Pete Has a New Book Review!!

Shotgun Lovesongs

A Review of Nicolas Butler’s novel by Pete Schulte

In Wisconsin, winters run long and the snow falls in feet rather than inches. Shotgun Lovesongs, A novel by Nicolas Butler, tells the story about a group of friends who grew up together in Little Wing, a small farming town in Western Wisconsin.

A few from the group yearn to leave Little Wing behind, and do so with varying degrees of success. Lee, a musician, goes on to achieve wealth and a degree of fame. Kip makes big bucks as a broker in Chicago. Ronny, the wild one, does well on the rodeo circuit before succumbing to alcoholism. Beth, meanwhile, couldn’t quite get it going outside Little Wing and returned to marry Hank, who stayed on to farm the land.

As happens in adulthood, lives drift apart among even the closest of friends. But through weddings and other life events, this group keeps intersecting, their youthful secrets become revealed, new identities are forged. This story is told in the voice of each character. Hank is a lifelong farmer but has a hidden artistic streak. His wife, Beth, is quietly content, yet has secrets of her own. Lee is an artist, but longs for a connection to the land (and also longs for Hank’s wife). Ronny is nearly broken by booze and the rodeo, but has a light inside him that’s impossible to extinguish. Kip is completely self-absorbed, the one you’d think is beyond redemption. But then, keep reading…

Shotgun Lovesongs is a novel about friendship, family, time passage, and especially the land. Little Wing is described so beautifully that you feel like you’re really there. I read the book while riding on a high-speed light rail, but it felt as if I were walking on a quiet snowy path or watching a perfect sunrise from the town’s silo. That’s the pleasure of reading. 

A New Story That is Shorter than Some Pop Star Careers

PDQ: Boy Band Survivor

                                  By Pete Schulte

He went by the name of Patrick now, but he could never quite outrun his former life as PDQ, lead singer -- if that was really his voice -- of The Honey Boyz, a boy band that shot straight to the top…hung around a few years…then plummeted into near obscurity. Near  is the key word. For no matter how many years whiz by, no matter how he altered his appearance, Patrick Donald Quinn would always be PDQ, lead singer of that God-awful boy band. What did they call themselves? The Sunny Boyz? The Bunny Boyz? The Money Boyz? Of course it was the Honey Boyz. The fucking Honey Boyz. And PDQ? That little prick was the worst of them...

So that was the current life of Patrick Donald Quinn. Some money in the bank, yes, but always trying to stay one step ahead of those who wanted to punish him for his past. Did he think he deserved it? Kind of. But should it last forever? Should one be hounded forever for being in a boy band? Some thought yes, their hatred still burning after all these years. They’d find him again, oh yes, they’d find him again.

The Honey Boyz formed in Orlando, achieved their fame in Los Angeles, then crashed and burned when they tried to cross over into television and movies in Hollywood. Their crime was getting older, for being grown men now. Well, that and a lack of marketable talent. What was a Honey Boy to do now but to go back home. Restart and reinvent his life. Buzz…

Patrick did not go home to Orlando though. He met a girl and returned with her to her hometown of Highlands Ranch, Colorado. They married, bought a home, and had two children. Years passed. One day they sold their tiny condominium and bought a larger home near the town center. They were now in an actual neighborhood with other young families with kids. There were school plays to attend and parties to go to. Wait, parties to go to? That was a problem.   

“You don’t want to go to the party?” said Patrick’s wife, Sherry. “But they’re welcoming us into the neighborhood. We have to go.”

“Can’t I be sick?”

“Patrick, you’re being ridiculous. Nobody is going to bother you. They don’t care about any of that past stuff out here.”

“Oh yeah? Can I quote you on that?”

So Patrick and family went to the party, an indoor/outdoor affair with plenty of people, plenty of drink and merriment. After a while Patrick was so comfortable he left Sherry’s side and ventured off to the keg out back. He pumped the keg alone but was soon joined by another man. Patrick poured the guy a beer.

“You look familiar to me,” said the squared-shouldered, big-bellied man. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Patrick, uneasily. “I’m just the new guy in the neighborhood.”

“Still, I think I know you.”

“No,” said Patrick, turning away, “you don’t.”

Patrick lost himself in the small crowd of guests and tried to become as inconspicuous as possible. Every now and then he spied big belly and had to quickly relocate. Eventually though, he was cornered and had to confront the inevitable, his inglorious past, his cross to bear, his Honey Boy days. 

“This is killing me because I know I’ve seen you somewhere. Were you in a commercial, on television?”

“No commercials,” said Patrick.

“It’s eating me up. Come on, where have I seen you?”

“I was in a band,” said Patrick, sheepishly. “It was a long time ago.”

“What band? I’ll know it.”

