Elgon Williams's Blog, page 26

Throwback Thursday – Kiss Debut Album

It’s 1974, a self titled album from an oddly named band hits the stores in February. Allegedly it was recorded in just 13 days. Two of the band members, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley wrote the songs on the album while in a band named Wicked Lester, a group they formed in 1971. Although Wicked Lester recorded an album for Epic records the project was never released. The original Kiss Album was released on Casablanca Records.

Along with Gene Simmons (bass and vocals), Paul Stanley (rhythm guitar and vocals) the original line up of Kiss included Ace Frehley (lead guitar and vocals) and Peter Criss (drums and vocals). The band became renown for their costumes and make-up along with their elaborate stage shows using pyrotechnics. Although the band changed members over the years, the original line up was steady throughout the 70’s.

I first heard the Kiss shortly after its release. The lead guitarist in my band, Dave Lewis, had just purchased it and we spent much of our Saturday afternoon rehearsal learning the songs. Since the songs’ structure was basic Rock’n’Roll they were simple enough to learn quickly. We added all of the songs to our weekly rehearsal list and some eventually appeared on our play list when we performed at gigs during the summer and fall.

Kiss released another album in October of 1974 titled Hotter Than Hell. Neither the debate nor the follow up albums were initially commercial successes. A third album, Dressed To Kill was released in 1975 that contained the bands first signature hit, Rock and Roll All Night, though the studio version of the song failed to chart well. However, the band was gaining a reputation and a following for their live shows. With their label, Casablanca Records, struggling financially the band needed a commercial success. Later in 1975 the band recorded and released a double album titled Alive, that captured the energy of their live performance. A live version of a previously released underperforming single, Rock and Roll All Night, reached the Top-40 charts in the US. Strong sales for both the single and the album saved Casablanca Records, reaching gold status. Subsequently the band hired Bob Ezrin, who had worked with Alice Cooper, to produce the Destroyer album.

Destroyer is often cited as Kiss’ breakthrough studio album. The album produced the hit Detroit Rock City, a staple of the group’s live performances, but initially the album did not sell well. It wasn’t until the ‘B’ side of  the single, a song titled Beth, began receiving airplay, prompting its release as a single, that the album reached platinum sales status.

The band released two studio albums,  Rock and Roll Over in late 1976 and Love Gun in June of 1977, with a second live album, Alive II late in 1977. All three albums were certified platinum. Kiss was voted the most popular band in the US. They also performed to a record five sold out shows in Tokyo’s Budokan Hall, breaking the record of four shows previously held by The Beatles.

#70sMusic #KISS #GeneSimmons #PaulStanley #AceFrehley #PeterCriss

What’s In A Name?

Having a weird name like Elgon has been problematic throughout my life. Of course, I never thought it was weird name until I reached school age. Before that, everyone I knew could pronounce my name correctly. They were family, after all. Around the first grade people began to ask me if it was a family name. Uh, my dad had it too but never used it because he didn’t like it much.

I’m not sure why he decided to name me after him, though. People do strange things, don’t they? Especially with the naming of kids, it seem all bets are off. A simple, fairly common name can be spelled a variety of ways in the interest of, well, making it more interesting. What ends up happening from the child’s point of view is that just when you want to blend in and be one of the gang you stand out as the odd ball with that weird name.

When my son reached age ten or so, he realized what a great decision I made on his birth date in not naming him after me. I named him for the first of my ancestors to come to America. His middle name is for the ancestor who signed the Mayflower Compact. Yeah, I have one branch of my family tree going back to Jamestown, Virginia (1607) and the other Plymouth, Massachusetts (1620). Before that my family tree has branches all over the British Isles, it seems, but most of my roots go back to Wales and England.

Anyway, the first time my teacher asked me about the origin of my name I really didn’t have an answer other than to tell her it was what my parents gave me. In retrospect that was an answer as profound as it is superficially stupid. It is a given name, after all. So, of course, my parents gave it to me. Sheesh! But what did I know?

In the interest of enhancing the educational opportunities of us kids, my parents invested a large amount of money purchasing an encyclopedia from some traveling salesman. When I was six years old, mostly, I liked looking at the part of it that had pictures. I was naive enough to believe that all the knowledge in the world was somewhere in those twenty plus volumes. And so I decided to look up my name and find out where it came from, just so I would have a good answer for the next time someone asked, which seemed a nearly daily occurrence once I started school.

To my surprise, my name was actually in there. You see, there is a mountain in Kenya that is my namesake. It is an extinct volcano. How cool was that for a six-year-old to discover? The trouble is, how on Earth did I end up sharing a name with something in Africa when my parents were hillbillies from eastern Kentucky? I figured my dad would know, since he shared the name. But he’d never used the name, preferring to go by Bruce, his assumed middle name – I’ll explain that later.

My paternal grandmother was still alive then and lived not too far from us so the next time I visited her I asked about the origin of the name Elgon. The story she told was about a peddler of pots and pans who came to her place in the hills of Kentucky when she was pregnant with my dad – probably sometime in 1913 or 1914. She thought his name was nice and decided to name Dad that. There, I had my answer, sort of, except as I matured I wondered whatever my grandmother was perhaps as bad at spelling as I was. The way I figure the peddler may have been named Elgin, which is one of the variants of what people assume my name is when I first pronounce it for them. That leads me to a brief discussion of the problem every kid with a strange name has – having to spell it out.

Sometime between the first and fourth grades I grew tired of having to correct people’s mispronouncing my name. So I started saying it and then immediately spelling it out for them. Does it help? Not really. I’ve learned, from my name at least, that people hear whatever they want to hear and largely don’t pay a lot of attention during conversations. Of course they are too busy with their internal monologue and thinking of something to say in response to whatever has been said to them to ever pay too much attention to minor details, like a kid spelling out his odd name.

I guess the name helped to make me weird, or perhaps weirder because I believe I have been the way I am since birth – if not before. So you have a kid born to be the weirdest of weird, a writer, and you give him a weird name. Somehow that seems both appropriate and redundant in retrospect.

I’ve told the story before on this and other blogs about how one of my teachers in high school told me I was mispronouncing my name. Yeah, she actually told me that, as if it were not my name that I could choose to pronounce any way I damned well wanted. That was pretty much my exact response, which, of course, pissed her off enough to dispatch me immediately to the principal’s office. Upon hearing my version of things he tended to agree with me. Afterwards my teacher called me Mr. Williams and even confirmed in advance that she was pronouncing my last name correctly.

