Blog Categories
Blog Entries by Month
Stay in Touch
Charles sends out an email every time a new book is released. If interested please sign-up for Charles' newsletter.
I Cried Today
Posted in The Kitchen Sink on Thu, September 18, 2008
Atlanta. Spoke last night at the Margaret Mitchell House. (She wrote “Gone With the Wind.”) About a hundred people showed. I read from River and they asked questions for an hour. I’d been here before with Dance but that was six years ago and we had to pay to rent out the space. Guaranteed with a credit card. Times change. Last night we gave no credit card.
Woke this morning. Spent an hour in the fitness center. Thinking about the town I was in. How long it’d been. My mind wandered.
Merged onto I-75 South. Drove past Georgia Tech. Something tugged at the wheel. I pulled off at North Avenue. The Varsity on my left. Smith Hall on my right. My dorm. Where I buried my face in my pillow after the doctor gave me the news.
Drove down past the stadium, over to the practice field. I cold still hear our cleats clacking on the asphalt as we walked to practice. All promise. All dream. All hope and possibility.
I’ve got a picture of me when I was four. Staring through a blue plastic football helmet. A worn football under my left hand gripped like Staubach and Bradshaw. Cowboy boots like my dad. He played for the Gators in the 50’s. Started. Scored a touchdown. As a center. He used to tell me stories.
As a sophomore in high school, I worked out twice a day. Track in the morning. Before school. Hour and a half. Weights at night. Two hours. Followed by more sprints. Weight gain milkshakes at midnight. Wake up and do it all over. By the time I was a senior, I was starting. Captain. Drooling for Division 1.
It was not drooling for me. Recruiting season passed. I got one phone call. Georgia Tech. “We think you’ve got heart. Would you like to walk on? Maybe earn a spot.”
I bought a GT cap and wore it to sleep.
I parked. Walked across the street. Hung on the fence. Stared through the chain link. Nineteen years ago. Half my life. Felt like yesterday.
The orange rubber track sat on my right. On my second day, we ran what they call the 12-minute run. Second place. A quarter lap behind Willie Clay. He was one of the most highly recruited freshmen in the States. He became a four-year starter. Helped them win a National Championship in 1990. Went on the play with the Patriots. Won a Super Bowl. I made the practice squad. Dressed out for the home games. Played in the JV game against Georgia.
On my left, the green grass rolled out. Worn in the middle. Where I made a few interceptions. Heard my name called. Got the tape pulled off my helmet by a Senior. Made Rookie of the week. Twice. ‘Earn a spot’ echoed in my ears. I’d stand at the pay phone, call home and talk to my dad.
My eyes drifted. The far sideline. The tape slows. I rub my back.
We were doing sideline drills. I remember his name. He was 6’5”. 255 lbs. A Greek God. The coaches used to say he ‘had all the tools.’ And, ‘He’d play at the next level.’ I was 5’11”. 190. Mortal.
We hit. He ran back to the huddle.
I lie on the ground. Something had clicked in my back. I stared up through my facemask. Nobody had to tell me. I limped back to the locker room. It hurt to inhale. To shower. To pee. The x-rays confirmed it. Something was wrong with L5. A hairline crack.
“Can I play?”
“Not if you want to keep walking.”
“Surgery?”
He shook his head. “I’d like to put you in a body cast.”
The chain link was cutting in to my fingers. A tear trickled off my nose. Landed on the concrete. Where do dreams go when you can’t dream them anymore?
I wiped my nose, walked across the street. The meter had expired. I drove slowly past the coach’s offices. The back door had not moved. His office was two floors up.
It was early. 5 am. The day after. I didn’t want anybody to see me. “Coach…” Coach Ross looked up from his desk. I didn’t’ know what to do with my hands. “I…I can’t play for you anymore.”
“Have a seat, Charlie.”
I shook my head. “Sir…it just hurts too much.” He’d already heard.
I was a nobody, but when I got home, he’d sent me a two page handwritten letter. I still have it. For the record—I would have run into hell and slapped the devil in the mouth if he had asked.
I left his office, and packed up my locker in the dark. So no one saw me. I remember standing in the dark, inhaling. One last time.
I walked out alone. Shoulder pads slung over my shoulder. Limped home. Scratching my head. “Who am I and what the hell do I do now?” The perfect storm swirled above me. It would last a while. Ask Christy.
Last night, I was standing at the podium, a few blocks from the practice field. Somebody asked me, “How can you write about loss and pain? You’re so young. How do you know?” The answer lies somewhere in this. Somewhere on that practice field. Somewhere in the thousands of hours I spent running, lifting and getting ready to get there. Somewhere in my dreams which were always much bigger than me.
I might not look like much. Not very big. Not very fast. You probably wouldn’t pick me first. Maybe I was Rudy before there was a Rudy. But, if you could line me up next to my teammates, peel away our skin and measure our hearts, desire, love of football, mine would have measured up. You may think that’s silly. The grown up part of me is tempted to agree with you. But the kid in the blue helmet begs to differ. That kid would suit up right now. Walk down into hell. And to be honest, he’s the one writing the stories.
I merged south on I-75. Then I-20 West. Birmingham. Wondering. Looking in the rear view mirror. If I knew then what I know now, would I do it all over?
I smile.
Folks who don’t know me and read my stories look at me as a writer. They see the picture on the back of the book. Me wearing a sport coat. Looking writerly. I look in the mirror and see a kid in a blue helmet. Scuffed knees.
Every writer has their prescription for how to become one. Books are written on the subject. I own several. Some are quite good.
