Caprock Canyon

Martina and I took a short, but much needed trip to West Texas. A little time in Caprock Canyon State Park was good for the spirit. While we were there, I found myself fascinated by everything from the tallest red cliff to the tiniest pebble. I loved watching small birds flit through the brush, bison scratch their backs on mesquite trees, and mule deer pause for a drink. I even enjoyed the "buffalo jams" on the road. They reminded me of those golden days when I lived in Yellowstone Park.

Hiking the Upper Canyon Loop Trail

A tiny fern fossil on the trail

Panther City Review Launch

Yesterday afternoon I had the pleasure to attend the launch event for Panther City Review #4 at Leaves Book and Tea Shop. Several Fort Worth writers, including myself, have been featured in the publication since the inaugural issue, and it has been wonderful to look at the bios and see how much ground everyone has gained in their literary careers over the last four years. Hard work and tenacity are truly rewarded.

Milestone

Last week I turned fifty, though I have not yet decided what that milestone really means to me. I still seem to be processing my opinion. At some point, I must stop all of this running and appraise my life once again. Perhaps spending some time in the desert without access to a telephone would do me good. There is something to be said for days spent in quiet reflection, days spent with the wind and the clouds and the sky, with the raw earth beneath one's feet. I know that I am fortunate. That much is sure, but still I need time to reflect, to decrease the velocity of these quickly-passing days if only for a while.

    

A Short Story in Red Dirt Forum

Many thanks to Red Dirt Forum for including one of my stories in the current volume. I have truly enjoyed reading the work of so many talented Southern writers and feel both honored and blessed to have a story appear in the same publication as a writer I studied in college. 

  

Great People and Fine Books

Over the last couple of years, my life has been greatly enriched by the people I have met and the books and journals I have encountered. I have been fortunate to have met so many accomplished writers, and the common denominator among them has been kindness and humility. I have found myself impressed by their integrity and character, qualities that are truly more important than literary success.

Many of the books and journals that have made their way to my nightstand were written by writers I have met. Others were written by writers alongside whose work I have found my own. And I must say that these days I am more excited about reading than I have been since my years in Yellowstone. I have come to find myself in a beautiful new world of ideas and impressions, a world of wonder and blessings. For all of this, I am so very grateful.

Monahans Sandhills State Park, December 2019

Fort Worth and the Moon

With tomorrow being the fiftieth anniversary of Neil Armstrong's "giant leap for mankind," space exploration seems to be on many of our minds. This morning I got to thinking about the Apollo 12 mission to the moon and my grandfather's small, unusual role in that mission. 

My grandfather, Marlin Dollar, made Fort Worth Police badges for more than sixty years, and he was asked to make an honorary badge for astronaut Alan Bean to carry with him to the moon. On November 19, 1969, Apollo 12 landed on the lunar surface with a panther badge in tow.

Replica Apollo 12 mission patch in my office 

   

Back from the Czech Republic

I recently had the opportunity to travel back to the Czech Republic and visit Rumburk, the town where I lived and worked for five years. I had not been there in more than a decade, so I often found myself in a meditative state trying to make sense of it all. During those two weeks abroad, I spoke Czech the vast majority of the time, and upon arriving back in Texas, it took me a couple of minutes to readjust my ear to English, my native language. Last night my dreams also crossed the border. Somewhere in my sleep they changed back into English.

Loreto Chapel in Rumburk, where I once saw Nobel Laureate Vaclav Havel

Krasna Lipa, the namesake of a Waylon County town

  

A Texas Road Trip

My dear ol' dad and I took a trip to the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum in Waco yesterday. We meandered the country roads to get there and even chose to pass through Itasca because singer-songwriter Sam Baker, a native Itascan, was playing on the stereo.

After a fine lunch at a cafe in West, we visited the museum, arriving just in time for a presentation by the major of Company F. The major, who has achieved much in his lifetime, attributed any success he may have had to excellent training and strong leadership. His humility, intelligence, and dedication to public service truly impressed me. 

After the presentation, my dear ol' dad and I explored the museum, where we saw the finely engraved Remington Model 8 Frank Hamer was carrying during the Bonnie and Clyde ambush as well as a rifle that belonged to Captain Jack Hays and a knife made by Rezin Bowie, the brother of Alamo defender Jim Bowie.

We had a fine, easy-going trip and look forward to another little Texas adventure soon.

     

North Texas Fossils

All of my life I have been fascinated by the natural world. By the time I was ten I could be found scouring the fields of North Texas hunting for fossils to lug back home. Not long ago, Martina and I went fossil hunting near our house and brought back quite a few that now decorate our porch. The picture below is of a cephalopod we found that afternoon. I must say that this little squid is very well-preserved.

