Travis Thrasher's Blog, page 17

All Things All At Once

Pried apart these pieces. So many, scattered and shaken. Blowing away in the first big storm. The strain of the sun until the glow of the moon. I still stare up. The silence rolls to the noise. Steady, swerving, straight ahead, sideways. We ride along bumpy roads going nowhere. These tunes sound familiar but never sung before. These stories seem strangely told but we’re telling them for the first time. These colors—there are so many and yet I’m a color-blind soul. Sigh when you’re alone and save the breaths for the moments. See the stars and count them all until the morning comes. Find the place in the backyard where the grass is wet and there are no familiar footprints. Just be still. Take it all in with open hands. Let me see those palms. Keep them flat. Keep them straight. Keep them bowed. The world watches but then disappears the next second. The wind captures us running as fast as we can, then sucks us apart. Time. To be still. To run ragged. Time. To want more. To fear more. Time. Keep the hands open and the heart still. Keep the eyes up and the knees down. Keep dreaming. It’ll keep. No matter the time. No matter the date. They’re all numbers spiraling skyward like pockets of clouds. Passing you by. Fading away. Drifting on. But you’re still here. You’re still here. And there’s work to be done. And there’s love to be shown. And there’s life to be lived. Open hands. A beating heart. Here we go. 

Wonderful Words

My fiction. I want to race away and keep you all to myself. The stories I’ve told and want to tell.
My fear. These shadows and spaces and stars and silences all bottled up and tied to my belt and bouncing around with every step I take.
My fantasy. The sweetest scenario and the time and the space to just stay in the city day and night and morning and noontime.
My failure. What I want the most when I want it without worry or wonder.
My fun. All I imagine and can sum up and try to state and try to figure out and keep trying and always be surprised and always find more story to tell.
My fate. An echo of an echo and a reflection in a mirror all circling all holding me still.
My friend. The story I write every day working with words so fragile and free and with pieces of parts so familiar and so known.             
My freeform. The verses and the lyrics and the choruses and the words I scoop up and hold in my two hands like the precious newborn they are.
My fondness. Relaxed, fitted, not fully formed but accepting, understanding, hoping, dreaming through the night ‘till tomorrow, ‘till the words keep flowing, keep finding their way, keep rising and falling, keep coming, and then stay a while. 

From A Fan Of The Solitary Tales . . .

(On October 23, I received the following email from a fan of The Solitary Tales. A big fan. I asked if I could share this because--well, it's not every day an author gets a note like this. I love The Solitary Tales and hope and dream of doing more with Chris Buckley. BE WARNED: SPOILERS AHEAD!) 


