Travis Thrasher's Blog, page 20

Farewell Kindergarten

            If I could, I’d keep you in kindergarten. The tallest one with the biggest smile. The strawberry-blonde beauty who follows and who makes friends easily. The miracle who melted our hearts and is growing up.             When did you get so smart? Where did that attitude come from? What are you thinking when you give your father one of those looks? Why are you no longer this tiny little bundle I can carry around in one arm?            You might think we baby and spoil your twin sisters but you don’t know. You will never know there was one princess we babied and spoiled more than both of them combined. One day we can show you all the pictures and videos but still—you won’t get it. And that’s okay as long as you feel loved.             I love you little girl but you know something? I like you a lot too. I just like you. Your laugh makes me laugh. You wild energy can be contagious. Sure, you make us crazy just like any six-year-old might do, but still. I like how you lead your sisters but you never boss around others. I like how you watch. I like how you look out the window when a favorite song of yours plays. I like the moments when you really are a great big sister. I like the times you surprise us with doing something or saying something. I like how you still act like you're the only two-year-old I have around.            I like you Kylie. I tell you I love you all the time but I really do like you, too.             The years since your dynamo sisters have been born have been tough ones, but I hope you don’t feel that. I hope you feel they’ve been fun and busy and crazy. I hope you still feel as special as you did before they were born. You will always be the first girl to come along. You will always be our only Kylie. Nobody and nothing compares to you. For several years, we were able to give our hearts fully to you. Now we just have to share them. But that’s okay. You can share your heart too.             Kindergarten ends tomorrow. In some ways, I’m glad. But in other ways, I’m a little sad. Where’s that little girl going? What’s going to happen when first grade ends, or third, or sixth, or ninth grade?             I hope and pray that God watches over you and your heart in the upcoming years. I hope He gives your parents the strength and the wisdom to be good parents. And I hope you will always like your father, the way I like you.             You’re special, Kylie. I never want you to forget that. Sometimes, you’re so special that means you’re in deep trouble, that you’re not getting a treat, that we’re taking money out of your piggybank. But most of the time, you’re special because you’re you.             Don’t ever change that. Don’t ever change you. ‘Cause I really like you.             Thank you, Heavenly Father, for giving us Kylie Shea Thrasher. 

My Little Song For A Saturday Night

            My mind is muddled. That clear view has gotten foggy.             The important things don’t seem so important anymore. It’s hard to even judge them because of all the other more important things.             There’s faith and purpose. There are numbers and figures. There’s Joy and Grace. There’s morning and night. Everything else fades into the whirlwind.             Thirty-six seems like another life. Twenty-seven doesn’t even seem imaginable. Sixteen, however, still somehow seems so close.             The seasons pass, so they say, but this season hovers like some phantom menace. The same scenarios and the same statements and the same scenes seem to follow my story. I might blink and be an old man but sometimes I blink and find I’m already one.             Right when I got right in my head my world fell apart. Right when my dreams came true, three more were answered. Right when the howls in my head seemed to follow me at every turn, all I could hear was the little laughter.             I don’t want personal fans. But I want fans of my work. I feel the failure typing the days away, yet I hold books in my hand I’m very proud of. Someone says success and I nod and laugh because I feel like such a failure all the time. A failure living out his dreams day after day.             I’m as connected as I ever was, realizing I’ve held many at arm’s length while supposedly wearing my emotions on my sleeve. I’m used to being an actor in a role. A chameleon. Bendable and breakable but somehow never broken. Somehow always broken.             The dreams I had at sixteen and twenty-seven and thirty-six are just that. Dreams. Today is reality. Today is different. Today pedals faster than ever before and yet I never find a hill to coast down. It’s uphill day after day as if I’m biking up Mount Everest.             And yet. There are a hundred yets you can imagine. The good ones, the blessed ones, the teachable ones.             It’s a weird thing, this thing we call age. I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m fighting having to wear glasses. I’m fighting the specks of gray on my sideburns and beard. I’m fighting but I have no reason to put up a fight. But that’s what I’ve done all my life like some breathless soul-sucking rebellious and brilliant little toddler. I’ve wandered just out of curiosity. I’ve wailed just out of whininess. I’ve wrecked just because I could.             I have twin mirrors looking back at me daily. This season. Yeah.             This is my little song for a Saturday night in a house full of little sick ones. It feels good getting this out. If I put it on my blog, okay. If you read it, cool. The Shih Tzu sitting beside me snoring seems to care less. The National song playing in my headphones won't care either.             But there are those who care. Watching from above and watching from below. Reminding me of the dreams that do matter. And so I write through squinting eyes, reminding myself of those things. Whispering them in my ear once again. Just one more time today.             Tomorrow, I’ll do the same in a different way.  

