Dyin’ or Revivin’?

Last week I received an email by the good folks running the literary competitions at my local county fair. After notifying me that my story won a prize, they invited me to come out to the fair next weekend to read my story aloud on stage as part of their literary event.

Well I was just pleased as punch to say yes. What a wonderful opportunity.

This past Saturday, I had some time on my hands while I sat in a chair waiting for my hair to turn that color that only my hairdresser knows how to make.

I started thinking about this event next weekend and planning. I need to spend some time practicing reading my story aloud. Practice is everything in a public speaking situation.

I wondered if I’d be asked any questions about the story. I thought I should try to think up what I might be asked so I could be ready with good answers.

One of the first questions I thought of was, “what was your inspiration for this story?”

I had to spend some time thinking that through. It’s a story that’s been rambling around in my mind for a while, and I’ve taken several stabs and getting it out, to both greater and lesser success.

Mainly, I was inspired by the fact that upon reading the guidelines for the competition, I noted that there was a “Western” genre available to compete under. This is not something I often see, so that really got my creative juices rolling.

My absolute author-hero is Larry McMurtry. I adore his way with description and dialogue, and his western novels are a cut above.

I have a collection of short stories that McMurtry edited. It’s western stories written only by writers raised in the west.

When I saw that my county fair offered a Western category, I knew there was no doubt that I had to write a western story.

That said, what I wrote isn’t truly a classical western. Technically, the western genre implies a story set in the 1800’s, the so called “Old West.”

If you read any of the literally thousands of short stories that Louis L’Amour wrote, you’ll find within his formula a common theme. The great conflict in his stories is of man against nature which includes cattle grazing the land, the weather and water. In fact, water rights always seem to play a big role in L’Amour’s short stories.

I guess that the western genre has declined so much because these concepts seem hopelessly old fashioned.

But are they?

Until his untimely death last year, my dear friend who farmed cotton and chile on his family’s farm in La Mesa was fighting with the state of New Mexico over water rights. This problem was such a vital aspect of his life that it was mentioned in his eulogy.

Yesterday I watched a televised show where renowned French chef Eric Ripert spoke passionately about the “farm to table” movement, and visited a Virginia farm where the owner was doing something revolutionary.

He was not overgrazing his land.

He spends time calculating how many head of cattle his land can bear and then actively rotates pastures to be sure that his cattle never overgraze. His land flourishes, his cattle are healthy and he’s seen as an innovator.

This is not innovation. Louis L’Amour wrote stories about this very idea over 70 years ago. This concept is also something they taught me in my collegiate FFA organization**. It’s called “being a good steward of the land.”

And so, to bring this back to my point…

I wanted to write a western story because although I keep hearing that the western fiction genre is dying, I’m seeing that the topics driving most true western stories are still essential and vital to today’s world.

And so maybe Westerns aren’t dying. Maybe, much like the land, if tended to and nourished, the genre can continue to flourish with a modern sensibility.

Writing a western story set in modern times that won an award at my local county fair is so deeply satisfying to me. It’s my affirmation that the Western genre is alive and well inside at least one little girl who was born and raised in the west.

_______________________


Further proof: The Western genre gets back in the saddle





**”I believe in the future of farming…”


Happy Birthday to The Hag

Today, April 6th, country king Merle Haggard turns an amazing 74 years old.

I’d just like to give The Hag a hearty Feliz Cumpleaños and and big shout out for another year of amazing music.

Because this:





Plus this:





Equals some real, real nice memories.

Thank you for being such an integral part of my life, Hag.

And cheers to your next trip around the sun.




Special shout out to my twitter buddy, local radio guy @Pcon34 for playing “Fightin’ Side of Me” on the early morning show. Saaaalute!


Time To Update The Rules

So you know this whole schoolyard game called roshambo, also known as rock-paper-scissors?

Yeah. I played it on the schoolyard. Years ago there was a lively night in Las Cruces where a drunk cowboy accused my best friend of cheating at rock-paper-scissors. She wasn’t cheating, he was just so drunk that his reflexes were slow, and she could see what was coming.

Plus, he kept throwing rock. Nothing else. Just rock. Sorta hard to sort out that strategy.

But that’s history. Let’s get current.

Recently in my internet wanderings, I read someone’s blog post discussing how maybe rock and paper and scissors aren’t the best choices in this game.

I wish I could recall where I read this so I could give credit. It was a quick piece, but for some reason the points stayed with me.

Ok, so basic rules, as we all know:

Rock beats scissors since rock smashes scissors. Good, ok, I’m on board.

Scissors beats paper since scissors cuts paper. Ok, yup.

Paper beats rock, because paper covers rock.

: cue the sound of squealing brakes :

What now? Paper covers rock and thus renders it ineffective?

Not so sure about that. I’m onboard with broken scissors and cut paper, but the logic doesn’t follow to paper covered rock.

I’m pretty gall damn sure that if I cover a rock with a piece of paper then huck that rock offa someone’s dome, it’s STILL going to cause damage. Paper has done *nothing* to render the rock useless or ineffective.

All I know is that in the heat of the battle I’m taking rock or scissors with me because no sissy piece of paper is going to save my hide! I need something with some heft!

This game has been flawed for YEARS!

So I propose some alternates. How about rock-scissors-machete?