People ask me, “What do I need to do to become a writer.”
I think back to my process of getting published. The 80-something rejection letters. All the folks who shook their head. If I’m honest, I’ll say, “Play with your heart. Get up when you fall down. And…dream big.”
Hi.
I googled your name cuz I wanted to buy a couple more of your books. I usually buy my books from Amazon but while I was looking I started to wonder if I could buy them straight from you? It looks like I can’t so I’ll have to go back to Amazon.
Anyway, so I checked out your calendar in the hopes of maybe getting my books signed. Do you ever have events here at home?
I love your books!
~Angie~
We are not glad that you were injured as a college football player, but we are thankful that you have used your God-given talents to write books from your heart!
I am reading “Where the River Ends”. This is my first CM book. I have a way of picking books, or to follow your style; they have a way of picking me. I could, n’t get over your style. I started reading it out loud to my friend. I couldn’t get on with the story for going back and admiring the meandering thought that held such depth. I love it. So, even before finishing what I know is a great book, I googled to see who you are.
I love what I see. A family man who knows talks to God. Neat. Exciting. blog.
http://www.myspace/pennypepper
Thanks for the
I am looking forward to the next book. Southern Living’s article on When Crickets Cry intrigued me. The following five were equally enjoyed. No Pressure...just ready. All the clubs in the north Alabama area are reading. You come highly recommended.
I just finished “Where the River Ends” and I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the book. It touched me in ways I can’t even describe. This the first time I have read one of your books, but I’m on my way to Barnes & Noble and can’t wait to get started on another.
I have loved all your books, with Wrapped in Rain being the favorite of the faves. I always figured that was because I grew up so near the St Johns. As for the rest, having also lived in GA. and LA. I am a lover of good contemporary Southern fiction, and yours is easily the best. However, after reading this blog post, I’m thinking it also may have a little bit to do with my love of Gator football and the fact that I’m married to a “Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech”! As Betty said above, sorry you were injured, but thankful it led to your writing career!
Dream big. You said it…
I have read all your books, all within the last 3 weeks. I am so looking forward to more. You have me baffaled as to how someone as young as you can feel and comprehend your total self so deeply. You have a rare gift to touch hearts and souls. I have cried in every one of your books and highly recommend them especially to men. In my opinion too many men turn from seeking to know themselves fully and don’t seek to reach into their inner beings. You do very well and are an excellant example that a MAN can learn to feel with his heart, mind, spirit and soul. I encourage you to ride this star and continue to reach deep. THANK YOU
Our book club read “When Crickets Cry” last month. I fell in love with the book and went looking for more. I just finished “ The Dead Don’t Dance” again it was love. I am a reader. I read several books a week. Most books are good for passing the time but I don’t always remember them . Your books I remember and has told my friends and family about. Thank you for putting your self out there and letting us in just a little. I am heading out to the bookstore and buying more.
I just started reading “Where the Rive Ends”. I will let you know how it turns out for me. It is keeping my attention. I cannot wait to get home to read it.
keep your head up
I really love this and also become fan of this, also start reading. want to say thanks :)
Charles (wordsmith) Martin, after reading two of your novels, I can only state that I haven’t been moved as much by any novels except for Irene Hunt’s “Lottery Rose” which I read over 30 years ago. Your gift had me remembering Lord Tennyson’s lines
‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes’
Pound us with more wonderful word scuplturings, Master Charles.
How are you now, how your your leg pain? hope you are again start playing?
Hi Charles,
I am reading River--my first of your books. It is achingly beautiful, for the well-crated sentences, the unforgettable characters, the authenticity of the setting, the plausibility of the plot and above all, the love story. (this from another newsie/writer). Have your agent send it to Hollywoood. It would make a beautiful movie IF it gets in the hands of a sensitive director. The wrong one will turn it into a chase story...I am going back to find all of your other books. Keep writing...(I know you love Cormack but you’re better :-)
Thank you for this. It’s so very encouraging.
I just finished reading “Where the River Ends,” the first of your books for me. I couldn’t put it down. Love that sees a couple through whatever life throws at them can be hard to find. My husband almost died last year at the age of 51, followed by a slow recovery. Reading your book took me back there—thankfully, our story has a happy ending. We both grew up in Jacksonville, we are now living in Charleston, we lived for ten years in Atlanta, and our daughter went to Georgia State (across the street from Georgia Tech). I loved reading about places I am familiar with, and that helped me connect even more with your story.
As I read through the acknowledgements, I came across the name Todd Chupp. My husband and I went to a weekly Bible study at Charles and Gail Chupp’s house (around 1973/74). They had two young children at the time, Carrie and Todd. I was wondering if this is the Todd you refer to. I was Cathy Crowley and my husband Jimmy Bozard at the time, and we will forever be grateful for the time the Chupp’s spent with us in the Bible. It helped set a love for God and His word in us that has not diminished. If you see the Chupps, please give them our love and gratitude. King David is also my favorite author ( you run a close second!?). I’m looking forward to reading another of your books!
I checked out your calendar in the hopes of maybe getting my books signed. Do you ever have events here at home?
I have a friend who wants products that lightens dark skin, but is unsure of purchasing bleach for the skin or skin brightening lotions. Her skin is of medium dark tone with minimal acne.
Liver Spots
I was wondering if this is the Todd you refer to. I was Cathy Crowley and my husband Jimmy Bozard at the time, and we will forever be grateful for the time the Chupp’s spent with us in the Bible. It helped set a love for God and His word in us that has not diminished. translation site