Reflections on Walden

 In the early spring of 1845, a young Henry David Thoreau retreated to the woods surrounding Walden Pond, near Concord Massachusetts, and began a living experiment building his own house and living off the land.  Thoreau managed to sustain himself through farming and fishing; he hosted friends; he wrote.  And yes, he walked to town for provisions and to visit friends and mentors, such as Emerson, during his two year stint in the woods.  

This past spring, Becky and I began our own experiment of sorts, working with a builder to create our barndominium on the family farm where Becky grew up.  The build site overlooks a rather large body of water (our own Walden?) currently filled with algae and duckweed (and little to no fish).  But we have plans in our old age, and plenty of space to create our own sustainable gardens, arbors, orchards, and catchable and eatable fish.  There is also more than ample supply of deer and wild turkey if we are so inclined to stock a freezer full of game.

Like Thoreau, from our vantage point, there will be no other neighbors in view--though others are within walking distance to the north of our build site.  In short, we will be some 500 feet off the road, tucked back among old growth timber and surrounded be fields of corn and soy beans.  

Some may ask, Why?

The answer(s) are complex. First, because we can.  Secondly, it's our penultimate move--our last being (we hope much later) to the cemetery a few miles down the highway.  And then, we also like the idea of the seclusion (dare I say, peace and quiet?) that these wide open spaces will afford us for morning cups of coffee, working in the gardens, miles-long hikes along the fields and through woods, and enjoying evenings outside/inside with family and friends.  Can we, in essence, work up a self-sustainable supply of food stuffs?  That's one goal.  But the move goes even deeper.

Like Thoreau, whose second chapter in Walden deals with "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"--we will have some proximity to the smaller towns and villages where Becky and I grew up, to the Wabash river, and to our own private body of water and woods.  We are not far from civilization, but far enough disposed from it to say that we will be, in fact, living deeper into nature and deriving more of our existence from the water and the land.

Thoreau described it this way, but we can identify with his assessment:  "being about two miles from the village, half a mile from the nearest neighbor, and separated from the highway by a broad field; its bounding on the river, protected by its frogs and frost in the spring, the gray colors and ruinous state of the barn, and the dilapidated fences, which put an interval between me and the last occupant, the hollow and lichen-cover apple trees, gnawed by rabbits...the recollection I had of it when the house was concealed behind a dense grove of red maples, through which I could hear a (distant) dog bark."

These, too, are our ideals.  But it will take hard work and dedication in the years ahead to subdue the wild and domesticate our plot of earth.  At least we currently hope we can make something of the property before we have no strength or resolve to work it any further.  But by then we hope to have our gardens and groves planted, fish teaming, and ample time to sit and enjoy sunrises from the front porch and long walks among the fields in the evening breezes.

The building itself and the working of the land is daunting, as Thoreau realized (and which we know requires the strength, years, and stamina which are now in short supply). 

Our own Walden is still in the making...but it will be fun to try.

    Writing in Retirement

It has been seven years since I last wrote on "Between Pages" and over two years since I retired. But some people have been asking: "Are you still writing?"  

The answer is complicated.

Short answer is "yes".  But my writing has been curtailed to a great extent by lack of motivation and focus. Since retirement much has transpired, including death of two parents (father and mother-in-law), some travel, and, since the advent of 2024, undertaking a new house-build on the family farm (where Becky grew up, Fairbanks, IN) and getting our Brownsburg home ready to sell in early 2025.  

During these brief retirement years I have, however, managed to publish a second volume of poetry, The Kinship of Ordinary Things, a collection of poems written, and to a large extent published in journals and magazines, over the past decade.  And, at last, my children's biography is soon to be released, All About Mohandas Gandhi--a book I wrote nearly six years ago but publication date waylaid by the pandemic.  

New writing? It seems I am always working on something (at least the intent of writing) but my production has dropped off significantly from my days when I was working 55-70 hours a week as a pastor and also writing seven days a week in the interstices of available time.  One year during my hay days, I recall having five books published and managed to produce a half dozen others in that same twelve months.  But that was then.  

This is now.

And I'm older and slower and have every intent of enjoying life in the moments available, and remaining, to me.  

My intent is to keep adding to this "Between Pages" journal moving forward. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, thanks for reading.