AMON! The Ultimate Texan

This morning Martina and I had the pleasure of attending AMON! The Ultimate Texan at the Artisan Center Theater. AMON!, which was written by Dave Lieber, is a one-man show about the life of Fort Worth's greatest advocate, Amon G. Carter.

Being a Fort Worth boy who began reading the Star-Telegram in elementary school, I have been aware of Carter's importance almost all of my life, and I am absolutely thrilled to have had the opportunity to see this production. Kelvin Dilks, in the role of Amon G. Carter, gave a memorable performance, and I truly enjoyed the humor, humanity, and beauty he shared from the stage. 

Tonight I doff my Peters Brothers hat to Lieber, Dilks, director Connie Sanchez, and the Artisan for this wonderful gift to Fort Worth and the Lone Star State. Amon Carter, the publisher, philanthropist, and forward-thinking businessman, is surely smiling down from the great Shady Oak Farm in the sky.

  

Please note, gentle reader, that this blog post is not a review, for a Fort Worth native who has known the star of the show for more than thirty years is not exactly an impartial critic. So I'll call this post what it is- a boy from Cowtown's praise for a show that made his heart swell with civic pride. Hurray for AMON! The Ultimate Texan!

Farmers Market

This morning Martina and I went to the farmers market at Bear Creek Park in Keller, Texas. While we were there, we met a gentleman from Texas Fungus, a farm that provides area chefs with specialty mushrooms and truffles. Martina asked about a particular species that grows in the woods in the Czech Republic and is commonly used for soup. The gentleman said that he could get her some.

I asked about a native mushroom I had eaten at a restaurant in McAllen last weekend. All I could remember was that the name sounded like it could be Nahuatl, and it turns out that he knew what I was talking about. The mushroom is called huitlacoche and was highly praised by Diana Kennedy in her The Cuisines of Mexico.

After learning a bit about mushroom farming, Martina and I bought some oyster mushrooms that we will have for dinner this evening. I must say that I always love meeting people with specialized skills and interests. I love to hear their stories and learn about their passions. In fact, having the opportunity to learn about other people's worlds is one of my favorite things in life.

  

Oyster Mushrooms

A Favorite Childhood Fishing Hole

Texas Institute of Letters Awards Banquet

I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to attend the Texas Institute of Letters 83rd Annual Awards Banquet at the historic Casa de Palmas Hotel in McAllen last night. It was an incredible evening, and I was touched and inspired by the work that was shared and by the kindness of the people I met. I am truly grateful to have been invited to this wonderful event.

Chester Drawers?

I recently came in on the tail-end of a debate between a native of Fort Worth and a native of Oklahoma regarding the term "Chester drawers." They both had heard the term employed to describe a certain piece of furniture, and after speaking with them for a moment, I remembered the term from my childhood as well.

Thus, I decided to do a little research. According to the linguists Pyles and Algeo, "Chester drawers" is an example of folk etymology and is based on a misunderstanding of the term "chest of drawers," which is a common answer among Southerners to what linguists call "the bureau question." 

If I were ever to become a rodeo clown, I think I would go by the name Chester Drawers. It has a nicer ring than Chest O' Drawers or any other bureau-related name I can think of. 

Here is a link to an interesting article on the subject: 

http://www.waywordradio.org/Chester_Drawers.pdf

     

Deep in the Backcountry

While camping solo deep in the Yellowstone backcountry, up around Bighorn Peak, my relationship with books changed. Before I set out, a ranger told me that where I was camping, I probably would not encounter another human for another month. I only camped there a couple of days, but I did encounter another human. And that was F. Scott Fitzgerald.

In my backpack I was carrying The Great Gatsby, which I was reading for the second time, and there in the wilderness, many miles from the closest road, I felt as if I had a friend with me. In those years, I was reading Thoreau, Lao Tzu, Thomas Merton, and Plato, and though I felt a strong affinity to these writers, Fitzgerald somehow seemed like a lifelong friend.

Perhaps it was due to the sheer isolation, but my relationship with books deepened that day. On that bright day in the wilderness, a young writer learned the true, intimate power of the printed page. 

This is my old copy of The Great Gatsby, which is in pretty good condition considering how many miles it traveled in a pack in the mid-nineties, back in my Yellowstone years. Today it rests on a shelf here in Texas enjoying its retirement.

  

Living in a Wonderful Dream

Last Monday morning my wife was roused from her slumber by a maniac jumping around the bedroom screaming. However, there is no need for alarm.The screaming maniac in our bedroom was me.

