Red Dirt Rocker

Red Dirt Rocker
Y/A novel by Jody French--Inspired by the adventures of musician- Forrest French

Wednesday, November 28, 2012


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I always enjoy listening to, and watching CMT music videos in the morning while I'm getting around and ready---what I don't enjoy is the moment that happens each morning when Valerie Bertinelli pops on after a cool Brad Paisley or Zac Brown video and says, "don't touch that dial!!" Then a 10 minute Cindy Crawford Infommercial ensues for her "miracle skin serum." (every day at the same time.) We get it Cindy---your rich, you're beautiful, you have great genes, you're a model, you're iconic, you have a mole that I'm sure is insured, but I DON'T want your expensive skin care serum...I want Dirks Bentley!

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


I loved the last one---as unbelievable as it sounds to my kids, I actually had a "party line" out in the Choska Bottoms. I lived as far out between Porter, Haskell, Coweta and Taft as you could get on a section line of bad road. Haskell where I went to high school) was actually considered a long distance call for me to telephone my friends, and I'd usually have to ask the neighbor if she could hang up so I could call a friend!! "Cells" were just microscopic particles in or bodies that we learned about in biology back then---but I sure loved living in the peaceful country. I knew Monty loved me when he would drive his beloved  pride and joy candy apple red, 1973 Camero out to my house to pick me up for dates----most of the time after a storm, you'd just have to pick a rut in the mud, gun it and hope for the best!  After date two, he started borrowing his dad's pick up truck!


Saturday, November 10, 2012


 I thought I would share my favorite excerpt from my book~ and a cool pic that I took in New Orleans at The House of Blues~                                                                                                              

                                    Excerpt From Red Dirt Rocker.  Chapter 5,  pgs 40-42

   Aunt Carmen says or band is as organic as the horse manure in her south forty.  I think that means that it all came together in a very natural way.  We decided on our band's name after high speed winds forced me and the boys into the farm's root cellar one stormy afternoon.  We were practicing when Aunt Carmen came busting through the barn door.  She had a sense of urgency on her face, and ordered us to follow her while maintaining a controlled panic.
     As we ran across the farmyard, I noticed the sky had turned a sickly grey-green color.  Hail the size of quarters began pelting us.  I spotted Mollie trying to squeeze through the lattice under the front porch and sprinted to pick her up.  Aunt Carmen screamed for me to let her be, but I just couldn't.  I grabbed Mollie, soaking my shirt with the skunky smell of wet dog, and jogged back to the shelter.  I handed her down to the other  boys as she grunted and groaned from arthritis.  I then insisted that Aunt Carmen climb down the steep rickety steps before me.
     As I held the door open for her, the hail stopped.  It was as if someone had flipped a switch and blackness came.  It became eerily calm.  I started my descent down the cellar stairs.  It was like a scene from a nightmare.  I looked up to see the wicked side-winding twister that had emerged from the ominous squall line.  The door fell shut with a sharp crack and we all huddled together in the darkness.  The smell of garden onions and dusty potatoes was thick in the humid air.
    Next came the sound...the forbidding sound that only a tornado makes.  A growling, rumbling, whistling sound as though the 10:00 Frisco freight train had been diverted directly across the top of the root cellar door and was ready to fall in on top of us.
    We were all paralyzed with fear as the twister roared over like an angry monster.  I've never felt so small, so scared, so close to God.  Aunt Carmen held the boys and me in her motherly arms and prayed out loud to Jesus.  Dirt and wood splinters spun violently over our heads and it sounded like someone cracking open a pop-top can.  The sucking winds ripped the door off the root cellar, but we didn't budge.  It was all over in a matter of two terrifying minutes.  The untamed twister disappeared back into the dark and thick rolling clouds.
     Jake was the first to go back up.  The boys and I hoisted Mollie up the stairs brigade-style.  We expected to see a war zone as we emerged from our bunker, but to our shock and relief, the tornado hadn't done much damage to the barn or the house.  They were both left virtually unscathed.  The only things the twister took with it were an old rusty plow, two black shutters from the house, and the creaky wooden door to the root cellar.
     The boys and I stood in disbelief as we surveyed the property.  all the color had drained from Cody's face.  He repeated over and over, "The cellar door is gone...the cellar door is gone."
     "Cellar Door Is Gone...that's it...that's our band's name," I said in no more than a whisper.  The hair on our arms seemed to practically stand up and shout, "Yes!"  The boys heard me loud and clear.
     The sun began to peek back out from behind the smeared, grey clouds.  The cold drops of rain dissipated.  Wispy chicken feathers, or perhaps bits of the snowy down of the angel wings that protected us that day, swirled around our tennis shoes. My band brothers and I shook our heads in agreement---Cellar Door Is Gone it was.

RED DIRT ROCKER~ by Jody French

Monday, November 5, 2012

Nascar Drivers and Special Needs Children~~

Visiting tonight with my cousin from Coweta that lives in Dallas who has a daughter with a very rare disorder. We are at the point of laughing at some of the crazy stuff that families of these children have to go through medically---like me and Sky killing 31/2 hours in Tulsa after Eddie Jett's first Dr. appt. today, waiting for a second referral, but the wrong address was on the paper. We arri
ve, unload, walk up, stand in line..."Hmmm...noooo...he's not suppose to be here---hmmm...he's suppose to be all the way on the other side of Tulsa, like RIGHT NOW." Then (I have to be nice here) a dude parked and blocking the entire intersection in front of the Hospital is just chatting away with his "girlfriend" in another car parked directly beside him--we honk...he doesn't move...we honk again---he waves us off--gets mad, hand gestures us, and tells his "girlfriend" NOT to move her car---that we can just sit there until he's good and done!!! (Jody, controlling her impulse to RAM them out of the intersection)... 5 minutes later---Enter traffic jam backed up for 5 miles at a complete stand still between Harvard and Sheridan---(oh and your road construction!) Then my car, feeling like it's gonna break apart because it has strut issues from being rear ended twice this year, as we fly down the Creek Turnpike, yelling like crazy feinds at everyone to "get OUT of our way!" because we're NOT going to miss this appt this afternoon...mainly because Sky is trying not to go into labor in the midst of trying to get Eddie help. (Cross your legs Sky) Drive 3 times around SouthCrest (left turns only like Nascar) trying to find the right entrance----unload, I carry Eddie Jett up (Sky carries Annabelle with a waddle) and thank goodness Daddy Jeremy, who is done with work for the day, is there waiting for us! Eddie Jett leaps from my arms to his, smiles huge, and gives Jeremy the biggest hug and "oooohh" in the sweetest voice---

My cuz Shelley made me laugh so hard as she told me about her mother having to drive the "get away car" many times as Shelley stole things from the hospital to help keep her little Zoe ALIVE---(seriously) Oh, the choice words slip from our tongues every so often, as much as we hate to admit it in the midst of these "adventures." ---

Shelley's blog is great for anyone with a special needs child in their family---"Confessions of a Sleep Deprived Momma." We think Skylar should write in a guest blog :) You have to give up and laugh at some point ---Eddie Jett always does!

Thursday, November 1, 2012


Me and Maddy---