Rock beats scissors since rock can smash the scissors.

Machete beats rock because a super sharp machete can either deflect the rock or maybe cut it?

Then scissors beats machete? Ok, this idea is starting to break down. Maybe scissors can cut the handle covering off machete thus leaving it very slippery?

No? Ok.

Let’s try again.

Rock-scissors-plastic explosives?

Rock smashes scissors.

Scissors cuts up plastic explosives, thus making it less powerful.

Plastic explosives blows the bejeebus out of rock.

See. That works. And it makes a lot more logical sense. We can even keep the hand gestures the same. A flat slab of plastic explosives could look kinda like paper. It really works!

Wow, I’m brilliant. A certified GENIUS! (or simply certified).





Image from Wikimedia and used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.


This week’s Theme Thursday was posted a day early, so I dove in. This week’s theme is “paper.”


And Then I Get Out Of The Wayback Machine

I got a little down this past weekend. It might have been coming off one of the busiest weeks in recent memory. Twelve hour work days can bring a girl down.

It could have been the emails flying around about the upcoming memorial for my friend. It hurts my heart.

Perhaps it was simply about the dark gray skies and soaking rain that laid down like a cold, wet blanket over the Bay Area.

Yeah. It was all of that. But there’s one more.

Back in February, when I was visiting my Fair New Mexico, my best good friend told me some really good news.

“Friend, there’s a Lake Valley coming up! Joe Delk got the permits!”

Well, this made me grin so hard, the sides of my mouth met around the back of my head.

Ah Lake Valley. Now there’s a memory.

The town of Lake Valley, once a booming silver mine, is now a ghost town. Out there in the middle of gosh darn nowhere (a little to the left of I-25, a little to the right of Silver City), there are a few buildings still standing.

One of them is an old schoolhouse. For a lot of years, cowboys, ranchers, locals and college kids got together at that Lake Valley schoolhouse for a good old-fashioned country dance.

When I say a lot of years, I mean my best friend’s grandma remembers coming out to Lake Valley to dance, and she and I do too.

People came from miles around to tailgate, share beer and stories, and dance on the uneven wood boards of that rickety old schoolhouse.

The last Lake Valley dance happened back in the late eighties. The BLM has taken over the land and buildings and it’s been mighty hard to get in there ever since.

But to hear that Joe Delk, leader of local band The Delks, had somehow persuaded the BLM to go along? Well hell, I bought my ticket PDQ. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!

March 19th was when it was set to go down.

About a week before I started packing my bags, I got the news. Sadly, it was not to be. Evidently the BLM wanted a whole lot of restrictions that just wouldn’t work. So Joe cancelled the dance.

When I heard the news, I felt low.

And so…on this past rainy Saturday, I looked out my window and I texted my best friend. “This would have been Lake Valley weekend.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Then she sighed.

And I sighed.

But it was not to be.

I guess Lake Valley gets to live on only in our memories.

Maybe I should write a story about it one day. It’s a intriguing bit of New Mexico history that shouldn’t be forgotten.

Ah well. Monday rolled around and the rain came down and work was waiting and I stepped out of the wayback machine and back into my life.

But somewhere in my dreams, I scoot across the uneven floors, careful not to trip on a nail, while the band plays “Put Your Little Foot”…..and we dance.



That’s the schoolhouse. Now imagine it at night. Very dark out there…



Photo from Jimmy Emerson‘s Flickr photostream.


Revised Sentiments

Since I’m still in that obnoxious happy Holiday mood, I’ve been listening to my own mix tape of fave Christmas tunes in my car to and from work.

I don’t play them much at home. Not sure The Good Man would go for piping all my insane Xmas cheer into the house.

Aaaaanyhow, this morning I was listening to the George Strait song, “Christmastime in Texas” and the line “it might look just like a summer day” which, of course, made me think of Christmas in New Mexico. I think there was snow on Christmas just once when I was growing up, and that was all melted off by noon.

Christmas in New Mexico was more like sixty-five degrees and shorts and a tshirt to play with my new toys outside.

I’ve always loved all the standard Christmas tunes, but hey, to a New Mexico kid, they don’t really apply.

So I decided to tinker with some of the classics to give them more of a New Mexico vibe.

Here just a few, feel free to add your own!

______

“Up on a Housetop”

Up on a rooftop, stick stick stick, tar paper roof laid on too thick

“Walking in a Winter Wonderland”

Walking in a surprisingly summerlike wonderland

“Silent Night”

Silent night, holy HELL my neighbor’s yard decorations are bright

“White Christmas”

I’m dreaming of a red or green Christmas. Green please, with a fried egg on top. Pass the tamales. (whoops, lost the natural rhythm of the song there….thoughts of Christmas tamales will do that to me)

“Let it Snow”

Oh the weather outside is windy, and the weeds are very tumbly, and since we’ve no place to go, let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

“The Christmas Song”

Calf’s nuts roasting on an open fire, branding iron nipping at your flanks
(yeah, ok, so winter isn’t exactly branding season, but go with me here!)

“Jingle Bells”

Paper bags, paper bags, burning in my yard

“Frosty the Snowman”

Nobby the mud tires, on a very four wheel truck,
with a four on the floor and a headache rack,
and two headlights made out of halogen

__________

Ah, mud tires and a headache rack. Now that’s what Christmas means to me.