Most Monday mornings I do not jump around in the near darkness hollering at the top of my lungs. In fact, I am more likely to be seen quietly fumbling toward the kitchen in search of the coffee pot. However, last Monday was different. Last Monday morning I checked my e-mail to discover that my story, "Ink Upon the Furrows," had been named a finalist for the Kay Cattarulla Award for Best Short Story by the Texas Institute of Letters. I had even been invited to attend the awards ceremony in McAllen.

Once I finished jumping and hollering, I started to feel like I was living in a dream. Folks such as Cormac McCarthy, Larry McMurtry, and Willie Nelson are members of the Texas Institute of Letters, and to be named a finalist for a TIL award is an incredible, almost unfathomable honor for me. I truly could not be happier or more grateful. Honestly, I still feel like I am living in a dream, and I would like to thank my family, friends, former teachers, and colleagues for their unwavering support. I would also like to express my deepest gratitude to the Texas Observer, as well as to my wife, Martina, whose sleep is occasionally interrupted by my wild, delirious whooping.

 

¡Viva Jerry Jeff!

Over the last couple of weeks I have written several birthday posts for Texas artists. It seems as if many of Texas' finest decided to be born whilst the bluebonnets were in bloom. Today I would like to wish a very happy birthday to Jerry Jeff Walker.

For me, his music is the sound of home, and whenever I had those lonesome Texas blues while living in Europe and Asia, I would just turn on a little Jerry Jeff and he would magically transport me to the homeland. Even today, I have a copy of ¡Viva Terlingua! hanging on the wall of my little office to help me travel to Waylon County when I sit down to write. Thank you, Jerry Jeff Walker, for always being able to put me in a Lone Star state of mind.

    

The Last Kolaches

Friday was National Kolache Day, which inspired Martina and me to pull the last two genuine old school kolaches she brought back from the Czech Republic out of the freezer. I will admit that I had very low expectations for these kolaches. They had, after all, been squirreled away in the freezer since last fall. However, once the kolaches were defrosted and heated, they were fantastic. You would have thought they came straight from some sweet babička's kitchen. 

Clarification

Recently I was asked what advice I would give to young writers aspiring to publish. I responded by saying that it’s like any other fight. When they knock you down, come up swinging. But that answer, I feel, needs clarification. 

Sometimes a rejection letter can feel like a knockout punch to the jaw, but the writer has to rise from the canvas and keep up the good fight. As soon as a rejection letter arrives, it is time to submit more work. A writer who is afraid of rejection letters is like a fighter who is afraid of getting hit. Fear decreases the odds of winning. In order to succeed, both the writer and the fighter must roll with the punches and keep their eye on the prize.  

Happy Texas Independence Day, Y'all!

Today is a fine day to pull those souvenir coonskin caps from the Alamo out of the closet and wear them proudly down the street. Yes, today is Texas Independence Day, a day we raise the ol' Lone Star flag high. Although I remember little of my childhood, I do remember my first visit to the Alamo when I was about seven years old. I remember finding myself completely mesmerized, like I was living in a dream. While our family was at the old mission, my dad bought me a coonskin cap from the gift shop, and I proudly wore that cap to places such as Pancho's Mexican Buffet and K-Mart back in the 1970s.

This year, I must admit, I will not be celebrating Texas Independence Day by doing victory laps around K-Mart or eating my fill of flautas with a coonskin cap on my knee, but will be celebrating the day by reading my short story, "The Nine Lives of Ivy Lee Jones," in Fort Worth as part of the Funky Town Writers series, which is put on by Funky Town and the TCU English Department. Come on down if you can. And don't forget your coonskin cap.

Here is a picture Martina took at Simon Flory's record release show at Fort Worth Live on Thursday. While I was reading, Chris Schlotzhauer played pedal steel, my favorite instrument on Earth, to accompany me. I was enjoying that lonesome sound so much that I was tempted to stop reading and just listen. 

Joe Ely at the Haltom Theater

Martina and I went to see Texas music legend Joe Ely at the newly-restored Haltom Theater last night. Ely, who was making his first appearance in the fair metropolis of Haltom City, put on a great show and even included a song about "a suburb of Haltom City" in the encore. That song, of course, is about a little town called Dallas. Have you ever seen Dallas from a DC-9 at night? I'll bet you have.

     

On the Bedside Table

When I was young, I heard Ray Bradbury speak at Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth, and he advised the aspiring fiction writers in the audience to read poetry. I, personally, had always read it. I had loved it since childhood, but after hearing Bradbury speak I started keeping books of poetry on my nightstand to read before bed so the language could dance in my head while I slept. This habit has not changed in twenty years.