Never Let Go

Exactly a year ago today, I heard the testimony of a couple that completely affected me in a beautiful sort of way. I'd met Mac and Mary Owen through working on the novelization of Home Run. The movie's producer had told me to listen to the Owens' testimony on the DVDs I'd received, but for some reason I could never get this new DVD to work. 

A year ago I had driven to Detroit to attend a Celebrate Recovery One Day leadership training event. I wanted to connect with the Home Run team. Seconds before the Owens were going to give their testimony at this One Day, Mary came and told me they were going to do this. She knew I hadn't heard it yet. 

I sat in a back pew eager to hear it. I already really liked both of them and I was excited to hear them share their story. 

Three minutes into it, I was wiping tears off my face. Near the end something inside me had changed. Their story is really, truly one of amazing grace. 

As someone who has spent his writing career telling stories of broken people on journeys toward redemption, there I was hearing a true story more unbelievable than anything I could ever imagine. 

I told them right afterwards they needed to write a book. Most of the time, I'm thinking I should write something or collaborate with someone on a book, but this time, I wasn't thinking of myself. I just said their story had to be told in a book form. 

A year later, the book is at the printer ready to be printed. I think I can easily say this is the most important book I've ever been a part of. God is using Mac and Mary in an amazing way. I'm thrilled and humbled to have been allowed to help them write their memoir. It really, truly is a beautiful story. I can't wait for all of you to read it. 

(Never Let Go will release mid-June. To preorder a copy, go here.)

What I'm Going For

            Emotional authenticity. That’s what I’m looking for.             If you want a living room painted in prose or a subdivision summed up or some kind of colorful picture presented before you, look elsewhere. That bores me. I bet it bores you, too.             We all know what living rooms look like and when you’re that into them, you should be looking at interior design magazines and not reading books.             I want the core of a relationship presented on the page. In the only way I can do it.             I get bored with too many words. I also always want to share the thoughts and the feeling and the emotion. Gushing away. Overflowing. Sentiment. Dripping. Yep. I overdo it and even when edited I might overdo it. So be it.             I’d rather overdo emotion than description. If you want to see a beautiful sunset, go outside and watch it. I want to see a beautiful goodbye. I want to see the sunset fade onto a dying character finally full of hope. I want to find two unlikely characters suddenly put together and dealing with it in an authentic way. Not in a by-the-book plot-point sort of way. I want to do it in a way that feels real to me.             I like the simple conversations you’ll remember decades later. I like the meaningful connections that change you. I love and adore and grasp on to the hope I see on a daily basis. God is real so sometimes He is real to characters I write. Sometimes. But not every time.             There’s a scene we’ve seen a hundred times before. It bores me. What I love is trying to sum up the mood, the melody, the meandering of life as we know it. Hopefully I can drag along a character who is changing. Who is learning. Who is growing. But who is also every much like me.             Stubborn. Selfish. Sarcastic. Cynical. Suspicious. Secret. In love with alliteration. In love with those simple, sweet moments that need some kind of beautiful soundtrack behind it.             This is who I am. This is what I’m looking for.             I have a hundred ideas I couldn’t write even if I was able to live a hundred more years. But in the midst of those, other projects come. I love them. I’m able to find the things I love to find and I try to do it in a fresh and meaningful way. I think it’s making sense and I think I’m trying to wrap stories around hope and I really think I’ve got a unique voice but whatever. Some get it and some don’t.             I get it. This thing I’m striving for. An emotional moment or a mood portrayed in an authentic way. A series of them stringing unlikely heroes along until they may or may not find themselves and find their hope in life.             Every day I’m still trying. Every day I’m still searching. Every day is a challenge. But those moments—those count for something. I love them. And I try my best. And I’m always going to keep trying. 

The Closed Door

                Don’t take it personal.            Don’t tell yourself the time spent on this was wasted.            Go ahead and give up if you want to (but do you really want to?).            It could be a blessing in disguise.            This “No” could lead to another “Yes” down the road.            You can learn and become better.            You can try again and succeed.           You can stand outside this closed door and wonder and wait and watch and worry about all the why’s but my encouragement is to not waste the time and energy.           Look for another open door. Climb through a window. Perhaps walk through an open entryway that leads to something bigger and better.            The work is experience.            The effort is necessary.            Nobody said this would be easy (but nothing ever is easy).            You keep trying.            You’ll keep failing.            But you’ll keep learning.            And you’ll keep making progress.            The journey is everything. 

