Travis Thrasher's Blog, page 31

Exit Stage Left

So I finally had a chance to write my Christmas novel.

Being me, that means I don't want to do another one. At least not for a while. The world has Richard Paul Evans and he can be that Christmas story guy. Paper Angels was a unique story and an incredible experience to be a part of. There's no way I can duplicate it. Even if I (hopefully) go on to do more collaborations with Jimmy Wayne.
I'm nearing the end of The Solitary Tales. One more week. We'll see who lives and who dies in Solitary, North Carolina. We'll see if Chris makes it out of there. Questions will be answered, but of course not every answer will be a pretty or likable one.

Then what?

Good question.

I have some answers, but in my world, things change on a weekly basis.
Sometimes because a door opens or shuts. Sometimes because an idea sprouts to life or falls apart. Sometimes just because.
The plan I had for 2012 changed. I was going to do something big and outrageous. But then I thought—will anybody really, truly care? Something's only big and outrageous if it gets noticed and talked about. I didn't want to kill myself just to say I did something massive and killed myself. I might have done that years ago but I can't, not in my present pink world with three daughters depending on my sanity.
There's a part of me that would really sorta love to finish The Solitary Tales and then just disappear for a while. Maybe it's time. Take a break and live life and get a real job. Keep writing but slow down. Or write under a pen name. Or just write to practice.
Yeah.

Then again, there are those stories that have come to life over the past few years.

There's the big one—the massive one that has already started. That's a keeper. Somebody needs to carry on the torch that Lost lit, even if it comes in the form of novels. So yeah, that one is mapped out and already started and . . . we'll see.
Then there's that Hunger Games-esque trilogy that Coldplay's latest album has inspired. That's not a just a fun idea. It's already done in my head. Call me a copycat—I couldn't write a series like that author did. My result would be—well, it would be distinctly me.

There's the fun little trip back in time that's going to happen. Yeah. More on that soon.

There's also the love story idea that's being talked about. That's a really good possibility.

Yeah, there are more collaborations that have potential. There are other ideas that a longshots. There are stories that are in the initial stages of being worked on.

I have been trying to make the most of being a fulltime writer. Because tomorrow or next week or next year, I might not be one anymore. I'm okay with that.
Eighteen stories into this writing world, I feel I've told some decent stories.
And I honestly feel like this: if God grants me another thirty or forty years of life, I'm really going to knock a few of these stories out of the park. I really feel like I'm just getting warmed up and figuring things out.

We'll see what happens. But for now, I'm stuck in Solitary. Hoping for some light at the end of this dark tunnel . . .

Paper Angels Snippet

Every novel that's written has storylines that get changed and tweaked. Sometimes throughout the process of working on a story, significant portions will get tossed for various reasons. I've shared bits of this before on this blog and wanted to share some more for Paper Angels written by Jimmy Wayne and myself.
Here's a portion devoted to Kevin and one of the people working underneath him.
(Paper Angels Deleted Scene #1)
Christmas always seemed to make him melancholy, but Kevin wasn't exactly sure why.

There were two sets of Christmas experiences that he could look back on growing up. The first set was when his parents had money, and the second set was when they didn't have any. As much as he'd love to say that the latter memories were more fun and meaningful, he couldn't. He couldn't even really remember them, not as well as the Christmas mornings when they'd rush to the family room to see all the toys Santa had dropped off. The Christmas mornings after Dad had lost his job were always stressful and unsure. It wasn't the lack of gifts that made Kevin sad. It was the lack of certainty in Mom and Dad that seemed to filter down to him.

As a teen, he'd made a vow that his family would always feel secure. He wanted them to trust him to provide for their needs, no matter what. He didn't want to go overboard on Christmas but still wanted to make sure they loved the holiday and felt loved throughout it. He wanted his family to always feel certain of his care, of his love, especially around Christmastime, even if it meant working extra hard.

Now the season made him more than melancholy. It wore him out. With all the pressure and stress he was under, the last thing he wanted to think about was the right gift for the right person and keeping everyone in his family perfectly happy.

Stop already.

Kevin sat in his weekly meeting with one of his top designers, Zack Cradles. The guy was talking as his usual highly energized, highly caffeinated self always did and Kevin had to concentrate on listening to him.

"So I gotta tell you I have some pretty awesome news."

Kevin feigned interest and curiosity but he already knew. He would've bet a hundred bucks what it was. But this indifference again pinched at his soul.

Where's the Christmas cheer, Kev?

Zack was the kid on Christmas morning eager and excited about rushing downstairs to get to the tree.

Bah humbug.