Somewhere along the way, in the spring of 1973, my sister, Genette, who was also stuck with an oddly spelled name, decided I should use my lonely middle initial ‘B’ and fabricated the middle name, Brenton, for me to place on my college application for Purdue University. I also used it when I applied to other universities but that matters little since Purdue is the college I decided to attend. Genette started calling me ‘Brent’ after that, something she still does to this day. And while I was at college I went by Brent.

Even after college, I continued to use Brent as my name. It followed me into the Air Force and halfway around the world to Korea where it was pronounced B-L-E-N-T-A. Oddly enough, I discovered Asians could actually pronounce Elgon correctly. So when I soon tired of being called Blenta, I switched back to being called Elgon and I have used my given name ever since. Brent was relegated to the back of my mind and eventually became the name of a character in one of my books, an alter ego of sorts.

You might ask why, if I am named Elgon, after my dad, am I not Elgon B. Williams Jr? This is maybe the weirdest part of the whole story. You see, my mom knew this kid when she was growing up in the hills and hollers of Kentucky. His name was Junior Williams. I think his given name was actually Junior. People do that to kids, too. Anyway, she hated him because he used to do really disgusting things that involved farts. For example he delighted in cupping his hand to catch a fart and then sticking it under a baby’s nose and laughing while the infant gagged. Mom didn’t want me associated with that sort of person.

So, even after naming me Elgon, which was also my dad’s name, Mom did want Jr. tagged on behind my name. So she didn’t give me Dad’s middle name, which everyone believed was Bruce since he had always been called that. She insisted that the attending nurse not put Jr anywhere on my name since she gave me only the middle initial B. It turned out that when Dad filed for social security benefits and actually received an abstract of birth record from Kentucky that his legal name was Elgon B. Williams, same as mine. Where did the name Bruce come from? No one knows.

I have always signed my name completely as Elgon B. Williams – as if there were any other Elgon Williams with whom I might be confused. It’s silly, I know, but I’m used to doing it and it is automatic when I sign my name.

The reason I bring all this up about my given name is that I’m about to use the novelty of my weird name to advantage. For marketing purposes, my books henceforth will be credited to the author Elgon. It’s not that I’m going to stop using my last name or trying to hide it or anything like that, just that it is, and since my dad passed in 2000, superfluous. I am the only living person – at least to my knowledge – who is named Elgon. There is a mountain in Kenya and a hair care products company in Italy that share my name, but I believe that, without a doubt, I’m certainly the only author named Elgon. There will be no confusion. So when my next book is published sometime early next year it will bear only my first name, Elgon.

#WeirdNames #names #ElgonWilliams #Elgon #Kenya #Kentucky #Mountain #GivenName

Thoughts About The Christmas Season

The other day someone said there’s magic in the air at this time of year, as if this were the only time of the year that magic exists. I don’t know about that. Largely we make our own magic. Maybe it’s Christmas that allows us to see the magic that is always in the world but we usually ignore it because we don’t have theme to stop and pay attention. But that’s the subject for a future blog.

The statement prompted me to take a look at how oddly people change  for this season – for both the good and bad. And i also considered how the season has changed since I was kid. There is good magic and bad magic, isn’t there? We certainly see evidence of both on Black Friday – and now the day before it that use to be Thanksgiving Day.

Going back to my earliest memories of the Christmas season I recall catching the excitement over watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a Black and White Philco TV set. CBS covered the event with Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Moose and Bunny Rabbit that year. I’m not sure whether Mr. Green Jeans was there. Since I was around four or five years old and a devoted daily viewer of the good Captain there didn’t seem to be anything odd at all about all my TV friends being at a parade. In fact that’s that made the event more special for me. You see, from a kid’s perspective it’s easier to see the magic because no one has yet convinced them that it doesn’t exist. In fact, for a brief time the adults tend to encourage kids to believe everything is possible. And a lot of that has to do with Santa Claus.

A few years ago when I worked for a major retailer and weighed about sixty pounds more than I do now I also sported a full beard. The combination of my weight and my almost white hair and beard made me a dead ringer for the man of the season. On a whim I tried on the store’s Santa suit, sans the pillow stuffing and false beard. It fit me well. What happened next gave me reason to believe there was magic in that suit – or at least seeing the suit reminds people, even adults, about the magic of the season. Maybe seeing Santa allows people to connect with their inner child, suspend the disbelief for a while and remember when they truly believed in things on face value.

Parents play Santa for their children. I think it’s in the job description somewhere between staying up all night with a child who has a fever and teaching a little boy or girl how to ride a bicycle – a kid’s first taste of true independence. We naturally know how to do it, I think, even without putting on the red and white suit. But if you’ve never actually worn the suit you don’t really know the powerful sensation of putting on he mythical persona. People react differently to you, as if you have become larger than life or the miseries around you.

Not only do the little kids respond with smiled or immediate recognition and hopeful expectation, so do adults. A lot of people want to take a picture with Santa, of course. But really just walking around in a retail store wearing the suit causes everyone to pause and and believe remember when he or she was a child seeing Santa for the first time.

Back when I was a kid the build up for the season was reinforced everywhere I looked. Decorations went up around Thanksgiving then and the narrow window for seeing the red, green, sliver and gold long with the blinking lights made it all the more special and urgent. Santa was coming soon!

In school we started rehearsing for an annual choral pageant learning traditional songs. We helped decorate the classroom with crafts we made in art class – little Christmas trees and Santas, ropes made of interconnected loops of alternating red and green strips of construction paper to wrap around the tree int he classroom. We drew names out of a bowl and that was the person in the class for whom we were to buy a relatively inexpensive gift. Christmas was a huge deal.

I think a lot of that was lost as I grew older. Some of that had to do with working in retail for so many years. Nothing strips the magic for a holiday like merchandising for it to maximize sales. You tend to see the calendar in terms of whoever season you need to set and the next season to transition into. Also nothing gets you out of the mood like listening to Christmas music playing over the intercom ad nauseum – 16 hours a day for the better part of two months. Some of the companies I have worked for began setting Christmas in September! The warped logic behind that was that the store needs to establish through maximum repetition in the customer’s mind that the store has everything they need for decorating their home.