7 Questions With Robert Peters From HOME RUN

 #1. How did you end up playing JT in Home Run? 
That is a question that makes me smile to answer. I was actually coming home to Tulsa (where I grew up) to help my Mom. And it happened to be the same week they were doing final readings/callbacks for Home Run. So I was in the right place at the right time because I was there for what I like to believe was the right reason! 
Before I left Los Angeles I had been referred to Carol Matthews (the producer) through my good friend in Tulsa, Jim Edwards. Jim sent Carol an email on my behalf and thankfully Carol knew of me and I think some of my work. Casting had said originally they wanted someone a bit older than me, but they said they would let me read for the role of JT.  Sure glad they did and sure glad David Boyd liked my choices for presenting JT.
#2. Sum up Home Run in your own words. 
With the backdrop of baseball, a story of hope and overcoming obstacles. 
#3. What was your favorite part of working on the set for Home Run? 
The fact that it was on location in Tulsa and I could see family and friends. And even have my nephew play a small role (as JT's son!).
#4. Tell us about your character, JT. 
JT is a counselor for Celebrate Recovery. And he has been through recovery of alcoholism himself. And he sees the potential in Cory to overcome the struggles he is going through. 
#5. You've been in everything from Ocean's Eleven to Lincoln. What advice would you give someone just starting to act?  
Tenacity. Success happens fast for some people, but for most, it's a roller coaster ride. Enjoy the great moments. I’ve had many: working with people who were my heroes growing up and helping to tell stories I'm proud to be a part of telling. And in the tougher times when work is scarce, try to stay thick skinned and not take things too personally. 
#6. What would you say to someone like Cory Brand in real life?
I hope I would say about the same as in the movie. Especially at his nadir or any low point. I think often less is more.   #7. What's next for you? 
I have a film that I did in Puerto Rico called Welcome to the Jungle, a comedy that is premiering this weekend at the Newport Beach Film Festival. I hope it will be released theatrically this summer, but not sure. Has a lot of great comedy actors and also Jean Claude Van Damme doing a comedic role. It was directed by Rob Meltzer who also directed me in a short film I did awhile back with John Stamos.
I also shot a couple of  comedic commercials, one for Fed-Ex ("Arnold Palmer or Mark Steffenhagen"), and ING ("built in sauce rack") that are currently running. And am hoping to make another film of my own in the not too distant future. I've directed and/or produced a few short films and independent features.
Thanks so much for your time, Robert! For more information on Robert Peters, check out his profile on Home Run is in theaters now!! Go to HomeRunTheMovie.com to check out show times close to you. 

Where I'm At

            Crushed by urgency. That’s where I’m at. If you really want to know.             I make fists to force my fingers not to share too much. The world I lived in as a teen was one of silence, yet this world is so full of noise. Endless, reckless noise. Everybody is a hero and everyone shares a stage and a spotlight. Sometimes, I just want to run back in time to those silent days.             Sometimes.             I awake and go to bed living the dream. And I try not to forget. I try to remind myself this is what I wanted to do, this is what I love to do. And I still love it. And I’m getting better. And there’s another little nugget of information regarding my writing journey that I haven’t shared but that I know—without a doubt—has helped me. That has suddenly made me much better. Overnight. Just like that. But yeah. Whatever.             The frustrating industry hasn’t changed, yet the world around it has skyrocketed into spaces nobody could have imagined or dreamed. I have watched in the middle, a pawn moved around by unseen forces. Every now and then, I manage to capture another piece in the game. But mostly, I just move ahead, into another box, into another space, surrounded by kings and queens and rooks and knights. Yet I stay on the board.             Somehow, I still remain.             Everyday I learn a little about myself and what I’m supposed to do and what I wish I could have done ten or twenty years ago. I don’t carry the regrets—I’d get nowhere weighed down by them all. What I choose to do is look at all the wonder and joy surrounding me.             Many days I’m awakened by little laughter. I see the whirl of three little ladies every morning and noon and night. I feel like they’re stuck with me in this canoe in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly I’m living out my personal Life of Pi with toddlers replacing the tiger. I have to figure out how to get to shore not for myself but for the princesses letting me steer for them.             I try—I really do—to hear the praise. Not a day goes by when I don’t hear something, yet it often sounds like compliments hurled across the Grand Canyon. I hear the words yet they quickly disappear.             I sit here and honestly say that things have never looked so optimistic, so positive, so possible. A future full of marvel, full of beauty, full. Yet the coin often falls to the other side and reminds me how far I have to go, and how tough the ground has become, and how ugly and awful things seem to be.             Those whispers of doubt that demons love to lie and let linger.             So I paddle. I battle the elements. And I wonder if I’m half insane, half delirious.            Yet every now and then, I’m in the middle of something, a glorious storm of words and story, and I know that I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be here letting the wind whip my hair and letting the rain pound on my face and letting the Heavens test. I stand firm and know I’m supposed to be here.             Because there’s a message I’m supposed to be talking about. There’s a theme I’m supposed to be sharing. As the non-brand that I am, there’s something I keep coming back to, time and time again.             When I look out I can see it.             When I close my eyes I can feel it.             When I see those passing my way I can realize it.             Hope.             A horizontal and a vertical line.             An intersection of love.             A beautiful cross.             I can’t tell you what will happen tomorrow. I just hope I hear those little footsteps in the morning and hear the laughter following. Then it will all start again. Possibility. Potential. Promise.             Amidst the utter chaos.             Amidst the urgency.             That’s what’s happening. That’s what I’m up to. That’s what fills me.             But if you see me, I’ll laugh and make a joke and be a goof and then move on. I’ll move on to the pages where I can be me again, and I can do what I need to do. 

