Thursday, July 26, 2018
Don Travis: The Lovely Pines—Release date August28, 2018
Don Travis: The Lovely Pines—Release date August28, 2018: dontravis.com blog post #295 After that incredibly flattering post by Ben Brock last week, it’s back to Earth time today. Thanks, B...
The Lovely Pines—Release date August28, 2018
dontravis.com blog post #295
After that incredibly flattering post by Ben Brock last week, it’s back to Earth time today. Thanks, Ben, for your sentiments.
Inasmuch as The Lovely Pines is scheduled for release on the 28th of next month, it is probably time to give you a little more of that book. Last November, I posted a portion of Chapter 2. The very pastoral scene I picked for this blog post comes in Chapter 3.
Our protagonist, BJ Vinson, has been hired to investigate a seemingly senseless break-in at the Lovely Pines Winery and Vineyard, but as the weekend approaches, his life companion, Paul Barton, is intent on some R&R. BJ happily complies. I chose the following 600 or so words because they showcase a portion of my great adopted state… New Mexico.
*****
 |
| Maria Fanning, Artist |
THE LOVELY PINES
I resumed my task before the computer screen and spent most of the rest of the day checking out the staff of the winery. By the time I got home, Paul was standing at the door waiting for me, looking expectant.
“What?” I asked. Whatever it was, he could have it. His special brand of combining his juvenile side with the adult man could charm me out of just about anything. Anytime. Anywhere.
“I have tomorrow off.”
“No studying?”
“Got home early today and did it already. Can we do something special?”
“What, go to the C&W and line dance?”
He grinned broadly. “No, really special. You know what I want to do?”
“What?”
“Drive up to Los Alamos and spend the night in a motel. And then get up early the next morning and play the municipal golf course.”
“Okay. It’s an easy drive. Let’s do it.”
“Second request?”
“I’m in a generous mood.”
“Can we come back through Jemez Springs Sunday? I want to spend a little while at Valles Caldera.”
That was a request easy to grant. The Valles Caldera is an almost fourteen-mile wide volcanic caldera in the Jemez Mountains between Jemez Springs and Los Alamos. The broad grasslands and rugged volcanic peaks made up one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. The almost 100,000 acres comprising the National Preserve formerly known as Baca Location Number 1 have a fascinating history.
“Done. Let me throw some duds in a bag. I assume you’ve already packed yours.”
He flashed that devastating grin again. “Yours too. If you go relieve your bladder, we can get started. Maybe they’ll serve us a late dinner at the North Road Inn.” I knew the B and B was one of his favorite spots to rest his head for the night.
I slipped into more comfortable traveling clothes while he loaded the Impala with our bags and gear. My pulse quickened at the thought of having him to myself for the next twenty-four hours. He crawled behind the wheel without asking. That was all right. I was content to watch him rather than the roads.
We got into the Atomic City—or as it was otherwise known, The Town that Never Was—perched on the Pajarito Plateau too late for dinner at the North Road, but we stopped at the Blue Window Bistro, where Paul convinced me to join him for a duck BLT. Dubious at first, I soon found breast of duck went well with bacon.
Later in our comfortable room at North Road, he headed straight for the shower, saying he wanted to make an early night of it so we could hit the golf course at first light the next morning. Yeah, right. I no sooner joined him in bed after my own bath than he launched his assault on my body. And a long and vigorous and loving onslaught it was too. I knew well before it was over that getting up early was going to be difficult.
Paul beat me on the broad fairways of the front nine at the Los Alamos County Golf Course and literally trounced me on the narrow tee boxes built right into the evergreen forest surrounding the back nine. As I usually took him by a stroke or two, I blamed the bedroom calisthenics of the night before for the rout.
Sunday afternoon found us sitting in the tall grass beside the tiny Jemez River staring out over a great spread of grassland, listening to water trickle by and the flutter of wings and call of wild birds. Small creatures stirred in the nearby weeds. The odd volcanic bubble known as Cerro la Jara—or more fondly, Little la Jara—sat at our left, rising off the vast meadow like a miniature mountain with trees crowning the top. The vast hulk of Redondo Peak loomed in the distance. Paul leaned against me comfortably, adding the final ingredient to total peace and contentment. His touch and the aroma of gramma grass and weeds and wildflowers even quelled my urge to recite the colored history of our environment.
