M. David Hornbuckle

Blog

  • STR and Tritone Represent at NOLA Bookfair

    I acquired a table at the NOLA bookfair to promote Steel Toe Review as well as my two books.

    On the way down, I stopped at a Chick-fil-A in Meridian, MS because I had to attend a conference call for work. I was there for almost three hours, during which I overheard the manager discuss with several people his theories about the similarities between the U.S. today and Germany in 1939. He also refilled my drink several times, so I let it slide. Languid Christian music was playing on the p.a. I ate two chicken biscuits.

    I picked up my much overqualified editorial assistant at the New Orleans airport because she was flying in from Florida. It was nothing short of miraculous that we found each other there, since I was running late, she wasn’t sure if I was coming to get her, and she is the last person on earth who doesn’t own a cell phone. But I guess since I tolerated the Lord for three hours at Chick-fil-A earlier in the day, He was looking after me.

    The divine intervention didn’t end there–for example, getting back to our motel each night after the relentless debauchery and decadence that being in New Orleans seems to necessitate. Also, my assistant and I each randomly encountered people we knew but hadn’t seen in more than a decade and whom we did not know now lived in New Orleans. But I’m getting things out of order.

    After checking into the charming Super 8 motel and inspecting it for bed bugs, the first stop was the official pre-party for the book fair, where Jordan Flaherty, author of Floodlines, was giving a talk about post-deluvian community organizing. Flaherty was funny and inspiring, despite the fact that I personally have very little emotional brain space at the moment to care about anything at all (cf. this and this, but I’m digressing again already).

    We saw our first jazz funeral parade of the weekend as we were leaving the party. We headed down to Frenchmen Street, where the fair would be taking place the next day, drank way too much bourbon, and then called it a night.

    Early the next morning (okay, about 10 am, which is early by N.O. standards), we set up our table. I had a surprising amount of interest in both the books and the literary magazine. I met several writers, whom I asked to submit to STR. I was asked to be on the radio. And my assistant and I ate shared a muffaletta that was bigger than both our heads combined.

    We also saw another, much larger funeral parade, which I came to find out was in honor of the famous photographer Herman Leonard.

    There was an after-party for the book fair at an undisclosed location. We were supposed to call a number after 7pm for directions. That was far too complicated for us. But we did attend the book fair-related Books & Burlesque show upstairs at Le Maison. The book theme was a stretch for several of the burlesque acts, but it was pretty entertaining. Somehow, I got roped into the audience participation segment of the show, which turned out to be a trivia game (we didn’t win, sadly).

    The revelry continued after the burlesque was over, until the wee hours of the morning. Around 10 am (again, early by N.O. standards) we were awakened by what seemed to be a rocking gospel band performing just outside our motel room. Neither of us had the energy to actually get up and look out the window, so we still don’t really know what happened. But speaking of music, I forgot to mention that there was incredible music everywhere we went, more than I ever remember from my previous trips here. On every street corner, at every bar, many styles of music, expertly and joyfully performed.

    When we finally managed to get up on Sunday, we met up with friends at Court of Two Sisters for their famous jazz brunch (more excellent music, not to mention amazing foodstuffs). This had to be followed by yet another nap, which was then followed by a home-cooked meal at another friend’s house.

    It will require several more blog posts to fill in the details on some of these events. There are definitely stories worth telling. New Orleans never fails me in that respect.

  • Radio Radio

    I’m supposedly going to be on the radio in New Orleans Monday morning (about 7am Central time — remember to account for the time change). Christopher Tidmore will be interviewing me about my novel Zen, Mississippi on his morning show, which you can also listen to online right here.

    I met Mr. Tidmore this afternoon at the NOLA Bookfair, about which I will write more after the weekend. He is a writer for the Louisiana Weekly who ran for the state House of Representatives here in Louisiana in 2007. He seemed intrigued by the title of my book. Perhaps he will still want to talk to me after he has actually read it.

    One quick story about the book fair, because it relates to radio. I sold two books to a very nice lady who swears she heard about me on NPR yesterday, which I’m pretty sure could not possibly be true, and I even told her so, but she stuck to her story. So maybe I’m more famous than I thought.

  • Because I Can

    The first issue of Steel Toe Review, a new online literary arts journal I founded, includes my most recent short story, “Catching Frogs.”

    The issue also includes great fiction from Sarah Fisch and Louis Bourgeois, poetry from Zach Bush and Jim Valvis, and a creepy video by Frog.

  • Steel Toe Review #1

    I may tweak some things over the next few days, but all the content for the first issue is now online. Please take a look and spread the word. If you like something, feel free to leave comments.

    Current Issue

  • Apartment Adventures

    I got back from New York on Sunday with a U-haul truck full of stuff from my storage unit. Tym Cornell and C.E. Nelson kindly dropped by to help me unload it (C.E. just happened to be passing through town on his way from Arkansas to Florida), and I took them both over to Rojo for a beer afterward.

    When I came back upstairs, a couple across the hall was fighting loudly, and their door was open. A black cat was wandering the hallway. I shrugged and figured one of them would soon notice the cat was missing and take it back in. I spent a couple of hours catching up on email and work, and then I went out again for a little while.

    The cat was still in the hallway. I knocked on the door where I’d seen the people fighting earlier, and there was no answer. So I put the cat in my apartment and gave it a bowl of water. And then I wrote a note for the owners, which I stuck under their door. “Black cat is in apartment #[redacted]. I’m not home, but the door is unlocked if you want to come get him.”

    I came home, and to my surprise, the cat was still in my apartment. Even more surprising, the cat had not trashed my apartment or peed all over the carpet.