Hi Travis,Two years. That’s how long it’s been. A lot happens in two years. Children finish high school and start adult lives in the military or in college. A few pounds (a very conservative guess) get tacked on. Summers come and summers go. Christmas presents are wrapped, opened, new ones wrapped and opened again. Much laughter, a few tears.A lot happens.But one thing over these two years I have not been able to do is file away or suppress my time in Solitary, NC.Two years ago today, I had watched my Detroit Lions lose another game. It would be a bright season, but that day they were the same old Lions. As that hopeless October Sunday game began to wind down, I turned off the television, sat down in my family room and resumed reading SOLITARY.I found myself about 60% through, and I only expected to finish a little bit more, perhaps read through the upcoming Thanksgiving events. But then, and I should have expected it, the joy of Chris's holiday with Jocelyn became overshadowed by the kidnapping of Chris' mom. The plot continued to take more twists and the excitement and suspense further tightened. Characters in even more danger. My thumb began to beat the next page button on my Kindle faster and faster, unable to keep up with my reading eyes and absorbing mind.Here comes Chris. The gods of everything goes wrong had gotten away this entire book with unnecessary roughness and blatant piling on. He's running through the woods. He knows where to find the girl he loves, the girl he swore he'd protect. He’s going to grab the brutal evil and horror of this town by the throat once and for all. Save Jocelyn and the day. Sail into the sunset hand in hand. Here was the introduction to the story I'd already read and didn't understand at first, but now being read in clarity with the body of the book behind me. Chrystal clear and the suspense overwhelming. I sat up in my seat.He’s almost there. Yes!He’s found the confidence he needs. Yes!He has the gun and will use it again. YES! He’s at the edge of the woods and sees the clearing. C'MON CHRIS, YOU'VE GOT THIS!!He sees her! YES, YES, YES!!!!I leaned forward, now hunched over my Kindle like a starved animal protecting a morsel of food.– turn the page –"She's beautiful" is now "She's gone."A loud groan bled into a long sigh that expired with the last bit of air in my lungs. My muscles went slack and I fell back into the couch, encountering your gamble in story-telling I was not prepared for. Not one bit. I had become the victim of your pen and it was stuck right through my heart.I finished the rest of SOLITARY defeated, heart and soul beaten. Every bit of emotion spent. Well, every emotion but anger. I turned off the Kindle, swallowed hard on the lump in my throat, and just sat there, resigned and unable to move while the last bit of sun from that unusually warm fall day beamed over my shoulder into the family room. Sounds of kids playing football in their backyard came in through the open window. A dog barked down the street as angry with someone for walking across his yard as I was with you. My dog barked his support to both of us at the open front door.I did not realize that my mind had just taken a hi-definition snapshot of everything in that moment in time, a memory usually reserved for assassinations and space shuttle disasters for those “where were you when” conversations. I finally got up and walked to the kitchen and set the Kindle down while uttering seven words under my breath that I did not know I would be eating in just a few days, “No more of that series for me.”Nope.But what about those characters? Uh-uh.Those mysteries? No way.But what happens next? I don't care, my heart can't take anymore. The rest of Sunday's foul mood bled into Monday. Rihanna's song “We Found Love” was in constant rotation on the radio at that time and each time it played that day I was reminded of Chris and Jocelyn. Fall colors seen on my commute sent my mind running through the woods of North Carolina with a demon dog nipping at its heels. The traffic reporter mentioned the wait time for crossing the Tunnel into Canada and his next words echoed, “Christopher, come to me,” then cackling laughter.Apparently, the pen that had pierced my heart in SOLITARY had gone clean through and nailed me to the rest of this tale.I broke my promise and downloaded and finished GRAVESTONE. Soon after, SOMETHING I CAN NEVER HAVE eased my wait for TEMPTATION which was further comforted by your gracious gift of an advanced reader copy of it. HURT got pushed back for baseball but its release eventually arrived, and the series was finally, mercifully completed.During that time, I took notes and hi-lighted what I thought were clues and even kept a calendar of the events hoping to piece those clues together. I hung on every podcast interview and review on Fiction Addict (which I found googling SOLITARY) looking for answers or bridges connecting what I’d found. (And believe me, I couldn't help but give consideration to Josh's idea regarding penguins lol!) I googled about flowers. I followed your status updates and blog, tried to solve your riddles on Facebook, voted on potential covers for HURT, made a video even. Now it's over. Now I could have my life back.Or so I thought.Here I am, two years later, remembering the vivid details of my experience with SOLITARY, and reminiscing about this story concepted over a basket of nachos and salsa. The second anniversary of finishing the beginning of what inarguably became the most taught, suspenseful, mind-grabbing, heart-wrenching, mysterious, loveable character driven tale I’ve ever encountered, but the first anniversary without another part of its story, its mysteries, or its characters on the known horizon to look forward to.I've already mentioned to you in previous correspondence my hope that a sequel is eventually considered by a publisher, a movie deal comes along, that more B Sides find their way to my Kindle. I also look forward to more blog posts like you’ve done that offer additional snapshots into the Solitary Tales world. Tell Chris, Poe, Kelsey, and Newt (and Jocelyn if you’re ever channeling the spirit world), that I miss them and hope to see them again real soon.But the real reason for this note is to offer the testimony of what your story did to this reader and a thanks again on this second anniversary for telling The Solitary Tales. It was the biggest and best thrill ride I've been on in my soon to be 50 years.
Best wishes and God bless you and your family Travis, and your writing.John
P.S. I have since forgiven you for what happened to Jocelyn :)

Seventy Times Seven

            Lean on over and let me see through your eyes.            Larger than life higher than I can see full of so much simply full.             The busy brash bold bragging world out there breaks up into a hundred pieces until I see something real something wonderful.             I’m floating like a balloon.             And full I’m laughing like someone full of helium full of life full of love.             In this world we don’t need sense we don’t need commas we don’t need to figure out anything we can just be.             Bursting like fire working over the moon and under the sun.             Blinking to see if this is really all there is to see.             The dark corners are dark enough for me to take.             The right-hand detours are sharp enough for me to steer.             The one-way streets are no longer needed to go down. God knows I’ve driven down some of them the wrong way.             The road is narrow but it’s still yours to stay on. With those bright bold eyes keep looking keep dreaming keep being.             Keep being you, Kylie.             This brilliant tiny breathless gift from above.             Now so tall so electric so you.             You’ll always be my buddy even if you don’t read a sentence of anything I’ve written.             I’m going to be your guide God help me and your parent good Lord I need patience and your father Spirit stay with me.             I’ll occasionally take the view from the other side. If I can if I slow down to try.             I love you little girl. I always will.             Always always always always always always always.             Seventy times seven.             And then some. 

