Imagine listening to On the Rails with narrator Sam Elliott, his gravelly voice, with its rugged cadence and timeless charm, telling the story of my protagonist Cowboy, who, in his twenties, full of agitation and wanderlust, begins riding freight trains, seeking freedom and adventure but mostly finding depression and addiction. In my daydreams (when I need a break from editing weasel words,) it’s Elliott’s voice, like a fine whiskey aged in oak barrels, I hear personifying Cowboy and lending a rich authenticity to my narrative, perfectly capturing the essence of this bygone era.
As Cowboy traverses the sprawling countryside across the 1980s and ’90s, hopping from one freight train to the next, it’s Elliott’s voice I hear painting the picture of the rugged beauty and harsh realities of life on the rails and carrying the weight of Cowboy’s experiences—the timeless allure of the open road weighed against the ever-present danger. Through Elliott’s deep, resonant voice, we would feel the sting of bitter winds cutting through the night air, the ache of weary muscles after a long day’s journey, and the longing for a sense of belonging in a world constantly in motion.
With that unmistakable drawl, Elliott would bring to life the characters Cowboy encounters along the way—the grizzled old-timer Red who gives Cowboy his name, Brother Carl at a Catholic seminary who takes Cowboy in for the winter, the wise friend Ray who he meets in prison, and the determined Gabriela who brings purpose and love into Cowboy’s life.
Through Elliott’s masterful narration, we would wonder if Cowboy will overcome his demons and addiction, and find someone to love, especially himself.
While I’m daydreaming about On the Rails with narrator Sam Elliott, I might as well share I want a young Matthew McConaughey or Woody Harrelson to play Cowboy if there’s ever a film version.
Okay, enough of that. Back to edits.
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