My ranch house was full of TV cameras, lights, technicians, and people hustling about, turning my living room into a television studio. Out front in the driveway, vans with CBS, FOX, etc. written on them sat parked while my horses nosed at them and chewed off windshield wipers. Even though I’m a motivational speaker as well as best-selling author (sometimes), I remain in many ways the kid who grew up roaming the Ozark Mountains alone except for a dog or two and a shotgun.
I know publicity and promotion sell books—but I’m a writer, not a publicity hound or salesman. To the dismay of agents and publishers, I’ve always refused to do book tours. I only do TV, radio, or grant media interviews when I’m asked. I rarely solicit. I merely want to write—and go on adventures and live life large.
I rarely watch TV—except, occasionally, the Military, History, or National Geographic channels. Everything else, at least in my opinion, is full of gratuitous sex and violence and attacks all the values I hold dear. Such as truth, honesty, courage, honor. I don’t want to see God maligned, Americans insulted, or political correctness run amuck.
I read instead.
Anyhow, I was somewhat perplexed about all the controversy one of my published books, At Large, had stirred up in the media. For almost a month, friends couldn’t get me on the telephone, it was so busy with calls from New York, Los Angeles, even Hong Kong and London.
My homely mug ended up in such places as Good Morning, America, Inside Edition, On The Record, Fox, Geraldo Rivera, The History Channel. . . It’s hard for me to say no to people, and, besides, my publishers were eating up all the free hype.
My head was whirling.
“I think we should run off from home until this blows over,” I suggested to my wife, Donna Sue. “I’ve always wanted to go on safari in Africa.”
“They’d find us,” she said.
So, there my living room had been turned into a TV studio. Some guy who must have been a hairdresser in a previous life tried to apply makeup to my face.
“I don’t think so, Tinker Bell.”
Politically correct I’m not.
The—whatever they call them, the show’s host?—was, according to everyone, quite famous. It didn’t mean anything to me. I’d been a cop too long, too many times around the world, to be impressed by fame.
Donna Sue whispered to the TV hostess, “Chuck doesn’t watch much TV. He doesn’t even know who you are.”
The lady looked me over. Then she smiled. “Good for him,” she said, and I think she genuinely meant it.
“The little shallow streams, you kin hear ’em before you ever get to ’em,” Paw said. “The deep creeks now, Boy, the deeper they run, the quieter they are.” Streams are just like people; the shallow ones make most of the noise.
From Devoted To Fishing, by Charles W. Sasser. It’s not a “fishing” book, it’s an inspiration for life.