Personally, I think putting up anything to do with Christmas before Thanksgiving is jumping the gun. Not only does it diminish the value of the season but also it spreads the magic inherent in the season. It is stretched thinner over a longer span allowing it to gain more of a routine feel. What’s lost is the urgency of getting gifts and decorations before it is too late. It caters to people who want to get their shopping done early and have it over with, like the season is a chore to be accomplished, something to be checked off a work list.

Black Friday has now encroached on Thanksgiving Day as more and more greed and one-upping the competition has distorted what used to be a great American tradition for sharing time and a meal with family and close friends. It is disingenuous for a shopper to be in a retail store on Thanksgiving telling a retail clerk how awful it is that his or her company required him or her to work on a holiday. You see, if customers didn’t come out on a holiday to get those super early special buys there would be no reason for a store to be open. Somewhere along the way, someone who had nothing better to do reviewed their security tape footage and noticed how many cars drove into the parking lot while the store was closed. So, all those people who had no life and went out to see if any stores were open ended a perfectly good holiday for everyone else. It’s a matter of supply and demand, folks. If no one showed up for a sale, next year there wouldn’t be a sale.

As for those great deals, many are not so great. Take a look at how many are limited supply loss leaders, close outs or limited special edition items made to a different standard. Some off brand items or factory refurbished products also made the scene. In other words, a lot of the great deals on for Black Friday and Thanksgiving Day are really not worth the time and effort of getting up early or standing in line. But some of the deals are good and that entices shoppers to come out in mass risking life and limb.

Rush, rush, rush to save a few bucks on stuff a large percentage of which will be returned after Christmas. Walking across a store’s parking lot in the midst of the chaos of such a mass coming and going is like playing real life Frogger.

After working for nearly 30 years in retail I can tell you this, if I didn’t gave to work on Black Friday I would never go near a store. But I guess some people like the experience and perhaps that’s part of what’s necessary for them to capture some of the magic and get into the Christmas spirit. It’s like Black Friday jump starts the shopper’s metabolism. kicking it into a higher buying mode. But that’s no really the Christmas spirit, is it? It is something we have created in lieu of the true meaning of giving.

#BlackFriday #Thanksgiving #Christmas #Shopping #ChistmasSpirit #SantaClaus #Magic

Family At Thanksgiving – Excerpt From A Novel In Progress

The following is from a novel-in-progress titled Text Messages. This is a Chapter called Family At Thanksgiving. The book is largely set in Connecticut, where I lived for nine years. It is about Barry Woods, an author who is divorced but maintains contact with my ex, Lydia who comes each year to be with the Children, their families and their nieces and nephews, the children of Barry’s deceased brothers.

Family At Thanksgiving

Sherry and Brenda both pushed away, figuring their father might at least understand that much of their dissatisfaction. Then each of them exited his study just as Lydia arrived at the doorway. She knocked in due respect for her former husband’s sanctuary. Even though the door was wide open the room was as dark and uninviting to her as it had ever been.

“Come in,” Barry said.

“I prefer not,” Lydia replied.

“Have it your way. You usually do.”

“I’ll not grace that remark with comment.”

“Ah but you just did.”

“It’s a weakness I have.”

“Always wanting the last word. Yes, I remember. Anyway, I’m glad you could make it,” Barry said.

“Mostly I believe that.” She smiled.

“You should because mostly it’s true.”

“Well, you are full of surprises today! This is probably the longest you have ever spoken with your daughters.”

“We used to talk a lot,” Barry protested.

“You spoke to them separately,” Lydia said. “Hardly ever together.”

“It was in the interest of self preservation. They’ve always ganged up on me whenever they had the chance.”

Lydia laughed. “They are my daughters, too.”

“Is it instinct or did you teach them? Hell, for all I know you might have even put them up to it this time around.”

“Who me? You know that’s not my style.”

“You’re right. You’re more about direct confrontation. You never needed a proxy.”

“Whatever is necessary whether I enjoy it or not.”

“Anyway, I used to read to them. They were together in the same room then. So it wasn’t like I was always treating them separately. I used to read to Tim along with them. Then after he’d nodded off I scooped him up and carried him to his room and tucked him in.”

“When they were really little. After Tim was in school you handled him separately.”

“Was that a mistake?”

“Maybe it was. I know you made up stories to tell the girls. I don’t think you ever did that for Tim.”

“I did it for all of them. But the types of stories were different. A father and his son have distinct bond but a man and each of his daughters has a relationship. I didn’t want to reveal any secrets about one to the other.”

Lydia smiled. “That’s good. It’s a lot of bullshit but it’s sounds pretty good.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I didn’t say I approved.”

Barry shrugged.

“Oh, there it is!”

“What?”

“You know.”

“Oh, yes. The dreaded shrug,” Barry said. “I’d almost forgotten how much it irritates you.”

“I doubt you forgot except for maybe how much you enjoy doing it. So, how are my two beautiful daughters doing? I’ve barely talked to them all year.” She shifted the subject to avoid further confrontation.

“They’re fine,” Barry offered. “They’re always fine. How’d you sleep?”

“Actually, I slept very well. I was honored that I got to sleep in my old bed.”

“I changed the sheets and comforter,” Barry said. “I even dragged your favorite pillow out of storage and washed it especially for the occasion.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Your daughters and I were just talking about some things, the past and all that.”

“Well I wondered where everyone was,” Lydia said. “I saw Tim and Cindy in the hallway upstairs. Billy called me Gram. That was irritating but I guess it’s to be expected. His hugs are worth allowing him to call me that.”

“Where are the others?” Barry asked.

“The smokers are where they usually are this time of day, puffing away on the back deck. But I sort of expected to find my daughters in the kitchen amending the caterer’s recipe for mashed potatoes.”

“Actually I should probably do that before he serves.”

“I think the girls will handle it.”

“So, where all did you look. You had to expect the girls would be talking with me?”

“Well this should have been the first place I looked. Apparently your daughters have learned to look here. It has always been your sanctuary, ‘the room’ as they call it. More like ‘the tomb’. Why does it need to always be so dark?”