It wasn't that he was a Scrooge or a Grinch around this time of year. He didn't need some life revival like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life. Kevin felt like he could identify best with Charlie Brown from the Christmas episode, questioning the true meaning of the holiday while walking around in a state of angst and melancholic longing. The Snoopys of life hounded him. Just like Zack, who seemed so inexplicably happy, like a little kid or a puppy. Happy-go-lucky. And it was fine except for the fact that Kevin wanted to reach across the desk and wrap up that happy face and smug smile and send them to the North Pole.

"I'm going to propose on Christmas morning."

"That's great."

Kevin wondered what Zack's bride-to-be name was. He sure hoped her name wasn't Robin, or else she'd suffer a lifetime of abuse.

"Do you have a ring picked out?"

"Yep. It's in my bag, hold on."

Zack slipped out of the office. As Kevin waited, a familiar, mocking chant played in his mind.
The twins are coming the twins are coming the twins are coming the twins are comin'.

Zack came back and showed off the ring. It really was a rock.

Kevin couldn't think about the bride's happiness or Zack's generosity. All he could think about was the money involved. "I bet it set you back some."

"Oh, yeah. But I've been saving."

Why was everybody he met these days a better saver and investor than he was? Or, as his father-in-law put it, a better "steward with his money"?

"Good for you."

And good for Robin Cradles.

Kevin smiled drily and continued listening to Zack.

The meeting went on another fifteen minutes. Yeah, sure, busyness was one thing and time was another, but sometimes you simply needed to stop and shut up the thoughts taking over your mind and celebrate with someone else. Try to let their joy be yours. This was what Kevin tried to do, but it was all forced.

By the time Zack left his office, Kevin felt like a failure.

He had started this job and this office to be different from his competitors. He wanted to strive for something unique, for a breath of fresh air in today's business climate. Yet he wasn't just trying to climb up a ladder. He was attempting to jettison up it as fast as he could. Not for anything other than security. And security in this day and age was becoming a rare thing.

Zack's youthful energy and elation were a mirror of what Kevin used to be. Before the job became his life, and his life became about keeping that job.

Life is so quick. You blink and you're almost forty.

He couldn't share this thought with his young designer friend. Zack would discover that in his own time. And hopefully he'd be a little better prepared.

***

Jenny and Gregory's smiles lit up the office. On busy days and stressful days Kevin would glance at the photo and remind himself. If he was talking to an demanding client on the phone, he'd stare at his family's faces to gain a little sanity.

The picture is nice, he thought, but it's no ATM machine. A couple of aspirin could help the headache but it couldn't cure the cancer. And he was getting very close to losing the battle. Very close.

In the picture he saw the colorful bracelet on his wife's wrist bearing the letters WWJD. But Kevin wasn't really interested in what Jesus would do. This wasn't something Kevin would admit to anybody, but it was the truth.

It was more like, what would Charlie Brown do? WWCBD.

He opened the draw of his desk and pulled out the tag. The paper angel with the writing on it. He reread the name and the description of the presents underneath.

Then, for the next hour or so, he surfed the Internet looking for gifts and pricing them out and trying to figure out where to start.

If someone like Zack could go crazy and afford a big rock like that, the least Kevin could do was put some thought and time behind the gifts he was going to give to "Tom."

Sure, this was another thing on his to-do List, but Kevin wanted to do this right. He wanted to make sure he wanted to do it.

He wanted to make Charlie Brown happy.

The Why

The light bulb goes on in the middle of the night. Am I dreaming or wide awake?

I'm in a tiny town in North Carolina. Or a city street in Chicago. Or an imaginary world. Or in a madman's mind.

I can't stop.

I see characters one on top of another like a full deck of cards. I see various decks lined against each other. Each belonging to another tale. Stacks of cards that need shuffling and dealing.

I fill pages and make notes. I get acquainted with characters and discover their secrets. I visit towns and tour homes and hidden places in the shadows of my imagination.

My mind is a messy assortment of everything. A garage sale on a rainy day. A junk yard where even the rabid dog is slightly bored. You can find a little bit of anything and you can buy it for next to nothing.

I feel inspiration at the strangest times, then reality sinks in and blinds me like a desert sun. I'm thirsty and feel weak and then get replenished with more creative fuel. Memories and music and moving pictures and monumental words give back what was taken.

Then I keep going.

Because I can't stop.

This restless energy isn't because I have to have it. It's always been there. I've just learned to tap it and keep it going. Everybody carries this dam deep inside but I've learned how to break it. It's uncomfortable but it's something that can be done.

