River Jordan || Author, Speaker, Radio Personality

Baby, It's cold outside. Brrrr is the word. Snowish is the forecast. Well, it's a season you know. It's called Winter. And even in Nashville we're still a little spoiled. We long for mild even in the midst of the old, cold stories. Momma tells me that ice used to shoot up out of the ground. Old folks around Tennessee tell me that we haven't seen the kinda cold that used to visit here and lay down deep frozen roots 'till a real Spring thaw. And, that's what it's always going to come back to. The old stories and the new stories.

Speaking of stories, check out the Nashville Noir Film Festival. Film Noir.? Shoot, yeah. I always tell those friends up in the Big Apple that Nashville is not the Country Music do all and end all. Well, yes, yes it has that, too but just check out the Nashville Noir Film Festival at the Belcourt Theatre going on in February. You can bet I'll be in the audience with popcorn in tow for Bogey in The Maltese Falcon on THE BIG SCREEN.

And of course check out BACKSTORY this week for a most excellent show (more great music, great stories, and great company).

Right now, there's a story in the making, just around corner and on the horizen. Here in Nashville we get to Vote on Super Tuesday. I have friends voting for McCain, Clinton, And Obama. I honestly don't know anyone that is voting for Romney but I'm sure some of my friends would like too. And they are Real Friends. All people I love and would trust with my children (grown though they may be.) People I would trust with my rough drafts, with my car keys (better them than me), and with my very soul.

Here we are, so different in our sense of right. Different in our take on what the future should or could hold. Or at least if we agree on the vision, disagreeing on the way to get there. Yet, dang if we don't all care. That is, we care about this country and what the future holds for us, for our children, and our grandchildren, and yes, should Jesus tary as we say down south, even seven generations from now.

So, here's what's going on in Nashville. We're walking the dog, taking out the trash, checking the Ryman schedule and taking in Noir. And we're talking Tuesday. We're talking it in elevators, beauty shops, bathrooms, and restaurants. We're talking it at work and over cell phones, and in emails. Some of us voted early. And I know that's great. I know it's easy. I know, I know. But I'm one of those people that has to go to the game on game day. I have to line up with the rest of them. The rest of US. To look at the faces and wonder - Democrat? Republican? Independent? Green Party??? I like the volunteers to give me that slip and show me to the magic booth. And just like Dorothy I get to step behind the curtain to discover its just me. That it was just me all along. That is, just me and a million other people. Just us all along that had the power. And I hope that's true. That we still do have the power to democratically elect a President on our own free will. (We'll table that electorial vote debate for another day.) And there hasn't been a Voting day that I don't look at my friends who are voting same as me or for the other guy/lady, and say, Isn't this great? We get to DO this. We can really do this. And maybe in some wild ways it's like wishing upon a star.

My most cynical, radical, loveable rascle friends would say, they are ALL THE MAN. And nothing is ever going to change, nothing.

But, baby, I was born beneath a shooting star. And, like the heart of all true children, I'm still caught up in believing, and compelled to keep making wishes.

You know, I have to say that nobody does it like Kathy Patrick, the PULPWOOD QUEEN. This past weekend down in the beautiful town of Jefferson, Texas was book lovers extravaganza with author

panels, talks, teaching, and FEASTING. Kathy kicked off the event with

a special authors party at the Bull Durham Playhouse with Gumbo for everyone and authors rode in from a

ll parts unknown. Heck, some even hitch-hiked out of the airport to make certain they didn't miss the fun! Isn't that right Andrea Portes (author o

f HICK)?
On Friday night we were treated to a rocking performance of The Sunshine Boys at the Bull which allowed us to put our feet up, relax, and laugh - a lot.

Robert Dalby (Kissing Babies at the Piggly Wiggly), Denise Hildreth (Savanah from Savanah series and Flies on the Butter), yours truly and other friends jumped on a chance to pause and eat a great lunch at Annie Skinners with great friends Joyce and Kim. Then back to more panels, more authors, more fun.

