90th Blog

          “The past is history, the future is mystery, and the moment is a gift. That is why this moment is called ‘the present’.”

I quote from a “success” book written by Deepak Chopra, because on this October 11^th day I receive the ‘present’ of a 90^th birthday.   Because I write this message on October 4, 2018, there’s still some mystery left.

One birthday present will come when Amazon and Audible sell another “Anne Bonny’s Wake” audiobook. Maybe E-book or Kindle will sell another copy of my first novel.

We writers always wonder if anybody reads—or hears—our words. We give reviews fervent attention.    If we get enough kind reviews, we might even promote ourselves from “writer” to “Author.”    And there’s always “copyright”–a tangible that we “authors” can leave for the children—of which Maxine and I were blessed with four.

Sometime after age 90, three already drafted Maggie and Hersh thriller sequel manuscripts may publish.

In addition, you might read my collection of oilfield yarns underway.   Son Kelson wrote one about his “wildcatter” Grandfather.   Daughter Michaela Wood wrote another about her days working at a Kazakhstan oilfield camp. Numerous of  my “oil-patch” friends have shared stories. Still compiling.   Best-of-all, Lee Hart’s 1954 “Roughneck” oil painting serves as book cover

This October 11 birthday “blog” written in Knox, Indiana.   This rural town of 3,000, surrounded by corn and soybean fields, was home to two-time Governor of the State, Henry Frederick Schricker.  His life and neighbors—including some of my Elam relatives who moved here from the hills of Kentucky—remembered in my 1945 historical fiction more than half written.

You can read the first “Schricker” chapter—for the fiction I will edit one name—in last year’s “Short Stories by Texas Authors, Volume 3.”   The story placed first as historical fiction.

If you wonder why I write, know that I started reading at age 10. I was bedridden with a light case of polio.  First novel was “The Boy Captain.”   Imagine reading about sailing in the dry, West Texas town of Hamlin.  I also read “Boy’s Life” and “Open Road for Boys” and anything else they threw on the bed. Yes, Ma’am, also The Bible. As I have told many students, to be a writer, you must be a reader.

Ninety years ago, Lena Young Elam gave birth to me in Pecos. Texas.   Rig-builder A.R. “Red” Elam housed us just north of there, in Kermit.  I am told he cut four boards at the lumber-yard he managed and constructed a playpen in the front yard sand.  The four boards, I was told, were not to pen the “kid” in, but to keep the rattlesnakes out.

That’s the truth as I remember hearing. If I told you they threw in a book of nursery rhymes for me to read, you might think that was fiction.

Photo by Magda Ehlers from Pexels