Conversations

(Author photo on the couch:  ready to write, ready to sleep . . . take your pick)



I have enjoyed several speaking engagements, interviews, and book signings of late. But, although I have been a public speaker for over thirty-five years, these things still make me uncomfortable, especially TV and radio interviews.  I hate speaking into a microphone in a vacant studio, for example, and I've never grown comfortable in front of a camera lens.

Where I am most comfortable is here . . . in front of a blank page of paper or a Word.doc screen with a flashing cursor. 

Having said that, it is always an interesting and engaging experience meeting the public.  I do enjoy people and the conversations, and some are, to say the least, fascinating.

At a book signing last week, for example, one lady approached the table at Barnes & Noble and studied the various books/titles that were displayed between us.  She looked at my name on the book covers, looked at me, and then said, "I've never heard of any of these book titles, but I have heard of you." 

"How so?" I asked.

"Well," she answered, "aren't you that guy who never sleeps?"

I laughed and then said, "I can assure you that I do sleep.  But I do write late into the night and often rise early of a morning to write . . . and there are times when I do work all night to meet a deadline.  But that's most writers.  I do sleep."

Of course, she wasn't interested in purchasing one of my books, but she was fascinated by the moniker.  Guy who never sleeps.  Gotta remember that one.  Perhaps I should use that as my handle--GWNS.  It would make an easy business card or a text handle.  

GWNS.

A lot easier to remember than the book titles and my name.
~Todd 

Missing Old Friends & Old Pages

Thoughts today turned to old friends and past publications and I found myself mourning the loss of The Wittenburg Door . . . a magazine that I began writing for back in my Duke Divinity School days, back when Mike Yaconelli was holding court in those pages of parody and speaking truth to power and privilege.  I hitched my star to that wagon for many years.

I still miss Becky Garrison, Joe Bob Briggs, Bob Darden and the rest of the crew . . . and I miss writing my religious parodies most of all.  These kept me honest (or at least a bit more so).  Religious professionals, and especially the vast army of televangelists, are like shooting fish in a barrel.  It's easy to parody what is, in essence, a cast and crew of zany personalities and fundamentalist wackos.  

Some of the pieces I wrote were classics.  The Three Stooges Bible Study.  The Theology of SpongeBob Squarepants.  Christian Singles Ads.  The Prayer of Jezebel.  I could go on . . . 

I still pray that someone, some how, will revive this much-needed magazine of Religious parody and bring it back to health.  God knows we need it.  I certainly do.

~Todd

Memoir

(Photo:  the young author and his dog, Tippy, 1964, Robinson, Illinois)




I am currently at work on my memoir, Tippy's Nine Lives:  A Family Memoir in Dog Years.  It's been fun going so far.  But a memoir, unlike fiction or a book of non-fiction, is tricky business . . . a no-man's-land of real life stories that may yet impact the living.  As I write, I continue to ponder how my family and friends will respond to my memories of situations and events.

As I told my brother not long ago . . . I can't make this stuff up.  Our lives were too zany to create out of whole cloth.  

But memoirs are tightropes . . . a dangerous journey across mind and memory, trying to stay the narrow course of events, stepping lightly upon secrets and private conversations while maintaining enough humor and dignity to make the realities readable for others.  

I've been wanting to write the memoir for years, and I'm so fortunate to be able to do so.

But I'm not sure about the outcomes.  Once the book is published, I may discover that I am an orphan . . . abandoned by family and friends.  I can only hope I tell the story truthfully.  

So please stay tuned.  Tippy's on the way. 

In Between

It's been many moons since I wrote a blog post, but here at the apex of 2017 I decided to re-up my commitment to writing "Between Pages".  And although I've not written a blog for six months, that's not to say that I have been lax in my commitments to the written word.  I've written plenty of pages, and a few forthcoming.

Last week my latest book hit the shelves--my first children's work--a reader entitled All About Martin Luther King, Jr.   I am always excited about new titles--but this one, in particular, is dedicated to the Ten Point Coalition of Indianapolis.  In case you are not familiar with this work, it is a movement dedicated to keeping peace in the streets and working for the improvement of young people, offering hope and purpose to those whose lives, otherwise, might be defined by poverty, crime and violence.

It is only fitting that this book have a place in helping the Ten Point Coalition's work.  In the coming weeks I'll be speaking in schools and libraries, talking on a few television and radio shows, and scheduling in a few book signings . . . all to help raise awareness and pledge support.  You can help, too.