“I’m no fond of the sun, unless I’m outside. That’s where the sun belongs. In fact, when Sherry came looking, that was where I was – outside.”

“Whatever for? It’s frigid.”

“Your blood has thinned living in Phoenix.”

“You haven’t taken up smoking again, have you?”

“No. I just needed to clear my head. The cold helps.”

“I see.”

“I really think I should check on things.” He brushed past his ex-wife to immediately exit ‘the room’, growling a little in the process.

“What was that?” she asked but he didn’t respond. Instead of answering he continued on his way, pausing first with the caterer’s staff to inquire when dinner would be served, then briefly checking the amendments his daughters were already in the process of making to the trays of mashed potatoes, something they did every year and it always required a handheld mixer toward the end.

One of the caterers began to protest but Barry halted him. “It’s fine,” Barry said. “It’s a good thing. You should ask them for the recipe.”

“Perhaps I will,” he said.

“Have a taste when they’re done,” Barry said over his shoulder as he departed the kitchen, passing the dinette and opened the French doors to exit out to the redwood deck, joining the smokers of the family. He nodded to each as he said hello to one and all then individually by name, impressing a couple of them that he even recalled as he rarely talked to any of them, only on the sporadic occasions when he called his daughters were not home.

“Aren’t you cold?” Brenda’s husband Roscoe asked.

“Not at all,” Barry said. “Are you?”

“It’s freezing!”

“Is it, now? Then why are you out here? Oh yes, the need to smoke. How insane is that?”

Roscoe stared at his father-in-law, mostly wondering what could possibly be wrong with him. Was he playing tough guy again, seeming impervious to the elements.

“It’s all in the mind,” Barry said looking directly at him, giving him the eerie feeling once more than Barry could read his mind. The wry smile then turned to a hearty laugh as he leaned over the deck railing, appraising the blanket of snow covering the backyard, pointing to tiny tracks left by squirrels and rabbits.

Almost in unison, the others suddenly decided to extinguish their butts. None of them wanted to deal directly with their father-in-law or uncle as the case might be.

“No coals on the deck,” Barry warned. Even though his back was turned to them. “Against the shoe soles.” Each of them responded per instruction and then, butts in hand, they began looking for a can.

“It’s at the end of the deck,” Barry directed. “Behind the kitchen alcove. I should have put it out where everyone could find it but I guess I was hoping that all of you would have quit the nasty habit by now.”

“That’s actually pretty damned creepy, Mr. Woods,” Winston, Sherry’s recently newlywed husband said as he passed by en route to returning to the warmth and comfort inside. “Are you a mentalist?”

Barry laughed as he turned to face his youngest son-in-law. “I’m a writer, as you know. We’re often accused of being mental but hardly ever mentalists. It’s a trick.”

“I see. “

“And actually, since the wedding you’ve been allowed to call me Dad. You’re soon to be the father of one of my grandchildren. That gives you permission automatically.”

“Dinner is served,” The lead caterer held opened the door for his announcement prompting everyone to begin filing inside.

“I’m starving,” Winston said, bowing his head but quickly moving away from what was a most uncomfortable encounter with his father-in-law. He was headed for the washroom to rid the smell of nicotine from his fingers before eating.

As he arrived he had to wait on first Roscoe and then one of the cousins who had forgotten that the house had five bathrooms and three washrooms. Winston had an excuse, at least. This was his first Thanksgiving with the Woods family.

Barry chuckled to himself as he remained on the deck. He might have even been amused if he had followed behind Winston. He could have made him even more uncomfortable standing behind him as he waited just as needlessly in line to wash his hands.

“Dad, what is wrong with you?” Tim asked as he poked his head out the door. “It’s cold as Hell!”

“Have you ever explored the irony contained in that expression? By other accounts Hell is pretty damned hot.”

“Well, you never know. There are levels, right? At least one should be extremely cold.”

“I suppose it’s all according to which torment would best suit you for eternal condemnation for your sins against God…but not Mankind.”

“Why not Mankind? Do you think we are somehow more forgiving?”

“No, certainly not; not at all. With people I think it’s more about apathy. Sin is nothing special where people are concerned. We do it without thinking, much like breathing. Forgiveness is the alien concept. Even when you figure that out and fully intend to forgive it doesn’t mean you forget so whenever you are reminded of the transgression the previously offered forgiveness instantly vanishes.”

“Not to get all bogged down in another discussion of philosophy and religion with you but don’t you think that a sin against Mankind may actually at least irritate God?”

“You may have a point.”

“But, Dad, honestly! You are out here contemplating sin and forgiveness in a silk shirt and jeans! It’s well below freezing.”

“Around ten degrees, give or take.”

“That’s my point.”

“Look at it this way. At least I’m dressed,” Barry said as he passed by his son to stand just inside the door as Tim closed it, shutting the cold air outside where it belonged.

“Everyone else is probably piling food on their plates waiting in great anticipation of whatever it is that you want to tell us before we all dig in.”

“Tell them to enjoy the moment and wait on Winston.” He pointed. “He doesn’t know where the other washrooms are.”

“You could have at least told him.” Tim nodded in acknowledgement as Winston turned to see why his name was being discussed.

“So could Sherry. She knows the secret.”

“You have a point there.”

“See, now who was cruel to him, me or his own wife?”

“She probably didn’t think to tell him. Marriage is still new to her. And she’s distracted, you know – seeing everyone again.”

“You’re probably right. They haven’t been married long enough for her to have intentionally omitted telling him something useful. Are you coming?”

“Right behind you. I’m starving.”

“Uh, Winston. Follow me.” Barry grabbed his son-in-law’s sleeve in passing. Winston obeyed. “There’s a private washroom in my study, two sink bowls and a toilet. I never understood the need for two washbowls until the first Thanksgiving that we had in this house for more people than just Lydia, the kids and me.”

“I got the one in the garage,” Tim excused himself. “Oh, and Winston…by the way Dad is being an horrendous smart ass today. It’s not just you.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that.”

“He probably likes you.”

“Now you’ve destroyed everything I’ve been working on up to this point.” Barry shook his head but then patted Winston on the back as he ushered him toward a bookcase that was directly behind the large oak desk, “You have to slide out ‘War and Peace’ at the same time as ‘Sirens of Titan’,” Barry revealed the secret. “The books are alphabetical by author.”

