Roy D. Mercer’s latest book is all about the State Fair. As anyone who has ever lived in or near a trailer park can tell you, the State Fair is a big event and it requires plenty of planning and not a little fundraising to properly celebrate the fair!

Lucky for us, Roy keeps a little journal just for himself. It started as an attempt to keep track of all the many secret fishing holes and bait recipes he discovered over the years. Roy also takes a few notes about major events in his life, like the coming of the State Fair every fall.

We pulled all his Fair observations together and created a small book for a quick read. It’s only 99 cents over at the Amazon.

Here’s an excerpt to wet your whistle.

 September 5

Heard a great new song on the radio today. Something ‘bout, “It’s a mighty good life when you gotta good wife that’s honeycured.”

We’s doin’ the best we can with what we got, I reckon. All in all I’d say we had us a good week. Got me a new satellite dish. Well, actually, it ain’t a real store bought one. It’s one me and Raymond pieced together out of the guts of an old dish and one of the 57 triple-D fiberglass cups Sharon Gene wears under her chest protecter when she’s umpin’ softball. Gets 57 channels, but for some reason all of ‘em are Fox. Maybe it needs some adjustment.

Speakin’ of Sharon Gene, she’s been a-fastin’ this week. Doin’ perdy good, really. Now she’s down to just two in-between-meal snacks. Tryin’ to shed her a few pounds off before the fair starts next weekend. Last year she got so big from the weight she gained down there she made the punkin on her Halloween sweatshirt look like a nectarine.

And Lateesha’s gettin’ ready for the fair, too. She started buyin’ them generic cigarettes about two months ago and savin’ the extry money so she could get on that mechanical claw and win us enough turquoise jack-knives to give all the nieces and nephews for Christmas.

Got out and fished a time or two this week. First time I got out was back on – I know it weren’t Monday ‘cause that was the day Bon Jovi ate one of the neighbor’s Guinea hens and spent the afternoon howlin’ tryin’ to pass all the feathers. So it musta been Tuesday.

Went down to a pond on Lou Smoltz’s place. Lou’s the little wirey old feller that used to have the hogs down there. And then he went up north for a while and had some kindy fight with the Irish up there. Now he’s down here tryin’ to train a bunch of fightin’ gamecocks.

Done perdy good at his pond. Caught three or four bass big as a Sunday newspaper down there on nothin’ but BBQ Corn Nuts that had soaked overnight in buttermilk.

Then Wednesday, I went over to Cousin Doyle’s house to get his share of the money we’re collectin’ to send Mammaw Upshaw to a Winston Cup race next year for her 70th birthday. Got to talkin’ and me and him ended up down there on Lake Hershey-Squirta. That’s Crow. It means “brave who gathers many leaves.” Went down there and run Doyle’s trotlines. Caught two mud cats and then had to come in cause of all the drizzlin’. Doyle’s boys are all talented. They’ve got them a singin’ group called End Stink.

And yesterday, I’s havin’ a cup a coffee and a maple log down there to C.C. Berryman’s Cafe. C.C. was tellin’ me how he was draggin’ brim the size of truck batteries from down there off the middle finger of Divorce Creek. For some reason it’s kindy like real divorce, except when you’re fishin’ in Divorce Creek, after your bait’s dead, the fish’ll finally quit bitin’.