The Music of Christmasage

Suggested listening in chronological order available from your favorite online source or stream for free at Spotify (search: Christmasage)

Winter Garden – Eraldo Bernocchi, Harold Budd, Robin Guthrie

Monsters of the Id – Stan Ridgway

Dust My Broom – Todd Rundgren

Empty Hearted Town – Warren Zevon 

Time To Move On – Tom Petty

Lunar Symphony – Coyote Oldman

Starboy – Salvatore Baglio

What Am I Here For? – Lambert, Hendricks & Ross

Nature Boy – Jon Hassell

Never Let Go – Tom Waits

Psychedelic Shack – The Temptations

This Is Where I Get Off – Robbie Robertson

A Higher Place – Tom Petty

Neighborhood Dog – Salvatore Baglio

In Dulci Jublio – Michael Hedges

Santa Fe – Deuter  

Dog Door – Tom Waits

As With Gladness – The Players

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear – Carla Bley

Who Am I? – Lou Reed

Living – Todd Rundgren

Coming Home – Vincent Russo

Silent Night – Alexi Murdoch

landscape with snow – Takahiro Kido

Silent Nocturne – the DB’s

Click HERE for the exclusive Elgin Oliver interview.

Christmasage: the Elgin Oliver Interview

NOTE: Local scribe/philosopher Elgin Oliver recently cornered the author of Christmasage at a local Panera and tossed out a few questions...

First off, let’s get this out of the way... bear claw or pecan braid?

Did someone mention pecans? Then I’ll have to go with the braid.

What is the genesis of this Christmasage?

Travel stories have always intrigued me. Fun to read, fun to write, but probably not so much fun to actually do. One day I’d at least like to try to find out. On my own terms, of course. But just the idea of someone coming back home during that time of year when emotions are running high. There’s a sense of mystical grace and the kindness of charitable folks along the way. Plus this is a particular stretch of road that I’ve covered many a time. In automobile I should add.

The story evolves from a rather stolid beginning where sex, drugs and rock and roll are prevalent but then evolves into a tale of deeper spiritual awakening along with a dash of the metaphysical.

Well, the story certainly does start out that way and I hope readers are not put off by some of those earlier decadent moments and stick with it. You know, it’s funny. I actually sent a few queries off to some literary agents and they only wanted to see the first fifteen pages – in this case what they were reading in those fifteen pages is not really reflective of the larger vibe of the story. I guess they might be more interested in a short sample to judge the quality of the writing more than the trajectory of the story but I can’t help but wonder if that’s kind of a lousy way to judge the merits of an entire novel. Maybe the last fifteen pages would be better. Maybe the last page would be best.

The title Christmasage is a little difficult to grasp at first take.

No doubt about it, yes, it’s a little clunky. But the idea of a pilgrimage during the holiday season led me to that word, my very own sniglet if you will. And now I’ve become fond of it. At the very least it’s unique which might make it memorable.

What’s the deal with the Suggested Soundtrack listing?

As a music aficionado I find it motivational and fun to create a soundtrack that relates to a project which I can to listen to while in my car or when working out that keeps me on track. That keeps me inspired. The songs here are listed in chronological order and for the most part follow the text and can be pretty easily associated with specific scenes from the book. In fact, they may actually enhance the scene or add a different twist. For instance, Psychedelic Shack by the Temptations is my take on Matt’s perception of the Wayward Boys’ performance in that bowling alley bar after partaking in a little pre-show mind alteration and the somewhat comical intro to Carl Bley’s It Came Upon a Midnight Clear fits quite nicely with Matt’s memorable entrance into the Speckled Egg tavern on that icy west Texas evening. And Dog Door by Tom Waits is fairly self-explanatory. But really for me the one song that supplies the underlying theme for the entire story is landscape with snow by Japanese musician Takahiro Kido. In my mind I imagine the music advancing deeper into the song as Matt’s mystic dream similarly unwinds. But a song like Lou Reed’s Who Am I? - well, that’s more of a general idea tune included to further reveal the mood and Matt’s thoughts much like you’d hear in a movie.

Why self-publish?

I enjoy the writing. At my age I don’t want to waste time with all the marketing and promotion. It’s more important for me to just get it out there and then move on to the next thing. I know one thing, it sure aint for the money.

Ever since I was a young boy I was told that I should write. It’s natural for me and I’m most at peace in the world when I’m riding that creative wave. It’s therapeutic. I haven’t really had much published but I made the novelist T.C. Boyle crack up (see Contest #2 http://tcboyle.com/page2.html?9)... that’s gotta count for something, right?

This novel is self-edited as well. So there may be some minor goofs included but I hope I’ve kept them at a minimum. If you find something amiss please don’t send it to me. Just kidding – feel free to fire away. You know, I’ve read several works published by titans of literature that have missing words or typos so I’ve decided not to let that get me too down. I even recall reading a kindle version of a Stephen King novella and being amazed that there were a few problems in that text. If he can live with them then I guess I can as well.

In summary, if ten people were to read this book I figure that 3 or 4 of them won’t like it much at all. Then maybe 3 or 4 of them will think, hey, it’s no masterpiece but a few passages in there made me smile or think, and anyway that’s a cool soundtrack. Then maybe only 2 or 3 out of that original ten will end up really liking it. If so, then I’d be satisfied.

What’s your philosophy regarding the use of profanity?