First, let's all celebrate the upcoming Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday--a day not only to remember Dr. King and his words, but perhaps more importantly to remain firm in our commitment to equality, social justice, and civil rights. This is an American holiday reminding us that the work of social equality and justice is ongoing. 

Secondly, we can pray for the work of Ten Point and other ministries that are addressing poverty and lifting up the needs of our young people.

Thirdly, we can be involved in peace-making and peace-building.  

I especially enjoyed writing this book on Dr. King because I knew he was, first and foremost, a pastor--a preacher of the gospel, and one who believed in the power of Christ's words to transform, both personally and socially.  His legacy, and the struggles of Civil Rights, must always be told to a new generation of children.  If we don't tell the story, we are doomed to repeat the past.

So, thanks for reading.  And thanks for helping to spread the word about the Dr. King reader and the work of Ten Point Coalition.  I hope my little biography of Dr. King might touch a few young lives and make the work of social justice evident, all the while holding out the hope of a better future for all Americans.  Let justice roll down like waters . . . and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream!  Amen.

~Todd

Lost and Found

Many years ago I recall reading one of Garrison Keillor's essays about a lost comedy piece--a story he had worked on in a train station, composing on yellow legal pads.  After boarding the train, and several miles down the track, Keillor suddenly realized that he had left the yellow legal pads in the train station restroom where he had washed his hands prior to departure.  In that moment of losing his work, Keillor was certain that he had forfeited some of the best work of his life, and he moved on down the track feeling lonely and dejected.

I tell this story because, as I have talked to other writers over the years, it is obvious that most have encountered this lost feeling at one time or another.

A few years ago, when my PC crashed, leaving me with only the blue screen of death, I realized that I had several great stories, essays, and book proposals that I had not backed up.  They were lost.  And for some weeks I walked around in a stupor, a writer's funk, a purgatory of the soul.  I just couldn't get going again, certain that I had also lost some of the best work I had ever produced.

I try to do a better job now of backing up my work . . . lingering doubts always in my mind as to the trustworthiness of memory chips produced in Japan.  I write, but always with the fear and trepidation, however distant, that someday the lights might go out and I'd lose, say, an entire year's-worth of work.

Toward that end, I have always appreciated my 1993 Compaq PC (with Windows '95 operating system and three fans). This computer still runs.  But some years ago I had apply named it "Old Sparky" due to its tendency to suddenly leap into flame (which is why I also kept a spray bottle next to the keyboard).  

Last night, in a post-midnight apocalyptic fit of locating some old stories I knew I had written (again, certain that these were some of the best material I have ever produced) . . . I fired up Old Sparky and set about navigating through a few hundred floppy discs to see what I could find.

In particular, I was looking for a horror story entitled "Up in Jacky's Treehouse". And low and behold, after perusing more than 50 floppies, each holding a myriad of essays and poems and whole book manuscripts, I finally found "Jacky".  In addition, I also found four other stories that, for the life of me, I can't remember writing at all. It was like reading another person's work . . . but I'm looking forward to reading these again, and seeing how well I did writing the stories--some, perhaps, twelve or thirteen years ago.

I love finding these types of gifts.  I'm sure there are more that I have not yet discovered among the hundreds of other floppies that I have stored in boxes and closets.  Losing a story is depressing.  But locating old ones, and, even better, finding homes for them with a publisher, is pure gravy. 

Sheer Poetry

(Training for the Camino)











Having just completed (walking) the Mini-Marathon last Saturday, I now feel that I am "in shape" to make my way down the Camino de Santiago in Spain . . . or at least the last 100 km.  I'll be ready.

But I've also been in training, of sorts, as I've worked diligently on several projects . . . including writing the final touches on my book for InterVarsity Press, to be entitled The Seven Deadly Virtues.  Readers can look for this one as we roll into 2017.  Some months ago I also completed the 2nd book in a projected 12-book series of novels written under my nom de plume, R.L. Perry.  This one, Bleak Midwinter, should be out this fall, with a third novel, Cold Snap, nipping at its heels. 

I was also having a conversation with my wife, Becky, the other night (on those rare days when we actually talk) and noted that I seemed to be writing with some poetic interest these days.  Or, at least I've had some success in recent months placing work in university journals and literary magazines.  But I've also written some verse representative of my personal best, for which I'm grateful.  And in between the flavorful poetic cookies, I sometimes manage to sandwich some lighter verse that my wife might actually read in her spare time (a commodity of which she has little as the school year winds down).  

