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Meet Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek, part 1
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
Like most things important, it began with a dream. On January 1st, 2007, I awoke from an afternoon nap the happy receiver of a splendid story. I dreamed it was the year 1910 and I was watching a young girl from Montana simply live her life. Her name was Sarah Conrad. She was 16 years old. And in her, I saw a completion of many divergent thoughts, visions and analyses.
2006 was not my favorite year. It all began with an uncomfortable of episode involving my stomach. A few days before Christmas, 2005, I ate at a fancy restaurant. I ordered a steak, rare. What I got was a bloody mess. Not used to fine food, I thought that this was the way one was supposed to enjoy the meat; however, I spent the next several weeks reconsidering that notion. I should have been a man. I should have gone with my gut and said, “Take it back.†But instead, I played along with the off key band and nearly surrendered my gut to the ages. Being sick is bad, being sick for weeks at a time is even worse.
In February, I went with my boss to Nashville, Tennessee to help tour guide two schools participating in a music competition. Once again, my fiend Brucellosis came along for the ride. After a long night of spilling my guts, things were never quite the same. When I returned to Orlando, my life seemed more disjointed; I had a hard time making a connection or even understanding what people were saying sometimes. It was a long slide to nowhere.
One Monday in May, I was laid off. I did not blame my boss, he is a good man and if I were in his position I’d do the same. On Friday of that week, my 21 year old niece was killed in an auto accident. Looking back on it, that was the true catalyst for my books. She was a sweet girl who began making bad choices. Her death was the result of a tow truck driver’s carelessness and in the end, he served no jail time. That shouldn’t make sense.
I managed to get a temp job with a publishing company where my wife works. Under normal circumstances, I would be willing to put up with bureaucracy and obsolete computers, put I found myself in the training not taking notes but instead writing down the number of minutes left until I could go home.
I then threw myself into writing a book of philosophy and religion. I put several chapters on disc and gave them to many noted people in the Churches of Christ, however, in the end I heard nothing. Time lost again, but more seeds watered in the garden of my heart. On July 8th, I attended my 20 year class reunion. It was as though I had been cryogenically frozen. For me little had changed since 1986. I was still shiftless and indisposed. I had no children, no career, no plans, no goals. By 2006, I reasoned that I would have gone into space at least once, but me and America both held aloft the banner, “Yeah, ok, whatever.â€Â
In September, I began another temporary job, this one at KB Homes in Orlando. For my wife and I’s 9th anniversary, on September 27th, I wanted to have dinner at a nice restaurant; instead, I went to the ER at Celebration Hospital. Earlier that afternoon I had experienced sharp pains in my stomach, by 2 pm, it’d become unbearable. At the hospital, I was diagnosed with severe dehydration and a host of viral related stomach conditions. This was the medical opinion of the nurse, the doctor, and the caveman whom I plainly saw in the room wearing a bear skin one piece and carrying a club. Pain killers? Maybe. That night I discovered the joy of having hypersonic fluid evacuation from multiple orifices. Having survived, I eventually returned to my position at KB Home. But soon, that position would fade from view.
As I lay there in the recovery room I had to ask why I was not continually focusing on what was most important. The answer depressed me because it involved comfort with mediocrity and a fear of rejection. But, as Tony from West Side Story sang, “Something’s coming, something good if I can wait.†So, I had to ask myself, was I willing to wait? Find out in the next essay.
Meet Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek, part 2
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
There I was in a hospital room mooning the world. I was sick, helpless and comfortable with that station in life. I knew that a change had to come. Not anticipating the idea of further enigmatic employment, I resolved to actually do something with my life. I was rounding the bases towards 40 and had still not left a mark on the world. For good or for ill, either through words or deeds, I had to act. It was incumbent on me to say something about the pestilence of celebrated narcissism. The world needs a good haranguing.