Well, yes, I do use it but I try to not use bad words just for the hell of it. I believe it was Kurt Vonnegut who once said if you want to give your reader a reason not to read your book then use profanity in it which is generally good advice. To be honest there will be times when I’ll go back and re-read a passage and ask myself do I really need that particular word right there? And maybe I’ll try to soften it a little by using a less provocative synonym or maybe even tweak a particular scene. And then if I go back later I’ll think, no, that just doesn’t sound real, and I’ll change it right back. The bottom line is I don’t want to pull any punches. Besides, someone else might use perfectly good English and say something that is far more profane like there is no such thing as global warming so feel free to pursue profit at any cost. No bad words included there but to me unforgivably repugnant.

So what’s really going on here?

Well, of course I can’t spell it out for you or the reader, maybe it’s even possible that I don’t even know what’s going on here. Or maybe I do. Maybe it’s some sort of spirit quest, an examination of a life, a cry for help, and a method to rid one’s self of excess poundage. Is Matt running away or is he facing the music? Like everything else in this world it comes down to how one chooses to spin it. I guess the bottom line is that in these days when folks so often feel helpless to affect positive change in their lives we can always just get up and walk, repent of our own volition, sweat a little bit and hopefully set ourselves free. It can be as easy as making your mind up and heading out that door.

Just don’t forget to visit the Arizona Meteor Crater when you do!

Anything upcoming?

I’ve just about completed the first draft of another novel. The working title is God Bless America (But Screw Jerry Sparks). About a guy around my age who played football at OU and the NFL. Now he’s got brain damage from all his concussions among other issues. Another black comedy I suppose. Toss in The Lost Child and I guess this completes my Oklahoma Trilogy.

How was that pecan braid?

What pecan braid? 

For more Information:    

utobya/blogspt.com    

amazon.com/author/noblethomas

Space + Time

I've always been intrigued by the change in perspective with the passing of time. Different vantage points in Space + Time offer their own unique beauty and atmospheres:

October 31, 2013

November 27, 2013

December 23, 2013

February 17, 2014

Easter 2014

Memorial Day 2014

4th of July 2014

Labor Day 2014

April 19th, 1995: 20 Years Ago #OKCStrong

Note: In the fall of 2008 I enrolled in a Writer's Studio workshop. The following is one of the assignments from that workshop. Reading it now for the first time in a number of years I recall this as a fairly accurate account of my experience that day. 

Assignment #6 – McCullers 3^rd Person – Noble K. Thomas

Preamble: Recall an event from my life when the world really seemed changed afterwards. Then create a Third Person PN who has great sympathy for the changed character and is passionate about the character’s emotional and mental states. Use accurate and colorful language and stay with the character not telling us anything the character does not know. Keep the tone matter-of-fact, elegant but not showy, colored by the character’s emotion but not out of control. The mood is uneasy.

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It was the one day different from all the other days he had ever known. It began as an April morning like any other, the day after his birthday, warm and breezy. After a quick yoga routine he had taken a shower where he typically loosely plotted the rest of his day and that was when it happened. He heard it, despite the steady hiss from the shower spout and the sheer distance between here and there something had happened that wasn’t natural, that wasn’t normal.

     With a towel draped around him he turned on the television expecting to see a live local news report of a plane crash. It had been that loud, that disturbing. Already news helicopters hovered above the scene with their reporters aroused and confused. Just what the hell had happened? Did a gas line break and somehow erupt?

     A short while later he drove southward down the Broadway Extension and there were a few cars that whipped around him and sped off towards the faraway downtown, towards a wounded skyline that fashioned a fresh halo but now bent, flattened and dissipating to the west. He couldn’t help but wonder about those poor souls speeding past – were they husbands, fathers, sons who had forgotten to thank their mothers for buttering their toast just a few hours earlier?

     He listened to a song on a new CD.

     “Water water everywhere and not a place to stand,

     My foundation rests on bedrock but the bedrock rests on shifting sand.”

     Suddenly a pick-up truck came from out of nowhere, lights on and horn honking, and it was amazing how quickly that vehicle just disappeared in front of him. He looked down at his own speedometer: seventy miles per hour and compared to that guy he was nothing but a concrete-sucking snail. The overwhelming sense of desperation was contagious and, although not truly shared, he sure felt something turning in the pit of his stomach. He loosened his tight grip on the steering wheel and turned off the music. Tuned the radio to a local news talk station where the details, although still sketchy, were starting to come together.

     He was meeting his father for lunch but they would eat no lunch this day. Instead they drove together toward the downtown, toward the location of the building that had crumbled to earth, with women and men and children inside. Out of a morbid curiosity or a need to pay respect they drove. Or maybe they just couldn’t believe it until they saw it with their very own eyes. They found a place to pull over a couple of miles north and west of it, at an angle where the view that sliced through a gaggle of trees and old homes was surprisingly good.

     “It looks like some kind of giant monster took a huge bite out of it.” The smoke had all blown away now and the silence was affronting.

     “Yep – a couple of bites out of it. God – I can’t believe it.”

     All of a sudden it felt like a great sin to just be sitting there, gawking at it, wondering and speculating. Human beings had been crushed right over there, really just beyond the tip of your nose, a mere hop – skip – and a jump away, inside a building that just last night he had driven past while on the way home from a birthday celebration in Bricktown. Jesus Christ. People might be suffering in there right now as they simply sat and gawked.  People at the bottom of the pile, a sudden pressing midnight, as airless as the surface of the moon.

     Just right over there – just beyond the tip of your nose.

     “Let’s get out of here.”

     They slowly drove away and spoke not a word. The radio was still on, more details coming in, apparently an explosion outside the building a little after nine. A child’s care center was located on the first floor. His teeth clenched and a breath caught in the musty cavern of his dry throat.

     He dropped his dad off and headed back up the Broadway Extension, dark springtime clouds gathering above, all cars now with their headlights on creating some kind of solemn citywide funeral procession. His sons would be coming home from school soon and what did they know? What should he tell them?

     That night it rained and rained.