Anyway, thanks for reading . . . and I'll close by sharing this little piece of gray matter on a gray subject (parody courtesy of Robert Frost). 

Gray

As hair succumbs to gray

So nothing dark can stay

And though her dye is power

It only stays an hour

As white trumps her brunette

Her roots cannot forget

That age will have its day

So nothing dark can stay 



~Camino Todd
  

Camino de Santiago

Mid-May I will be travelling to Spain to make pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago--the traditional French-Way leading to Santiago de Compostella, cathedral and revered burial place of St. James.  As a pilgrim, I have my shell--the traditional symbol of pilgrimage, identifying me as one making journey, and my Camino passport, a document that, stamped along The Way, will mark my completion of the journey (at least in Spain).

I expect this pilgrimage to be many things . . . and many have asked me about my purpose and the outcomes.  But here are a few of my thoughts.

First, I am going on this pilgrimage with an open mind and a willing heart. Whatever I encounter, and whomever, I expect much of the journey to be serendipitous, as I depart with few possessions, my Bible as sole reading material, good socks, and a few other pieces of gear that will protect me from the sun, the rain, and the elements. I hope I will be prepared to just "be" in each moment, each day, and allow God to open to me whatever sights and relationships and insights are in store. 

Secondly, I go to pray for others. I will carry with me at all times the relationships of parish, friend and family--either expressly stated or in spirit.  I expect, on my shorter-walking days in particular, to pause along the countryside, in small towns and villages, to reflect and learn.  I plan to eat no food along The Way (only breakfasts and dinners) but do plan to enjoy water and good Spanish wine as I discover it.  I also plan to lose at least ten pounds on this pilgrimage, and my energy through the day will be taken from the sun, the conversations, the soil beneath my feet.  

Finally, some have asked me if this pilgrimage will lead me to write other articles or books about the Camino.  My short answer is:  There are already hundreds of books about the Camino experience, dozens of memoirs, even movies.  I have no such plans per se . . . but I am keeping two options open as sidebars:

A book proposal that I have been working up, tentatively entitled, Twelve Roads with Jesus, and this idea will form the basis of a 3-part sermon series I will do in June upon my return.   I may also keep my palate primed to write an article, or series, on some of the Spanish wines.

Until then, I walk to prepare.  A few miles to go before I sleep.  

Buen Camino,
~Todd

The Year Ahead

I have been remiss of late with my blogging . . . but here at the cusp of a new year I should give an update on family, life, and my writing.  Many changes, but then that is the very essence of life.

Family
    On New Year's day Logan moved to Portland, Oregon.  New adventures in learning (fashion and design school), new friendships, new apartment . . . the works.  For me and Becky, back to the "empty nest" (again).  Already our nights are filled to overflowing--mostly with work. She: writing reports, emails, presentations, reviews.  He:  writing like a slave to many deadlines.

Toward that end I am working late nights and early mornings trying to crush out two new novels for the Mary Christmas mystery/romance series (published under my pseudonym R.L. Perry).  Next books in line will be entitled Bleak Midwinter and Cold Snap.

But I have not stopped there. Interspersed among the long pull of the novels I still manage to eek out and publish at least six or seven essays a month (of various lengths and subjects) and short stories in a variety of genres.

Some of my scheduled stories are entitled "The Last Man on Earth", "The Law of Zupiter", "The Arsonist", "The Superannuated Man", and "The Thin Man".  As you can see, I'm not very good at titles . . . I just grab a central character or theme and away I go.

I have been fortunate of late to see these science fiction stories into print (or scheduled for print) as well as some others that could be loosely categorized as horror, fantasy, mystery, or mainstream.  And poetry--I take spells, but have quite a few scheduled for publication in early 2016.  Actually, quite proud of many of the poems written in 2015.  Some of my best, I think, and I've received the thanks of some editors, which is a nice touch.  And I now have enough published poetry to make a second collection (my first, Where in the World We Meet).  Any editors looking for a poetry collection from a near-sighted white guy who writes about sex, Greek mythology,life and death?

As for my total count of upcoming books in 2016, so far it stands at five:

Praying Through Cancer (Upper Room books)
All About Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  (Blue River books, children)
The Seven Deadly Virtues (InterVarsity Press)
Bleak Midwinter (as R.L. Perry)
Cold Snap (as R.L. Perry)

Earlier last year, during a trip to New York when I reunited for after-work drinks with a former literary agent, the question was asked at the bar, "Who the hell publishes eight books in two years?"