“Odd combination, Tolstoy and Vonnegut.”

“It was close enough for the books to work with the concealed latch.”

“Does everyone know?”

“Tim does,” Barry said. “He’s a guy so I had no problem with him leaving the damned toilet seat up. And your wife knows. She discovered it on her own. I have no idea why she wanted to pull all the books on that shelf at the same time.”

Winston chuckled. “How old was she?”

“Ten, I think. You know why men don’t like to squat to pee in a toilet, right?”

“Uh, it’s unnatural?”

“No, the water’s too damned cold,” Barry said.

“Too deep too,” Winston added.

“I’m beginning to really like you, son.”

“I’d hope so. It’s been several months.”

Tim lingered outside the door of Barry’s study, having washed his hands he thought it might be best to wait for Winston and Dad. When Barry emerged he faced his son, “Are you ready to eat?”

“Yeah, just I need to talk to you about something important. It can wait though.”

“Okay,” Barry said as he focused on his son’s face and read concern. He even knew what it was about, largely anyway. Then Barry turned back to gather his youngest son-in-law. “Come on, if you delay too long with this crowd you’ll have to stop somewhere on the way home to pick up something to eat.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tim said to Winston as the two young men followed Barry into the dining room. “There’s always leftovers.”

“And more mouths to feed,” Barry said as he glanced around the table. “Isn’t that right? I’ll have to get a bigger table soon.”

“Jeeze, Dad. I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Brenda said.

Barry paused at the head of the table. “I love this time of the year. Thanksgiving is really the only time we are all here together as a family and test whether our bonds are stronger than our dysfunction.”

“We have other family ties,” Tim said. “Sometimes it hard for us to be here and not there.”

“And I get that. I appreciate your coming here and honoring my request because I know you have other options. But I figure at Christmas time you can spend time with the other side of your families.”

“What do you do for Christmas?” Winston asked.

“No! Why did you ask?” Tim cringed.

“I’ll tell you later. Everyone’s waiting to eat,” Barry responded.

“Let’s eat, then!” Tim added.

Winston smiled in response but he reserved the right to still worry about his father-in-law even though Sherry had told him in complete confidence what Barry did every Christmas Day since Lydia moved out. He even thought it was perhaps one of the more endearing qualities and the fact that he did it anonymously gave his children and their spouses more cause to love and respect the patriarch of their extended family even more. He didn’t play Santa but instead became a surrogate.

Barry waited for everyone to be seated at the table before he began. “And here we are again, all of you.” He paused long enough to meet the eyes of everyone around the table but his eyes finally focused on Tim who was seated between Cindy, his wife, and Sherry, his baby sister. Then he glanced toward Winston who was seated to Sherry’s right on the other side of little Lydia, Brenda’s daughter who was using a booster chair but insisted on sitting close to her gram, finally old enough to eat at the ‘big people’s’ table.

Suddenly a cup scooted across the floor and Winston scooped it up and handed it to Brenda who begged forgiveness of her daughter exuberance.

“It happens. She’s excited, as well she should be,” Barry said. “I know I’m excited and very grateful for this day of thanks and sharing everything about our great and constantly growing family. I know and appreciate the personal sacrifices involved in assembling us together for another year here in my home. Once again Tim and his wonderful wife Cindy have brought their family here from the west coast to join us, making their effort the greatest distance. I really do appreciate all of you being here. I have always wanted for this to be about us. We are missing a few usual members of the gathering. Let us not forget to remember Kenneth and Bart who are serving in the United States Marine Corps. May God protect them and bring them home to us soon.”

He paused for several moments while everyone, even the children, reflected on his words.

“I know there are some hardships in coming here year after year.”

“Mostly, it’s cold here,” Tim interrupted to complain.

“But here you can dress for it,” Barry said in response as he smiled at his only son. “California is another matter entirely. It’s far too cold there in many places during the summer. It’s just people from the rest of the country don’t realize it until they get there.”

Tim glanced at his wife as she slipped her hand into his. She had never been comfortable with being singled out every year at the family gathering but she still appreciated everything what Barry had done for her, even those few times he had sent her some money to pay bills or buy things for the kids, unbeknownst to Tim.

“I know everyone’s hungry,” Barry said. “That’s some of what this holiday’s about. But I think it’s mainly about being together and being thankful in knowing who you can count on when you can’t count on anyone else.”

Barry looked around the room. Every eye was focused on him to a person except for some of the youngest ones of the Woods tribe. Each of his children and his nieces and nephews knew full well that without his nudge and support at times they would have struggled more often and failed many more times. Still Barry never once asked them for anything in return except flying or driving to Connecticut each year at Thanksgiving so he could see the ever-burgeoning assemblage of his and his two deceased siblings’ progeny.

“I guess I need to tell you that there is no one in this room that I don’t love, admire and adore. I’m very thankful for having the privilege to know each one of you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart and depths of my soul. We are truly blessed to be together on this one day and I thank God for the gifts of this life we share.” He paused as he looked around the table at all the faces and bright eyes, some of them welling tears. “Other than that just eat until you can’t eat anymore! There’s always enough for everyone!”

Brenda and Sherry smiled as their father sat down, they each took the hands of their chosen partners in life and were gratified when Barry made eye contact with first one and then the other, including their spouses.

Each of them waited in anticipation that maybe this was the first time in a long time that their father would eat dinner with them. But then he stood up and walked around the table, ensuring that everyone was satisfied with the quality if not the enormity of the spread. Then he excused himself from the room, just as he always had for the past few years.

But for the first time it was Tim who stood up, not the usual suspect in condemnation of Barry’s inexplicably consistent behavior. In passing Tim leaned over and whispered in his mother’s ear. “I got it, this time you can stay and eat.”

#family #thanksgiving #dysfunction #writing #story

Flashback Thursday (Holiday Edition) – Raspberries

Since tomorrow is a holiday I decided to post early.  In other words I was busily procrastinating before heading into work (or rather swimming in as it has been raining that much lately).

I was thinking about music that meant something to me when I was in high school, since I spent the beginning part of the 70’s finishing my required education and the latter part in college. The summer I got my driver’s license there was a song on the radio that I really liked, despite its pop style and slick production that hearkened back to the 60’s British invasion. You see, I was in a rock band at the time but the other guys in the group were more into heavy metal like Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin. My tastes were far more eclectic, liking The Who, Yes, Emerson Lake and Palmer but also giving a listen to metal.