TIME FOR ME TO COME HOME Nashville Area Events!

There are two exciting events coming up in the Nashville area on December 3 & 4 that I'm excited to tell you about! 

Please join us on Tuesday, December 3 for an intimate evening with singer/songwriters Jimmy Robbins, Christa Wells & Nicole Witt, along with author Travis Thrasher to celebrate the release of Travis’ new book TIME FOR ME TO COME HOME, which "celebrates the spirit of Christmas and the true meaning of finding your way back home."

Doors open at 6pm and the concert begins 7pm.

Tickets can be purchased online here: 

$25 per person- (autographed hardback book included)

$40 per couple - (autographed hardback book included)

or...

Tickets can also be purchased at the door:

$30 per person- (autographed hardback book included)

$45 per couple- (autographed hardback book included)

Come enjoy dinner, dessert, melodies & harmonies accompanied by guitar, keys, and fiddle. Hear Travis Thrasher read excerpts from his new book & take home your own autographed hardcopy in time for Christmas (and also play the cowbell)!

The event will be held in Lebanon, TN - near intersection of 109/70 (Address will be emailed to guests prior to event).

Also, on Wednesday, December 4, Christa Wells and Nicole Witt will perform at a book release party for Travis Thrasher at Pucketts. Other artists include Jimmy Robbins and Gwen Sebastian. The event begins at 7:30 and tables can be reserved by calling (615)794-5527 or by going online at http://www.puckettsgrocery.com/franklin/. The event starts at 7:30 p.m. 

For those in the Nashville/Lebanon area, I'd love to see some of you while I'm close to your area! 

Living The Dream

            I’ve gone from silent and confused going along for the ride. Then to the life of a party I don’t want to end. I found a door open and I bolted through to build something. Then I found myself burned out and bitter and, worst of all, believing I was entitled. Then I found myself both broken and blessed.             Leading me to this place on the page. An endless sea of white in front of me full of question marks and commas and exclamation points.             It’s funny to live the dream I’ve wanted to since I was in third grade. The sights look different than I thought they’d be. The feelings, however, sometimes linger on. The feelings of uncertainty and restfulness and complete terror.             Yet the words have remained at my side.             Weeks sometimes pass. Isolated weeks compressed with projects. Lost in little worlds of my own making. Breathers come and beautiful people come across my path. But I always go back to that place. The one where it’s time to work with the words again. I wanted to say “wrestle” but I don’t do that. Words are my friends and I borrow them. I want them to like me. I want them to treat me kindly.             Occasionally, they’re good to me.               The life I couldn’t control as a youth grew to be one I thought I could control. But in both cases, God wanted me to understand something. Nobody controls it except Him. Nobody is the author of their own life except Him.             I’m stubborn and hard-headed and sometimes I’ve simply put on the noise-canceling headphones of life and kept running. But God likes unplugging them or letting the battery in them die or allowing me to keep running right into a brick wall.            I’m attempting to let Him control things. Not just the writing but everything. It’s a long To-Do list that I haven’t even finished. I never get around to finishing it, either.             Thankfully, God is patient and loving.             And thankfully, He keeps letting me do this writing thing.             I say something occasionally and sincerely mean it. I simply want to keep doing this writing thing and take care of my family. And I want to do so without killing myself.             So far, so good.             Well, sometimes the good is average, but that’s okay.             The kid who wanted to do it and then actually started to do it and then got into this in order to do it is DOING IT. Morning, noon, and night. He’s writing.             What a privilege.             Last week several unexpected projects came my way. Possibilities of picking up some words and working with them. Each one different, each one interesting, each one certainly something I could have never predicted.             I didn’t do this for fame and certainly not for fortune. Never.             I’ve wanted to do this because of the way I’m wired. Fortunately, I’ve learned and I keep learning.             I’ve received praise along the way.             I’ve also seen doors continue to open.             I don’t want to be cynical and I don’t ever want to grow entitled again.             I don’t want to battle with the craft. I want to respect it and have some fun with it. I want to keep trying, keep working, keep providing for my family, keep dreaming, keep plugging away.             And then I want to wake up one day and finish my own To Kill A Mockingbird.             It’s as lofty of a dream as the one that third grader living in Germany had. I won’t know or believe it happened the same way I don’t feel I’m living the dream.             But Travis—you are living the dream.             Doing the thing you were born to do. Day after day after day.             Thank you, God. 