*****
I am often criticized for “wasting” so many words on the environment instead of my characters. Sorry, but New Mexico is one of my characters. One of the stars, in fact. So indulge me and enjoy the word pictures I try to paint.
On the other hand, if I’m boring you, let me know.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. And keep on submitting your work to publishers and agents. You have something to say… so say it.
If you would like to drop me a line, my personal links follow:
Facebook: Don Travis
Twitter: @dontravis3
Here are some buy links to City of Rocks, my most recent book.
The Lovely Pines appears on DSP Publication’s upcoming releases page: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Abaddon’s Locusts is wrapped and waiting for release on January 22, 2019. I’m sitting on 45,000 words or so of the new book, The Voxlightner Scandal, and adding more each day. Its publication date as yet undetermined.
See you next week.
Don
New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
When Fiction Becomes Nonfiction: I’m a Triathlete (A Repost from Ben A. Brock)
dontravis.comblog post #294
The following post on B. A. Brock Books (www.babrockbooks.com) dated July 9 and reposted on Facebook hit me right between the eyes! I knew that I wanted to share this powerful story with my readers and asked if I could repost. Ben graciously gave me permission. I am proud to pass on his story:
WHEN FICTION BECOMES NONFICTION: I’M A TRIATHLETE
ALTHOUGH I’M a voracious reader, it may come as a slight surprise that my adventures into triathlons started with a fiction novel. Two years ago, after two of my operations, I read a Mystery/Thriller by Don Travis, called The Zozobra Incident. It attracted me because it promised to be a hard-boiled mystery with an openly gay protagonist, something I hadn’t read before but is very much in my wheelhouse. The book delivered everything it promised, and more, but I wasn’t anticipating the lasting effect it would have on me and my life.
BJ Vinson, our protagonist, is a law enforcement officer who was heroically injured in the line of duty, now retired from the force and working as a confidential investigator. He’s nearly middle age, lost his parents in a tragic accident, has a strong work ethic, is daring and intelligent, and is gay. Until I read The Zozobra Incident, I’d never met a protagonist of BJ’s ilk. I especially hadn’t realized how much I’d been pining for a role model, someone I could relate to and look up to on this level. I gobbled up the next BJ Vinson mystery, and the next, and am currently not-so-patiently awaiting the fourth (The Lovely Pines, which comes out at the end of August).
I trained for a year, vigorously for four months. Every day I spent hours either lifting, swimming, cycling, running, or doing a combination of all four. In my state of exhaustion, I admittedly didn’t spend much time thinking of BJ, of what he might think of all this. I also didn’t see much of my husband. But finally, this last Saturday, at Henry Hagg Lake in scenic (and hilly) Forest Grove, I finished my first Olympic distance triathlon. I am now a marathoner and a triathlete.
And I have Don Travis and his character to thank for that.
Thank you, Don and BJ. Without you, none of this would have been possible. To those authors who inspire countless of others, thank you and keep writing. Not everyone may thank you in a blog post, but know your words have changed people’s lives–you make the world a better place.
Love,
Ben
Here’s my Review of The Zozobra Incident by Don Travis. (At the bottom should be suggestion links to other books in the series.) Also, anyone notice that awesome medal and matching T shirt? Totally rad.
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*****
*****
WHEN FICTION BECOMES NONFICTION: I’M A TRIATHLETE
 |
| I didn't drown |
!
