Travis Erwin's Blog, page 18

Help Me Buy A New Shirt

I've made it no secret that despite being a native Texan, I am a diehard Nebraska Cornhusker fan and yet I sit here typing up this post wearing a t-shirt that reads "I AM A BOILERMAKER". Yes, Purdue is one of my beloved Huskers Big 10 conference rivals so while it feels a tad traitorous there are three reasons why I am able to actually wear the shirt.  (And yeah I realize this is a crappy picture but I haven't mastered the art of the self portrait just yet.)



1) It is booty and pirates loves booty. I won the short by winning my blogging pal Phats' basketball bracket back in March.

2) It is black and gold. The colors of my fave NFL team ... The New Orleans Saints.

3) Purdue is the alma mater of the man, the legend, the best QB in Saints history Drew Brees.

In other news my mini collection of stories is now up and available at Amazon for reading on your kindle or PC. Actually it has been up for a while but I was waiting on Barnes and Nobel to make it available for the nook as well. Not sure what the hold up is but since they are taking their sweet ass time I figured I'd go ahead and announce it's availability on Amazon.

If I'm being completely honest, I'm putting these stores out there for myself more than anything else, but it is my hope that for the low sum of  99 cents Whispers worth your time and money as well. The stories are fairly short but I hope you will enjoy them and if so please mention Whispers on your blog, facebook, and twitter accounts. I''ll be indebted to those who help me spread the word.

If you do not have a kindle but would like to read the collection you can download a free kindle app for either your smart phone or PC.

What Are You Doing Here

Today, I am blogging over at my other joint.

The subject?

Good food, new books, old recipes and a dash of sexual  psychotherapy.

JOIN US FOR THE FUN.

Feeling Rather Impish

I started this year with a number of goals. As we approach the halfway mark of 2011 I am faced with the reality that I have failed every last one of them.

And yet ... I don't feel like a failure.

Circumstances have changed. New opportunities have present themselves. Oh I could still stand to drop a few pounds but researching and writing a food book, especially one with a  decadent nature like Lettuce Is The Devil , is not exactly conducive to weight loss.

And while my humorous women's fiction novel involving bull semen, a nymphomaniacal senior citizen, and a woman who believes sex is ruining her life is on hold and not complete I am excited my soon to be released project titled, Whispers . The stories in Whispers are some of my personal favorites and two of them may be familiar to very long time readers of this blog but for a mere 99 cents I hope many of you will check them out upon their release.

I have not maintained my reading goals either and this is the one area that bothers me. But I hope to free some time and remedy this soon.

I did gather up the family and go see the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I was eager to see Ian McShane portray Blackbeard but sadly his performance didn't quite live up to me hope.


Overall the movie was decent enough. Not as good as the first movie, way better than the turd of a third installment, and about on par with #2 in the franchise.

But I'll tell you what is good. The HBO series Game of Thrones.


 I have not read any of George R.R, Martin's writings but this series sure is making me want to. Then again HBO seems to be the only purveyor of good story telling on television and I am a fan of their current series Treme, and Boardwalk Empire and I loved Rome and Deadwood as well. True Blood is a bit too cheesy for me taste and I enjoyed The Sopranos for a season or three but I found those last few season boring, but I applaud HBO for bringing viewers something other than CIS Hoboken.

So tell me. Are you watching Game of Thrones? Treme? CIS Hoboken?

Memorial Day

Willis Lee Howery.

That was my maternal grandfather's name.

He served as a medic in both World War II and Korea.

I can't help but think of him on this and every other Memorial Day.

Born in Iowa he was raised near and in Bethany, Missouri, he was adopted as an older child. Ten or so I think. I know his one regret in life was never tracking down his biological brother and sister and I wish i had the ability and knowledge to do so on his behalf.

He was more than my granddad. he was my fishing partner, my friend, and in many ways my father, as he was always the most steady and available adult male in my life.

My oldest son shares his middle name.