“I was in the Honey Boyz,” Patrick confessed. “It was a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“The Honey Boyz? Are you fucking kidding me? You tell me you were in the Honey Boyz and you want me to let it go?”

“I’ll pay you to let it go,” said Patrick. “I swear to God.”

“Which one were you anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Patrick.

“Which?”

“PDQ, alright. I was PDQ.”

“PDQ,” sneered big belly. “Oh, you were the worst, PDQ. With that stupid haircut, and the fancy facial hair, and up on stage shaking your booty for teenage girls…”

“Just stop it. I’ve been punished enough.”

“You claim you were in a band,” said big belly, “but that wasn’t a band-band, that was a boy band. There’s a big difference. I’m afraid I can’t live in the same neighborhood with a boy bander.”

“Look,” pleaded Patrick, “we didn’t commit any crimes.”

“You, sir, committed a crime against rock and roll.”

“Oh, come on. Look, I was dirt poor, I had no place to live, I was eating garbage. I had no education, no talent to do anything at all. Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get the boy band gig in the first place?”

“I’ll bet.”

“Come on, man. Can’t you just leave it alone?”

“No, sorry, I just can’t. We’re going to have to step outside.”

This was the worst part for Patrick, the stepping outside. He knew what was coming, but it was their decision…

“Okay,” said big belly once outside, “prepare to be pummeled. Accept your fate.”

Big belly reared back and took a mighty swing at Patrick, but there was no Patrick. He was up in a tree overhead. “Hey, what the…” said big belly.

“I’m up here,” said Patrick.

“Hey, you get down here and take your lumps. How did you get up there anyway?”

Patrick jumped down from the tree and stood in front of big belly. Big belly took another swing, but alas, no Patrick. He was up on the roof.

“Jesus-God, where are you now?” said an exasperated big belly.

“Up here on the roof. You should join me. It’s nice.”

“How did you do that? How did you get up there?”

“There’s something you should know about boy banders,” said Patrick. “The fact is we can fly. It has to be this way. We can’t afford to be punched and kicked. It’d ruin our looks. It’s in all of our contracts.”

“Oh yeah,” said big belly. “Well maybe I’ll take out my gun. I’ve shot down plenty of birds, PDQ. Let’s see how fast you can fly.”

“Don’t bother,” said Patrick, snapping his fingers and disappearing into thin air. “We can turn invisible too.”

In an instant big belly was being pummeled himself from something unseen. When at last he got up he called out, feebly, “PDQ? PDQ? Where are you, PDQ?”

“You should go now,” said Patrick, hovering high overhead. “You should go now…fast.”

And go big belly did, and he never bothered Patrick again. Boy band power!

The end.

 

Pete's review of The Boys in the Boat, a book by Daniel James Brown

 The Boys in the Boat tells the true story of the amazing American rowing team in the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games. The pinnacle moment, of course, is the big medal race under the watchful eyes of Adolph Hitler and his minions, along with thousands upon thousands of screaming German fans. The more compelling story, however, is just how these young Americans got to the Olympic level, these college boys from the University of Washington.

Rowing was a more popular sport in the early part of the 20^th century than it is today. But it was seen as an ‘elite’ sport, more fitting for Ivy League schools than for country boys from the northwest corner of the country. This particular team of 9 came together during the worst part of the Great Depression. Money was tight and jobs were scarce -- or non-existent. It was astonishing to read about what some of the guys had to go through to find odd jobs, to eat, to study, to pay tuition, and to row, day after day, faster and faster, battling fatigue, battling the elements, to keep winning, to keep going…

The thrust of the story concerns rower Joe Rantz. In the thick of the Depression, when he was just 15, Joe spotted his family packing up the car. After asking where they all were going, Joe was told he wasn’t going anywhere. The family was leaving him behind as he was getting too big and there were too many other mouths to feed. Things like that happened back then. Pets were often abandoned, some people too. But with gumption nearly impossible to believe, Joe maintains his schoolwork, works a myriad of odd jobs, poaches fish from a stream to eat, and yet a couple years later somehow gets himself enrolled at the University of Washington. Joe’s tall and muscular body grabs the attention of someone who suggests he try his hand at rowing, and the rest, they say, is history. It’s funny how one of the best sports books I’ve ever read is about rowing. I never would have guessed that, but I’m so fortunate to have picked up this very special book about an incredible team of very special individuals.  

New Colorado Inspired Artwork from Pete's Studio

Hey, Old Sport, Pete has a new book review

A review of West of Sunset, a novel by Stewart O’Nan

There are no second acts in American lives wrote F. Scott Fitzgerald. Perhaps not, though he nearly did have his own second act were it not for failing health.

