Before Travis Tea gives us the inside story on Atlanta Nights, I thought I’d introduce him.
To the left is his picture from his author’s page over at lulu.com.
And here’s his bio from his own web site:
It was a dark and stormy night the night Travis Tea was born in the small town of Sweethome, Alabama. Though ever proud of her only son, his mother Senilla continually mourned the loss of the little princess who never would be, Travis’ stillborn twin sister, Madge S. Senilla moved the family from their ranch-style house to a ramshackle shack on the outskirts of the cemetary where the baby was buried. After five years of such living, his father, Ben-Ali, took Travis, and they began a nomadic existence, travelling the highways and byways of America’s southlands, often staying with various of his father’s relatives, many of whom provided inspiration and impetus for his future ambitions.
Travis grew swiftly into a young man, but to a father grown hardened, burly and surly from hard labor, he was. . . not to put too fine a point on it. . . a disappointment. Always of a non-descript and introspective type, Travis made few friends, and buried himself away from his father’s scorn in the pages of magazines and cheap paperbacks purchased at any convenient drugstore. In those pages, he was transported away from his life of toil, and soon began to write for his own amusement. His dear maiden Aunt Vanna was the one who told him in the first place that he was as good as any writer out there. Only one piece from this period is still extant, though Travis holds that shred of napkin close, and will not deign to share it with the general public at this time.
For his 18th birthday, Travis gave himself the gift of a future, and signed up for a hitch in the National Guard. Not quite fitting in with the others, he kept company with his imaginary little brother, Insanna, who would whisper to him at night, and kept him going. While Travis served his country, his father capitulated to his loneliness, and returned to Senilla, who, though Travis had always sent letters home to her, barely realized the men had been gone. Upon his return from the service, Travis wrote a very special story for Senilla’s birthday, which he entitled "That’s All Right, Mama." After the story had been read to her, his mother miraculously recovered her sense of the importance of her living family members, and resumed her place as matriarch of the home.
Travis threw himself into his writing. He wrote at night; he wrote on weekends; at mealtimes; and between work shifts. He enrolled in several correspondence courses in writing, and though lessons were not always delivered in their entirety, and some may never have arrived at all, he perserveered. Though several applications to writers conferences were inexplicably rejected, he perserveered.
In June of 2004, following a particularly vivid dream that stretched over three long nights, Travis began work on his first full-length novel, Atlanta Nights, and by dint of his his dedication to his craft, and phone conversations with his cousin Atrossa helping to drive the plot, and cousin Vapidda helping fashion the words on the page, the novel was completed by July.
Currently, Travis’ family has quit the locality of the cemetary, and moved into a posh suite at the nearby Motel 6. Travis continues working on his next novel, travelling as need be to make personal appearances and perform dramatic and not-so-dramatic readings of Atlanta Nights. He designed, updates and maintains this website with the kind assistance of the Sweethome, Alabama Public Library and HTML for Dummies.
This sounds like it was lifted from North Korea’s KCNA style book. You have to move fast to avoid being hit by the flying cliches.
All your novel are belong to us!!!
^ Somebody set up us the manuscript. 😛
Tim J, that was just a little warning.
Not sufficient, however. If you read the book itself, it gets worse.
Much, much, much, much worse.
😀