Sometimes in my mind all of these things matter. That fantasy that took a year to come up with a storyline for. The series that's mapped and fleshed out and ready to go. That did start but then suddenly came to a halt. The love/action/YA/horror/yeah.

The criss-crossing doesn't bother me. Yes, my head keeps spinning but it's always been spinning. It took forty years to figure out how to stop the tornado inside it. Now I'm the one who controls these blistering winds. I'm the one who keeps them going.

I haven't cracked any code because there's none to crack.

I just can't stop.

I'm not doing this thing for relief. Not anymore.

It's simply because there's a fleet of ships on a restless sea and inside each one are characters waiting to breathe life and speak words and change and grow and feel and live.

Which ship do I choose and when? That's the question.

Sometimes a new ship will come captained by a new creator. Which is fine. It just adds to the fun and the intensity. The ocean feels crowded but really we're simply sailing in unchartered territory. Mostly unnoticed waters. Mostly stormy seas.

Looking for land.

Looking for populated land.

And if the wild swirls slow down and even stop, it doesn't mean the ships will go away. It simply means that the fleet has slowed and stopped but that they'll be there for tomorrow and the next day.

This creative thing isn't about the feeling or the muse. It's not about finding the right voice for the right moment. It's about doing it day after day after day. Maybe ten hours a day or ten minutes. But it can be done and the stories can be told and the restlessness can be slightly appeased. Momentarily.

Until that moment when inspiration comes in the form of a smile or a sunny day or a propulsive song or a simple saying.

When a feeling or an idea gets recorded and the memory soon becomes a demo and that demo might become a full-fledged song.

Then one day hopefully somewhere someone will turn it on and enjoy it. This little piece of you that becomes a part of someone else.

Something shared. Something special.

Something that worked when so many other things didn't work.

Yeah. That's the why. In case somebody really needs to know the why.

That's one of the 2000 reasons why.

Solitary Tales Prequel

Check out the cover for this exclusive e-book only prequel to The Solitary Tales coming out in December!
For more info on this and other stuff related to The Solitary Tales, join the Facebook page here.

The November and December

Exhale.

The cold winds always come around this time of the year. It's the same thing. Barren trees. Broken leaves. Belabored needs.

The world rushes and somehow you end up feeling like you're rushing over the falls.

The black celebration of Halloween turns to gluttony on Thanksgiving and then a smorgasbord of presents on Christmas. A trio of months full of selfish consumption. You reach midnight on new year's eve vowing to be a better person who doesn't worry as much and who gives more.

Yet then the new year arrives and you fall in line like everybody else. Like everybody else in the endless pool, the raging waters, the gushing currents that never stop.

The grey skies are good to write under. But they also feed the doom and the gloom. They hide the sunshine that serves to remind. They hide the sky that serves to rejoice. They hide the light that ends up refueling and remotivating.

The end of November and you find yourself wondering and weary. Wondering, wandering, worrying. All those wonderful words beginning with "W". Woe. Wow. Weird. Why?

Like twenty years ago and ten and four, you find yourself worrying about tomorrow. The worry only magnifies with age since you have more to worry about. There are more in your house to worry about. You see so many great things happening and hear so many wonderful reports. Yet sometimes those dark skies threaten and menace and bully you around.

Sometimes it's not exactly fun living close to a windy Midwestern city.

You keep working because you see the fruits of your labor. But sometimes the fruits don't always result in financial waterfalls. That would be okay if you were only worrying about yourself. You never worried about yourself, not back then. But then there was another, and another, and two more.

You enter a December hoping to really try to remember. Hoping that the whole point of the holidays will be celebrated. Hoping that you continue to carry hope around with you each day.

It's hard. You know. But there are so many others that have it harder. Much harder.

Take a thankful spirit and then rejoice in the gift. That's what November and December should mean to you. And if not, someone needs to knock on your door and slap you in the face to remind you.

So much to be thankful for. And so much to celebrate about.

2-For-1 Sale For 30 Days!

From now until December 18, I will be offering a buy-one-get-one-free book sale on my website. This will be for all my books. The only disclaimer is that Letters From War and Paper Angels aren't available as free books (though they're certainly available for sale).
When placing an order, simply order any book and then let me know the second book you'd like with it. If you want them signed to anybody in particular, please specify this as well on your order. Otherwise I'll just sign them with my signature.
This sale will go until Sunday, December 18 so I can make sure to get the books out by Christmas.
Thank you for your constant encouragement and support in my writing!

A First Hug

Our five-year-old daughter Kylie just received her first official hug from a boy today. Oh, I know this boy. His name is Luke. I've seen Luke. More importantly, Luke has seen me. We shared a moment of checking each other out one day as I dropped off Kylie at her preschool.