Stewart O’Nan’s latest novel, West of Sunset, tells the story of Fitzgerald’s final few years as a Hollywood screenwriter. But this is not the high flying Fitzgerald of the Gatsby days, or the years after spent chasing Zelda around Paris. In this chapter of his life we find Fitzgerald nearly broke, Zelda confined to a sanitarium, and daughter Scottie off at boarding school. Though only in his early 40’s, this Fitzgerald has had too many late nights, too many cigarettes, and his efforts to quit drinking mostly end in failure. Through connections, however, he is given a chance to go to Hollywood and write for the movies.

As a contract screenwriter, Fitzgerald finds himself much lower on the totem pole than he is used to. The actors, directors, and especially the producers run the town. You can be hired one day, fired the next, or be easily replaced by someone’s relative or friend. Still, he begins carving out some kind of life for himself, even finding a steady girlfriend in gossip columnist Sheilah Graham (who has quite a story of her own). But with Zelda’s deteriorating mental health and his own drinking problem, it’s a life of ‘boats against the current ‘ as he wrote so well in The Great Gatsby.

As I was reading this interesting novel, I thought of the character Hubbell Gardner from the movie The Way We Were. Hubbell writes a story about a bright young man similar to himself. “In a way he was like the country he lived in; everything came too easily to him.” Fitzgerald may have felt like that after success at such a young age, and it’s fascinating to read about him reflecting back to those days while looking forward to a very uncertain future. Are there no second acts in American lives? If not, he sure came close.

A New Love Story by Pete

 I Only Want Soup: 

A Valentine’s Story

Young Petey was unceremoniously summoned to Mr. E’s office, he the Principal of the school. Petey half expected it as he’d borne the brunt of his teacher’s scorn. But he wasn’t the only one. His classmate Michelle was waiting in the secretary’s office as well. Petey was surprised to see her there. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have to talk to Mr. E.”

“So do I,” said Petey. “Are you in trouble?”

“I think so,” she replied. “Are you?”

“Seems so.”

Mr. E thundered into the room from his office and gestured for the children to come in. They sat in little chairs in front of his desk. He towered over them from the other side. “You, Petey, said Mr. E, “do you know why you’ve been called into my office?”

“Because I only want soup.”

“And you, Michelle?”

“I only eat salad.”

“So,” said Mr. E, “soup and salad. Is that what we have here? Tell me, Petey, what is it about soup that you like so much?”

“Oh, I like the way it tastes, and the way it fills up my tummy and makes my tummy warm. I like chicken noodle soup best of all. Sometimes I wish I could make myself shrink small, and I would jump into the bowl and swim with all the noodles. Oh, I love soup. I think about it often.”

“So I hear. And you, Michelle, what is it about salad that you hold so dear?”

"I love lettuce even though my daddy says it hardly tastes like anything. And I put radishes on top, and cheese, and bacon bits, and peas, and corn, and sunflower seeds, and raisins, and celery, and eggs, and croutons, and dressing, and…"

“Thank you, Michelle," said Mr. E, cutting her off. “Thank you. Now children, what I want to talk to you today is about balance. And by that I mean I’d like you to mix up your diets a little. Say, instead of soup or salad, have pancakes for breakfast, perhaps a tuna sandwich for lunch, and a pot roast for dinner. You see, you can still eat well  while not eating the same thing for every meal. Besides, what if your mommies forget to pack your lunch, and it turns out that the cafeteria is not offering soup or salad on that day? Why, you’ll go hungry for the day and you won’t grow. We can’t have that. At this school we want to grow our minds and our bodies. Don’t you want to grow bigger?”

Petey and Michelle both nodded their heads enthusiastically. They did want to grow. They wanted to thrive. They wanted all that life had to offer. Except…

“So, Petey,” said Mr. E, “now they I’ve spoken my peace, is there anything you’d care to say for yourself?”

“I only want soup.”

“Naturally. And you, Michelle?”

“I only eat salad.”

“Of course you do,” said Mr. E with a sigh. “Kids, I can tell from your youthful obstinacy that you’re perfectly healthy despite your rather limited diets. You know, soup and salad, I know you’re too young for this now, but somewhere down the line you should meet up again. You’d make a very nice couple.”

They both blushed and shook their heads from side to side.

“You don’t think so?”

“No, no, no,” Michelle moaned. Petey looked at her and smiled.

Mr. E shook his head and dismissed the two from his office. While walking her back to class, Petey said to Michelle, “Do you think we’ll ever meet again? I mean, when we’re grown.”

“Have you already turned seven?” she asked him.

“Yes. I had a birthday party, but no girls were invited.”

“See,” she said, “you’re much too old for me. I’m only just six. It would be impossible. There’s really no future for us.”

 “Well,” said Petey, “at least we can still be friends. Friends?”

“Yeah, shake on it.”

And of course they did meet again when they were grown. And they did go to dinner. And we know just what they ordered.

The end.