Living the Nashville Dream

(from the book Twisted by the Wind by Tom Hays)

Cody walked onstage and surveyed the huge, cheering crowd, soaking in the excitement and energy radiated by thousands of adoring fans, the flashing effects lighting, the fog, and fireworks spewing from the pillars behind him. The warm-up band had been good … but the huge audience had evidently come to see him, Cody, the star attraction.

“Cody! Cody! Cody!” Their chant filled the huge auditorium to the rafters.

He threw his right arm up in the air with his guitar pick in-hand in a gesturing salute to the crowd, and the cheers grew even louder, more demanding!

Turning his head slightly to the right, he gave a shallow nod to the keyboard player, and his band began the set. The crowd was still screaming over the first, familiar bars of the first song.

He stepped to the mike, sang the first line, and the crowd noise swelled again. It was one of his signature songs, one he had written himself, one of many that had placed him on the top of the charts over and over again. At the chorus, everyone in the audience sang the hook with him. They knew it as well as he did.

Women in the front rows charged the foot of the stage, trying to get closer, reaching for a touch of his pant leg, tossing flowers along with notes, phone numbers, and undergarments onto the stage.

Cody smiled broadly, his pearl-white teeth gleaming in the spotlights. The crowd grew more frenzied and their sing-along turned to cheering at the top of their lungs, louder and louder, a constant high-pitched roar!

The loud buzzer on the timer over his head brought him to now. He suddenly realized the French fries were done. He lifted them from the cooker and dumped them into the draining tray. He salted them liberally and scooped them into small, red cardboard sleeves and placed the packages one by one onto the serving rack.

His dream had brought him to Nashville for his big break nearly five years earlier.

Looking through the small opening over the rack holding the cooked fries, out to the serving counter and beyond to those waiting in line, he saw a collection of other wannabe dreamers on both sides of the counter, all playing the lottery in some form or other.

Some, like him, playing the “Nashville Lottery” and hoping for a chance at fame.

Others, perhaps with an equal chance, simply purchased their lottery tickets at the quick mart, hoping for the big hand of chance to point to them and say, “You!”

Cody’s dream had followed him from Oklahoma all the way to Nashville. It was as real as any dream had ever been. He had lived it over and over … but after five years it was still just a dream. And it was still no closer to reality than it ever was.

He dumped more frozen fries into the cooker and hit the button to start the timer again. As the white fries sizzled in the oil, Cody slipped slowly back into his dream.

The crowd was still roaring as he began the second song. Cody tipped his cowboy hat and gave them a thumbs up.

There are people all over the world who wished they could be in Nashville, living the dream. Cody had made it.

Others, like Ben, knew about dreaming, but they knew about waking up too. Ben wanted to live in the best reality he could imagine.

Barking Frog Music Group - How It All Began.

The Story of The Barking Frog Music Group


"The mind will play funny tricks on you. One minute you’re in a business meeting or hard at work on the job, and then, something will hit you that brings back a familiar taste, or smell, or feeling, and the next thing you know, you’re remembering those times years ago, sitting around a campfire after a big camp meal, with friends or family. I remember we’d pull up logs and sit around . . just poking the fire, swatting bugs, swapping stories and singing songs, a lot of them made up right there on the spot. We’d pass around the guitar and those that could play would. Those that couldn’t would tell a joke, or a story, or recite a poem. But we’d all join in with something, and it’d go on ‘til the moon was way overhead, and the fire had burned down to red hot coals.

There’d be plenty of laughing and kidding around … and sometimes we’d get to laughing so hard that a “different” noise would come from somewhere around the campfire ... and everyone would look around at all the other faces in the smoke to try to guess who the guilty party was. Sooner or later, it would be agreed that it must have been just a big frog . . barking at the moon.

Those “barking frogs” earned quite a reputation in our part of the country, and it was hard to have a camp-out where you wouldn’t hear at least one or two. So, it came to be generally known that anyone who would come, and maybe join in and play, or sing, say a poem or tell a joke, was automatically a member of the Barking Frog Music Group. And back then, we had meetings just as often as we could.

Now, it’s a gathering around a virtual campfire. We call it the bfmg Café, and nearly every night it’s a new group of members sitting around playing their songs, and singing, and telling stories. Maybe you’ll join in, or maybe you’ll want to just sit back and listen. Either way, we hope you’ll have so much fun you’ll come back often. Click to the bfmg Café, put a beverage in your hand, put that work day behind you, and drag up a log! You're a member of the Barking Frog Music Group!

P.S. You might want to have a souvenir of your visit to the bfmg Café, or proof that you are a proud member of the Barking Frog Music Group. You’re invited to drop by the store to look over the bfmg collection. Cool!"