Well, turns out Luke gave her an impromptu hug while standing in line today.

How do I know this?

Because after reading to her in her bed tonight, something her mommy and I try to alternate doing, she whispered it in my ear. About the hug. And honestly, I wasn't sure what to say. I just nodded and said "Well that's nice." I said that friends like to give hugs. I asked her why Luke gave her the hug and she said in a totally perplexed way "I don't know."

Now, looking back, I probably should have said something different.

When she told me that Luke hugged her, I should have said "Of course he did.

Or maybe I should have said "Well, did you hug him back?"

And then when I asked her why and she replied "I don't know", I should have said something else.

I should have said "I know why."

I should have said "It's because you're a beautiful little girl, Kylie. Not just on the outside, but on the inside. And of course Luke sees this. Luke must be a very smart guy to really see this. Yeah, that Luke is a really smart kid. I like that Luke."

Yeah, maybe I should have said that.

Then maybe I should have added "And you know something else about Luke?"

Maybe Kylie would say "What?"

Then I would say "Luke's a very lucky guy. I mean—he got to hug YOU."

Yeah, it was a special moment and for someone who is always full of so many things to say, I didn't really say too much.

But the important thing . . .

Kylie said something.

Kylie told her Daddy what happened.

Now I know that Kylie won't always be five, and I also know she's not always going to tell Mommy and Daddy what happened. Especially when it comes to boys.

But I'm glad she's telling us now.

I'm glad she's telling the only boy in the house her story.

You see the world differently being a father, and especially (I feel) being a father of a girl (or in my case three).

If I sit and really think about it (which I do, of course), it's terrifying.

God knows I'm going to fail to find the words. Or the patience. Or the energy.

But I'm going to try. And I hope that this bond that Kylie and I share never goes away.

I wanted to write something about Kylie's birthday last Saturday, but honestly, I was too tired to share anything.

Our little girl is not as little as she used to be. But she still whispers in my ear and tells me secrets. This is a very, very precious gift.

It's one that I hope never goes away.

On The Verge

Having hiked for so long, so high up, I stand on the edge and look out, knowing I'm on the verge of something.

The question is what.

I don't believe you go this far without something happening.

I believe you can reach the summit. Or you can trip and fall off the edge of the mountain.

Or a violent snowstorm can come and trap you in your tracks and cause you to slowly freeze to death. But that's the worst case scenario.

What's the best case scenario?

Sometimes I have no idea. I'm so exhausted from the climbing and the never-ending footprints in the snow that I have no clue what the top will look like. Have I already reached it and I'm just circling the peak in vain?

Or will the clouds start to separate one day and I'll see the top and stand there and know I've made it?

Has this climbing all been in vain? Should I be doing something else, like surfing or hang gliding or bicycling?

Sometimes I feel like my equipment is shoddy and in need of repair.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too old to be doing this.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too young to really know where to go and how to go about journeying there.

Most of the time I'm just tired. But I keep going.

Because I love hiking. I love climbing. I love exploring. I love breathing in this air. I love feeling this way.

It's a solitary task. Day after day, step after step. Others are there to help and assist but ultimately I'm the only one who can keep these legs moving and keep these lungs breathing.

I'm the only one who can continue to believe that there's more mountain to see and there's a summit left to climb.

God shows me I'm doing the right thing day after day. But sometimes I wonder about that too. Have I been at too high an altitude to know the difference between God's will and my own? Have I been breathing my own oxygen too many times?

I wonder about that daily as I keep climbing.

Knowing I continue to stay right on the verge.

Right on the edge.

That's what I remind myself and repeat over and over again.

Keep right on going, Travis.

So I do.

Seven and a Half Questions With A Novelist: Nancy Rue

It's great to highlight other authors and their work, so today I'm doing a Q&A with author Nancy Rue. She is a fellow novelist at David C. Cook (publisher of The Solitary Tales). Nancy's latest novel, Unexpected Dismounts, recently released.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

Nancy: "I knew one day when I was ten years old and I finished reading a Nancy Drew book for about the fifteenth time and I realized I didn't want to BE Nancy Drew anymore – I wanted to write stories about a very-cool girl, the way 'Carolyn Keene' did. (I'm glad I didn't know at the time that there was no such person as Carolyn Keene; that really would have messed with my head!)"

What is your "brand" as an author?