ALTHOUGH I’M a voracious reader, it may come as a slight surprise that my adventures into triathlons started with a fiction novel. Two years ago, after two of my operations, I read a Mystery/Thriller by Don Travis, called The Zozobra Incident. It attracted me because it promised to be a hard-boiled mystery with an openly gay protagonist, something I hadn’t read before but is very much in my wheelhouse. The book delivered everything it promised, and more, but I wasn’t anticipating the lasting effect it would have on me and my life.
 |
| Ominously, the course started with a hill |
BJ Vinson, our protagonist, is a law enforcement officer who was heroically injured in the line of duty, now retired from the force and working as a confidential investigator. He’s nearly middle age, lost his parents in a tragic accident, has a strong work ethic, is daring and intelligent, and is gay. Until I read The Zozobra Incident, I’d never met a protagonist of BJ’s ilk. I especially hadn’t realized how much I’d been pining for a role model, someone I could relate to and look up to on this level. I gobbled up the next BJ Vinson mystery, and the next, and am currently not-so-patiently awaiting the fourth (The Lovely Pines, which comes out at the end of August).
 |
| OMG, It's Hot! |
There are many differences between BJ’s life and mine, but I felt a closeness to him–which should wholeheartedly be ascribed to Travis’s skill as a writer–and I wanted to feel closer. Because BJ was injured in the leg, he regularly swims for exercise. I reasoned it’s fairly normal for runners to have a secondary aerobic exercise they use as a cross training tool, plus it was something simple I could do in order to feel closer to my hero, so after I recovered from my surgeries I enrolled in a swim class. That swim class led to me swimming three days per week, and because I got acclimated to running and swimming in the same workout schedule, I figured if I wanted to do a triathlon all I had to add
was the cycling piece. Which led me to signing up for my first race.
I trained for a year, vigorously for four months. Every day I spent hours either lifting, swimming, cycling, running, or doing a combination of all four. In my state of exhaustion, I admittedly didn’t spend much time thinking of BJ, of what he might think of all this. I also didn’t see much of my husband. But finally, this last Saturday, at Henry Hagg Lake in scenic (and hilly) Forest Grove, I finished my first Olympic distance triathlon. I am now a marathoner and a triathlete.
 |
| Ben the Marathoner and Triathlete |
Thank you, Don and BJ. Without you, none of this would have been possible. To those authors who inspire countless of others, thank you and keep writing. Not everyone may thank you in a blog post, but know your words have changed people’s lives–you make the world a better place.
Love,
Ben
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About the author
B. A. Brock has lived most of his life in the Pacific Northwest. He graduated with a Bachelor’s of Science in 2007 at Portland State University--which he mostly uses to contemplate how we can achieve a civilization more closely aligned with Star Trek. When not writing, Brock spends his time reading/reviewing novels, training for marathons, and bemoaning the fact that the world has yet to make a decent gluten free donut.
*****
Thank you, Ben. What else can I say. Just… thank you. Awesome. Rad. Read him at
If readers would like to drop me a line, my personal links follow:
Facebook: Don Travis
Twitter: @dontravis3
Here are some buy links to City of Rocks, my most recent book.
The next book in the BJ Vinson Mystery Series, The Lovely Pines is scheduled for release on August 28 of this year. It appears on DSP Publication’s upcoming releases page: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Abaddon’s Locusts follows on January 22, 2019. AND I have recently signed a contract for the sixth book in the series called THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL. Publication date as yet undetermined.
See you next week.
Don
New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
I’m My Own Man (Part 2 of 2 Parts) – A Guest Blog
dontravis.com blog post #293
You will remember that last week, Mark Wildyr guest posted the first part of his short story, “I’m My Own Man.” This week we finish up the story.
*****
I slept fitfully in my car that night and woke the next morning feeling dirty and heavy-lidded and not thinking too straight. I crawled out of the car to stretch out the kinks and wash up in the men’s room at the town park. Thus far, I’d spent half my energy throwing mental darts at my father; at his insensitivity, at his physicality, his crudeness. The other half, I invested in feeling sorry for myself. Now in the clear glare of sunlight, I needed to decide what to do next. No way was I going back home… not right away.
I bought a breakfast burrito and cup of coffee from the McDonald’s down the street and took them back to the park to escape people. I imagined everyone was staring at the town queer. Didn’t take long to achieve that distinction. Kiss a guy once… well, twice… and that’s all it took. As soon as the bank opened, I went inside and tapped my funds for enough money to take care of me for a week.