I wish he were here today and every other day, but his memory and influence live on.

I hope you have had a blessed Memorial Day weekend and taken the time to reflect on all of those who made this world a better place to be during their time here on earth.

It Is What It Is

Let's talk crazy ...

The world did not end On may 21st as Harold Camping predicted. Now the dude has refigured his numbers and claims the rapture will be October 21st. Harold spends more time recalculating than my GPS.

A Toronto couple has decided to keep the gender of their child a secret. The kid, named Storm is 5 or 6 months I think and the couple says they are not telling anyone the gender because they don't wanna label their child. Sorry folks but you not revealing the facts does not change the reality that the kid either has a penis or it doesn't. Somebody should  teach them the phrase ... It is what it is.

Conspiracy theories about President Obama abound here in my ultra-conservative area of Texas, but two people this week have tried to sell me on the idea Obama is actively trying to piss off all of America to instigate an all out revolt like we've seen in Northern Africa and the Middle East as of late. Both individuals limits their news to Fox and right wind radio so they assume everyone in America is pissed off. My response to their claim? There are no more pissed off people now than there was when Bush was in office, only now it's the other half that are angry. My comment was met with blank stares.

 And then there is this story ...


LAKE MARY, Fla., May 27 (UPI) -- A Florida man's lawsuit against Winn-Dixie Stores and a flower importer is seeking $15,000 in damages for a finger prick from a rose thorn.Charles Imwalle, 41, of Lake Mary filed a lawsuit Monday against Winn-Dixie and Passion Growers LLC claiming he suffered pain, disfigurement, medical bills and lost wages after pricking his finger on a thorn from a rose he purchased from his local Winn-Dixie in February, the Orlando (Fla.) Sentinel reported Thursday.The suit states the roses should have been stripped of their thorns and the stems should have been wrapped more carefully. The litigation also claims anti-bacterial solution was not used in the display buckets.Imwalle lawyer Paul Thompson of Altamonte Springs declined to comment on the case.Sam Ferrara, founder of Passion Growers, said Imwalle's cut became infected and he blamed the roses, but the company sterilizes all of its flowers."We've been doing this 20 years," Ferrara said. "We've never, never had anything like this where anyone has gotten an infection by a thorn prick."
There was a prick involved alright but I don't think it was attached to a rose.

Funny Thing Is

I have been writing a long time now. Long enough that friends and acquaintances who do not know the nature of this business view me as a failure.

I know this by the way the broach the subject. Or react when someone else mentions it.

"Hey Travis, whatever happened to that book you were writing?"
"Did that book you wrote ever get published?"
"You're still writing?" 


I understand their position. Really I do. It's understandable to think after more than a decade of nearly constant effort you should have more than a couple dozen short story creds, a handful of contest wins, one ebook anthology, and a smattering of freelance work. But the nature of this business is not everyone who sets out to write a novel or even finishes one, two three or five will see it published. Especially by a traditional royalty paying publisher.

Lately there have been some big signs that I'm not totally crazy. That I haven't wasted an entire decade pursuing this dream. Plundered Booty has been well received and I thank the people that have taken the time to buy and read the anthology it is included in. I offer a double thanks to those who dropped me an email relaying their thoughts or left a review at B&N or Amazon. And my latest project, Lettuce Is The Devil has garnered FAR more attention that anything I've ever written. Both are humor projects.

And my blog, at least until lately when I've neglected it has always been successful. It too is more humor based than anything.

So I've gone the long way around to say this ...

I was talking to a  friend at work the other day and he was asking me about my writing endeavors. I was feeling pretty good that day so no doubt I was gushing about the way things were going.

And that's when he said, "It's about time you abandoned all that emotional women's fiction crap. A funny guy like you needs to concentrate on humor and forget about romance and all that other emotional stuff."

