

We got past that discussion and talked about some of the men who had been president.  You have to include generals such as Eisenhower, Washington, and Grant in the discussion.  But I settled on two: Andrew Jackson and Teddy Roosevelt.  Although a hero in two wars, Jackson would never have been electable today.  His fiery temperament caused him to shoot and kill a man in a duel for disparaging his wife.  In fact, on the last day of the presidency, Jackson admitted that he had but two regrets, that he “had been unable to shoot Henry Clay or to hang John C. Calhoun.”

Theodore Roosevelt coined the phrase, “speak softly and carry a big stick,” and he lived that way.  Cowboy, Rough Rider, Colonel during the Spanish-American War, big game hunter.  He was the definition of the term man’s man.  AND, this picture would indicate that he carried Virgil Creech like a field manual through it all.

Everything is subjective, and I am sure I’m missing someone.  But these are my two picks.  Yours?

Virgil Gives Back

Beneath his rough exterior, Virgil Creech has a big heart.  To prove it, in the month of December, proceeds from the sale of his book, Virgil Creech Takes a Swipe at Redemption will go directly to benefit orphans in Africa through a wonderful ministry called Heart for Africa.

Here is a description from their website:  Heart for Africa is a Christian non-profit 501(c)3 public charity.  Working alongside churches and children’s homes in Swaziland, we are providing care and hope for a future for children in this small African nation.  Through short term service trips, child sponsorship, and large fund raising programs, we are working to deliver quality care, shelter, food, water, clothing, health care, and education to the orphaned and vulnerable children of Swaziland.

In 2011, I had the privilege to visit Heart for Africa in Swaziland, meet the people there, and put some hard work in on their baby home.  I was brought to tears when they announced their first baby’s arrival in March of 2012.

Joshua when he arrived

Joshua now

As you can see, Joshua is now a thriving boy, alive only through the efforts of the staff at Heart for Africa and its many generous supporters.  The count as of this writing is thirty-four babies and twelve toddlers – forty-six lives saved.

Join Virgil in his fight to care for these children!

 To find out more about the work of Heart for Africa, click on their logo.

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To purchase Virgil’s book and make a difference this Christmas, click the book cover.  (Available in paperback or ebook version)

Please feel free to repost or give suggestions for getting the word out!

Birth and New Friends

I’ve been trying to think about what Virgil would be thankful for and tweeting about it this week.  (If you missed out, you are most welcome to follow him @VirgilCreech)

Bugs for sure!  They’re slimy, dirty, have weird numbers of legs and eyes AND are perfect for scaring girls
The Holy Trinity of boys - Filth in all three forms: Mud, dirt, and dust.
Black eyes and fat lips – that’s boy make-up and nothing makes you look better

The list goes on, but you get the point.  His thanks are as shallow as he is.  Me, I’m not much more complex. I’m thankful for my wife and four girls.  They make my life interesting, fun, and often tense.  I can’t imagine a day without them.  In September, I launched my book after sitting on it for a long time.  (The cover art for this post was a thoughtful gift from my youngest two daughters, Jenna & Kylie.)  If I wasn’t a more seasoned husband, I would say I birthed the book.  But having been in the delivery room four times, twice when I didn’t get there in time for an epidural, I won’t use that comparison.

I felt pretty nervous about putting it out there for critique.  After all, a book is perfect before someone else reads and critiques it.  The reception from friends and family has been overwhelming.  I’ve also had the honor of meeting new friends through the process, which makes the experience even more wonderful.  If you’ve read this far, I’m thankful for YOU, friend!  Page hits are nice, readers are better.  So I add that to my thankful pile – new friends.  And I feel very content.

Make sure to come back for Virgil’s big announcement December 1st – Virgil Gives Back.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving wherever you are.

God Bless,

Mark

The Lamest Thanksgiving Parade

“Come, Come,” called Mayor Earnest Shambley over the chatter.  “The reason I’ve called you here today is to unveil my latest plan to put Portsong on the map!  As you know, I’ve got relatives in New York…”

“Yes, Mayor,” interrupted Ms. Prattlematt quickly.  “We are all most certainly aware of that fact and have already forgiven you for it.”

The Mayor glared at the lady, took a moment to calm himself, and continued, “I am not asking for forgiveness.  I mention the fact only for a point of clarity.  I was talking to my kin recently and he told me that a local department store has come up with the idea of having a parade on Thanksgiving Day!”

“Parades are marvelous things, but who has time for such frivolous behavior with all of the preparation Thanksgiving demands?” chimed Ms. Prattlematt, dashing the Mayor’s excitement for a brief moment.

“Who wouldn’t have time?” he asked.  ”Floats, balloons for the children, animals, marching bands!  It would be a regular jim-dandy of a time right on our own Main Street.  I can see it now – people would come from all over the southeast – Savannah, Charlotte, Macon, even Atlanta!  They’d all come here, to Portsong… and bring their money with them.  That wouldn’t be too shabby would it, Woodrow?”

The proprietor of Woodrow’s Five & Dime hadn’t been listening and was quite glad when another member of the council stood up and spoke.