On Monday afternoon, January 1st, 2007, I dreamed I met a young lady from Montana. Via my computer I could speak in her voice. Because it was fiction, I could create and rule my own universe and populate it with whomever I choose. I had to first establish identity and rules. Sarah would be a Christian but as a 16 year old girl; she would struggle with defining and controlling her sexual desires. She would have friends who would help her, but her choices would be hers alone. Most importantly, she would experience consequences.
When I was 16 years old, I was a virgin. This was due in part because of my commitment to live a sanctified life; however, like a lot of virgins, I was chaste because I was a nerd. Girls were not standing in line for this gangly ubber-dork. My morality thus was largely by default. Most kids who do not have sex in high school are unattractive, socially awkward and undesirable. Saying “Don’t have sex†becomes the equivalent of saying, “Don’t flap your arms and fly.â€Â
Many will go on to live fairly mediocre lives. History is not defined by the timid. A greater challenge would be to exist as a desirable person and still avoid sin by sheer will. I have rarely seen that done, but with Sarah Conrad, I could do it. Sarah is an attractive, successful young lady. She lives in a world that is questioning the status quo on all levels of society. What is morality? Sarah must endure many trials and answer these questions on her own. With this in mind, I knew the style I had to employ when writing the book.
The most common reaction to the book Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek will be “Holy Cow! I can’t believe he said that!†The reader will be shocked but the more they read they will think, “Yeah, actually, I’ve felt that way before.†While Sarah is learning about boys, she is learning more about herself. She must answer the question “Who am I?†Her desire for intimacy becomes a catalyst for a wider discussion.
Every facet of her life must be called into question. Every relationship must be placed under the microscope. She must control her temper, fight for her beliefs and decide for herself what is right and what is wrong. Like every prophet, she must question God. Like every poet, she must grasp the infinite. Like every patriot, she must be humble herself and endure.
Sarah does not live in a cocoon. She lives in a reasonable world, the fictional town of Eagle Creek, in Sheridan County, in northeastern Montana near the North Dakota border. In Eagle Creek, most adults are mature and supportive. Very little threatens from the outside, as with all effective demons, that which can destroy comes from within.
In Sarah’s world, most folks are moral, hard working, spiritual and resolved to making things better for their children. It’s an echo of America in the days immediately following September 11, 2001. In Eagle Creek, they have priorities and are willingness to forsake temporary pleasures. Seeds must be planted, cattle fed, ore chipped away with a pick.
Frankly, I can’t understand a world like that. I am the last generation to grow up riding bicycles, playing Little League baseball and mowing lawns for extra money. So, in a real sense, this world is as foreign to the writer as it is to the reader, however, when one fully embraces its nuances, its beauty and its grace, living under any other realm will seem utterly disheartening. The reader will see the bridge which exists between, “I guess I just wasn’t made for these times†and “With God all things are possible.†But how will this vision come into view? Find out in the next essay.
Meet Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek, part 3
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
The book Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek is not squeamish about sex or religion. There is no attempt to hide the fact that Sarah believes in God and His Son. Her difficulty lies in supplanting the material with the spiritual; a continuing process and the sweetest struggle. Along the way there are discussions about the nature of reality, hymns are sung and the Bible is quoted, not because Sarah is a missionary but because she is a human being. This story could not work in any other society. America was built and thrives because selfless people see goodness as a destination.
To write this I am employing my own methodology. First of all, I am writing with the end in mind. Every word is looked at many times over. All five senses are used. While writing I listen to a lot of music, most notably, the Beach Boys album Pet Sounds, which is a musical dialogue between a teenaged boy, his date, his society and his Maker. If I can write one sentence as powerful as “You Still Believe In Me†I will be a happy, happy man.
