I’ll be damned. I was just looking over this here blog and checking some of the links to make sure they still work, and I discovered my novel came out April 2010.
I know you’ve all read it already, but just in case you want to buy it again, here is the link:
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/zen-mississippi/6557776
And perhaps you’d like to add a glowing review on Amazon.com. You can do that here:
http://www.amazon.com/Zen-Mississippi-ebook/product-reviews/B003HC8PTG
Have a good weekend.
We’re a couple of days late wrapping up our March 2011 issue. We won’t try to re-cap everything we’ve published in the past month here. Just go read it for yourself.
We aren’t slacking off–just still tweaking the format so we can find the best way to keep you coming back regularly. In March, we posted a ton of great poetry and two awesome short stories, all of which we were very happy to include. We’d love to have more fiction submissions, and we’d love to publish more multimedia work. Please keep sending us stuff and spread the word about this site.
By the way, none of us here at STR are making a penny from this venture. We wouldn’t mind making a penny here and there, but right now we have no advertising, we don’t charge a “reading fee” for regular submissions. We don’t even charge an entry fee for our contests, though this may change in the future; we are currently paying the prize money out of our own pockets. Not to mention the cost of fliers, postcards, and stickers we had printed up. We’re not asking you for money to defray these costs right now. We just want you to know what’s up.
If you have any ideas about how to better get the word out about Steel Toe Review, we’d love to hear what you have to say. Just email us at steeltoereview AT gmail and tell us what you think. If you are in the Birmingham area and you are interested in getting involved with STR in any capacity, drop us a line and tell us what you’d like to do.
Finally, in the coming month, we are excited to have two major milestones on the horizon: the deadline of our first fiction contest and our first live event! For details, visit our front page.
Yrs. Trly.,
M. David Hornbuckle
editor
It has come to my attention that I haven’t updated this blog in more than a month. So here’s a quick run-down. I haven’t been writing much here because I’ve been writing a lot elsewhere.
First off, Steel Toe Review is getting better all the time, publishing new work every day or two. And we are hosting our first short story contest with a $100 prize. You can see the details on the home page of the STR site. This is a themed contest. I have long had this idea that Birmingham/Red Mountain is sort of like a spaceship that landed 120 years ago in the middle of Alabama. This probably has a lot to do with my fascination with Sun Ra, but also I think Birmingham just makes a lot more sense when you think about it that way. So I’d been thinking about writing a story like this but I never got around to it. So now, here’s $100 incentive for other people to write it for me. Exciting, no?
Secondly, I’ve been writing new songs, performing, and recording. This coming Friday (March 11), my band is playing a show at the DanielDay Gallery/DreamMecca Studio in Lakeview. Our sister band Results of Adults are opening for us. There is a $10 donation at the door, which I know sounds a little steep. BUT it’s BYOB, so you will save lots of money by bringing your own beer.
If you read my posts about spending New Years Eve at the Griffin farm in rural Pickens County, Alabama, about five miles from the Mississippi state line, you know about my long-time fascination with this area. I spent last Saturday out at the farm. I had a blast picking guitars with Big Charlie. He played me some of his original tunes, all of which I liked very much. Then Charlie introduced me to his neighbor Lawrence, whose family has been living around that general area since about 1830. Lawrence is very interested in local history, as well as the history or his family and his wife’s family. They are both in Sons/Daughters or the American Revolution, and they both know quite a bit beyond what’s written down in books about that area.
One of the most interesting stories Lawrence told me was about a gentleman to whom historians refer only as “Mr. Hancock.” He was a resident of what was then called Yorktown, which was later named Ethelsville after Mr. Hancock’s daughter, Ethel. All Wikipedia says about Ethel is that she was “a one time resident and staple of the community. She was famous for being Mr. Hancock’s daughter.” It says far less about Mr. Hancock himself.
According to Lawrence, Mr. Hancock was known in the community as “Square” Hancock. He added that just as you call a bald man “Curly” or a fat man “Slim,” Mr. Hancock was called “Square” because he was a crook. He once burned down a neighbor’s barn because the neighbor refused to sell him some land. Hancock also ran a general store in town, which I’m sure positioned him for all sorts of shady dealings. I’m certain my further investigation into this matter will result in more Faulknarian tales of double-crossing, violence, and drama.
