Texas Tales and Trails

Texas Tales and Trails Texas Tales and Trails is an exploration of the authors, artists, craftsmen, and characters of the State of Texas.

Every two weeks we will sit visit, swap stories, explore the ideas, and creations that have shaped and are shaping our state.

06/23/2024

Larry McMurtry may have been the finest writer Texas has ever produced. He was also a gracious man, with a subtle wry humor, and an encyclopedic knowledge of books and literature.

Larry is gone now, and his wonderful shop in Archer City is gone, as are many of the wonderful shops he lists. But there is still a large, old school bookstore in Texas, and it's right here, on the square in Cleburne. And as long as you support us, Connye and I will be here. So drop in to visit. Breath in the air of books, and the ghosts and memories of great books and bookstores.

06/23/2024

I am a Texan, so being a story teller is bred into my genetic structure, enhanced and enriched by decades of living in and loving this diverse and challenging State. I love and respect those who write, capturing and sharing stories for today and tomorrow.

I wrote yesterday of my appreciation of Larry McMurtry. This is an admiration of my adult years. When I was a youth I discovered John Steinbeck, John is rightly recognized for his fantastic novel about the dust bowl, The Grapes of Wrath. It won him the Pulitzer Prize, and his body of work won him a Nobel Prize for Literature. But I also loved his other work, particularly his shorter novels. (The Wayward Bus, The Red Pony, Tortilla Flat, Cannery Row, The Pearl).

I always felt that Steinbeck's work, though fiction, reported honestly on the people and places he wrote about.

In 1960 I was 15 years old. John Steinbeck was 58, in bad health, and ready to take on one more grand adventure. That year he loaded up his new GMC pickup with it's custom overhead camper, and set out on a 10,0000 mile journey, circumnavigating the continental United states. His companion for the trip was a French Poodle named Charley.

In 1962 he published his notes, comments, and observations on the trip and the country in a wonderful book, “Travels with Charley”. I was entering my senior year in high school when I read Travels with Charley. I had discovered Walt Whitman that summer. I thought then, and still think on reflection, the two books greatly influenced my own paths in life.

I also believe as I wrap up my 8th decade of breathing and traveling down those paths, there are really very few times or place where I would have taken the other trail.

The trails I did take, well they somehow landed me here on the courthouse square, in a 150 year old building, in Historic Downtown Cleburne, Texas, sitting greeting neighbors from Texas and beyond, at the front desk of Texas iconic “Old School” bookstore, The Published Page Bookshop.

Drop in. Swap a tale. Buy a book. 'Will be happy to see you.

Jim

06/23/2024

I have long thought of Elmer Kelton as the John Steinbeck of west Texas. Like Steinbeck, his characters have depth, nuance, and the ring of honest believability.
I have met these people, shared coffee and a smoke with them, leaned against a rail fence and talked hogs and cattle, squatted around campfires and swapped tall tales and truths. The books may be fiction, but the stories and their people ring true.

These are not iconic giants from a Texas folklore myth. . They are people not unlike friends and neighbors, sometimes caught up in and facing monumental challenges. But usually facing it with tenacity, good humor,... and pluck.

Elmer Kelton is an honest reporter on the west Texas I have known and loved. He has easily earned his place on my personal pantheon of Texas literary giants.

To learn more about Elmer Kelton, or pick up one of his books, drop by Texas “Old School” bookstore:
The Published Page Bookshop
10 E Chanbers St – On the Square
Historic Downtown, Cleburne, Texas 76031
817-349-6366

06/23/2024

One of Texas most influential authors was born, raised, wrote, and died within a few miles of the Eastland county farm where I was raised, Robert Howard was born in Peaster, Texas, a few miles northwest of Weatherford. In his early teens his family moved to the Callaghan County town of Cross Plains, about thirty miles from my home farm in Eastland County. Howard lived the rest of his life there except for brief periods in Brownwood. He lived with his mother in a small house that is still standing and which now serves as the Robert Howard Museum. .

Robert had begun writing at an early age, and by his early twenties his short stories were appearing regularly in the pulp magazine, Weird Tales. He created the characters, Solomon Kane and Conan the Barbarian. These characters and their stories incorporate fantasy, horror, mythology, romance, action and swordplay in ways that had not been published before, a new style of writing which became known as “sword and sorcery” Dozens of authors have produced hundreds of volumes following Howard's successful creation. Dozens of fantastic characters came to life on Howard's pages:

Conan the Barbarian
Kull of Atlantis
Solomon Kane
Red Sonja
Thulsa Doom
Bran Mak Morn
Shuma Gorath
Dark Agnes de Chastion
El Borak
Sailor Steve Costigon
Breckinridge Elkins
Cormac Fitzgeoffrey
Kathulos

Although he was prolific and widely read, the Great Depression caused his writer's income to drop dramatically. I doubt Robert had any concept of the popularity and influence his writing would attain in coming decades. By the mid 1930s his life seemed to be unraveling. His only romantic interest, Novalyne Price, was in poor health and their relationship had been suffering because of Robert;s preoccupation with his own financial condition and his mother's health. By 1935 Novalyne was herself depressed and in poor health. On her doctor's advice she gave up her teaching job in Cross Plains and moved out of state, ending her relationship with Robert.

Robert though was preoccupied with his mother's own failing health. She had contracted tuberculosis years before, probably while caring for patients, and by 1935 her condition was deteriorating. Most of his friends had married and started families. His best paying writing markets were suffering from the Depression and were way behind on payments.

In early June of 1936 his mother's condition worsened greatly and she soon lapsed into a coma. On June 11, after spending the night sitting at her bedside in a vigil, Robert asked the attending nurse if she would regain consciousness from her coma. He was told no. He left the house. Walked to his car in the driveway, took a pistol out of the glove compartment and shot himself in the head. His mother died the next day. Both were buried in the Greenleaf Cemetery in Brownwood.

I've often thought, probably stole the idea from someone, that human lives in some way resemble campfires. Some fires, made with dry wood, properly laid and kindled, burn quickly giving off great light and heat. Others take longer to get started, may need more attention, and burn slower and last much longer.

Robert E. Howard was the former. In thirty short years he created a literary body of work seldom matched. I admire his output. But I also mourn a little for that extremely talented young man”

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