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I’m writing from Ponca, Arkansas.
The Lost Valley Trail and Eden Falls Cave, which I depicted in the climax of my first novel, are just up the road. But this weekend isn’t about writing. It’s about family.
The Cranor boys, a motley crew of fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, nephews and cousins, have assembled for our annual float trip.
We hail from different parts of the state, different parts of the country, but our roots intersect at Forrest City. The Delta doesn’t have much in common with the Ozarks, much less the scenic Buffalo River.
It would make more sense for us to congregate at the L’Anguille Bottoms, or maybe Grindle Slough. Instead, we drive up Highway 7 or 21 and meet where the limestone bluffs rise from the river and hold up the sky.
This was our fourth, maybe fifth trip. It’s hard to tell the outings apart. Each year, we follow the same itinerary. We arrive on Friday and play cornhole until dark. After we’ve feasted on some of Cousin Earl’s home-smoked pork, we break out the poker chips, and that’s when things get interesting.
Poker is a Cranor family tradition. Long before we ever went floating, we played poker at Granny’s house after Christmas, Easter, or any other holiday we could use as an excuse to ante up. Back then, we played different variations of 7 card stud: “Deuce’s Wild,” “Follow the Queen,” “Dr. Pepper,” and other games with names I won’t list here.
These days, it’s all Texas Hold ‘em, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less competitive. As the night drags on and the trashcan brims with empty bottles, the poker table heats up. This year, our game lasted until a little past two in the morning.
That very same morning, we hit the river, fishing poles in hand. We didn’t catch much, but it was still fun and beautiful beyond compare. From the turquoise water to the aforementioned bluffs — it’s hard to beat the Buffalo.
Once we got off the water, it was more of the same. Another round of cornhole, followed by supper and poker night part two.
Sure, the games are fun, the float is beautiful, but after this trip, I’m finally starting to realize what this weekend is about.
It’s about seeing guys I haven’t seen in months, uncles and cousins I used to visit multiple times a year, back when we all wore smaller pants and had a little more hair. It’s about hearing the same old stories told over and over again.
There’s a sort of knowledge to be gleaned from these excursions. It’s a chance to view myself — who I am, who I might become — through the eyes of the men I love most.
It’s about family, plain and simple (but the chance to reel in a lunker smallmouth or win a huge stack of chips doesn’t hurt, either).
| Books authored by Eli Cranor |
Broiler
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The troubles of two desperate families—one white, one Mexican American—converge rest in the ruthless underworld of an Arkansas chicken processing plant in this new thriller from the award-winning author of DON’T KNOW TOUGH.
Gabriela Menchaca and Edwin Saucedo are hardworking, undocumented employees at the Detmer Foods chicken plant in Springdale, Arkansas, just a stone’s throw away from the trailer park where they’ve lived together for seven years. While dealing with personal tragedies of their own, the young couple endures the brutal, dehumanizing conditions at the plant in exchange for barebones pay.
When the plant manager, Luke Jackson, fires Edwin to set an example for the rest of the workers—and to show the higher-ups that he’s ready for a major promotion—Edwin is determined to get revenge on Luke and his wife, Mimi, a new mother who stays at home with her six-month-old son. Edwin’s impulsive action sets in motion a devastating chain of events that illuminates the deeply entrenched power dynamics between those who revel at the top and those who toil at the bottom.
From the nationally bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author of Don’t Know Tough and Ozark Dogs comes another edge-of-your-seat noir thriller that exposes the dark, bloody heart of life on the margins in the American South and the bleak underside of a bygone American Dream. |
Don't Know Tough
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In Denton, Arkansas, the fate of the high school football team rests on the shoulders of Billy Lowe, a volatile but talented running back. Billy comes from an extremely troubled home: a trailer park where he is terrorized by his mother’s abusive boyfriend. Billy takes out his anger on the field, but when his savagery crosses a line, he faces suspension.
Without Billy Lowe, the Denton Pirates can kiss their playoff bid goodbye. But the head coach, Trent Powers, who just moved from California with his wife and two children for this job, has more than just his paycheck riding on Billy’s bad behavior. As a born-again Christian, Trent feels a divine calling to save Billy—save him from his circumstances, and save his soul.
Then Billy’s abuser is found murdered in the Lowe family trailer, and all evidence points toward Billy. Now nothing can stop an explosive chain of violence that could tear the whole town apart on the eve of the playoffs. |
Ozark Dogs
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In this Southern thriller, two families grapple with the aftermath of a murder in their small Arkansas town.
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it. |
| Previous columns: |
• Writing from the Summer Transition
• I’m Writing from the Road
• Writing from The deck with a six-string in my lap
• Writing from JazzFests gone past
• Writing from My "Circle of Control"
• Writing from the morning after a Greta Van Fleet show
• Writing from a Tee Ball Field
• Writing from My Office
• Writing from the shadow of a total eclipse
• Writing From Columbus, Ohio
• Writing from a Dusty Floored Gym
• Writing From: My office with an icepack on my lap
• Writing from the Waffle House
• Writing from: Two-years into this "author" gig
• Writing from: Trut grit county
• Writing from: The rafters in the basement
• Writing from: A land of dripping noses and all-night coughs
• Writing from: Another Dimension
• Writing from Fearrington Village, North Carolina
• Writing from My daughter’s basketball game
• Writing from My thirty sixth year
• Writing from Forrest City, Arkansas
• Writing from Nap Time
• Writing from Winter Park, Colorado
• Writing from the end of the year
• Writing from First United Methodist Church
• Writing from the end of the first semester
• Writing from the cusp of another visit
• Writing from a Razorback Game
• Writing From: The End
• Writing from Oyster Island
• Writing from Jayne Lemons
• Writing from Bed
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• Writing From: Coco
• Writing from the Beach
• Writing From: Crooked Creek
• Writing from a Nursing Home
• Writing from a Firework Tent
• Writing from a Boat
• Writing from the Stars
• Writing from the Pool
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• Writing from the Kitchen
• Writing from Summer
• Writing from Kindergarten
• Writing from Mom
• Writing from a Plane
• Writing from Home
• My second novel’s publication
• A New Marriage Milestone
• An Invitation to the Party
• Writing from a Thunderstorm
• Writing from a Soundbooth
• Writing from “Jazz Beach"
• Writing from the Sabbath
• Writing from somewhere between Little Rock and Russellville
• Writing from my back deck
• Writing from the morning of my thirty-fifth year
• Writing on the day of the college football National Championship
• Writing from the space between breaths
• Writing from 2022
• Writing from the glow of a plastic Christmas tree
• Writing on a rollercoaster of triumph and disaster
• Writing from the drop-off line at my daughter’s elementary school
• Writing with Thanksgiving on my mind
• Writing from the crowd before the start of a Shovels & Rope show
• Writing from the depths of a post-book-festival hangover
• Writing from the Ron Robinson Theatre
• Writing to you on Halloween Eve
• Writing from my bed on a Saturday morning
• Writing from my office with two darts clenched in my left hand
• Writing from the shade of my favorite tree
• Writing from my desk on a Tuesday morning
• Writing from a pirate ship
• Writing from the airport
• Writing from the hospital
• I'm writing from the water
• Writing from my wife's Honda Pilot
• Writing from my office |
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