I realize he meant it as a compliment, but his words were somewhat like a punch in the gut to me. The first three novels I wrote were either women's fiction/romance. As were a lot of my short stories. I certainly do not think of any of them as crap. Sure some of it was rough in that I was finding my way as a writer, but the emotions he so casually dismissed as stuff was real. The hours I spent writing and editing those words made me who i am as a writer, funny or otherwise.

I came very close on several occasions to both landing an agent for that material and to publication. I still believe in my abilities to write romance and or women's fiction. Funny is not the only emotion I have in me.

And on that note I have decided to package three stories on my own. Two fiction and 1 memoir. Very soon I will release them for Nook and Kindle for the low sum of 99 cents. Maybe I'm trying to prove something. Maybe I'm simply trying to make myself feel better about where I am at this point in my career. Maybe as I begin to move more into humor writing I am trying to justify the years behind me. Whatever the reason, I hope you will check the stories out when I release it in the near future.

A Little Friendly Scar Tissue

Nearly two weeks since my last blog post here at One Word. I think that is a record dry spell. Time has not been my friend as of late. Hope a few of you are still hanging around.

So anyway a friend of mine recently brought me a t-shirt back from the Virgin Islands. A piratey shirt from a place called Blackbeard's Castle. The shirt reads ... SCARS ARE TATTOOS WITH BETTER STORIES

I wore said shirt to a meet-up dinner with a group of fellow writers last night.

I'm quite lucky to live in a community where there are so many talented and successful writers.

I enjoyed chatting with Anita Howard. You may not know Anita yet, but you soon will. Anita is fabulously talented. Check out her blog here. She recently landed representation with Jenny Bent and trust me when I say she has a stupendous voice. Her latest endeavor is a literary YA Fantasy titled, Splintered. Here is the trailer.





I also got to chat with Kimberly Willis Holt, author of My Louisiana Sky, When Zachary Beaver Came To Town (Winner of the National Book Award for Young People's Literature, as well as School Library Journal's Best Book of the Year). And the Piper Reed series.




 Then there were those that write adult fiction ...






Linda Castillo whose novel Breaking Silence , the third in a series starring Amish Country Police Chief Kate Burkholder is now available  for pre-order and is already getting rave reviews








"In addition to creating exceptionally well drawn characters and crafting a gripping plot that takes some shocking turns to a heart-pounding conclusion, Castillo probes with keen sensitivity the emotional toll taken by police work. The third in this series of thrillers (after Sworn to Silence, 2009, and Pray for Silence, 2010) is another winner."— Booklist

Linda organized our dinner and is she so pleasant to chat with it's almost hard to imagine she writes with such cutting edge suspense. 


Friend, mentor and tormentor Deborah Elliott-Upton was there eating a salad right beside me. Debbie is a helluva mystery writer with an unnatural hangup for Johnny Depp. Besides having a slew of short story creds to her name she blogs every Thursday over at Criminal Brief. 
  





And though I didn't get to speak with her as long as I would have liked RWA Hall of Famer Jodi Thomas was just down the table.   





So what the heck does this have to do with my t-shirt. Well on the way home, I was thinking about writing. (That's the great benefit of hanging around other writers. They inspire me to write.) And I realized how true the shirt's saying is in relation to writing fiction.

It is the scars. The damage inflicted in the past that shapes characters. Makes them who they are.  And like a scar how, when and what caused the damage is rarely revealed right away. It leaves the reader guessing, wondering.

Also tattoos are things we plan for. Things we don't mind showing. They can be interesting as can descriptions we writers directly parcel out to our readers but its those unexpected things that are slow or reluctant to reveal themselves that really capture a reader.

I have no tattoos, though I've long said I'll get one to celebrate and honor the first novel I sell. I do have a few scars however and yes, every one of them has a story.




.

Toasty Cockles - Faithful friday

Longtime readers of this blog know that I have been taking classes to become a full fledged Catholic for nearly 2 years now.