The Song Remains The Same

             This song and its sound seem vaguely familiar. Have you followed me this far into the future?             I recognize your sweet little face. The one without worry and wrinkles. I see that familiar smile. I know what you’re thinking. I know you’re not thinking about anything. I know you’re just living and breathing without worry.             I’d worry a little if I were you.             I can sing to your chorus. I still know every word, every inflection. I always will.             The melody still moves me even if I can’t relate anymore. The music isn’t dated but I know it has a year and a month and a day. I know it has a place and a time but somehow it seems to have slipped away and traveled through time.                         Do you hear that reckless joy? Do you feel that rebellious spirit?             The singer sounds like someone I knew. The lyrics feel like something I memorized. The song is something I danced to in the dark under the moon and its glittering Christmas lights.             I’ve searched for it but it’s never been there, not like this, not sounding like that. The singer gets older and the lyrics change and the sound tries to sound the same but it never does. It never quite does.             The wind seems to know, to get it. A different day and another season.             Yet the wind carries the echoes of a yesterday and sometimes and some nights I can hear it. Breaking through the silence. Playing over the noise.             Night falls into a hole where the sun will spill out tomorrow.          Distant echoes will fade and move like constellations above, shifting and changing and disappearing.             The song remains the same.             Like a dream you once remembered.             Like a game you once played.             Like a kid you once were.             Like a kid you’ll always be. 

What I Long For

            I’m not interested in selling Thrasher t-shirts.             I’m not seeking the limelight.             I don’t want to be a household name.             I don’t want to have a certain “look” every single time my picture gets taken.             I don’t want a slogan or a tagline.             I don’t ever want to create a Club Thrasher.             I don’t want to assume I can charge big bucks to let others hear my thoughts.             I don’t want to get used to anybody—anybody—coming to see me and letting me sign a book for them.             I don’t want to be too big to answer my own email or fan notes.             I won’t buy into the buzz. Even if the buzz gets too loud to think.             I’m not above doing anything.             I’m not in this to see my face on some billboard or really anywhere.             I’m not doing this in order to one day break out and then slip away.             There’s really one thing I want.             One thing I care for.             One thing that drives me.             One thing that inspires the work I do.             It has nothing to do with me. With Travis. With www.travisthrasher.com. With hashtag Thrasher. With FB FANS TRAVESTY.             All I want to do is write a good story.             I just want to tell a really good tale.             I want to surprise and intrigue and surprise a little more.             I want to share a little hope. Or a lot hope.             I want the words to last with the reader long after they forget my name.             The beauty in collaborations is the fact that my name isn’t the first thing you see.             A publisher or an agent or a brand manager or anybody else might say this is a bad thing, but I love it.             I can type and write and structure and create and work and work a little more. Then the book can be released and it can do its thing.             I don’t have to be front and center.             I don’t have to be anything.             All I have to do is tell an authentic story. All I have to do is work my hardest and let the rest of the process figure itself out.             Oh, I’ll sell books anywhere, and I’ll try anything to let people know about them. I want FB fans and Twitter followers. But that’s not why I do this.             Never.             I do this because I want to inspire the sort of beautiful hope that stories have brought to me. That my God and my Savior have shown me. That my family has offered to me. That life often offers me.             A beautiful hope.             That’s what I want. Not in my smiling mug or big fat name but in the words on the page.             A beautiful hope.             The kind that lingers long after you finish the story.             The kind that makes you pick up the book again and check it out.             The kind that makes you wonder what else this guy wrote.             Yeah. I want people to read all my books—every single one. Let them judge and decide.             I want them read because like my children, they all mean something to me.             I want them to mean something to others, too.             But as for me—as for my brand—as for my name—as for all that . . .             Whatever.             All I long for is a beautiful story full of hope.             That’s all.             That’s enough. 