Without thought or plan, I got in the Chevy and drove out of Wadlow. Before long, I found myself in Silverdale, the county seat not a dozen miles down the road. I hit their McD for lunch. While I didn’t know very many people in this town, I imagined they were all staring at the county queer. Damn, I’d been promoted in less than a day.
Finishing my burger in their park—it was bigger than ours—I wondered what to do next. Drive on until I was somewhere nobody knew me? Sit and stew? Go back home and do the crawfishing papa would demand before he quit looking at me like I was an alien. Or just sit here and molt.
“Joshua, is that you I see?” The heavy voice startled me into thinking papa had already tracked me down.
I looked up into the florid features of James Rondell. Mr. Rondell owned the grocery store in Silverdale. He knew my dad from business and civic organizations they both belonged to. Friendly competitors was how my mom put it.
I stood and accepted his hand. “Mr. Rondell. Nice to see you.”
“You are not working today?”
“N-no, sir. I’m taking some time off.”
“Well, if you want to make some extra money for school, I can use a hand. I’m short a clerk. The wiener schnitzel went and got himself married.”
My heart took a leap. “Really? Guess I could help out… if it’s needed.”
“A lifesaver, my boy. That’s what you’ll be. For a week, maybe?”
“I… uh, I guess so. Have to find someplace to stay.
“Not a problem. My wife and I have a spare room. Outside entrance and everything. You’ll be welcome.”
Mrs. Rondell was my mom plus ten years and ten pounds. She welcomed me into her home and made me feel comfortable. I’d found a soft landing… at least for the next week or so.
The culture at Rondell’s Foods—the way they did business—fit like a glove. Except for wearing a blue apron instead of a green, everything was almost the same. Mr. Rondell and I went to the store at six each morning after a hearty breakfast to open and get things ready for the day. The butcher and another clerk—a middle-aged lady—completed the staff. At the end of a week, no one said anything about me moving out or not coming to work, so I continued as I was.
At the end of the second week, Mr. Rondell wanted to stop for a cup of coffee before going home. As we settled into a corner booth at the restaurant, I understood he wanted to talk.
“Joshua, you’re a good worker, and I want you to understand you have a job here for as long as you like. But I know you sometimes get lonely for your own home.”
“S-sometimes. But I’m okay. If you still need me, that is.”
“You work at the store. You see my need. But still—”
“It’s not comfortable for me at home right now,” I blurted.
“Yes, I know.”
And I saw that he did. He knew all about it. My cheeks burned.
“Let me tell you a little story,” Mr. Rondell continued. “There was this man who knew how the world should work and insisted his family live by its rules. But he had a son who saw things differently. A son who insisted on being his own man by falling in love with another man. His dad thrashed him good and told him to be normal, a good Christian.”
Mr. Rondell took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “Then the son left his home and never came back. He and his friend moved out of town. A year later, word came to the family the son had been killed in an automobile accident. That papa never saw someone he loved dearly again.”
“That… that was your son?” I stammered.
He nodded. “My sweet Steven. He was a good boy even though I was too stupid to understand that.” He touched my shoulder. “I don’t want that future for you, Joshua. You are welcome here, but when you are ready to stand up to your father, Hilda and I will understand.”
Two days later, my knees nearly gave way when Toby Wolfson came through the door and walked up to me. “I need two bales of hay,” he announced with a lilt in his voice and merriment dancing in his eyes.”
I had to clasp my thighs to keep from throwing my arms around him. “How… how did you know where I was?”
“I live about halfway between here and Wadlow. Sometimes I shop here, and sometimes there. I heard you were working at Rondells. So here I am.”
“Let’s go get that hay.”
After we loaded the bales, Toby backed me into a corner and took liberties that had me panting so bad I could hardly stand it. Apparently, he couldn’t either because he backed off and asked when I got off work.”
“Not till seven.”
“I’ll meet you outside at seven. Then we can go somewhere where we’ll be alone.”