I guess I do.

I hope to continue & thanks for reading.
~Todd 
~R.L.

A Year in Retrospect

Every December, as I am writing my year-end family reflections and history, I also take stock of my writing goals and outcomes to see if I have made any progress in my development as a writer, in my knowledge and insight and connections of, and within, the publishing industry, and in the outcomes I am attempting to achieve.

But no matter how I look at it 2015 was a big year in many respects.  In addition to having three books released in one year--Common Ground (Skyhorse, New York), Indiana Wineries (Blue River Press, Indianapolis) and the novel Slay Bells, as R.L.Perry (Blue River Press, Indianapolis)--I also published a large pile of other material, wide-ranging in subject, scope, and genre.  Every morning, when I get up to write in the dark, I write what I want to write--and sometimes what I have to write in order to meet deadline(s).

As far as essays and articles go, I placed work in Midwest Outdoors, YouthWorker, Preaching and Together magazines.  All told, something like 75 essays for these publications alone.

But in addition, I also placed a number of stories in other magazines this year--mostly university presses and literary journals--that ranged from what might loosely be deemed as romance, fantasy, or literary.  Among these, "The Tall Girl's Wedding", "Equinox", "The Man Upstairs" and "The Thin Man" are some of my best.  I now have a wide ranging corpus of stories, few clearly defined by genre, that I hope to collect between covers very soon.  As one editor wrote about one story, "I'm not sure what this is, or how to define it, but I like it."

I also published a few more science fiction stories this year (with others sold and scheduled for publication in early 2016) that include, "The Last Man on Earth" in Nebula Rift and the forthcoming "The Superannuated Man" in Morpheus Tales (England).

Note: this last story, "The Superannuated Man", was one of the many that I lost when my computer crashed and burned two years ago.  Of the stories lost, I knew that I would have to rewrite this one from memory, but the new version turned out even better than the first, for which I am grateful.

As far as poetry goes, I also placed many new poems in literary magazines in 2015.  Some of these could be categorized as "love" poems, but others were experimental, emotional, regional, domestic, or light verse.  I also continued writing on my poetry collection that I hope to entitle, Circus.  It is safe to say that I wrote over 100 new poems this year, and many that I consider my best to date, and they continue to emerge . . . often late at night before I go to sleep or when I wake in the middle of the night with some hair-brained idea and begin writing again.  Poems often jump-start my creativity.

As a rule, I write about everything that is part of the human experience and the human condition.  Spirituality, love, ministry, horror, recreation, wines, joys, sorrows, relationships, sex, outdoors, fitness and the future . . . to name a few.

Finally, as I look forward to 2016, I anticipate five new books that will be forthcoming--that's almost a book every two months and thinking about it astounds me and fills me with a certain anticipation and dread.  Lord willing, and if I don't die first, I will also sign on for more books that I will produce in 2017 and beyond.  

Those titles you can look for in 2016 include:

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (a children's biography of the Civil Rights leader)
Praying Through Cancer (a book for cancer patients and their families)
The Seven Deadly Virtues (Inter Varsity Press)
Bleak Midwinter (2nd book in the Mary Christmas mystery series)
Cold Snap (3rd book in the Mary Christmas mystery series)

I thank all of my publishers and editors and my agent, Cynthia, for working with a weirdo like me!

And what will I write in 2016?  Only God knows . . . and me.  As I told my mother decades ago (age 12) when she asked, "What are you going to write about?" I answered, "Anything I want to."

Land of the free.  It's a great country. And I'll keep writing if you'll keep reading.

~Todd





   

Nome De Plume

Just published, my first novel under my Nome De Plume . . . R.L. Perry.  Hot off the press and available now through Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com.  









Some years ago it became apparent to me that I was writing far more material than my name could carry into publication.  And so, with the help of my publisher, Tom, we hit upon the idea of my writing under a Nome De Plume.  But what name?

I suggested several, including Cornelius MacGillicudy, Eustace Von Coldcream IV, or Lady Godiva.  But these didn't seem to fit.  Eventually we settled upon a combination of my wife's initials (R.L.) and my maternal grandmother's maiden name (Perry).  And hence, R.L. Perry was birthed.