Over the last year or so, works by Christian Wiman, Les Murray, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Fred Chappell have found their way to my bedside table. Last week I read work by the Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh, and I was struck by the poem entitled "I May Reap," where Kavanagh writes: " I WHO have not sown, / I too / By God's grace may come to harvest." I understand this sentiment, and Kavanagh, through the power of poetry, makes me feel as if he were a close friend right here with me, though he died before I was born and lived a full ocean away.

   

A Life in Old Boxes

Recently I reacquired boxes filled with artifacts from my younger days, which has left me in a pensive mood. I have found photographs of loved ones who are long gone, letters and postcards from the days when people still mailed correspondence, and my first attempt at a novel, a manuscript which I assumed no longer existed.

And I have found boxes of books, each box a record of an intellectual phase. In one box I found works by Whitman, Ferlinghetti, and Rimbaud. I found Memories, Dreams, Reflections by C.G. Jung and Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame by Charles Bukowski, which I bought in a space that was once the notorious club called the Cellar in Fort Worth. In that same box I also found Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I started reading in South Korea and finished in Yellowstone National Park in 1995.

To be honest, it has been an odd experience to revisit my past, especially considering that I had no intention of doing so. It is as if all of these boxes somehow belong to another person who has lived along the same timeline as me.

   

My Name Day: A Surprise Every Year

Every year, essentially by design, I make sure not to write my name day on our calendar. Thus, every name day comes as a surprise. A name day, incidentally, is like a birthday and is celebrated in Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox countries in Europe and Latin America on the feast day of the saint after whom one is named.

Considering that I was named after a character on a TV Western rather than a saint, I do not have a name day in the purest sense. However, my friend, the late great composer and historian Igor Heinz, dubbed me "Hynek" because trying to pronounce my real name absolutely exasperated him. You see, there is no "th" in Czech, so Igor decided to give me a good old-fashioned Czech name rather than continue making a hissing sound to simulate "th." Thus, February 1st, the Feast of Saint Hynek, became my name day.      

This year, as usual, I was extremely surprised when my name day arrived. In the morning I received a "Happy Name Day" text from Baba Jaja, my mother-in-law, who lives in Europe, and when I got home from work Martina told me "všechno nejlepší," all the best, and handed me a cured sausage that Baba Jaja had sent me as well as a gift-wrapped package, which happened to be a copy of the recently-released memoir, My Years with Townes Van Zandt by Harold F. Eggers, Jr. Well, friends, I must admit that it's hard to beat having a surprise party every year.

And here's a little Townes Van Zandt, upon whose family's former ranch our house is situated.

"The Crown Jewel" of the Texas CCC

While visiting West Texas, Martina and I stayed at Indian Lodge, which was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. Indian Lodge is located inside Davis Mountain State Park and is owned and operated by Texas Parks and Wildlife, and is, to the best of my knowledge, the only hotel in Texas with such an arrangement. 

Indian Lodge is a beautiful place. It is a large white-adobe structure with thirty-nine rooms and is built like a Native American pueblo. In the rooms, the cane ceiling is supported by beams made of Ponderosa pine, and the rustic furniture was crafted by the young men of the CCC. We were pleased to discover that our room even had an adobe fireplace. While we were at Indian Lodge, I woke up early in the morning and stepped outside to watch the sunrise. I took the picture below on my phone on a cold December morning not long after dawn.

And speaking of West Texas, here's a little Jimmie Dale Gilmore for you.

(Slightly) Ahead of Schedule

Strangely enough, this is my first blog post for 2019. In terms of news, I am happy to report that I finished the first draft of a new book of short stories on December 30th, approximately twenty-six hours ahead of my target, which was the stroke of midnight on January 1st. The new book will include the 2018 Texas Observer Short Story Contest winner, "Ink Upon the Furrows," as well as several other published or forthcoming works, and a number of stories that are still in draft form.

The new collection is set in Waylon County and will include familiar characters such as Ivy Lee Jones, the protagonist of a story that was named a finalist for the 2015 Northeast Texas Writers' Organization's Short Story Award. There are, of course, plenty of new characters, but I will let them introduce themselves some other day.

Martina and I also took a trip to West Texas to get some fresh air and inspiration, of which there was an abundance. On our trip, we camped at Monahans Sandhills State Park and in Big Bend National Park, stayed at the historic Gage Hotel in Marathon and at Indian Lodge in the Davis Mountains, and even spent a little time in Marfa and Terlingua. We met a bear and her cub while hiking and rode across the Rio Grande in a rowboat to have lunch in Boquillas, a village in the Mexican state of Coahuila. I anticipate bits and pieces of these adventures will find their way into a story or two.

Here is a picture I took on my phone at the Chinati Foundation in Marfa on the solstice. I love the way the sunbeams provide an "extraterrestrial effect." The second I snapped the shot, I knew I had a fun photo to share.