I guess I liked Raspberries because of the song Go All The Way, which peaked at #5 on Billboard, had a driving beat and power guitar licks that immediately grabbed attention to the song. I was reminding of the song when I finally got around to watching Guardians of the Galaxy. The song is on the soundtrack. Also the band was from Cleveland, across the state from where I lived, but still Buckeye-land. I bought the album, which I recall had a scratch and sniff sticker on it that smelled of raspberries and made the entire record store smell of raspberries because you really didn’t need to scratch in order to get the scent. I insisted on learning the bass lines for the hit song and though my band actually agreed to learn the other parts as well we never performed it outside of rehearsal.

To this day I associate the song with the summer of ’72 and a girl I liked very much, who was in my driver’s education class in summer school. Though my interest in her went unrequited except that we spoke to one another from time to time, she impressed me enough to model a character in one of my books after her, as writers are won’t to do. Also I met another girl later on that summer and we did have a relationship for a while, though she was younger and really most of her interest in me was that I was a Junior and have my own car to pick her up in the morning, drive her to school so that she didn’t have to ride the bus with all the other ‘losers’ . It’s funny how we associate people and so many things with the songs we listened to way back when.

Raspberries featured Eric Carmen (lead vocals, rhythm guitar, bass and piano), Jim Bonfanti (drums), Wally Bryson (lead vocals, lead guitar) and Dave Smalley (lead vocals, rhythm guitar and bass). The band signed with Capitol Records after a bidding war amongst labels.

On stage the band wore matching outfits an similar hairdos, long of a throwback to the sixties bands from Britain they emulated. Although the group released four albums, Raspberries, Fresh, Side Three and Starting Over and had some success with singles, Go All The Way was their biggest hit. They struggled with creative differences and disbanded in 1975. Member joined other bands while Eric Carmen went on to a successful solo career.

#70sMusic #Raspberries #EricCarmen #GoAllTheWay

Sorry, Been Busy Revising Books, Riding a Bike, and Trying to Stay Dry

It’s been a few days between posts. Sorry about that. Been busier than a plate juggler lately, between working for pay and working for pleasure (writing).

Yesterday morning I finished revising Book 3 of The Wolfcat Chronicles, titled Shattered Truce. I ran it through spell checker and laughed at some of MS Word’s suggested fixes (ignoring the most humorous ones) and then sent it off to my publisher for review. I’ll continue with my present revision of the series until I’ve completed each of the books and submitted them. I don’t know whether they will be contracted or when they might be released, but I suspect that if the publisher picks them up the first of the series may be out as early as next summer or fall. I’d like to see the books come out about a couple or three months apart, but I don’t know if that’s possible. There are other authors with books in the production pipeline, you know.

On other fronts, it’s been raining for the past couple of days here in the Sunshine State. It’s not been continuous but it has been frequent enough that I’ve gotten wet at times riding my bike here and there. I think most of you know my commute to and from work is on a bicycle. I used to live closer to work, around a mile and a third, but since I relocated to my son’s place it is about 4.5 miles each way. So, on top of working I also ride a bike 9 miles each time. I think that’s pretty good for a 58-year-old man.

It’s been about four years now since I ditched (figuratively speaking) my last car, an HHR. Although Chevy begs to differ, it had a design defect, or in the vernacular of marketing gurus tasked with explaining why engineers made certain changes, ‘an innovative feature’ . The car had to be driven at least ten miles per day in order to properly recharge the battery  What asshat thought up that, right?

Here’s the deal. For several years now car companies have undersized the batteries in vehicles that they deem necessary. They still offer the full size and high capacity batteries in work vehicles, I guess because guys who drive trucks also tend to tote guns and would take exception to their primary means of transportation, a pickup, not having the juice to crank at 2 AM on Saturday Morning in the local Honky Tonk’s parking lot.

My guess is that car companies had to cut costs to eek out a profit. So, some survey somewhere determined that, on average, people drive cars enough to keep the batteries charged even though it is much smaller in size and capacity than batteries that used to come in vehicles. Most people don’t realize there was a design change, so they get away with telling people like me that I don’t drive enough. I took that at face value. What they were telling me was that I didn’t need a friggin’ car since I was one of those fringe people who try to conserve fuel and the expense of driving by moving closer to work

Silly me. I thought we were supposed to be minimizing our carbon footprints and sparing the use of fossil fuels. I guess I forgot about the Big Oil interests in automobile companies and the federal agencies that oversee things.

Anyway, after arguing with Chevy and deciding I wasn’t about to pay for a tow, recharging my battery and reprogramming my key each time. the latter due to the stupid electronic interlock system – a theft deterrent , they say – to the tune of $140 every couple of months, I told the bank to repo the car. They warned me it would ruin my credit. Obviously they hadn’t looked at my credit before making such a statement. It was actually so bad at the time that the repo might have actually improved my score. (I’m joking, but it was pretty bad).

The next day I bought a bike and started riding it to and from work. Also I learned a lot of things along the way:

1) There are not enough bike lanes or trails designed exclusively for bikes.

2) Cars, trucks, buses and whatever else ends up rolling down the streets and highways do not pay attention to bikes in the bike lanes

3) There is a good deal of sharp debris on the sides of the road exactly where bike tires will find it.

4) Wild animals are as surprised as people and pets that anyone is using the bike lane and armadillos move a little bit faster than tortoises in getting out of the way.

Over the course of the past couple of years I have lost a lot of weight (over 60 pounds) partially due to riding a bike just about everywhere I go. Quitting drinking and not having any money to buy lots of food also helped the cause a good bit, but the bike riding has made me feel healthier. Also I find that while I ride my bike I have time to think.

Being a writer, most of what I think about is what so called normal people might consider crazy ideas, but I find it helpful in settling plots in my head before I go home to write. I have yet to stop pedaling to quickly jot something down but I do carry my smartphone with me and it does have the ability to record my vocalized thoughts as well as take dictation. Maybe a bluetooth headset would allow me to knock out a rough draft while I’m riding along. I’ll have to look into that.