I wrote a few posts about my religious upbringing and how I fell completely away from all organized religion. (that can be found here in order #1, #2, #3, #4, and #5. I intended to keep going and explain why joining the catholic church was the right thing for me, but every time I attempted that post I came across as preachy, judgmental, or self righteous. I simply could not convey my thoughts into words. A sad thing for someone who considers themselves a writer.

That is not to say I have ever wavered on my decision. in both my heart and my head I am steadfast that the path I have chosen is the correct one for me.  the process of accepting and converting is a personal one and i suspect no two faith journeys are the same.

Saturday night I will be baptized and take first communion.

For years now I have been active in both St Mary's Church and school. My wife teaches there. My boys attend and i love volunteering to help in all maters with the kids. I've coached a variety of sports, led a literacy club, and taught storytelling as well volunteering at many other activities. I know nearly every kid in the school and they know me.

And yet I never expected to be overwhelmed with the gift the 2nd grade class gave me in honor of my upcoming baptism. the kids made me a book and despite this post already being long. I'm going to share the pages of that book as well as my comments. I'm not sure what a cockle even is, but this unexpected gift sure gave me the warm fuzzies.





In most of the pictures including this one my goatee makes an appearance.

 This one is my son's page. He always goes camping over Easter weekend and since I'm a Chatecumenate and my wife is a sponsor the boys would have had to to sit with someone else for the 2 and a half hour mass so we decided to let them go camping as usual. Not the last line. The one he erased. it read "You are a good dad." When i asked him why he erased it, Zalen said he already had written enough.


My goat is REALLY big in this one. 


Note the halo people.


This girl has better handwriting than I do.


No goatee but I'm proud she said I'm good at "writeing stories."



The uber beard and sideways cap is a look I might go for soon.




Perhaps the most accurate depiction of me. And yes it will feel good to get all those sins forgiven.



I've always wanted to smell like oil.



This one is tough to read because he wrote lightly, but to paraphrase I am a great person and a funny guy.



And entertaining.



Love the spelling and message of this one but come on dude my goat looks better than that. 


l

No, that is not Fidel Castro with a halo. That is me thank you very much.





I'm not sure but I think I was hogtied to the baptismal font in this one.



I hope that is a candle in my hand and not a machete. A tall bearded guy like me would never cut anyone. 



Only in the eyes of a 2 graders would I be considered a great football coach for winning 2 games in two seasons.

This book is a gift which i will always cherish. Thank you Mrs Jager and the St Mary's 2nd grade class.

Y'all truly brightened this convert's heart.