“Okay, but I have something to do first. Can you hold off an hour or so?”
“Yeah, if I don’t burn up between now and then.”
“You better not. I’ll see you at the Wadlow city park at eight, okay?”
My mom was overjoyed when I walked through the door to our house; papa, more like flustered. But he recovered fast. “So, you just stroll in here after walking out. How you know you’re welcome?”
“Be quiet, Louis,” mom snapped. “Of course, he’s welcome.”
“If he can behave himself. If he can be a man.”
I walked over to where he sat and took the newspaper out of his hand. “That’s why I’m here. I want to explain something to you.”
“You explain to me?”
“Yes. Apparently, you haven’t learned much from life. In too narrow a rut, I guess.”
“Joshua, don’t speak to your father like that.”
“Sorry, Mom. But this is between him and me. Papa, there’s more to being a man than just loving a woman. I take care of myself, make my own way. I’m responsible and reliable.”
“Yes, but—”
“Let me finish. So in my eyes, that makes me a man. But I’m not you, papa. I’m my own man. And if you can accept that, maybe I’ll come back home. But until you do, I won’t enter this house again.”
I crawled into the Chevy a tormented man. It felt good to stand up to my father and express myself, but I hadn’t been raised to go against his wishes. Had I irreparably separated myself from my family?
Unsettled and uncertain, I was steadied by the sight of Toby waiting for me at the park. Without a word, we piled into his pickup and drove out of town. An hour later, all of my doubts were swept away. I was truly my own man… with a man of my own.
*****
Looks as though Mark brought it home okay. I don’t know about you, but it stirred some shadowy memories in the past part of my brain.
Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. And keep on submitting your work to publishers and agents. You have something to say… so say it.
If you would like to drop me a line, my personal links follow:
Facebook: Don Travis
Twitter: @dontravis3
Here are some buy links to City of Rocks, my most recent book.
The next book in the BJ Vinson Mystery Series, The Lovely Pines is scheduled for release on August 28 of this year. It appears on DSP Publication’s upcoming releases page: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c
Abaddon’s Locusts follows on January 22, 2019. AND I have recently signed a contract for the sixth book in the series called THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL. Publication date as yet undetermined.
See you next week.
Don
New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
Thursday, July 5, 2018
I’m my Own Man (Part 1 of 2 Parts) -- A Guest Blog
dontravis.com, Post #292
 |
| Courtesy of Free Images |
Back to fiction this week. Mark Wildyr asked to guest post on my website, and today is the day he gives us the first of a two-part story about being gay in a small town in the Oklahoma Bible Belt. I suspect many of us have lived the story in one form or the other in our past.
Hope you enjoy it.
*****
I’M MY OWN MAN
By Mark Wildyr
My name is Joshua Scrivener. I’m eighteen, and I clerk full time every summer in my father’s grocery store.
To some people that was all there was to me. Those three things constituted me. My papa probably looked upon me more as a grocery clerk than as a son. But I was more. Lot’s more. I was human with human feelings and I had thoughts about things besides lettuce and ham and olives and… Well, you get the idea
My problem—my emancipation you could say—started the day Toby Wolfson strode into Scrivener’s Groceries. He took my breath away and sparked thoughts about things you never give voice to in this little bible belt town of Wadlow, Oklahoma. I tried not to gawk, but there was no way to avoid noticing his broad shoulders and heavy chest struggling to break through the thin shirt that covered them. Or the way he tapered to a narrow waist. But it was the face that made me blush and stumble over my words. Dark and hawkish, it proudly proclaimed his Choctaw blood. I instantly lusted to see him—Lord forgive me—naked. Stark naked.
The bemused smile on his broad mouth let me know he knew he flustered me. Did he understand why? I blushed at the thought. Toby paid for a couple of bales of hay, and said his pickup was already at the storeroom delivery dock. He accompanied me back and helped pile the two heavy bundles into the bed of his truck.
He thanked me before introducing himself and offering to shake. He held my sweaty hand in his for a long moment after we exchanged names. His onyx eyes locked onto mine.