AND - - - for

those of you who have never attended the big bash,

there is a huge closing event known as the BALL OF HAIR which features great live music, authors dancing, a costume theme, big hair. Case in point: here is Janis Owens, (The Schooling of Claybird Catts and you can catch Janis at the Books Alive in Panama City, Florida Feb 9th so see her there!) who got a big doo and then suddenly inherited millions of T

exas Dollars and put on a show! AND the Timber King Contest for which I don't exactly have the words. Geoffrey M. Gluckman took this years MAJOR TROPHY AWARD but I'm going to have to let the pictures do the talking. But hey, The best pictures can be found at . . . the PULPWOOD QUEEN site!

Author Cassa ndra King Conroy was Queen for the night and graced everyone with her Grace Kelly presence.
Kathy had the double duty of being the Head Queen of the event AND it happening right in the middle of her new book launch and tour, The Pulpwood Queens Tiara Wearing Guide to Life (filled with true to the bone stories of Kathy's journey on how she ended up opening the only hair salon and bookstore in the universe and starting the Pulpwood Queens International Book Club as featured on Good Morning America. Now the beauty shop alone is to die for I'm telling you! It's worth the drive to Texas to get a new

doo.) Darnell Arnoult was one of the author stars of the evening and danced the night away. And that's the way it was - more authors than I have room to name, link, and mention promoting books and reading, telling funny author stories, walking the streets of beautiful downtown Jefferson, making new friends, and connecting with the ones that we pass back and forth on the roadtrips of life that authors take. Now, would be the time to tune in to Kathy's website

, checkout the Pulpwood Queens and follow Kathy as her adventure continues and she's back on the road again and her book is selling like hotcakes! All hail to the Queen! (And put Jefferson , Tx on your calendar for next years you don't want to miss it event!)

When I was a child I had this belief that when you were born you had a certain amount of words assigned to you and stored up (who knows where) inside your body. When you used up your allotment of words you fell over dead. Truth. I swear. I simply believed it with all my heart. It’s why I would sit wisely at my Grandmother’s feet as she and the old women who had come to visit from down the dirt road would huddle by the fire and talk and talk and talk. And there I am listening to all this gossip about whoyoucallit and whatshisname and whatshedid and I’d think to myself like a little sage, “So many words being lost, lost, lost. They are just wasting their lives!” But of course I never brought it up because I was planning to live for a long, long time.

Now when I mention this my mother asks me with a horrified expression, “Where in the world did you get such an idea?” I honestly say, “I don’t know.” I believed that way before I could talk which explains why I was such a quiet child. They thought I was simply well behaved. I was actually trying to remember to save the words for something really, very, important. This was easier when I was very young and content to be alone. It became tougher and tougher when I was taunted by Diane Bagget in the 2nd grade EVERY SINGLE DAY who promised she was going to whip my butt on the long walk home. (Now, I don’t remember why she wanted to do such a thing because like I said, I was a quiet and given to mindin’ my own business and had not TAUNTED her. But never mind all that because I had to waste some choice words to try to reason with her or to talk tough enough to escape a beating.)

It was third grade when I found out about the trees, those blessed creatures of God’s creation that feed us air. In other words - oxygen. “Which of course people need,” the teacher said, “TO BREATHE! (Emphasis mine). Something broke inside my mind, like an old, dusty, place being cracked open. The one that holds old ideas that don’t fit anymore. And a new truth replaced that spot somewhere in the Cortex of my brain. We breathe in oxygen. The trees feed us air. Our words are limitless! I can tell Diane Bagget to kiss my fuzzy head and drop dead without ME not dropping dead in mid-sentence! Oh, the wonder, the bliss, of possessing the freedom to communicate without self-censoring.