    The cat seemed hungry, and I didn’t have anything at all to give him because I’d been out of town for a week. So I called a friend and asked her to bring over a can of cat food.  She brought two. Then I wrote another note for the cat’s owners, giving them my phone number to call when they are ready to get the cat. The cat seemed malnourished and blazed through an entire large can of food in no time. I had nothing for the cat to poop or pee in, but I was just hoping he’d use the tub if necessary. But he never did either while he was there.

    All night, he kept talking to me, jumping up on the bed and asking to be pet. I sort of hoped they wouldn’t call me. The cat reminded me a lot of Frankie, my cat in New York. My ex got custody of Frankie, which is in his best interest, but I miss that cat. By the time I went to sleep, I was thinking of names and figuring I’d go to Target in the morning to get a litter box.

    But at about 6:45 the next morning, my phone rang. “Is this David? You have a black cat?” The guy came over. He claimed that he didn’t know how the cat got out because he was “declawed and not an outdoor cat,” which made no sense of course. The cat was wandering around in the hallway on the tenth floor of an apartment building, not running around the woods. I didn’t tell him that it happened because they were fighting with the door wide open, and the cat just walked right out. I just gave the cat back. But that guy is an idiot, and that cat would be better off with me.

  • Elephants: A Poem

    Elephants sometimes trample people,

    And then they freak out

    And act like they were the ones that were trampled.

     

  • Haiku

    Letters to you, like cockroaches.
    For each one you see hundreds
    More hide in the walls.

  • Forty Thousand Words

    I’ve just passed the 40,000 word mark in the new novel I’m working on. My first novel ended up around 60,000 words, and I expect this one to be a bit longer, so I think I might be about halfway done. It has taken me a long time to reach this point. Some people can write 40,000 words in a few weeks. I’ve been working on this for a couple of years, and much of that has been just sketching out characters, writing plot outlines, and researching. And I’ve also put it down several times for weeks or even months at a time.

    I tend to write slowly, and I do all the things you aren’t supposed to do when you are writing a book. You are supposed to just write and write and write and don’t start revising until you reach the end. You are supposed to devote time to it every day at a particular time.

    I torment myself over the wording of every sentence before I type it. I’m terrible at free writing. I will revise a chapter two or three times before I start the next chapter. Especially if I’ve taken a break from the work for a while, I will start from the beginning and revise everything I’d written so far before I start adding more to it. I write every day, but sometimes that is just writing for work or writing in this blog. Some days I don’t make any headway whatsoever in the novel or in any of the short stories I might be working on.

    Really, it’s amazing I get anything done at all. So I just wanted to commemorate here this little moment of victory over the written word. 40,000 words. Done. Halfway done anyway.

  • Parkside Cafe This Thursday

    Thursday night, I’m playing  a set at Parkside Cafe (4036 5th Ave South) at 9 pm. I’m opening for an alt bluegrass band from Athens, GA called Packway Handle. I haven’t heard them yet, but numerous people have told me they are very good.

    In additional music news, I’m having the first rehearsal with my new band this afternoon. I have Brent Stauffer on bass, Adam Guthrie on lead guitar, and Scotty Hamilton on drums, all very talented musicians that I’ve known for many years. We still don’t have a name.

  • Onion Man

    Many of you know that I am somewhat internet-famous for my stupid song “Onion Man.” This song will not go away. I’ve recorded it on three separate albums (once solo, once with the Semantics aka PopCanon, and once with the Dixieland Space Orchestra), all of which sound better than the solo ukulele version that for some reason was a minor YouTube sensation a couple of years ago.

    Anyway, every once in a while I get a letter like the following, which pleases me very much:

    Good day to you sir,

    I am a resident of North Carolina.  I play the banjo (3-finger/Scruggs, not claw-hammer which confuses me).  I very much like a song of yours, which I believe is titled “Onion Man.”  I would very much like to arrange the acquisition of the lyrics and some sort of chords and/or tabs for it.  It is one of the most wondrous little jingles I’ve heard in some time, and despite my status as a broke college student, I have decided it would be worthwhile to go through considerable lengths to find the song’s author (you?) and secure the chords for it.  If this can be arranged, I would hold you thrice-blessed and a champion asskicker among the savage and profane populous of common humans.  Do please let me know at your soonest convenience.

    Cheers from Winston-Salem,

    -Stamat

    So to Mr. Stamat and others who would like to play this song:

    Onion Man Chords

    Verse:

    A / / / G / D / (x3)

    A / / / G D F / / /

    Em / / / G / / /

    D / Bm / G A E / / /

    Chorus:

    A / / / G / D /

    A / / / G / D G

    A / / / G / G# /

    Onion Man Lyrics

    I was broken down in Georgia, waving down a savior

    When soon down the road came this girl named Vidalia

    She fed me. She healed me. She fixed my carburetor.

    She said “Goodbye,” and I said, “I’ll see you later.”

    She said, “Now don’t hold your sweet baby breath.”

    Come on now, Vidalia, you’re scaring me to death.


    Vidalia, Vidalia, be my onion woman.

    Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

    Your onion man, your onion man.


    I’ve been looking up, looking down, looking low and high.

    I guess I should have known a girl like you would make me cry.

    I want to get you in my pickup truck and make you understand

    That I want to take you home tonight and be your onion man.

    I want to inhale your sweet baby breath

    And peel off your layers, until there’s nothing left.


    Vidalia, Vidalia, be my onion woman.

    Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

    Your onion man, your onion man.


    Vidalia, Vidalia, mmm mmmm

    Vidalia, Vidalia, mmm mmmm

    Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

    Your onion man, your onion man.


    Onion Man Videos