Spotlight

Here's a cool shot someone took at the Coldplay concert we went to. For a couple songs that night, it was just Sharon and myself and the guys playing to us. 

"On A Good Day"

July is almost gone. Here are some of the things I've been up to . . . 

Rewriting Ghostwriter and rewriting Ghostwriter yet again.

Listening to a lot of Coldplay, and going to see them in concert with Sharon for an amazing night out. 

Watching our daughter, Kylie, dance to Coldplay. 

Attending the ICRS convention in Orlando for the first time as an author and ONLY an author. 

Singing Karoke at Rock Bottom. 

Watching the Cubs pull out a win in the bleachers at Wrigley Field. 

Hanging out with people ten years younger than me (and somehow fitting right in).

Making plans for this fall and the release of Isolation. 

Loving The Dark Knight. 

Storing up memories and fodder from the Rock. And wishing them a farewell. 

Big ideas. Lots of big ideas. Lots and lots of big ideas. 

Being reminded at CBA. 

Trying to balance dreams with economy.

Loving the moments when my restless soul pauses momentarily, only to hear the rush of little feet approaching and the glorious sound of "DADDY!" beckoning me to some mischief. God knows I'm scared because she takes after me in so many ways . . . .

More ICRS Photos

Class Visit

I had the opportunity to visit Miss Beckman's English class at Bartlett High School. They went through my novel, Admission, and participated in a Wikispaces learning experience. Each student was asked to read a chapter and give input on that chapter. Here I am on the final day of class after they reported out. 

"Come Up To Meet You . . ."

So Sharon and I are at the Coldplay concert, enjoying ourselves in section 109. I'm in seat one at the edge of the aisle, right on level with the walkway that heads into the area with the concession stands and bathrooms. During the middle of the show, a security guy asks me what song they're playing.

"Strawberry Swing," I say. 

He doesn't look impressed. 

A few minutes later, I turn around and see them putting up a small stage right behind me. And I literally mean RIGHT behind me. The stage is two feet off the ground. A bunch of security guys are standing around as they put a microphone on the stage. 

It's almost as if they're wanting ME to sing. (Yeah, that would clear out the place). 

I nudge my wife and point at the stage. She's in shock just like I am. 

For a couple of songs, we're both excited beyond belief, knowing what's coming. 

And sure enough, after a couple of crowd-pleasing numbers, the guys from Coldplay run through the aisles and go into the stadium, emerging at section 109 right in front of us. 

I literally have the best seat in the United Center. 

Now I mentioned that I fell in love with Coldplay because of the song "The Scientist." It's a piano ballad--yeah, it's sappy. So sue me. 

So right in front of us (see photo above--that's taken with my cheap cell phone), Chris Martin and the others perform "The Scientist."

Not only that, but they're filming the guys too. 

If I show up in the video, I'll be looking wide-eyed in joyous disbelief. Yeah, they're just a band from England. But they've provided a soundtrack for me ever since I started to listen to them in earnest back in 2002. 

Quite a surreal experience . . . 

Coldplay Concert Part One

Section 109 seems far away, doesn't it? But they were still great seats. 

My wife and I saw Coldplay on Tuesday night at the United Center. I've loved these guys since I fell in love with the ballad "The Scientist" off their second album. Their latest is their best in my estimation. And they put on an amazing concert, singing the song "Lost" twice for a video. 

I thought it would be an incredible show. I didn't realize it would be surreal . . .  

Show

Booksigning At ICRS

Here I am at the International Christian Retail Show (ICRS) signing a copy of my upcoming novel for Rick and Francine Rivers (yes--the famous Francine Rivers!). 

2.0 (written on a plane)

Chapter 2 begins. 

Or more like, Chapter 2 is well underway. 

My first nine books were the start to this thing. 

But number ten will not only be a new novel, but a new trajectory. 

The business side of these things takes its course and needs no detailing. All I can say is that life happens and changes happen and that you happen. 

Will there be many more chapters? God willing--I hope there are. 

I don't look at the brand but I look at the colors. I look at the possibilities. I look at the top. And I still dream big. 

Big is not an ad or a face in the spotlight or numbers. Big is freedom. Big is meaning. Big is moving. And big is lasting. 

So chapter two begins . . .

Jerusalem Bells

"I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy’s eyes
Listened as the crowd would sing
"Now the old king is dead, long live the king"
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
Missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once you'd gone there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was a wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn’t believe what I’d become
Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
I know St Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world"

"Viva La Vida" by Coldplay

On Writing

If you read this, chances are you're one of the following: a fan of my books; someone who knows me who is wondering if I've gone completely batty (don't worry--that's already happened); or a writer wondering why in the world you haven't been published while I continue to be. For those interested in my books and my writing, this post might interest you. 

The question is posed to me often: why write? That's such a basic question that really cannot be answered. I can say "because I have to", but that still doesn't answer the question. 

But I'll share this. Every book I've written is a part of me. "Duh, Travis. That's such a writer cliche." Maybe it is, but I don't think all authors are this way. Some authors come up with a story and tell it. Just like that. They tell the story in their voice and in their worldview, but they don't put themselves in it. It's just another story. But for me, every story is something that is deeply personal and that gives a glimpse of where I'm standing at the moment I'm writing it. 

And no, it doesn't mean that every main character is me in some form or another. It's natural for that to be the case, and in many of my books, I will admit that a lot of me shows up on the pages. But it's more than that. It's my attitude and my outlook that shows up. 