I literally skipped all the way home from school that day. And I remember rushing up the stairs and into the house and explaining this glorious concept of OXYGEN and breathing and words forever to my Mother and her saying something like, “Well, of course that’s the way it works.” Just as if all people in the world are born knowing this. I bet I was a little more jovial and talkative than usual from that point on. Okay, maybe more talkative but no more jovial.
But now, here I find myself all these years later and words are still what I’m made up of whether it’s writing them, saying them, or just contemplating their purpose and their power. And that leads me to return to that childhood notion on occasion and dust it off, shake it and hold it up to the light. I mean, What if?

What if our words were as measured as our days and the two were intrinsically linked together? What would we say and what would we refrain from saying? As writers, as storytellers, where would we invest our courage and our passion?
With the turn of the calendar, I’ve been mulling over the old and the new, looking at 2008 and wondering what’s in store for us this year. And amazingly, for reason I’m not sure of, my thoughts turned immediately to this collective of jazzy, southern authors on, A Good Blog is Hard to Find. To the authors whose words grace these pages, and to the readers who follow those words like bread crumbs in the dark.

As the Good Book says, “Without a vision the people perish. Therefor, write the vision . . . ” and I thought of how I felt that this year, maybe more than any year that I’ve been aware of, I feel that people in our country are longing for a vision. That there are silent voices crying out for someone to paint a picture, to remind us of who we once were, to paint a picture of who we still could be. Maybe that’s why my thoughts straight here. As writers, particularly Southern writers, we are bridges to the past. There is no doubt or question about that. But I also feel we are conduits to the future. That just as surely as we can capture the past, preserve it, and breathe new life into it, we can reach out and touch a future that’s worth pulling into the present. I feel with all my heart that our words are meant to champion what is worthy of the human soul, to protect and promote it for all its worth. Whether we’re literary writers, mystery writers, writers of fantasy, sci-fi, true crime, or romance hot enough to make a girl blush, there’s power in those pens. And if there has ever been a season in all our sloppy solitude, in all our glorious, messy lives I think it’s now. I think the world needs its storytellers to act as mapmakers for the future. To paint a picture with our words that our children’s, children’s children can walk straight into. After-all, if our words did measure our souls in syllables, we would want a few of those to be a part of something larger than ourselves, something that outlasts us for a very, very long time.

Hoping that 2008 brings wonders to your world. Happy New Year!

(This blog was contributed to the Southern Author Collective, 'A Good Blog Is Hard To Find'.

You know, sometimes you just can't have too many Queens and this last week was real proof of that. First off, the Sweet Potato Queen was a guest on Backstory on the radio and then visited Nashville signing books and putting on a show at Borders Books in Brentwood with friend, Borders Marketing Guru, Jeff Jacobs overseeing. The BA Bus (and those of you who are familiar with Jill Connor Browne know exactly what that stands for) rolled into town large and in charge. Her latest edition to her best-s

elling book library is her Guide for Raising Children for Fun and Profit (which she ASSURES us is just a joke) and it is. She read from the book and shared some hysterical tidbits on the real joys of motherhood and all stages of the process.

Now if that couldn't be enough to handle, my friend and Pulpwood Queen Extraordinaire rode into town with her Pulpwood Posse straight from the Big Sky country of Texas. Here we all are along with author friend, Denise Hildreth eating biscuits and porkchops like good southern girls at the Loveless Cafe. Tiaras, Cowgirl Hats and blingbling were the order of the day as Kathy Patrick shared her true life story of starting the LARGEST meet and discuss book club in the world with chapters now sprawling across the country and into eight foreign countries! And all that, including her new book, The Pulpwood Queens Tiara Wearing and Book Sharing Guide to Life, because she was once invited to a book club but then told she couldn't be a member because they could only have exactly eight members and until someone died she was just out of luck. Well, instead of killing off a member she rolled up her sleeves, got to work and changed the world. Don't you just love it? I know I do and Kathy spends just as much time (more actually) promoting other authors works, literacy, and reading at large. Her Girlfriend Getaway weekend is just around the corner (this weekend) down in Jefferson, Texas and yours truly will be there, cowgirl hat and all, to share some true stories, do a little reading, and wax truthful about the writing life. Please visit the links/websites to find out more. It's not too late to make the date, throw yo

ur suitcase in the car, and take off for a great time like you've never had before or will since.