On The Sea

            "On The Sea" by Chris Buckley
            I’d like to think this happily ever after started, but somehow I’m still waiting for it to begin.             I stand out in the chill on a spring break looking out at a lake and wondering.             What to do and where to go and what to choose.             The wind blows and I feel the chill. I guess the cold can follow you anywhere. Even all the way up from North Carolina.             I turn up my iPod and I stare while I listen to the song. It makes me think of Kelsey. I miss her. A lot of my time is spent thinking of her and missing her. Even sometimes when she’s there right in front of me.             I wish I could be next to her. I could have been, of course. She invited me and I could have gone with her family on their spring break vacation down to South Carolina but . . . Yeah, no thanks.             Anything that has Carolina in its sentence—no thanks.             Maybe I’ll always be afraid. Maybe.             But maybe it’s something else.             The voices.             Yeah.             The visions.             Yep.             All that stuff you thought you left behind.             Uh huh.             I breathe in and sigh. I wish I could take a sailboat out to this great blue sea. But there’s no wind and it’s a lake, not a sea.             Anything to escape.             Anything to be free.             I believe God chose me and even blessed me with this ability. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to live with it.             The wind brings goosebumps.             I think of the classes I don’t care about. I think about the junior college I’m barely getting by at. I think of Kelsey and her sweet, wonderful life. I think of where I belong inside it.             I turn up the music louder.             God, do you see my thoughts right now? ‘Cause if you do, will show me what you want me to do? What I need to do?             I see a couple walk by so happy and so adult and so in love. So perfect. So carefree. They need to be in a perfume commercial.             When will I ever be able to let go of the past and when will my new story begin?             I turn up the music a little louder.             These sweet melodies block out the doubt. They block out the noise. They block out all those awful thoughts in the black of night.             I stare to the place in the lake which doesn’t continue onward. My first year of college is almost gone. I almost thought I could forget. I almost thought I could be busy enough to do so. I thought---well, I’ve always thought way too much.             Standing here like some solitary statue, I know I’m on some strange hiatus. The bad stuff—the strange sightings and the awful sounds—still haunt me in the pit of the night. I still experience awful things.             And every now and then—like right about now—I think about silencing those voices the way my mom used to.             It would be easier.             A lot easier.             When will the next saga begin and what will I be needed to do?             Will I be forced to publicly acknowledge my faith only to have one big, fat fail?             Let it go, Chris.             Will I try to be the hero and end up halfway running away?             Let it be, buddy.             I turn up the music louder and let it drown out these thoughts. I still have them. They haven’t gone away, even though I’m miles away from Solitary, North Carolina.             I’m miles away, yet the shadows follow me every single step I take.             I’m miles away, but all I have to do is close my eyes and I’m back there. Back where I found myself and my soul but seemed to lose so much in return.             God help me.             I’m still taking baby steps. And as I do, I try—I really try—to get rid of those other thoughts and ideas. The ones that tell me to deal with this some other way.             I can’t.             I won’t.             I close my eyes and think of Kelsey. I wish I could see her and kiss her and simply live my happily ever after with her. But we’re not there, not yet. We’re not even adults. We’re just starting to enter this thing called college.             I still love that sweet blonde beauty.             Her sweet disposition and her sweet everything makes the darkness go away. Well, almost.             Almost.             This music reminds me and always will. The first time I saw her in art class and thought who in the world is this girl. She stayed by my side and she kept persisting and kept trying. She never gave up.             Just like God above.             I have some pretty amazing people on my side.             I start to walk back to my buddy’s apartment. I’ve made my decision. I don’t need to drown my sorrows simply to drown out the voices.             They are there for a reason. I can deal with them.             I can manage.             I’ll figure out how to keep managing.             And I’ll figure out how to keep getting closer to that happily ever after. That sweet little hut on the edge of the sea. Just Kelsey and me. Just the two of us. Laughing. Happy.             Yeah. That would be a fun story to live. A nice story to tell.             But something tells me that’s somebody else’s story and always will be.
            Always.