Second Rate Santa and the Sage of the ... Midnight Meat

Things are crazy around the mall during Christmas time, and they get even crazier when you can count the number of shopping days left without having to unzip your pants. (i.e. - less than ten days for those who geniuses and don't have to count things out on your fingers or for those of a gender that unzipping your pants doesn't not help)That's the time frame for this story. I believe it was the last Saturday before Christmas and the mall was staying open until midnight. Okay folks, let me say it. Their is nothing at The Gap or Banana Republic that you need at twelve o'clock at night. And if you have your kids out at that time dragging them from store to store you seriously need to ask Ol' Saint Nick for one of those Dr. Spock books because you are in dire need of some parenting tips.Notice I didn't say Jolly Ol' Saint Nick because nothing makes a guy more unjolly than to have been wearing an itchy fake beard all night while dealing with a sleigh full of rude and pushy procrastinators who want to blame you for them being behind in their shopping. Add in the fact fact they trot up a tired worn-out kid, who should have been in bed hours ago, and demand I repeat DEMAND a picture where everyone is all smiles ... Well the whole scenario conjures up the the old saying Shit in one hand and want in the other. Then see which fills up first.Got an idea what kind of night I was having? Good, because this story really starts after I'd yanked the white beard off, Stripped out of the red velvet suit. Don't get excited ladies, I quickly put on my regular clothes which probably consisted of a flannel button up shirt since it was cold and a pair of wranglers and maybe some lace up hiking boots. You know your average lumberjack fashion.So there I was at a quarter past midnight, looking a good bit like an agitated Paul Bunyon.Now normally I'd hike down the mall to the restroom to wash the white wax out of my eyebrows and the middle portion of my moustache, but like I said I was fed up and ready to leave so I trudged straight outside..Driving, I realized my stomach was trying to gnarl trough my spine so it could go out and find some food on its own. I'd eaten a dozen or so of those Little Debbie Oatmeal cookies that took star billing in last week's episode of the Santa Saga, but a man can't live on oatmeal and creme-filling alone -- he needs MEAT.I pull into WhataBurger, since unlike the mall, most of the fast food joints had closed at a decent hour. Now while I contend no one needs overpriced name brand clothing at midnight access to grease-laden food is an around the clock requirement.So I pull up at the drive through window and order a bacon cheeseburger with meat and cheese only. Simple right? Not for the fine folks working at Whataburger and twelve-thirty at night. Let's just say I'm not sure the folks on duty that night could count passed ten whether they unzipped or not. But I didn't know that when I ordered, or even when they handed my sack of food through the window.It wasn't until I took my first bite and gobs of mustard oozed down my throat. Okay many of you have heard me say, Lettuce is the Devil and it is but mustard happens to be one of the devils disciples. I hate the stuff and anything that was turned into gas and used as a weapon cannot be good to ingest. But back to the story.I did a u-turn fast than you can say Blitzen and headed back to Whataburger. I stomped inside with the nasty taste of yellow satan at the back of my throat and headed straight for the counter. There wasn't another customer in the place, but that didn't keep the forty something year old dud behind the counter from staring at me with the slack jawed expression of a teenage pot head. Which no doubt he had been at one point in his life. The pothead probably still fit him but you can bet your Stretch Armstrong (that was a toy back in the day for any youngsters reading this) he hadn't been a teenager since sometime in the seventies.Weird look aside, I told him my order was wrong and I wanted a bacon cheeseburger with meat and cheese only.He opened up my burger and said that's what this is."No it had mustard. I just want meat and cheese.""Oh .." He nodded his head despite continuing to stare at me as if I had an oatmeal turd for a nose. "No mustard. Got it."I waited four or five minutes and he handed me a new sack. I pulled out he burger to check it and right away knew it was wrong again. I unwrapped it and there was the Devil itself in all its green evilness. Along with a slice of tomato and onion ... but at least there wasn't any mustard.I should have just scraped the offending veggies off and lived with a bit of tomato juice and what not but after my long night I was agitated and said, "This is still wrong. I only want meat and cheese. Nothing else."By this time I had noticed the cook peeking over the fryer at me. Along with the occasional weird glance from the drive-thru girl. They took my burger and again I waited. This time when I opened it there was not a drop mustard, nary a vegetable in sight, but you know what else was missing? The hamburger patty.Right about then I lost it. I freely admit when I raised my voice and said, "What the hell is a matter with you people!" I was not only taking out my frustration about the burger but every crying bawling kid, every Doubting -too-smart-for-their-own-good-Thomas of a kid, every belligerent parent as well.I ranted for a few minutes and then asked to see the manager. When the man in charge appeared he frowned and gave the same exact dumbfounded expression I'd been getting from his employees, but finally he said, "Can I help you sir?""I sure as hell hope so. I want a bacon cheeseburger with meat and cheese only. Nothing else. Is that too much to ask for?"He opened up the wrapper and looked at his employees last effort. What wrong with this one?""There is no hamburger patty in it."He nodded still staring at me and I cam to the conclusion he hadn't really heard a word I'd said because he was too bust eyeballing me.Again I lost it and a little sarcastic elf began whispering in my ear so I asked. "Is hamburger meat?"The manager nodded."Is bacon meat?"Another nod."Is lettuce meat?"He frowned but shook his head."Is it cheese?""Of course not?" A bit of irritation seeped into his speech."Is mustard meat?""No.""Are they cheese?""Sir, we both know they are not.""Then quit putting on my burger and make it the way I ordered it."My tone finally wiped the dazed looked off the guys face as he crossed his arms and said, "Tell me how you want it and I'll personally guarantee it is made right."I nodded and said. "I'll make this real easy since all of you seem a bit slow. "Put down the bottom of a bun, add a hamburger patty a slice of cheese, three slices of bacon and then put the top on with out adding another damn thing." I delivered this fine little speech with a good bit of hand gestures to demonstrate how it should be done.A minute later I finally had my burger just like I wanted, but possible whit a bit of spit added after the fir I'd thrown but the spit of some middle aged pothead is still better than lettuce or mustard.Out in the car I took one lok in the mirror and realized why those people kept staring at me as if I was crazy. My freaky little white eyebrows  were still colored as was the Hitler portion of my mustache.Somewhere, a former Whataburger employee is probably blogging about the Christmas where some crazed guy with flocked eyebrows and mustache came in ranting and raving about meat and cheese only.