Because I am writing a chronicle of a woman’s life I also rely on the follow up to Pet Sounds, the album Smile by Brian Wilson. Pet Sounds was about a teenager; Smile is about a more mature man who asks the same questions. He sees his world changing into an amalgamation of the shallow and depraved. In Smile, as the old man sees the changes and cries for relief, he is left with little in the way of answers. “Over and over the crow cries ‘Uncover the Cornfield.’†You cannot understand that line unless you become the bird. But in both albums, the speaker is a white male sitting on the beach, watching the rolling surf, except now, it is too polluted to surf. And, like Pet Sounds, I would not be surprised if my work is not appreciated until years later when the man of reason, will and temperament is permitted, once again, to reign, tame and elevate the land.
Beyond music, great thinkers influence my style and choice of content. The economic genius of Ayn Rand, the crusading honesty of Roy Masters, the clarion call for common sense from Glenn Beck, the intellectual purity of Michael Savage and the practical optimism of Rusty Humphries. Many of their ideas find a place in these stories and their influence is apparent in many characters.
Being born in a dream, my sleep remains a ready conduit for Sarah. My naps are horizontal research. Every night contains a new revelation, a new set of words, a new character or an affirmation of the intent.
As the philosopher Eric Hoffer once said, "We are told that talent creates its own opportunities. But it sometimes seems that intense desire creates not only its own opportunities, but its own talents." The moment I began writing this story I realized I could do nothing else but see it to its completion. Every activity that distracts my mind from this project is suspicious and, likely, offensive. I must breathe; I must write. To do anything else, especially as I approach middle age is a risk of everything I hold dear. Time is the only irreplaceable resource. No longer will I sacrifice another second for money. More than just a mission statement this a guarantor of success. One can only become rich by doing what one loves and I will not mortgage my talents for filthy lucre or risk leaving behind my contributions in the cold, cold ground.
I am so committed to this project that I only think of it as a success in the past tense. Every morning ad every evening I say the words, “Best Seller Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek.†I speak the reality of victory; I sing the surety of serenity. And nothing can separate me from the peace I have firmly established in my heart.
This is Jason Goldtrap. Sarah sends her greetings. Goodnight. 8-)
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
Like most things important, it began with a dream. On January 1st, 2007, I awoke from an afternoon nap the happy receiver of a splendid story. I dreamed it was the year 1910 and I was watching a young girl from Montana simply live her life. Her name was Sarah Conrad. She was 16 years old. And in her, I saw a completion of many divergent thoughts, visions and analyses.
2006 was not my favorite year. It all began with an uncomfortable of episode involving my stomach. A few days before Christmas, 2005, I ate at a fancy restaurant. I ordered a steak, rare. What I got was a bloody mess. Not used to fine food, I thought that this was the way one was supposed to enjoy the meat; however, I spent the next several weeks reconsidering that notion. I should have been a man. I should have gone with my gut and said, “Take it back.†But instead, I played along with the off key band and nearly surrendered my gut to the ages. Being sick is bad, being sick for weeks at a time is even worse.
In February, I went with my boss to Nashville, Tennessee to help tour guide two schools participating in a music competition. Once again, my fiend Brucellosis came along for the ride. After a long night of spilling my guts, things were never quite the same. When I returned to Orlando, my life seemed more disjointed; I had a hard time making a connection or even understanding what people were saying sometimes. It was a long slide to nowhere.
One Monday in May, I was laid off. I did not blame my boss, he is a good man and if I were in his position I’d do the same. On Friday of that week, my 21 year old niece was killed in an auto accident. Looking back on it, that was the true catalyst for my books. She was a sweet girl who began making bad choices. Her death was the result of a tow truck driver’s carelessness and in the end, he served no jail time. That shouldn’t make sense.
I managed to get a temp job with a publishing company where my wife works. Under normal circumstances, I would be willing to put up with bureaucracy and obsolete computers, put I found myself in the training not taking notes but instead writing down the number of minutes left until I could go home.