Another interesting note is that when they built the railroad through Yorkville, the railroad line missed the town by about half a mile. The people of the town essentially picked up and moved everything over a half a mile so they could have a railroad station there. That’s when it changed over from Yorkville to Ethelsville. I need to dig a little more into this as well.
Thanks again to Charlie and his wife Kathleen for their extreme hospitality. I’ll be back to visit again soon.
A friend from out of town came to visit, and I decided I’d take her to the Civil Rights Museum because it was her first time visiting Birmingham. And it happened to be Martin Luther King Day, so there was free admission. However, this also meant that there was a two-hour wait to get into the museum. We stood in the line anyway for a while and watched the parade go by, led by Bishop Calvin Woods singing “We Shall Overcome” through a megaphone. This would have been a powerful image, had it not been immediately followed by a high school marching band doing Solid Gold dance moves down the middle of the street.
We stood there and watched as the parade culminated at the 16th Street Baptist Church across the street, the church that served as a war room for the civil rights foot soldiers in Birmingham, the church that was bombed by the KKK in 1963, killing four young black girls, the church where Dr. King and Reverend Shuttlesworth inspired the people from the pulpit. As the parade wound to a close, the line to go into the museum barely moved, so we decided maybe it would make more sense to just come back the next day when it wouldn’t be as crowded, even though it would no longer be free to get in.
My friend then felt drawn toward the church and asked if we could just go in there. I said it looked like we could, but I didn’t know if there would be anything to see. It’s just a church, I said. She said, “Yeah, but it’s THE church.” So, mainly out of blind curiosity, we followed a crowd inside and up the stairs to the balcony. Before we could see anything, we could hear that a service was starting and we agreed that if we went in, we’d be committed to staying in there a while.
Bishop Woods was in the middle of giving his opening remarks when we sat down. There were a surprising number of empty seats. However, throughout the service people were coming and going constantly. And at the height of the celebration, there were only a few seats vacant, but a large number of people were standing in the back anyway as if it were a full house.
Next, Reverend Luther Williams gave an opening prayer, which was more of an improvised song than what I’m used to calling a ‘prayer,’ complete with backing of the house organist (who was amazing, by the way). As the invocation became more and more impassioned, multitudes of Amens and other interjections whooped out from the pews. I asked my friend if she’d ever seen anything like this before. She said she had not.
Bishop Woods came back and said a few more words about the historical events being commemorated, from the perspective of a man who was there and participated in those events. Then he introduced the Movement Choir. I think that’s when I started crying, and the tears kept streaming through much of the next two hours. I did manage to capture about 30 seconds of video on my phone.
One reason I was so moved was that I realized this is a group of people who do not take for granted their freedom, that do not take for granted the gift of being alive. These are not people who lie in bed for 16 hours agonizing over how meaningless their lives are like I often do. They don’t have time for that shit, and they make it meaningful. I was just overwhelmed by the passion for life that I was witnessing, from the speakers, from the choir, and from the audience.
Speaker after speaker made rousing, inspiring, animated, and colorful presentations, often moved by the spirit to burst out in song. The people in the pews danced, sang, clapped, and shouted out exultation. I’m not going to recap everything that happened. There was just too much. I’ve been to the Civil Rights Museum. It’s great. It’s moving. But this was the real thing–not a museum–a real civil rights rally featuring seasoned warriors of that movement. And that didn’t capture half of what was so incredible about it.
As we were leaving, my friend and I marveled at everything we had just witnessed and how we almost missed it completely, and at the fact that we could even just go in there and see it so casually. My friend said, “That’s the first time church has ever actually worked on me. Ever. It made me want to be a better person.” I felt that same way exactly.
Tonight is the debut of my new band with Brent Stauffer and Tym Cornell. I’ve known both of these guys for almost 20 years, and I’m excited to be playing music with them both again. The music this band plays is catchy, melodic rock and roll with a little bit of folksiness here and there.