Nancy: "The Nudge would be my brand, I think. If we're living authentically, we can feel God nudging us and we have to act accordingly. At this point, I'm practically black and blue . . . "

So what's up with the motorcycles? Do you really ride them? :)

Nancy: "I ride as a passenger with my husband on our Harley Davidson Street Glide, and it is pure bliss. It's like we're one person, leaning into the curves and cruisin' down the straightaways. You smell things from the back of a Harley you miss when you're in your climate controlled car – gardenias and steak houses and even cow pooh. I need to be clear, though, that I don't 'drive' a motorcycle. I tried – I really did – took the Rider's Edge course, the whole thing. I counseled myself out after falling twice in the first hour. You can read about it in Chapter Three of The Reluctant Prophet. I'm happy behind my husband, leaning against my sissy bar, wearing the leather jacket and chaps that make me feel like I can do just about anything. So many things are about the wardrobe, you know?"

What is the role of a novelist?

Nancy: "I think that varies from author to author. My personal job is to write what I'm Nudged to write. That doesn't mean it's only about the message. I'm committed to creating good literature and delighting my readers, even as I try to show what it looks like to follow the Nudge. I don't want my books to be like the kid playing a tooth in a school play about dental hygiene. There has to be a story and characters with pulses and good language. God has chosen to use me, so I just try to use my gift full-out. Sometimes I even come close."

In one sentence, describe your most recent novel.

Nancy: "There are two kinds of Harley riders: those who have dumped their bikes, and those who will. Unexpected Dismounts is a ride for those who aren't afraid to fall."


What would you like to say to writers aspiring to be published?

Nancy: "This is not a glamour gig, so only write if you can't NOT write. If that sounds like you, write every day. Write what's in your heart. Hone your craft. Put your body and soul into it. And don't even think about publishing until you have a manuscript that speaks in your own authentic voice. Then and only then show it to an editor or an agent. Please, please, please do not write to the trends or ask 'What's selling right now?' That's not God talking in you. You might sell something that way, but I guarantee you, it won't be of lasting value. And isn't that what we all want to create?"

(Half question) As a writer, do you ever feel like you're losing your mind (or is it just me)?

Nancy: "Losing it? No. Already lost it a long time ago. I'm not sure you can BE a novelist if you're entirely sane."

How does God reveal Himself to you when you're working on a book?

Nancy: "I see it most when I have my protagonist journal for me. I ask her a question in a blank book and then I write what she says to me. That's when I know God is telling me how to spin out the story. I mean, where else would that come from? I also know God is totally in it when I come to the page in the morning and read what I wrote the day before and I don't even remember thinking it, much less typing it. I really feel honored when that happens, I really do. I can't believe God has picked me as one of the people God wants to use as a scribe. I'm not a good cook. Plants die within the hour of coming into my home. And nobody – and I mean nobody – wants me on their volleyball team. But I can write, and that's a God thing."

Thanks for joining us on the Unexpected Dismounts Blog hop with Nancy Rue. Nancy's publisher, David C. Cook is sponsoring the blog hop with an opportunity to win some great prizes, including a $200.00 gift card for American Express. To register to win & RSVP for the facebook party today.
If you are interested in hearing more from Nancy, you can visit her website, subscribe to her blog: The Nudge, join her on Facebook and/or follow her on Twitter.

Tomorrow we will all be joining Nancy on her own blog: The Nudge. See you there.

Paper Angels--Official Playlist

As I worked with Jimmy Wayne on Paper Angels, I comprised my usual playlist to listen to while working on the story. Here are some of the instrumental songs that helped to inform and inspire my writing on this.
1. "American Beauty" by Thomas Newman (American Beauty soundtrack)

2. "The Cornfield" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

3. "Phenomenon" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score)

4. "All Prayed Out" by Thomas Newman (Cinderella Man soundtrack)

5. "Pray With Me" by Alan Silvestri (Forrest Gump soundtrack)

6. "Shout At The Sky" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score)

7. "The Drive Home" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

8. "Chicken Wire" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score)

9. "Field Of Dreams" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

10. "Home" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score)

11. "George Malley" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score

12. "Doc's Memories" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

13. "Wasted Air" by Thomas Newman (Pay It Forward soundtrack)

14. "The Rest Of Us" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon rare original score

15. "Night Mists" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

16. "Lifted" by David Helpling And Jon Jenkins (The Crossing)

17. "I Never Thanked You" by Alan Silvestri (Forrest Gump soundtrack)

18. "End Titles" by Thomas Newman (Phenomenon soundtrack)

19. "The Place Where Dreams Come True" by James Horner (Field Of Dreams soundtrack)

20. "The Farm" by Thomas Newman (Road To Perdition soundtrack)