“If that’s all you called us here for, I’m leaving,” said Percy Radford in disgust.  “I’ve got a business to run.  You and your schemes! Ms. Prattlematt, if you’ll excuse me,” he added as he bowed to the only lady present.

“Excuse you? I’ll join you, sir!” she exclaimed as she rose from her high-back chair.  “I’m leaving before he tries to add work to my Christmas and Easter too!”

When the door closed behind them, the Mayor looked hopefully at the remnant of the Town Council.  Woodrow avoided eye contact, Sheriff Whitaker gave a vacant smile, and the Reverend Crane peered over his wire-rimmed glasses with a scornful expression.

“Thanksgiving is a day for counting the blessings the good Lord has seen fit to bestow.  It is not a day for commerce,” he said slowly.  “Did you truly think this an appropriate idea, Earnest?”

He did.  He truly did.  Even after the three of them petered out of his office, he still thought it was a good idea.  So the feisty mayor dug his in heels and planned it himself!  He made calls and arrangements that no one understood.  He tried unsuccessfully to rally his people around a strange vision no one besides him could see.  He viewed himself as a pioneer and knew that on the day tourists pour into the streets of Portsong to see the parade, he would be hailed a hero and his legacy etched in stone.

Alas, when Thanksgiving came, the streets were lined with three people who watched Otis Hoskins ride a strange little cart pulled by turkeys.  As it turns out, the crowd was simply the rest of the Hoskins family.  An odd collection of souls, this was a sort of Thanksgiving tradition and they quickly left downtown once Otis got the turkeys to move.  His parade an utter failure, Mayor Shambley ate himself into a stupor that afternoon and went to bed early, disappointed but full.

Yes, both New York and Portsong had a parade in the year 1924. Only one followed up with another in 1925.

The current citizens of Portsong would like to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.

The Trouble with Friends

We’ve all had one of those friendships that could go either way – either you prop them up or they pull you down.  As a youngster, I would have called the situation, “a hard problem.”

With that in mind, I’d like to introduce a protagonist if ever there was one – Henry Lee.  Born into a fine Portsong family, Henry is a wonderful boy who finds himself in the unenviable position of being the one and only friend Virgil Creech can claim.  Let’s listen as Henry talks about his dilemma:

Have you ever noticed the skin on a man’s hand when he’s really old?  You know, the kind that looks like cracked leather from a saddle that’s been left out in the rain.  I’m not scared of much, but hands like make my skin crawl!  It’s like they’re dead and reaching out at you from the grave.  Last Sunday, Reverend Crane came to the kids’ class and read us a verse that said, “Be not deceived: Bad company corrupts good character.”  He kept talking and waving those big old, ugly hands.  While I was watching them fly around, I noticed his bony fingers and kept wondering if they were wiry enough to pick a lock.  People say he doesn’t eat anything no more ‘cause he’s at least a hundred years old.  Anyway, I’m pretty sure he was trying to get my attention on account of he knows I’m friends with Virgil Creech.

I don’t think Virgil is bad company, I really don’t.  There’s something about him I really like.  He’s all Creech – in fact, he’s the youngest of the boys.  Poor kid has eight older brothers and I’ve heard folks around town call them things like hooligans and ruffians.  Virgil gets beat up by his brothers a lot and I don’t think they have much money.  His pants almost always have holes somewhere and his shirts have torn pockets and missing buttons.  In a way, I feel sorry for him…but not for long.  You can’t feel sorry for Virgil.  He won’t let you.  Right when you creep to the edge of feeling bad for him, he’ll give you a nudge off the ledge and laugh at you while you fall.

When that boy gets an idea in his head, he sticks to it and won’t let anything get in his way.  He’s as stubborn as any mule I’ve ever seen.  Colonel Birdwhistle once asked me, “How will a Creech stop being a Creech unless someone shows him?”  It made me think he might need me to show him how to be a better friend – kinda like pulling a mule to show it the way.

I don’t know, I’m only a kid.  When bad things go on around me, I’ve got a father who gives good advice.  I’m not sure Virgil has that and I’m guessing you wouldn’t want him to follow whatever advice his brothers give!

So this is my trouble with friends.  I’m not sure how long I can hang in there with Virgil – it’s hard sometimes.  Real Hard!  But I think for now, it’s worth it.

You can read about Henry’s further struggles with Virgil and friendship in the book, Virgil Creech Takes a Swipe at Redemption.

Sunday Morning Funnies

As a boy, I remember racing to the front porch to get the Sunday newspaper so I could rip out the comics.  In my town, we called them the funnies.  They became unfunny quickly when I took on a paper route and had to sort and lug a bunch of them around.  I think alot of my fascination was simply based on the fact that they were in color.  Lame, I know, but it was before the digital age – 3 channels and all that hard-luck stuff.  Anyway, we’ve been taking Virgil through time around here, and wanted to share some of the early test-readers for Virgil Creech Takes a Swipe at Redemption.  These aren’t color, but I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

Downright humbling for Virgil to have been in hand on that day.