We sound a little something like this:
http://www.youtube.com/user/mdhornbuckle?feature=mhum#p/a/u/0/PqvrhNtju4o
http://www.youtube.com/user/mdhornbuckle?feature=mhum#p/a/u/1/QI1kVgdFWgg
Tym’s band, Results of Adults, is playing second. He’s a great songwriter in his own right–with a lot of psychedelic influence. Our band will also be playing one of Tym’s songs, as well as a couple by our old songwriting partner George Mostoller.
The opening band, Hifidelics, is a surf rock band. I haven’t heard them personally but I’ve been told on authority that they are very good, and it’s probably unfair to make them open. They should probably be headlining.
The cover is a mere $5, and you’ll get to see three awesome bands. The first band will go on promptly at 9pm.
See you at Sipsey.
There are dozens of virtually useless ZMS promo items you may purchase for your amusement on the Tritone Media cafe press site.
All the items include the beautiful book cover design created by Marie Mundaca. There are t-shirts, post cards, clocks, buttons, and all kinds of other nonsense.
Enjoy.
Saturday, January 15 at my favorite local watering hole, Sipsey Tavern.
My novel, Zen Mississippi, takes place (largely) in a fictional town called Lyonness near the Alabama/Mississippi state line. I based this town on some of the rural communities I used to drive through when I was living in Columbus, MS, particularly those along US Highway 82 in Pickens County, Alabama. I had a friend and bandmate at that time who was from Ethelsville, in that county. Ethelsville is actually much smaller than what I imagine Lyonness to be, but its location and topography is very much what I had in mind when I was writing the book (except on the MS side of the line instead of the AL side). I always had a fascination with that whole area. There is something odd and mystical about it.
Seven or eight years ago, when I was living in New York and the book was “in process,” some friends of mine introduced me to their new roommate, Daniel, and they told me he was from Alabama. I asked him where in Alabama he was from, and he was quite surprised that I had actually heard of Ethelsville and knew where it was, and that I actually knew someone else who was from Ethelsville. As I mentioned in a previous post, this town has a population of about 80 people.
So years went by, and I frequently saw Daniel at parties and around town. In a coincidence that is only mildly related to this story, I had a neighbor in my building that also knew Daniel because they’d gone to the Alabama State Math & Science high school in Mobile together (tangentially related weirdness: when I met THAT guy, it was not in my building but at a show, and we discovered by casually talking that we were not only both originally from Alabama but also lived in the same building).
Then I moved back to Alabama a few months ago, and I sent Daniel a note saying we should hang out when he comes home to visit. He replied that I should come to his family’s New Years Eve party because it’s a big blowout. This was during the summer. By December, I almost entirely forgot about this invitation.
A few weeks ago, through mutual friends in Birmingham, I met a dude named Charlie. We have been around each other a few times but haven’t talked much. We have a lot of friends in common. I started hearing things about a New Year’s Eve party at Charlie’s parents’ farm, but I didn’t think I knew Charlie well enough to invite myself. But then I saw the event listing on Facebook, and I noticed this party was in Ethelsville. Then I noticed Charlie and Daniel were both listed as hosts and that they had the same last name. With some digging, I confirmed that they were brothers, and I realized I had actually already been invited to this party months ago.
But the strings of coincidences don’t actually even end there, though this next part doesn’t really have to do with the New Year’s Eve party so much.
During the time when I was living in Mississippi, attending MUW, I had a few poems published in the college literary magazine. I got a fan letter from a girl who was then in high school, and I wrote her back. And then I never heard from her again, until one day she noticed that I posted a comment on Daniel’s facebook wall. This is an excerpt from an actual conversation I had with her.
Me: What a small world this is. So you know Daniel. And I know Daniel because he lived with some friends of mine in New York. AND he went to high school in Mobile with one of my neighbors. And I am obsessed with Pickens County.
Her: Daniel and I went to high school together. It was because of his status comment that I saw you. Oh, and your ex-wife is my best friend’s sister.