Expect me to return with next weeks blogs with STORIES to tell about being trapped in a city with hundreds of book lovers, big hair, good food, and the unexpected things that happen on the road!

I was thinking, you know . . .

Christmas and the Holidays are over. The New Year has done been rung in. Oh, yes it has. (that's native tougue speak for those who think I've lost my mind.) And now, all festivities and travels aside, it's officially THE New Year. The one at hand. The one that is supposed to be different, better, faster, slower, more connected, and more retreated. The one with more time for family and friends, and more time on the mountaintop alone. More Sharing and more soul-searching.

I don't know why January and that little calendar clock rolling over brings such internal responses to us - but for most of us - it does. This will be the year we resolve, yes, THE YEAR, that we finally quit smoking, lose weight, get out of a bad thang - or get into a good one, learn to speak another language, study physics, run a marathon, get uber organized, and so on and so on and so on.

Four years ago I resolved to 1) begin to play chess again (because I haven't since 8th grade), learn a foreign language (gosh - I would've been darn near fluent by now), lose some weight (or some such physical aspiration like get into SHAPE meaning a shape besides the one I'm in,) and to write a friend or family member an honest to goodness, old-fashioned snail mail letter once a week. Any friend. Any family member. And you know what? This was the only one that I accomplished. At least for a few months. Safe to say, the old letter writing resolution had a long, good run. And then it was over. Before the new year rang in again and that was four years ago. Why did I stop? Heck, if I know. People loved getting the letters and I loved writing them. Why? Because I could slow down long enough to say something that mattered - or something that didn't. I could talk about where I was sitting as in, "I'm sitting at the Province Bakery right now outside of the downtown library. Have you seen the Nashville library? If not, I'll take you when you come up to visit and we'll have a cappachino from the bakery and some to die for chocolate and watch the people walking by while we remember high school and the people we became instead of who we thought we'd grow to be."

Those are not the kind of things you dash off in an email. Not the kind of things you throw out in a hapless chat over the cell phone between picking up your dry cleaning and dashing into Kroger for the six things you forgot last time you were at Kroger because you were busy chatting on your cell phone. So, realizing this. I think I'll just brush off that old list because the deal is, Since those resolutions four years ago time has come and gone. I've written a few novels and traveled a thousand miles and visited with my aunt Kate and ate good stuff like hoecake and tomato gravy. I've visited with a lot of friends and missed many more. And I've had a whole lot of phone calls and written thousands of emails. I've probably been writing one to one person while talking on the phone to another. How rude? Oh, yes. It is. But it's more than that. It's our forced, hurried, stuffed and ruffled method of communication these days.

My grandmother's porch with those magical, hushed evenings, and all those slow moving, funny relatives are gone now. However, I get to capture just a piece of it when I pick up a pen and begin to put ink to paper. To let those thoughts that amble around in my mind unsaid and unheard, breathe a little and find their space. For just a little while, the story, and the rhythm of the telling of it, is resurrected.

I don't know if I'll be in a running shape come next spring. I don't know if the Spanish cd's that are still in the box will get all the wear and tear that they deserve. And the chess playing, oh please, it never had a chance. But the letter writing? I'm thinking that just this one thing, just this one unlikely, unruly, not very flashy resolution, well maybe, just maybe, I can pick it up again. Maybe even pick it up and hang on this time. After all, what's one letter once a week to a somebody that means something to me? The fact is, it's a journey, we're just visiting, and there are somethings I think I should say while I still have the time. How about you?

Here's wishing that your 2008 is all that you hope and dream that it will be and that you take the time to share what's really on your mind and in your heart with the ones you love the most.

Happy New Year.