The Random Glorious Melancholy

            Of course.             The fireworks shoot straight up toward the sky and almost reach it. Almost.             Sure.             The moon bends and hangs and swings when you’re not looking straight at it.             Yes.             Dawn scratches on your blinds like some unseen stranger by your bedside.             Certainly.                         The chance brilliant bursting bunch of joy awaits in tiny compressed bits.             You hold back. Again. You stare out. Again. You wonder and watch and wait for something you’re not sure you’re asking for. But you hear it and it’s almost here.             Flickers.             Like wings of a butterfly amplified times a million.             Breathe in.             You can feel something you can’t sum up in words. Those hollow, short, ugly little four and five and six-letter street signs. Forcing you to stop and turn around and slow down but always and forever you want to go and keep going and keep talking and keep them coming one after another.             Still.             Something around the bend and something rising with the sun. Something hanging in the midday sky and something drifting back off to space.             So many wonderful little somethings you can’t sum up because you’re not sure what they mean or stand for or signify.             But they’re all beautiful every one of them.             You scoop them up with scarred hands and watch them slip through fingers.             They remain and they continue and they heal.             You close your eyes but still see them. They accompany in dreams and they shine in nightmares and they find you. Eventually they find you.             You look up and look out and hear it drifting. Softly. Like eyelids that slip asleep and remain closed until you’re free at dawn brushing them open again. 

Tips For Fellow Artists

            Believe it’s a gift but don’t believe you’re gifted.            Behave as if you’re still only at the beginning.            Be true to yourself but be humble enough to admit you don’t really have a clue.            Don’t compare and don’t overshare.            Don’t enjoy the shadows but stay in them for a while.            Make lists and make lists of lists.            Circle important points and stick them up on your bulletin board of life so you see them daily.            Soak it in and let it inspire and lift you higher.            Squeeze out all the drops of jealousy and contempt and disregard.            It’s easy to stay in your bubble and float high above everybody else, but pop yourself out and find yourself falling.            Face first on the ground is a good place to discover things. Yourself and your soul and your worth.            You can survey the scene and appreciate a little bit of everything.            The arrogant ego has something to offer.            The young superstar has something to teach you.            The wise old sage has an ocean of wisdom.            The comparable but oh-so-different artist still has something to give.            Open up your hands and your heart and take it all in.            Then start running. Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger.            Find yourself flying again.            Don’t let the weight of the world pull you down.            Give yourself and your talents over to your maker.            Wring yourself of worries.            Then do what you were made to do. In the big and small of this life and all the big and small it offers. Take it all and create.            Create your next masterpiece.            Full of inspiration and free of indignation.            This is a place you belong. Just don’t act like you belong.            Remember it’s a gift, and this is a special place, and you are a special person.            Make memories and magic and let every other mess fall by the wayside.            Make the messes your own. Celebrate them. And make them into tiny miracles.

A Hundred

            I have a hundred songs that sum me up better than I can say.             A hundred snapshots that look more like me than any mirror can.             A hundred places that are me peeled away to the core.             A hundred pieces that are broken and don’t fit but somehow all amount to me.             A hundred moments I can pinpoint when I became a little more of who I am today.             A hundred glances I wish I could bottle up and store away at sea.             A hundred sounds I’d love to replay time and time again.             A hundred words that come together in some sort of cryptic poem.             A hundred laughs that could fill a horizon full of hot air balloons.             A hundred questions that still get asked more each day.             A hundred answers that I still long to find.             I am a hundred different people to a hundred different people             A hundred different faces I find myself forced to make.             But in the end I’m really just one person with one song and one soul.             I’m one snapshot and one story needing one savior.            I could write a hundred books that all amount to that one simple fact.             A hundred voices inside my head say I’ll do it, too. 