And so is my first Nome De Plume novel:  Slay Bells.  This mystery/romance featuring female sleuth and funeral director, Mary Christmas, is the first of a projected twelve novels in a series.  I'm looking forward to writing the other eleven . . . and if I write one a year, I'll be 67 years old when I complete the dozen.

Naturally, this makes me ponder some of life's deeper questions, such as:

What was I thinking?
Can I write one novel a year in addition to my other books, essays, short stories, poems and book reviews?
Will R.L. Perry be a success?
At age 67, will I be taking my nourishment through a straw?

Anyway, in the event my readers would enjoy something different (sizzling romance and mystery/mayhem) I hope I will be able to deliver . . . especially writing in a female voice.  Perhaps Father Andrew Greeley would be proud.

I am especially hopeful that other women will find my romance compelling, especially since my wife will never read these and as she always says, "You know nothing about romance anyway."  Well, we'll see.  I have a feeling these sexy little holiday mystery novels will catch on . . . and with a name like Mary Christmas . . . heck, my wife might even make me dinner.

Yours in pseudonym, love and mystery . . . 
~R. L. Perry

Working With the Wife

Photo: July wine trip, California, Navarro Winery before 31st wedding anniversary and a bunch of other junk






My most recent book, Indiana Wineries, was written with my wife, Becky.  Since she snapped many of the photos in the book, and often accompanied me on the winery visits around the state, I thought it was important to have her name on the cover . . . that, and we could then divide our time at book signings, appearances, and other winery visits once the book was published.

A great plan.

But working with a wife, any wife, is not what it's cracked up to be.  Now, instead of being this independent writer who is footloose and fancy free (isn't this the definition of freelancer?) I am bombarded with questions like:

"So, when is our next book signing?"
"Why did you schedule it then?"
"What were you thinking?"
"You did what?"
"You Idiot!"

This experience has taught me one thing:  I admire those married couples who can work together for long expanses of time . . . such as a full day or a swing shift.  Being able to work with your spouse demonstrates a certain resolve.  But believing that you can work with your spouse for days-on-end demonstrates a proclivity toward insanity.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my wife.  She's my best friend, my confidant, my sometimes-cook and cleaning lady.  She's also the principal breadwinner and my lover (at least twice a year and always on my birthday if she doesn't have a headache).  You do the math.  We were meant for each other.  She doesn't even care if I forget an anniversary or two.  What a woman! 

But going on a book-signing tour together was not God's design for marriage. Rather, God intended for literary couples to write from their respective cubicles and holler at each other late at night:  "How do you spell olfactory?" 

The fact is, we are just getting started on our book tour around the state.  I have miles to go before I sleep . . . and I was getting very little of it before I began working with my wife.  

But folks who are looking for entertainment should seek us out at these book signings.  Chances are, we'll be there together, and patrons can catch us mid-argument, or perhaps wrestling with deeper frustrations that involve split infinitives or choice adjectives.  We might even toss in a noun.

Just don't forget to ask us about Indiana wines.  That will help.  My wife knows more about these things than I do.  I'm just along for the ride.  And I try to keep my mouth shut unless I'm tasting.
~Todd Outcalt

A Week's Worth of Work

Writers often discover success like bananas--in bunches.  And this past week was an interesting, and eclectic bunch, for sure.

In addition to completing a few new essays for submission in 2016, some of my older essays found their way to readerships at YouthWorker and elsewhere. I was also overjoyed when two editors said "yes" to some of my poems--all of which were fast-tracked to publications before year end.  

And then there's science fiction. A couple of week's ago I had a nod from an editor in London (thanks, Adam) who has been very kind to me over the years, accepting my short story "The Superannuated Man".  Last week I placed a second story, "The Last Man on Earth", in a newer publication.

Often, it takes weeks like this to keep a writer writing . . . but that's part of the struggle and the fun.  Nothing comes easy.  

It is also fun to ask:  "What's next?"  Much yet to write.  

And eating a banana now and then doesn't hurt, either.
~Todd Outcalt

A Beginning, A Middle & An End

Photo: (Wine tour, Northern California, July 2015)





Last week Becky and I heard Joyce Carol Oates speak at Clowes Hall, Butler. A remarkable experience as she read for an hour from her new memoir and afterwards entertained questions. Although nominated several times for awards such as the Pulitzer and National Book Awards, and having authored more than 150 titles, I doubt that 1% of the American population have heard of this remarkable wordsmith. 

