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I’m writing from “True Grit” country.
There’s a sign on the interstate less than a mile from my house that reads “True Grit Trail.” From my office window, I can see all the way across Lake Dardanelle to Yell County, fictional home of "True Grit's" indefatigable protagonist Mattie Ross. On the wall to the right of my desk, hangs a letter signed by Mattie’s creator, a man I consider to be Arkansas’s greatest novelist, Charles Portis.
The letter was written by his brother Jon. It arrived in the dead of winter, a week or so after I’d finished an early draft of a short story and mailed it to an address in Little Rock I’d found online.
It was a bold move, sending a rough draft of a story to my greatest living literary hero, but I was young, dumb, and most importantly, hungry. Desperate for someone — other than my wife or mother — to read my work.
At that point, I’d written three failed manuscripts. They were all trial runs, hundreds of thousands of words that were necessary for me to learn how to write well. I didn’t see it like that, though. Not back then. Which was why I sent those rookie books to every agent I could find, and promptly received a slew of rejections.
It was in the wake of those rejections that I mailed a manilla envelope stuffed with nine typed pages to Charles Portis. I don’t know what I expected in return. Maybe I thought he’d read it and be so taken with my work he’d give me the keys to the castle, a golden ticket into the wide world of publishing.
I was wrong, of course. Publishing doesn’t work like that. Not normally. But what I received was even better.
The letter, along with my pages, were mailed back to me seven days later. In the letter, Jon explained that Charles had lost his ability to read due to failing eyesight, which was “a torment for him.” As a result, Jon read my story aloud to his brother, twice.
Jon relayed a few of Charles’s suggestions about how to make the story tighter. He also warned me to not get caught up in a “rewriting circle, which leads to frustration, which leads to giving up. Don’t give up. Don’t let perfection be the enemy of the good.”
The letter is dated January 18, 2017.
It would be five years before the story I sent the Portis brothers would go on to become my debut novel. During that time, I became fast friends with Jon and constantly reworked those same nine pages, while also adding tens of thousands of words to complete the final, published manuscript.
Charles passed in 2020, two years before “Don’t Know Tough” finally lumbered its way into the world, but he still left his mark on that book. “Buddy,” as Charles’s friends called him, as I would’ve hoped to call him in another life, another time, left his mark on me too.
It wasn’t just his work that made such an impact; it was the kindness that the Portis brothers extended to a young, hungry author, when snow was on the ground.
| 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 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
• Writing from Witherspoon Hall
• 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
• 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
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• 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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