I then threw myself into writing a book of philosophy and religion. I put several chapters on disc and gave them to many noted people in the Churches of Christ, however, in the end I heard nothing. Time lost again, but more seeds watered in the garden of my heart. On July 8th, I attended my 20 year class reunion. It was as though I had been cryogenically frozen. For me little had changed since 1986. I was still shiftless and indisposed. I had no children, no career, no plans, no goals. By 2006, I reasoned that I would have gone into space at least once, but me and America both held aloft the banner, “Yeah, ok, whatever.â€Â
In September, I began another temporary job, this one at KB Homes in Orlando. For my wife and I’s 9th anniversary, on September 27th, I wanted to have dinner at a nice restaurant; instead, I went to the ER at Celebration Hospital. Earlier that afternoon I had experienced sharp pains in my stomach, by 2 pm, it’d become unbearable. At the hospital, I was diagnosed with severe dehydration and a host of viral related stomach conditions. This was the medical opinion of the nurse, the doctor, and the caveman whom I plainly saw in the room wearing a bear skin one piece and carrying a club. Pain killers? Maybe. That night I discovered the joy of having hypersonic fluid evacuation from multiple orifices. Having survived, I eventually returned to my position at KB Home. But soon, that position would fade from view.
As I lay there in the recovery room I had to ask why I was not continually focusing on what was most important. The answer depressed me because it involved comfort with mediocrity and a fear of rejection. But, as Tony from West Side Story sang, “Something’s coming, something good if I can wait.†So, I had to ask myself, was I willing to wait? Find out in the next essay.
Meet Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek, part 2
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
There I was in a hospital room mooning the world. I was sick, helpless and comfortable with that station in life. I knew that a change had to come. Not anticipating the idea of further enigmatic employment, I resolved to actually do something with my life. I was rounding the bases towards 40 and had still not left a mark on the world. For good or for ill, either through words or deeds, I had to act. It was incumbent on me to say something about the pestilence of celebrated narcissism. The world needs a good haranguing.
On Monday afternoon, January 1st, 2007, I dreamed I met a young lady from Montana. Via my computer I could speak in her voice. Because it was fiction, I could create and rule my own universe and populate it with whomever I choose. I had to first establish identity and rules. Sarah would be a Christian but as a 16 year old girl; she would struggle with defining and controlling her sexual desires. She would have friends who would help her, but her choices would be hers alone. Most importantly, she would experience consequences.
When I was 16 years old, I was a virgin. This was due in part because of my commitment to live a sanctified life; however, like a lot of virgins, I was chaste because I was a nerd. Girls were not standing in line for this gangly ubber-dork. My morality thus was largely by default. Most kids who do not have sex in high school are unattractive, socially awkward and undesirable. Saying “Don’t have sex†becomes the equivalent of saying, “Don’t flap your arms and fly.â€Â
Many will go on to live fairly mediocre lives. History is not defined by the timid. A greater challenge would be to exist as a desirable person and still avoid sin by sheer will. I have rarely seen that done, but with Sarah Conrad, I could do it. Sarah is an attractive, successful young lady. She lives in a world that is questioning the status quo on all levels of society. What is morality? Sarah must endure many trials and answer these questions on her own. With this in mind, I knew the style I had to employ when writing the book.
The most common reaction to the book Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek will be “Holy Cow! I can’t believe he said that!†The reader will be shocked but the more they read they will think, “Yeah, actually, I’ve felt that way before.†While Sarah is learning about boys, she is learning more about herself. She must answer the question “Who am I?†Her desire for intimacy becomes a catalyst for a wider discussion.
Every facet of her life must be called into question. Every relationship must be placed under the microscope. She must control her temper, fight for her beliefs and decide for herself what is right and what is wrong. Like every prophet, she must question God. Like every poet, she must grasp the infinite. Like every patriot, she must be humble herself and endure.
Sarah does not live in a cocoon. She lives in a reasonable world, the fictional town of Eagle Creek, in Sheridan County, in northeastern Montana near the North Dakota border. In Eagle Creek, most adults are mature and supportive. Very little threatens from the outside, as with all effective demons, that which can destroy comes from within.