Ah, but such is the life of a writer.

In the course of her talk, Oates noted that she is always working on various books, stories or essays . . . all in various states of dress or undress.  Writers who write every day know the drill.

Last week I completed a manuscript for InterVarsity Press--a book to be entitled The Seven Deadly Virtues.  It will be published some time in 2016.  That's an end for me (or perhaps a fresh start, depending upon how one looks at it, as now I can begin another book).

I'm also in the middle of finalizing a final draft version of a novel written over a year ago . . . but it should be out in a week or two.  Middle?  End?

And I have two or three new stories that I'm working on, each in the beginning stages of production . . . work that is seeking clarity and direction in the wee hours of the night (or is it morning?) when I am hammering away at the keys in the dark. 

Right now, Becky and I are enjoying our publishing foray into the world of wines (Indiana Wineries, Blue River Press) and some of the appearances and signings that will afford us a chance to meet the public and scratch our names onto the title page. It is always important to have fun while it lasts . . . as all good things eventually come to an end. 

So until the next beginning. . . 

~Todd 

Bits & Pieces

Sometimes writers can--just like sports teams or race cars--find themselves "running hot". Momentum, clarity, or even perseverance can all play in part in the streak. 

Over the past two months I've learned the value of patience and revision, especially as it pertains to essays, short stories and poems. I've had several short stories that have found their way into print, including one romance story, "The Tall Girl's Wedding", and a quirky piece of flash fiction that I entitled, "The Tall Man".  (The "tall" in the titles is purely coincidence.)

Last week I also learned that a Science Fiction and Fantasy magazine in London will be publishing my science fiction story, "The Superannuated Man"--a story that I've worked on for some years now and rewrote from top to bottom a few months ago. I knew it was a good story, I just had to perfect the tone, pace, and point of view. 

And as for essays, a few upcoming book reviews top the list and I also wrote an outdoor article about fishing for Sheep-heads.  While I don't personally fish for the dang things, I spent an afternoon earlier this summer watching some teenagers haul them in . . . and I took photos and conducted interviews on the spot. (This was during vacation, so I broke my vow to Becky that I would not do any writing away from home . . . but she'll never know since she doesn't read this blog and certainly won't see the article.)

Finally, a few poems forthcoming in various literary and university journals, including The Lyric. 

All in all . . . a rather productive summer for short pieces. Well on my way to having more than 100 essays published for 2015.  Now if I can just finish my science fiction novella and my essay about funeral eulogies . . . in addition to the books . . . I might be able to eat that ham sandwich.  

By the Numbers

Not long ago someone asked me:  "How many sermons have you preached?"

"Offhand," I responded, "I don't know."  But the question intrigued me and so I set off on a hunt through my files, my history, and my shoddy memory to arrive at a number. However, I quickly bumped up against some roadblocks. Words--and their creation--are indeed elusive commodities. 

My search for sermon fodder also took me on other side trips through the far country of word-land, and before I knew it, I was making lists and columns and screaming at my wife:  "Where's the calculator?"

(She reminded me that I have one on my cell phone and another on the computer I'm using right now . . . but again, I forget these things.  I'm still hunting for the slide rule I used in high school and I nearly flunked calculus.)

Nevertheless, I did eventually arrive at some neatly crafted columns. I'm not sure what these numbers say about me, but I do know that they represent a huge portion of my life--a life spent, often, crafting these things early in the morning or late at night. I cannot begin to estimate the hours represented by them . . . but here they are:

1700 sermons written
3000+ sermons preached
30+ books published
100+ books written 
700+ published essays/stories
125 published poems
500+ poems written

As far as other stats go, these might be of interest to some:

5 (number of sermons my wife said were "good")
1000+ (number of times my wife has heard me preach)
2 (number of my books my wife has read)
0 (number of my short stories my wife has read)
0 (number of my books my son has read)
0 (number of my books my son says he will read someday)
0 (number of my books I have read after publication)
12 (number of sermons my parents have heard me preach)
1000+ (number of blog posts I have written)
0 (number of my blog posts my wife has read)
300+ (number of romantic poems written to my wife)
7 (number of romantic poems my wife says are "good")
0 (number of my love poems that produced "results")

As you can see, living life by the numbers is no fun. I'm not a mathematician. I'm not an engineer. I'm not even an author. I'm a writer. 