The Promise Remains, my first published novel, is sweet and naieve. I don't think I could write that book in that way. It seems like another person wrote that, someone who was probably sweeter and more naieve. 

The Watermark deals with guilt, much the way I was dealing with it at the time. The story is all made up. Someone recently asked me I played the piano (just like Sheridan does). No, not really. But Sheridan was and is me in many ways. But a younger me. 

The book that's coming out this fall--Isolation--deals with anger at God. Was I angry at God when I wrote it? Yes. And I was humbled too. And the characters in the book (not fictionalized versions of me, mind you) go through a journey of being angry at God and then being humbled at his power and grace. 

See--the story does matter. And your voice and worldview are what makes it uniquely you. But for me, it's also a document of where I'm at when I'm writing it. Either newly married (Three Roads Home) or jaded by the corporate life (Sky Blue) or detailing my college experience (Admission)--all of these are snapshots of myself in some way. 

Perhaps that's egotistical. But I always say every author has to be somewhat egotistical to believe he or she has anything unique to say after everything's been said. 

Every book I write is a part of me. My joy, my faith, my flaws, my attitude, my struggles, my hopes--these can all go into the story. Sometimes it works well and sometimes it doesn't. But I write because I need to, because I want to, and because I still feel like I can tell a story in a cool, unique way. 

Sometimes when life is intense, a story can be intense too. Sometimes, like in the case of a recent work of mine, when life is somewhat floundering, the story can flounder too. That is the beauty of art. It reflects the creator. You can paint a portrait that is flawed and fragile but that is uniquely YOU. Some artists don't want to go down that path, because it can be pretty bumpy. But it's the path I go down time after time. 

And it will be the path I keep taking. It's not a perfect path--I doubt it'll ever be an interstate that millions travel on mindlessly every day. But for those that venture down the road--my hope is that they'll enjoy the journey, which will have surprising turns and bumpy patches and will hopefully be memorable.

Control by Anton Corbijn

When I was a teenager, I had four favorite rock groups. Depeche Mode, The Smiths, The Cure, and New Order. Yes, lots of angst all around. Last night, I watched Anton Corbijn's directorial debut about the group that existed before New Order came to be. The group was called Joy Division. The movie was called Control. 

It was a compelling movie all done in black and white. Strange how I could connect with an alienated youth living in Manchester at the end of the seventies. But alienation and isolation and teenage angst can be the genesis of great art. In this case, it was short-lived. The legend of Ian Curtis' tragic and short life live on in this movie and in the haunting music he left behind. 

Let It Be

Paul said it best. 

ICRS Convention

In another week, I'm heading to Orlando to attend my 15th CBA convention. Well, it used to be simply called the Christian Booksellers Association convention. Now it's International Christian Retail Show. 

This will be my first that I'm attending strictly as an author and not as an author relations guy. 

I used to have to help coordinate schedules and travel plans and booksignings. The big event was an author dinner I'd put together. For fourteen years I worked on this every July. 

It's going to be nice going as only an author. 

Having been a fulltime writer now for almost ten months, it feels like those days are years ago. I don't miss the corporate grind. In fact, I don't miss anything about the corporate life at all. Having picked up a part-time job as a server three months ago, I thought that maybe I'd miss my comfortable job that comfortably paid the bills every two weeks. But not once have I missed it. And that's told me a lot. 

It's going to be nice to be one of the ten thousand authors that go to the show. But I'll still have to see the Jesus junk and the taglines and the personalities and the marketing of faith that made my head swim. Selling beer makes sense to me--people make it for a reason, so they sell it and expect to make money from it. But selling faith--now that's a whole other thing. Something I don't understand. 

I hope to take some good pictures and document my time at the show. It'll be good to see some old faces and to not have to sprint the floor finding some big name some cheese and crackers on a plate (and no, I'm not exaggerating). 

One day, if I'm fortunate, I'll write my Seinfeld-esque take on the CBA industry. But I'm still a little too jaded around the edges to attempt it.  

Just Warming Up

I just finished an extensive rewrite on my next novel, Ghostwriter. How do I feel about it? Not sure. I'm never sure when I'm in the midst of writing something. Ask me next May when it comes out. I gave it my all two times (first writing it and then rewriting it) but that doesn't always mean the book is great.

I've had ten books published to date (one of those being a repackage of my first two novels). And I'm very thankful for each one of those. It's incredible to be able to do something you love on a daily basis. But here's something you might find surprising. I feel like I'm just getting warmed up. I feel like I'm playing in the minor leagues not because of sales or publishers or any of that but because of my own limitations. I feel I'm getting a little better, that I'm learning, that I'm figuring things out, but that I still have so far to go. 

When I finish a book, I don't breathe a sigh of relief and take a break. Not at all. I try to organize my writing life and figure out what's next. I'm always working on something. And work doesn't always mean writing. Sometimes it means taking notes, or plotting bits of the story out, or trying to come up with a fresh take or idea in the story. I'm always thinking and always wondering and always working. 

My goal is not to figure out how to make a million dollars. That's not how to get to the major league in my mind. (Not that I don't appreciate dollars, especially these days). But it's figuring out how to take a story and deliver it in a fresh way that moves the reader and that makes it mark. To tell something in a simple yet profound way. Every story I tell is an attempt to do that, but I'm still learning. And I still have so far to go. 

But it's July 1, 2008. The page is empty. And it's time to try once again.