This photo above is an actual picture of Justin's cabin sitting on Lake Kemp in Seymour, Texas. It almost gives you an identical view of what Justin is looking at each night while he drinks himself to sleep. You can see the small hill across the lake and see (at least) one small Mesquite tree by the water's edge.
Although Justin drove a 1952 Chevrolet pickup truck, this truck is very similar. Not being the truck expert, I believe this is a 1954 model. I took this photo behind an old garage that reminded me a lot of what The Hawk's Nest would have looked like prior to becoming the small town watering hole. Something about the rustic look of this old truck seemed to epitomize the attitude of Justin Bower.
This is a shot of the old tire shop I found in Seymour back in March of this year. Behind this tire shop is the old rusted Chevy pickup truck. Again, this garage reminded me a lot of what The Hawk's Nest may have looked like prior to becoming the town's bar.
If there is any part of the "being a writer" process I don't like or care for...it would be the moments I have to read my own work! I don't know what it is...maybe the sound of my own voice or the simple fact [that] I have to read the very words I wrestled with for months to bring to life and agonized to quiet while I tried to sleep? I honestly don't know what it is...
A preliminary draft to the Dedication page for "The Other Side of Glory."
This story is dedicated to the men I served with in the US Marine Corps. Unless you knew me while I was serving abroad you may not understand the pains by which I came to write this story. I have struggled to bring it to life since the day my father and I drove away from
I must confess however this isn’t my story. Although I have been cited several times in saying all fiction stems from some form of truth within the author—my works are still not autobiographical. There is irony in that statement however and I must confess that I have prided myself in being a writer who will never tell the story of a road I have not traveled. I think some of our greatest novelists to this date have been those who were not afraid to forsake truth in lieu of discovering what lies just beyond the realm of right and proper. I do not brag when I say I have tasted the fruits of good and of evil. Looking back at my life many years later when I chose to ignore the inevitable question within my life: Why do I do the things I do when I know the outcome?, well, the best I can say today, either here on paper or at the bar with a cold beer is this: It is because of my experiences in this world—some good and some bad—that I am able to justify the realism within my characters. Yes, I can sit at my window and watch the world go by and with every ounce of my creativity, create a story that would seem very real. But to me, that would be cheating—unfair to you as the reader and to the characters that I bring to life on paper.
There are many people who waited patiently for me to write this story. They are my friends and each of them at separate times in my life and in their own private way, have begged me to write it. It isn’t their story either, anymore than it is mine; but each of them believes this story to be a part of their lives they wish to share and also put away as a private reminder of their former selves. I have been asked to be careful how I present the story and I have been asked to tell the truth, holding nothing back. I have been reminded of the pains that accompany home-sickness and the disappointment that accompanies coming up short on a dream. And I have been asked to forget those who tried to destroy me when I was younger. Some have said the things I shared in this fictional tale aren’t true at all and others laughed at my audacity.
I suppose the most important part of “The Other Side of Glory” I wish for my audience to take with them is to appreciate a good story. My hope is that people won’t look too deep into the whether or not I overextended my boundaries as a novelist but rather take the story for what it is: a fictional tale.