In Sarah’s world, most folks are moral, hard working, spiritual and resolved to making things better for their children. It’s an echo of America in the days immediately following September 11, 2001. In Eagle Creek, they have priorities and are willingness to forsake temporary pleasures. Seeds must be planted, cattle fed, ore chipped away with a pick.
Frankly, I can’t understand a world like that. I am the last generation to grow up riding bicycles, playing Little League baseball and mowing lawns for extra money. So, in a real sense, this world is as foreign to the writer as it is to the reader, however, when one fully embraces its nuances, its beauty and its grace, living under any other realm will seem utterly disheartening. The reader will see the bridge which exists between, “I guess I just wasn’t made for these times†and “With God all things are possible.†But how will this vision come into view? Find out in the next essay.
Meet Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek, part 3
By Jason Goldtrap 06.01.07
The book Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek is not squeamish about sex or religion. There is no attempt to hide the fact that Sarah believes in God and His Son. Her difficulty lies in supplanting the material with the spiritual; a continuing process and the sweetest struggle. Along the way there are discussions about the nature of reality, hymns are sung and the Bible is quoted, not because Sarah is a missionary but because she is a human being. This story could not work in any other society. America was built and thrives because selfless people see goodness as a destination.
To write this I am employing my own methodology. First of all, I am writing with the end in mind. Every word is looked at many times over. All five senses are used. While writing I listen to a lot of music, most notably, the Beach Boys album Pet Sounds, which is a musical dialogue between a teenaged boy, his date, his society and his Maker. If I can write one sentence as powerful as “You Still Believe In Me†I will be a happy, happy man.
Because I am writing a chronicle of a woman’s life I also rely on the follow up to Pet Sounds, the album Smile by Brian Wilson. Pet Sounds was about a teenager; Smile is about a more mature man who asks the same questions. He sees his world changing into an amalgamation of the shallow and depraved. In Smile, as the old man sees the changes and cries for relief, he is left with little in the way of answers. “Over and over the crow cries ‘Uncover the Cornfield.’†You cannot understand that line unless you become the bird. But in both albums, the speaker is a white male sitting on the beach, watching the rolling surf, except now, it is too polluted to surf. And, like Pet Sounds, I would not be surprised if my work is not appreciated until years later when the man of reason, will and temperament is permitted, once again, to reign, tame and elevate the land.
Beyond music, great thinkers influence my style and choice of content. The economic genius of Ayn Rand, the crusading honesty of Roy Masters, the clarion call for common sense from Glenn Beck, the intellectual purity of Michael Savage and the practical optimism of Rusty Humphries. Many of their ideas find a place in these stories and their influence is apparent in many characters.
Being born in a dream, my sleep remains a ready conduit for Sarah. My naps are horizontal research. Every night contains a new revelation, a new set of words, a new character or an affirmation of the intent.
As the philosopher Eric Hoffer once said, "We are told that talent creates its own opportunities. But it sometimes seems that intense desire creates not only its own opportunities, but its own talents." The moment I began writing this story I realized I could do nothing else but see it to its completion. Every activity that distracts my mind from this project is suspicious and, likely, offensive. I must breathe; I must write. To do anything else, especially as I approach middle age is a risk of everything I hold dear. Time is the only irreplaceable resource. No longer will I sacrifice another second for money. More than just a mission statement this a guarantor of success. One can only become rich by doing what one loves and I will not mortgage my talents for filthy lucre or risk leaving behind my contributions in the cold, cold ground.
I am so committed to this project that I only think of it as a success in the past tense. Every morning ad every evening I say the words, “Best Seller Sarah Conrad of Eagle Creek.†I speak the reality of victory; I sing the surety of serenity. And nothing can separate me from the peace I have firmly established in my heart.
This is Jason Goldtrap. Sarah sends her greetings. Goodnight. 8-)