“How about a beer sometime?”
I swallowed so hard that I gulped. “I-I don’t drink.”
“That’s okay. Don’t think we need alcohol for what’s between us. I drink strawberry. Bet you drink Coke.”
“D-Dr. Pepper.”
He grinned, making me weaker in the knees. “Same thing. See you soon.”
With that, he dropped into the back of the pickup and vaulted over the side with such manly grace that I almost gasped aloud. Moments later, he drove down the alley and turned left onto Main Street.
I closed my eyes to capture the imprint of his handsome, laughing face on the back of my lids. What did he mean what was between us?
My dad’s heavy voice startled me. “Joshua, what you doing standing around back here. The canned bean section needs restocking.”
“Yes, papa. I just helped—”
“Yeah, yeah. I saw. Come on, get moving.”
As I rushed to grab a case of lima beans, I wondered if I’d ever see Toby again? Oh, Lord? Did I say that aloud?
In fact, I saw him that very night down at the Arrow Theater a couple of blocks from our store. Me’n my next-door neighbor Charlie were seated on the aisle near the back of the auditorium when Toby and a pretty, dark-haired girl took seats a few rows ahead of us. So Toby dated girls, did he? Course, he did. Just like the rest of the male world. My stomach fell away when she settled against his shoulder. That coulda been me. The lights dimmed, and the film started, but my eyes were glued to two dark heads nestled against one another. I ached by the time the lights came up. Literally ached.
A week later, my idol walked through the doors to Scrivener’s Grocery. Fighting a case of Toby-induced vertigo, I managed to understand he needed hay again. I took his money, and we walked back to the storeroom where he helped me load his bales. Then he transfixed me with those startling eyes.
“How’d you enjoy the movie the other night?” he asked.
“Okay. Saw you… and your girl. She’s pretty.”
“Thanks. She’s okay, but we’re not that tight. Let’s just say she likes me more’n I like her.” His slow grin made me back against the wall of the stockroom in order to remain upright. “He moved in front of me, invading my space, but I didn’t mind even though it made my mouth go dry. “You and the dude you were with are bud-buds?”
“I-I don’t know what that is.”
Toby laid a hand on my shoulder. “I can show you, if you want me to.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He leaned into me and put his lips to mine. I think I groaned. He opened his mouth and invaded mine with his tongue. I about slid to the floor. He pulled his head away, still pinning me with his body.
“Does that help you make up your mind?”
“I-I—”
He cut me off with another kiss. I closed my eyes and felt my soul stirring. Birds twittered, or maybe it was a ringing in my ears. I know I moaned this time.
He reeled backward, his eyes wide. It took a moment to realize papa had him by the neck with one hand and by the belt with the other. In a second, Toby flew through the open dock door into the back of his pickup.
I got to the door in time to see him scramble to his feet and start for the dock.
“Toby!” I shouted. “Don’t. Please.”
His smoldering look softened as his gaze shifted to me. Unclenching his fists, he hopped out of the pickup bed and jerked open the door.
“And don’t come back,” my father yelled at the retreating truck before turning on me. “You… you’re disgusting. What was you letting that fellow do to you? What comes next? He screw you on the hay bales? Pervert!”
He turned and stomped back into the store. My face burning, my innards strangely hollowed out, I tore off the green apron I always wore and stalked out the door.
The moment I bailed out of my old Chevy in our driveway and entered the house, I knew Papa had called and ratted me out. Mama stood in the kitchen, baking flour dusting her hands as she looked at me through haunted eyes. “Oh, son,” was all she said. It was enough. I packed my bag, hugged her, and drove away without saying a word.
*****
Can you imagine how crushed and untethered Joshua must feel right at this moment? Life must be pretty bleak. Wonder what the next segment will bring?
Please take a look at Mark's novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. Amazon permits you to read a short passage from the books..
Mark's contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop him a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
Because he posted the blog, we'll give the links for his books.
The following are some buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra: Keep on reading, keep on writing, and keep on submitting. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time. And thanks, Mark.
Don
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.
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