#biking #HHR #writing #publishing

Nuggets of Wisdom, Inspiration or Whatever

Last night I had an interesting chat with a reader. Actually he became a reader over the course of the chat as he downloaded Fried Windows. He intended to purchase it but discovered, to his delight, that it was on a special one-day free promotion. It was a win. He began reading it between our chat posts. It was kind of surreal experience for both of us. He had immediate access to the author of a book he was reading and I was receiving immediate feedback on something I had written. Again, it was winning situation.

Although I don’t expect other writers to attempt such a thing it was uplifting. You see, whenever I’m revising something as I have been doing with The Wolfcat Chronicles, I become hypercritical of my writing. At times I wonder why I’m write at all. I’ve been at this game long enough to know that happens and I shouldn’t read too much into the feelings of inadequacy. But until I’m is happy with a book revising it can be a depressing experience. In the course of chatting I was reminding of some of the dramatic moments during the revisions and multiple edits of Fried Windows. Looking back, it’s probably a minor miracle the book was ever published at all.

Specifically I recall one day in the summer of 2013. I was in the midst of preparing the book for substantive edits. From 3AM to 3PM, except for bathroom breaks and trips to refill a water bottle from the filtered tap in the kitchen, I worked on three chapters with which I was not particularly happy. I didn’t finish the effort at that time, though.

My great niece invited me to a dinner party along with my sister, brother-in-law, my nephew and his girlfriend. Although I was present in body and the evening might have been a welcome departure from being obsessed with book revisions my mind was not all there. My overriding concern was getting the book to a point that the publisher and editors could begin working on it so that it could be published in about eight or nine months. Let’s say it put a damper on any potential for fun that evening.

My family is use to my idiosyncrasies. So no one thought I was being weird – any more so than what was usual. I’m not always the most talkative sort, anyway. And since I quit drinking I’ve not been the life of any party – if in fact I ever was except in my own inebriated brain. Somewhere along the way that evening, in the background I mentally assembled a fix for the three chapters in question. Upon returning home, I spend another hour or so laboring over the revision and hammered out what pretty-much became the final version of those chapters. That’s not to say i was finished with the book. Following the publishers substantive review I had eleven pages of notes to go through and a month or so to respond. I actually finished the substantive edits in about a week, which included adding three chapters and rereading the entire book for continuity because of the additions.

I’m telling you all of this because, other than hearing generalized praise from fiends and family and reading posted reviews for my work, last night was the first time since the book was published that anyone gave me direct feedback on the work. That it happened in real time over the Internet from six time ones away was pretty amazing.

Some nuggets of wisdom, inspiration or whatever were brought to my attention. There are a lot of those in the book. Usually they come from Strawb (Mrs. Fields) or Lucy and not the main character, Brent. In fact I might pitch the book as an inspirational piece because of all those elements. Consider them a bonus. As it says on the back cover of the book (provided you have the paperback version) the characters’ perspectives on their world will change the way you think about yours – forever.

Fried Windows is an urban fantasy with elements of science fiction blend with neorealism. That might seem ambitious but it never started off to be anything more than a cute story about a middle-aged man in a mid-age crisis.

Brent Woods is a computer technician working for a technology retailer. While helping out on the sales floor on a busy Sunday he helps an elderly lady named Mrs. Fields who insists he deliver and set up her new computer system. Days later, while trying to decipher her convoluted directions the adventure begins. In the course Mrs. Fields offers Brent a chance to reconnect with his childhood fantasy world and his best ‘imaginary’ friend. The question from the outset is which the one of these characters is really crazy? By the end of the story answering that no longer matters.

The book contains some personal philosophies, I suppose. The resilience of character and believing in one’s dreams enough to continue to pursue them against all odds are also themes. Brent is a good father and loving husband who experiences something extraordinary that changes him forever but is also reconnects him with a past that he either wanted to forgot or was forced to do so.

Mainly the book is intended to be as much fun as thought provoking. When I wrote it I was not in a good situation. So some of that inspired me and  writing provided an escape. For the first time in a very long time I was seriously contemplating being a full-time writer. The only problem was being able to afford the adventure. I had no savings, was out of work and really was burned out on working in my career field.

One day I wrote a poem (yeah, I’m not much of a poet but I have been known to knock out a few). It was about being a kid and going to a carnival. I posted it on a website where other writers could read and comment on it. The feedback on it was positive. That became the catalyst to writing a story that now comprises the first two chapters of Fried Windows. After posting it on the same site and receiving feedback, what I originally intended to be a short story evolved into a series of short stories with the same same characters and overall theme. After writing and posting fifteen installments over the course of a month I had the nucleus of the book. In fact several of the other writers who were commenting on my postings suggested such.

Afterwards, my life got worse for a while, about a far from where I hoped to be as imaginable. Yet I continued to write. Fried Windows was on the back burner, though, as I continued working on other projects. It wasn’t until a month before I actually submitted Fried Windows to my present publisher that I assembled the separated short stories into a novel format adding a few chapters and an ending.

The main difference between Fried Windows and other manuscripts I’ve written is that from the outset I never intended for it to be a novel. In itself that is not all that odd, though. Every writer I know experiences a story that refuses to go away. He or she may start out to write one thing but winds up writing something entirely different. That’s the magic of creativity. Sometimes the best things kind of write themselves. Every writers experience is different in the same ways – if that makes sense.

Fried Windows is one of the few books a publisher accepted – and likely one of the few books I’ve submitted to a publisher that anyone bothered to read. Having said that I submitted the first two chapters of the book as a short story to a magazine. Shortly before submitting it to Pandamoon Publishing the magazine rejected it. So, in a lot of ways, it is a story that wouldn’t quit and I never gave up on it. If there is a secret to success in writing it is to keep writing until you know something is as finished as it will ever be.

#FriedWindows #Writing #Revising #Readers #Feedback #Inspiration #Publishing

Throwback Thursday – Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack

Like a lot of people who grew up in the 70′s and were into Rock Music, Sheer Heart Attack was my introduction to the British group Queen. Released in 1974, the album was the band’s third LP but had the distinction of giving the band its first international hit, Killer Queen, which charted #2 in the UK and #12 in the US.