Another Second Rate Santa Saga - Ye Olde Yuletide Log

The shopping days are dwindling, Jack Frost is nipping right along, and credit card CEOs are grinning. Yep, we're smack in the middle of Christmas season so here is a new edition of my Santa tales.I'm the kind of guy who tries to have fun regardless of the situation. You can call it what you will - finding the silver lining, making lemonade out of lemons, believing there might be a diamond inside that lump of coal in my stocking. So even though playing Santa wasn't all Ho, Ho, Hos and gold tinsel, I tried to have fun. Though my idea of fun and others isn't always the same, as this story illustrates.Santa's domain sat smack dab in the middle of the mall. The set consisted of a small house open on three sides, a white picket fence which contained white cotton spread out on the ground to look like snow and a bunch of mechanical elves and reindeer. Some of the elves waved, others bent to pick up a package, or slowly turned their heads. But they all moved in some way as did the reindeer.Kids often asked about these mechanical critters and I would tell them that elf is named Squirtamirt or that one is Higgligiggle. And the reindeer I'd call Comet or Blitzen or whatever struck my fancy at the time. None had a red nose so I'd tell the kids that Rudolph was up on the roof.Also from time to time I'd stand up, because my butt got sick of sitting for hours on end in that dang red velvet chair. Santa tried not to dig out the wedgies while anyone was watching but a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do. When I stood to "stretch" I'd always wave at the kids along the fence and shout out, "Merry Christmas!" I'd also have a little fun with Galen, my boss.The mall provided us with Oatmeal Creme Pies to hand out to every kid, whether they paid for a picture or not. I like Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies myself, so in order to maintain the proper Santa physique I indulged in one, or two, or ten a night. Thus, I always had a few of the little round brown patties of goodness in my pocket.If you have an aversion to bathroom humor and the immature actions of adult males -- stop reading now. If not proceed.Did you know an oatmeal creme pie, removed from it's cellophane package and rolled up looks a lot like a human turd? Alarmingly similar of the person who rolls us said cookie goes to the added trouble of tapering each end.I left one of these "presents" under an elf for Galen to find and when he did, I got quit a reaction. He squinted, stepped closer, squinted some more. Then he called me over and pointed. "What is that?"Waving to the kids, I said, "I don't know."Galen scratched his head and bent down for a closer look. "Looks like a turd," He finally said.Trying hard to maintain a straight face I chimed in with, "Guess Elves gotta go to.""Well pick it up," Galen said."I'm not picking it up. It wouldn't look very Santa-like to go around picking up Elf crap. Now would it?"Galen stared some more. "What do you think it is, Really?"I continued to wave, "Beats me."Finally, he bent down to pick it up and found it to be softer and stickier than he ever imagined. The look on his face combined with the fact he nearly gagged had me laughing so hard tears filled my eyes. There for a few seconds he really believed that Elf had laid a yuletide log and my only regret is that he threw the thing in the trash before I had a chance to grab it and take a bite, ala Bill Murray in Caddyshack.