But every time I do the numbers, life doesn't add up. 
~Todd

Of New Orleans, New Books, and New Blogs

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been several months since my last confession . . . and my last blog posting.

Nevertheless, I want to begin by announcing that I have a new book, Indiana Wineries, fresh from the mint.  (Actually, I should say that Becky and I have a new book, as her name is on the cover, too.)

What is this book?  Well, it's a five-year project whereby we visited all of the wineries in the Hoosier state, photographed, interviewed, and profiled each and all.  The book is beautifully illustrated and photographed--by far the most ornate and eye-appealing book I've done to date (thanks to Blue River Press).  The book also contains a history of Indiana vineyards and wineries, wine appreciation, weekend trip suggestions, recipes, tips . . . and so much more.  For those who want to know what's now available on the wine scene from Indiana wineries--this is the book.  

To accompany the book, we also have a new blog:  www.indianawinery.blogspot.com

What's on this blog?  Upcoming interviews, profiles, wineries new and old, and plenty more.  Check it out and check back often to get the latest on Indiana Wineries.

Finally . . . I noted today, after picking up a used hardback copy of my book, Candles in the Dark, that I had obtained the copy once owned by the New Orleans Public Library.  The book was published in 2002, probably stayed in the library in New Orleans for two or three years, and obviously made it out before hurricane Katrina in 2005 . . . ten years ago now.

Anyway, having that copy looking me square in the eye as I write this has set me to thinking about these odd connections.  How did something I wrote fifteen years ago make it from New York (published) to New Orleans and then back to my house?  How many people--now living or dead--read this copy?  

Anyway, I'm still reading, still writing . . . and still waiting.  I also hope to write more often right here--and I won't be waiting until the spirit moves me.

~Todd

All That Jazz

I don't always post news of my writing endeavors . . . but when I do, I use this blog.

Well, but it has been a wild month of conversations, assignments, potentialities.  I'm so grateful to my editor, Sarah, for meeting me in Boulder last week to discuss further marketing ideas for The Other Jesus.  And, of course, it was fun to catch up over a cup of coffee.

And many short assignments completed also in March & April.  Seven published essays on my count, along with three book reviews and a feature article on rainbow trout.  I also received word of two short story acceptances, including one story that I've been trying to find a home for for nearly a decade--a romantic story entitled, "The Tall Girl's Wedding".  

And poems?  By last count I was elated to receive word that one magazine had accepted five and another three.  If I can still do math, that means eight published poems in one month . . . so not too bad.

I'm also elated to have signed on to write a book for InterVarsity Press, a book entitled, The Seven Deadly Virtues. Thank you, Helen and IVPress.  I've been getting my notes together, thoughts clarified, and now I'm ready to set out on this journey.

But I've got to get moving.  Why, just the time it has taken me to write this blog has been time I could have used in these other endeavors.  

That's always the message for writers . . . don't sit and talk about writing.  Get writing.  Don't sit still.  All that jazz . . . .     

Woody and Me

Some three years ago, Becky and I set out on a quest to watch all of Woody Allen's movies.  (He's made more than you might think.)  We are still trying to get to the end of this queue.  

Recently, however, my attention fastened upon a character played by Nick Nolte.  In this one scene Nolte, a painter, was discussing the significance of his painting with a young art student who was threatening to quit.  She asked, "But how do you get inspired to paint?  How do you find the energy to keep doing it?"

The answer came suddenly, with the Nolte blurting out, "One doesn't paint because one wants to.  If a person is a painter, he will paint because he can't do anything else."

I've heard this same line used in ministry . . . but I've also heard it used when it comes to writing.  Writers write because they have to.  At least it's held true for me.

Even now, sitting here watching an NCAA basketball game that I've pulled in through my rabbit ears (and high def no less) . . . I am writing.  In the past two hours I've written three essays to meet a publication deadline.  Last night I wrote five short stories (all less than 1000 words each, but five nonetheless).  And early this morning I finished two poems, wrote eight pages of material for a review, and began writing a new book proposal.  Why?  What else can I do?  What else is there to do in the middle of the night?  (And don't mention sex cause I can't meet that deadline any more.)

No . . . it's writing from here on out.  Writing until my back goes, my knees, my mind.  And besides, I've got too many books, too many stories, too many essays, too many poems--both unpublished and yet to be written--that are waiting in the wings.

An actor acts.  A painter paints. A writer writes.  It's a life sentence.