The fan girl, unfortunately, could not make it to the party this year, but you can see that this whole weird thing simply deepened the intrigue that led me to attend. And then, almost as an afterthought, this also all ties back to my ex-wife Doris who hardly even talks to me anymore (for good reason, but that’s another long story).
AND to bring it all back around, my college friend who was from Ethelsville was one of the very few people who actually attended my wedding, and in fact, now that I think about it, he was likely the person to first introduce me to Doris.
Diagram below for those who have trouble following this:
This tale is in two parts: First the party. Coming up next, the odd way in which I came to be there.
Ethelsville, Alabama is a town in Pickens County with a population of about 80 people, 3 miles from the Mississippi state line. The Griffin family constitutes about ten percent of that number, and they have this party every year, but this was the first year I’ve attended. The Griffin’s farmhouse where the party took place was a little off the road, so I didn’t see it at first. Finally I noticed the long dirt driveway, and when I followed it a little way, I saw the cars. And the fire. This, however, was only the little fire. Just a little campfire for people to stand around and be warm while they smoked cigarettes. The real fire would come later.
I walked in and said hello, and then I delivered my chocolate pecan pie to be entered in the pie contest. The contest is a tradition, but it isn’t always pie. (update later with examples of previous years’ contests). The evening started off very casual and mellow. I joined some friends sitting on the floor for a card game. Soon the pie judging began.
There were six judges and a complex scoring system that I never quite got the gist of. Two categories: sweet pies and savory pies.
I did not win. Two pies that tied for first in the sweet category were a blueberry pecan pie baked in an earth oven and some sort of strawberry kiwi thing that completely frightened me, but I’ll take peoples’ word that it was good enough to win. The winning savory pie was a sausage and feta pie.
After the judgment was announced, it was time to start the bonfire. Now, you should know that there were lightning storms off and on throughout the night, and at the particular time that it was decided to start the bonfire, it was raining rather heavily. However, this did not hinder the fire. Below is a picture from earlier in the day when the bonfire was being constructed.
They had bought a number of unsold Christmas trees from a lot to use as kindling, and I think there was a fair amount of kerosene involved as well. No amount of rain was going to prevent this bonfire from happening.
As it turned out, a few minutes after it started, the rain let up for a while. But the downpour continued in waves. At one point there were a dozen of us huddled under a plastic tarp, and we shuffled the entire group like a Chinese dragon from one side of the fire to the other so the person on the end could get another beer. The fire was spectacular, and I wish I had a better picture to properly demonstrate the scale of this thing, and perhaps some will be uploaded to the internets later. But here is a crappy picture taken with my cell phone.
What you can’t see are all of the other little fires, Swedish log candles, that were lighting the pathway from the house to the bonfire. It was truly a spectacle, and the fire works had not yet even begun.
About a half an hour before midnight, began the tradition known as the burning cauldron of death. This was a cast iron cauldron, filled about three feet above the brim with bottle rockets, whistlers and Roman candles. Then kerosene was poured down a hole in the middle, and the cauldron was hoisted on top of a tree stump pedestal, four or five feet above the ground. This is what it looked like before it was lit.
That’s me holding the umbrella above the cauldron to keep the fireworks from getting wet. Once the cauldron was placed on the pedestal, one of the Griffin boys grabbed a shovel full of coals from the bonfire, poured them into the cauldron, and yelled “Run.”
It took several minutes for all of the fireworks to go off, and a fire continued to burn in the cauldron for at least an hour. The stump pedestal was also on fire. This is how we party down here.
After the fireworks, we returned to the house, where Mrs. Griffin had made dozens of petite sandwiches that had been doused with some sort of delicious marinade and then baked. They were delightful.
After eating several of those, I fell asleep on a sofa, but as I understand it, there was some sort of hot tub activity going on while I slept. I woke up this morning to Mr. Griffin and one of the sons making black eyed peas, ham, and barley for breakfast/lunch.
It was an awesome, awesome party, and I can’t thank the Griffins enough for their hospitality. I think that if I’m within 200 miles of Pickens County on any future New Years Eve, I will have to go back. Next… the strange circumstances that brought me to Ethelsville.
M. David Hornbuckle 