The foundation for Queen began in 1968 when guitarist Brian May, a student at London’s Imperial College, met Tim Staffell, a bassist and decided to form a band. After placing an ad on the college notice board for a drummer the met Roger Taylor, a dental student. They named their group Smile. While attending Ealing Art College Tim Staffell became friends with Farrokh Balsara who went by the English name Freddie. Balsara became the lead singer and pianist for the group. In 1970 Staffell left the group to join another band. It was at this point that Balsara suggested the band change their name to Queen. Balsara also used his artistic skills to design the trademark Queen logo. Later he changed his surname to Mercury in reference to Mother Mercury from a song lyric in “My Fairy King”.

Although the band was represented by Trident management and was able to use a studio to record demos, the management company had difficulties finding a label willing to sign them, largely due to the connotation of the band’s name Queen. During this time the band went through a number of bassists into 1971 before settling on John Deacon. Trident/EMI recorded their debut, self titled album released in 1973 as well as the follow up Queen II in 1974. Although the debut album produced the fan favorite Keep Yourself Alive and both initial offerings were well received critically well received neither charted well. It wasn’t until he release of 1974′s Sheer Heart Attack that the band began to receive international attention.

In 1975 the band released A Night At The Opera, named for the Marx Brother’s movie. The album included the song Bohemian Rhapsody, a chart topper in the UK and cracked the top ten in the US. The song also holds the distinction of being the only song to ever sell over one million copies in two different periods of release (1975 and 1992). During its second release song charted at #2 based largely on its inclusion in the movie Wayne’s World.

In 1976 Queen’s  followed up to A Night At The Opera was A Day At The Races, another title borrowed from a Marx Brother’s movie. It featured the hit Somebody to Love that charted at #13 in the US and a concert favorite Tie Your Mother Down.

1977′s News Of The World featured We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions that were released as a single in the US reaching #4 on Billboard’s Hot 100.

Queen played to sold out venues in stadiums around the world throughout the late seventies and early eighties, leaving an indelible mark on music history with their innovative sound, song styling and experimentation with overdubbed guitars and layered vocals. The group sold well over an estimated 150 million records and were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame in 2001.

#Queen #SheerHeartAttack #70sMusic

Revising The Wolfcat Chronicles

Revising any writing is a challenge. You recall the story as it played out in your head while composing it and, somehow, it’s never quite the same experience when you read it months of even years later. And then there is the book that grew into a series of books that has been reworked and re-written several times over the course of the past nearly decade and a half.

The part of the series I’m working on is the first bit of the story I composed in the summer of 2000. The essence is still in tact, just bits of this and that were added in over the intervening years to enhance the story and make it connect with the larger story. You see, the first draft of this was about the characters wolfcats Ela’na, Rotor and a human named Tomas. 

As the story grew there were many characters added, their roles essential to the unfolding epic of a forbidden romance, being separated by distance and circumstance while events with long lasting significance to everyone else is going on in the background. Elana and Rotor are thrust to the forefront as all the characters are drawn into the story’s climactic events.

Although Tomas is introduced early on in Book 3 of the series (which was actually the first part of the story that was written) his significance in to the overall story happens much later on. The challenge is to keep the character in the back of the reader’s mind until his active participation is required. In an effort to assist that process I moved a bit (roughly four pages) of Book 4 into Book 3. Also there are some references to him here and there.

The early part of Book 3 is mainly about Rotor and a little about Ela’na and toward the end of the book the emphasis shifts to being mainly about Ela’na. In the process we meet some other characters of later importance like Copter, Nanami, Jesse, Hildi, Tazmal, Master E and Magus – who we met  in the first two books of the series. We also learn a bit of history about the world of Anter’x and the hierarchy of immortals.

Tweaking the story is about all I’m doing at this point. Some structural decisions such a relocating bits of the story to fascinate the flow and pacing are also being considered. The plot is already well defined from previous revisions. So what I’m doing is looking for redundancies and information that may not be relevant to the reader – things that as a writer were helpful for composing broad, complicated series of novels but unnecessary for the actual telling.

When I began writing I had a rough idea of where things were going and an basic outline. I also had a map of the important places in the world and a list of characters and their relationships. I cranked out the basic story that now spans five books in the middle of the series in about 13 weeks. The way that story ends demanded the loose ends be addressed. And so I wrote the next two books. The two book prequel came next with the final book following that. Perhaps that’s not the best way to write a series, but as it was an ambitious effort for which I had next to no experience, it worked out pretty well.

I’ve been through portions of these books dozens of times. Concurrently I wrote other stories, including a conclusion to One Over X (that has never been published), The Attributes (available for Kindle), Fried Windows (Publishing back in May), Becoming Thuperman )My next book due out in early 2015) and a dozen of so other stories some of which I have turned into manuscripts.

I expect to complete the revision on Book 3 sometime in the next week and move on to Book 4. I and hoping to complete revisions up to Book 8 by the end of the year but we’ll see how that goes along with deadlines for edits of Becoming Thuperman.

#TheWolfcatChronicles #Writing #Revising #author #publishing

Becoming Thuperman Coming in Early 2015

My next novel due out is titled Becoming Thuperman. For those who have read Fried Windows, it is a bit of a departure. Don’t worry, though, there is a touch of supernatural/paranormal strangeness. Just this one is not a sequel or directly tied to any other of my books.

A little over a year ago, when Fried Windows was at Pandamoon Publishing in substantive edits, I started working on one of those back burner ideas that I’d been kicking around for a while. Although it is not about Brent Woods, the main character in Fried Windows, he does mention it in another, as yet unpublished, book about his early college experiences titled Fifteen Days of Danielle.

 

Best friends Will and Sandra are both eight years old. School’s out in Normal, Illinois and the kids are enjoying their summer vacation doing what comes naturally riding bikes, talking baseball and making plans to change the world – when they grow up, that is. What begins with a road trip to Chicago’s Midway Airport leads a sequence of events over the course of the following week that changes both of them forever. You see, the kids are just beginning to discover that superpowers run in their families.

I had a lot of fun writing about the kids while I was wrapping up Fried Windows and tying a bow around it. As is the case with Fried Windows, I am working on a sequel that I expect to finish sometime next year. I plan to get to those as soon s I finish the revisions on The Wolfcat Chronicles.

As soon as I have an official release date for Becoming Thuperman I’ll let everyone know.

#BecomingThuperman #ElgonWIlliams #Writing #ComingSoon #NewBooks