Ten Great Storytelling Techniques Learned From Breaking Bad

             Somehow I managed to never watch one episode of Breaking Bad while it was on television. Friends and family told me I had to watch it over the years, yet I didn’t. I was busy. We had twins born in 2010. I was working on sweet little stories and didn’t want a dark show to mess with my headspace. So I remained in the dark and spoiler-free until two weeks ago, when I started the series on a Saturday night.             Two weeks later, I finished watching all sixty-two glorious episodes. What a ride.             I’ll probably end up sharing my love for BB on this blog, but I wanted to share ten reasons why I think the show works so well. These were lessons and reminders to me about the power of storytelling and what the show did so well.                                     1. CARE for your character                                    In the first half hour of the first show, we are introduced to a lovable loser named Walter White who is a good husband and father. His son has cerebral palsy. The family is barely scraping by. Then the unthinkable happens: Walter discovers he has cancer.
            2.  Make your character WANT something
            After discovering he has cancer, Walter White makes two decisions. First, he wants to take care of his family and leave them with a sound financial future. Second, he wants to take care of his cancer on his own terms.
            3. Have your main character go on a PHYSICAL and an EMOTIONAL journey                       The physical journey in Breaking Bad is what made it so irresistible and fascinating. Walter White decides to start making meth in order to provide for his family. He’s a great chemist so he knows exactly what to do. His motivation is good even though HE’S MAKING METH!             The emotional journey is that Walter, who has been living his whole life by simply going through the motions, finally decides to breakout of his fog and start living on his terms. He wants to die the way he wants to. He wants to take control, so he does in the only way he knows how to.             Of course, these decisions and journeys go from bad to worse, which is part of the amazing journey Walter and his loved ones are on.
            4. SHOCK and SURPRISE your viewers (readers)
            I won’t start spoiling things for those of you who haven’t watched the series or are just starting to. But there’s enough shock and awe just in the opening few episodes that gives you a taste of what’s to come. It’s great to start thinking how’s he going to get out of this and then suddenly think that didn’t just happen did it? That’s the beauty and the allure of Breaking Bad.  
            5. BREAK viewers (readers) HEARTS
            If you care about a character, you want good things for him and those he cares for. You start to invest in him. Then he starts breaking your heart. Or maybe the circumstances do it. Breaking Bad is all about grief and secrets. It answers some scary questions: What would you do to take care of your family if you knew you were going to die? What depths would you be willing to go to?                         6. Make room for LEVITY
            I think any good story has to have some levity. Breaking Bad is a show full of hilarious moments. The whole premise has some humor—a chemistry teacher who suddenly starts making meth. But when things take a turn for the worse (and they keep doing so time and time again), there’s some brilliance in the writing. Even death can sometimes be frighteningly funny. It keeps a dark show about a dark soul as light as it can possibly be (therefore very watchable).
            7. BUILD toward an EXCITING conclusion people can’t wait to see (and maybe at the same time don’t want to see!)
            One of the reasons I suddenly became addicted to the show was that I couldn’t wait to see how it ended. I had made it all these years being spoiler-free, but now I was getting scared. If I started talking to somebody about the show, I’d deliberately interrupt whatever they might want to tell me with a “I don’t want to hear a single word!” warning. But I had to find out what happens. When do the secrets and lies come out? What happens when they do? Who ends up living and dying? And is there any sort of hope for these desperate, lost souls?
            8. Have it RELATE to the reader/viewer
            Walter White and his family are very relatable when the series begins. They are an ordinary family doing ordinary things. Until, of course, Walter starts cooking and starts killing bad guys. Walter loses himself and his soul but his family is still very much in the picture. It’s still easy to relate to these people. And we still are sympathetic to Walter because of his cancer or to people like Jesse Pinkman who just needs a hug instead of a hit of meth.
            9. Be AUTHENTIC
            I don’t know about the world of meth making and DEA and all that, but I know the makers of Breaking Bad took pains to make sure they got that world right. It’s very believable to me. I never once asked myself if something like that could happen. The ordinary-guy-in-an-extraordinary-world is the scenario they have set up. But it’s not just that. The emotions behind these characters (displayed by an amazing set of actors) are the things that made this show come to life in such a vivid way.
            10. Cloak a story about LIFE & DEATH into a familiar genre. People feel COMFORTABLE in genres. People CARE about life and death.
            The longer time goes by, the less I care about this word called genre (not that I’ve ever really cared about it anyway). It’s just a box that helps sells your story. A story could be a “romance” or a “thriller” or a “sci-fi” story. It doesn’t matter. That’s just the window dressing to get you into the shop.             What matters are the characters in the story and whether people care about them. What matters are the stakes. What matters are the issues of life and death.             Sometimes, I think I don’t make my stakes big enough. I don’t make my characters relatable enough.             If you have readers or viewers that care about a character and their journey, they’re willing to go on whatever journey you have in whatever genre you’re working in.
            Breaking Bad was an amazing trip and it ended in a brilliant way. It gave me lots of reminders about the craft of storytelling. It’s going to be a story I revisit in the future. Now I just have to stop dreaming about making meth.