 

 

 

 

 

Make ‘em laugh, even if their IQ is a zillion points higher than yours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seems an odd choice for a man of peace.  I have to figure he didn’t finish.

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry, but there are more to come…

Guest Author Mark Myers

Guest Author Mark Myers.

Thank you to The Story Reading Ape for the profile.

(click link above)

By the by, our Ladies Historical Society History ebook is free today and tomorrow (11/14-11/15) on Amazon.  Here’s a link:

http://amzn.com/B00FE68X7C

The Name Collector

My mother recently asked me where I come up with the character names in my books.  I’ll be honest and confess that this has been one of the most challenging and interesting part of my journey into writing.  I spend more time deliberating, changing, and tweaking the names of some of my characters than I probably should.  As a lover of Dickens, the names mean a lot to me.  I would NEVER be so bold as to compare my writing to his.  But I can say we share an infatuation with odd names.

Who can forget his characters Ebenezer Scrooge, Uriah Heep, Daniel Quilp, Wilkins Micawber, or Pip.  Each name is forever associated with the traits he wrote into the character – so much so that Scrooge became a recognized word!

With my town of Portsong being set in rural Georgia, I have an advantage of pulling from the colorful language of the Deep South.  There is a distinct line between Southern and Redneck.  I am careful to avoid the latter.  Whenever I hear a name with possibilities, I jot it down in my little Moleskine, which shows everyone just how much of a nerd I am.  I’ve scribbled dozens in there over the past few years.  In Virgil Creech Takes a Swipe at Redemption, I used only the first few pages.  There are many more to come in Virgil’s further adventures.  Here are just a few examples.

In the Creech family, besides Virgil, there are his brothers:  Lomas, Wendell, Stanley, Tanner, Webster, Dalton, Eustis, and Roscoe.  You will meet some of them in varying degrees if you stick with me.  The parents of the Creech family are Abner and Henrietta.

Colonel Clarence J. Birdwhistle came when I was looking for vintage sounding British names.  I found it on a list of surnames that are dying out.  Shame – he’s a good sort.

The rascal, Burton Perry is actually the name of my brother-in-law’s grandfather (used with permission, of course.)  You won’t find him in this first book, but he will give you a laugh in time.

I hope my preacher sounds formal and stuffy:  Reverend Josiah Crane.  The mayor, Earnest Shambley, is a fussbudget and typical politician.  I drew a contradiction between first and last names.  Ms. Louise Prattlematt, the chairperson of the Ladies Historical Society, just sounds like a busybody to me.  Our grocer, Harland Gentry, struggles with pride.  The list goes on.

In my name-giving journey, one surprising thing actually happened.  I named the sheriff of Portsong Hub Whitaker, with no particular meaning assigned to his first name.  As I wove a story around him, there was good cause to use a more formal name that he hated, thus Hub became a shortened form of Hubert.  I can honestly say I had no intention of going that route when I named him.

So now you know.  If I ever meet you and I reach for my Moleskine, you probably have an odd name.  Please, consider it a compliment.

What are some odd names you’ve come across in literature or real life?

Happy Armistice Day

I know, I know…It is Veterans Day now.  Forgive me, my kids call me old, so I’m sticking with Armistice Day.

As the writer of a book set in the 1920’s, it would have been impossible to do an authentic job of setting the scene without some research into World War I and the plight of veterans returning from Europe.  In hindsight, it is easy to see how woefully unprepared our government was to care for and assist the flood of men who came home.  The lingering effects of trench and gas warfare haunted many for the rest of their days.  Unable to maintain steady work, a good few vets languished in abject poverty long before the Great Depression.  Fortunately for us, many of the benefits we veterans enjoy today came from public outcry and government action in the decade after WW I.

At my kitchen table last night, I asked my kids if any of them knew the origin of Veterans Day.  We sat in a long period of unknowing silence, or maybe reluctance to engage with the old man on a favorite topic, who knows which.  My wife and I don’t allow electronics at the table, so the blank stares from the teenage contingent could have been due to the fact that they wanted to get back to their social media (just to embarrass them, I like to call it “The Facetube”).  They were rescued by their eleven year-old sister who gave a detailed and accurate history of the ending of WW I, Armistice Day, and its change to Veterans Day in the 1950’s.  Thank you Perimeter Christian School for your fine teaching on this subject!

The town of Portsong would joyfully celebrate Veterans Day.  As a patriotic place, there would be flags, ribbons, parades, and special honors bestowed by the Ladies Historical Society.  Although not a veteran himself, Mayor Shambley would never miss the opportunity to stand in a lectern.  Daniel Jacobs, Abel Lowder, Rif Jenkins, the Pinkerton boys, and all the rest would set to march down Chestnut and Main in whatever semblance of uniform moths and time had not yet destroyed.  Yes, Portsong has always loved its fighting boys through many wars.

I leave my thoughts on Veterans Day with a picture of my grandfather in his Doughboy uniform from World War I.  I do not believe he saw action, as he volunteered just a month before the war ended.  My maternal grandfather served in the Navy during the World War II era and I did my stint in the Army in peacetime.

From the heart of our little town of Portsong, thank you to all you veterans out there.