March 3, 2017

Lone Star Book Blog Tours : Foy, On The Road To Lost by Gordon Atkinson


  Genre: Literary Fiction
Date of Publication: March 1, 2017
Number of Pages: 194

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Gordon Atkinson, of the popular blog RealLivePreacher, brings us Foy, a recently- divorced, recently-resigned pastor in the midst of redefining personal meaning. As Foy travels to New Orleans, hoping to find a new identity separate from the church, he keenly observes the everyday, rendering ordinary moments unexpectedly significant. Atkinson’s own background as a preacher and blogger inspires Foy’s confessional voice, the voice which characterizes this story about how our own experiences impact the universal search for meaning. 


“If the magnitude of difference between the stars and humankind is the purest of religions, reminding us of our insignificance (so thinks Foy), then that magnitude is collapsed in the hands of Atkinson, whose words elevate the most insignificant of objects, acts, and characters to startling heights. A key shifted on a desk, a communion cup offered to an old woman despite a philosophical mismatch, a baby's bottle first ignored and then retrieved for a frazzled stranger on a bus. Each commands, each arrests, each persists. And we suddenly remember that what we create with mere words can be as lasting as the luminaries.”
-- L.L. Barkat, author of Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing, twice named a best book of 2011

“Few writers can match Gordon Atkinson's ability to tell stories about the sacred in our everyday lives. Foy is a work of power, beauty, and clarity--I saw myself and the world more clearly after reading it. I think you will too.”
-- Greg Garrett, author of The Prodigal and Entertaining Judgment

“I really, really like Gordon Atkinson's Foy. I like the character Foy himself. He's Everyman and he's me and he's Gordon, all at the same time. Nice trick. I like Gordon's writing -- straightforward, but with a simple elegance. But what I really like is the no-holds-barred honesty. This feels real because it is real. Foy at his worst, Foy at his best, Foy at his most wonderful/awful. It's an on-going series, just like life. I look forward to the next chapter.”
-- Robert F. Darden, author of Nothing but Love in God’s Water, Volume II: Black Sacred Music from Sit-Ins to Resurrection City

New Novel by Gordon Atkinson Foy: On the Road to Lost, to be released March 1 from Material Media on Vimeo.

  CLICK TO PURCHASE  * Amazon * Material Media *

Love Letter
San Antonio, 2004

The truth rose suddenly into Foy’s awareness with no warning. He was scraping some crumbs from lunch off the table into his cupped hand when it happened. He looked at the crumbs lying in his palm and felt an urgency to get rid of them so he could think with no distractions. He tossed them quickly into the trash and brushed off a few that were left sticking to his hand.
He sat staring at the top of the table. Noticing a single crumb he pressed the tip of his index finger on it. He lifted his finger with the crumb stuck to it and flicked the crumb away onto the floor. He had no doubts about the truth of this new idea, but he was puzzled about why it took him so long to know it.
He was starving his wife to death and had been for years.
A few months earlier the two of them had attended a retreat where they had taken the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator test. Foy had scored as an extreme introvert, while his wife was more to the center but leaning clearly toward extroversion in that polarity. Foy left the retreat marveling at what they had learned about each other but missing a critical emotional component to the lesson.
The emotional reality of the difference between them is what came to him so suddenly at the table. In that moment he came to understand that she needed time with him as desperately as he needed time alone. And while he was in complete control of meeting his own need for solitude, she was dependent upon him to provide the meaningful interaction and time together that she needed.
Now his own indulgence shamed him as he remembered all the times she had sought him out and he had instead chosen some solitary activity, isolated from her and from their daughters. Was it possible that forced solitude was as painful for her as forced interaction was for him?
I’ve been starving her, he whispered aloud.
In that moment Anne walked quickly past the table, pulling a light, soapy smell in her wake. He breathed the scent and felt his mood lift, but coming after the smell was the sound of her shoes, clicking like a metronome on the tile. The business-like urgency of the sound tamped his mood back down.
Hey there, he said, with more cheer and energy in his voice than would be typical of him in moments like these.
Helloooo, she replied, drawing out the word and lifting the tone at the end of it, which turned it into an entire series of questions:
What do you mean by that? Why would you use that tone of voice on this ordinary Tuesday afternoon at 4:15 when I’m right in the middle of this thing I’m doing? And why do you suddenly speak as if we’re communicating? As if we have some sort of ongoing context of interaction that we can return to at any moment with no explanation.
And then she was past him, accelerating around the corner, her footsteps muffled now on the carpeted hall that led to the girls’ bedrooms.
Foy stared at the doorway for a few moments. Then he picked up the trash can and brought it to the table. He brushed a few remaining crumbs into it. He took a little black notebook out of his rear pocket, sat down, bent over it, and began to write.
In the days that followed he remembered when they had dated in college. He had been desperately in love with her, obsessed almost, but he had no way to resurrect those feelings now. Their first kiss had been at her apartment door. He also remembered kissing her passionately while leaning against his car in a parking lot. He tried to remember how her lips had felt to him then, when they were new and unfamiliar and exciting.
In a closet toward the back of the house was a trunk filled with old things. Inside he found their college yearbooks, some trinkets from early in their relationship, and assorted photos in small albums from before they had children. He sorted through these things frantically, as if seeking something specific. But he didn’t know what it was he wanted. In fact, he was seeking the emotions that had originally vested these common objects with a power sufficient to make them trunk-worthy, but he had no conscious awareness of this. So what he sought eluded him, and he was left shuffling items around in the bottom of the trunk and feeling empty and hopeless.

Atkinson is the author of the books (Wm. B. Eerdmans), Turtles All the Way Down, and A Christmas Story You’ve Never Heard.  He was a contributor for the magazine Christian Century and founding editor for the High Calling website, which brought together hundreds of independent writers and featured their work. 
His writing career started on Salon where he was among the most read bloggers on the site.  One of his essays was chosen to be included in The Best Christian Writing 2004 (Jossey-Bass) and his book won the Independent Publisher Book Award in the creative non-fiction category.



Grand Prize: Signed Copies of Foy: On the Road to Lost, Turtles All the Way Down, and A Christmas Story You Never Heard
2nd Prize: Signed Copy of Foy: On the Road to Lost
3rd Prize: Signed Copy of (US ONLY) March 1 - 15, 2017


Video Guest Post 1
Excerpt 1
Video Guest Post 2
Author Interview 1
Video Guest Post 3
Excerpt 2
Video Guest Post 4
Author Interview 2
Video Guest Post 5

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