Late last week, I got a pretty cool email (and that's the best way I can phrase it).
"Good work. We'd like to use this in a future issue of Word Riot, most likely November's."
It was from Jackie Corley, publisher of Word Riot. It's a quality literary journal that emphasizes experimental and dangerous writing. Their slogan is "Good writing. No remorse."
They've accepted my short story, "The Watcher," a piece about a store security guard coming off a meth binge. Some of you might remember me passing it around for critiques. All of you that added your input, thanks.
It's a sense of accomplishment because it's my first real published piece of short fiction. It feels even better because they rejected one of my earlier works. So, check out "The Watcher" in November or whenever it comes on.
Also, become a fan of theirs on Facebook.
9.08.2008
A student again...
Today, a good friend, B.J. Bales, and I became students at the University of Iowa. While we're not technically enrolled here, we're both taking a creative writing class taught by a student of the Iowa Writer's Workshop, Hilary Rand.
It was the last day of classes and I just filled out my application to take non-degree graduate courses on Saturday morning. Three visits to two offices, with two advisor signatures, and I'm in. We'll be meeting every Tuesday night from 7 to 9:30 p.m. So, after writing at the paper all day, I'll drive with B.J. to the U of I campus for our one class.
Getting permission from Rand, she even told me over the phone the class would be rudimentary for me. And that's fine. It'll be good to be in a classroom again. However, unlike my days at WSU, I'll be paying attention to fiction and poetry. We've already been to the Dey House, home of the Writer's Workshop, viewed as the best creative writing program in the country.
I applied last year. I got my rejection letter in March. Hopefully with this class this semester and possibly another in the spring semester and I'll be better prepared. Because if all else fails, it'll be a good chance to—and excuse this cliche—sharpen my pencil.
It'll get me writing, which is kind of the point. Okay, well, it's totally the point. Hopefully I'll have some interesting assignments to post when it's time. Until then, I'm waiting around with B.J. in some coffee shop as the instructor leaves our information for us at the Dey House.
We've already missed the first class last week. Now, we've got to get the first assignment done in 24 hours. Not a big deal when you only have one class.
Then again, I've got a short story I'm finishing, a novel I'm supposed to be working on, volunteering, a full-time job, a girlfriend and skating. It'll all get done. I'm sure of it.
It was the last day of classes and I just filled out my application to take non-degree graduate courses on Saturday morning. Three visits to two offices, with two advisor signatures, and I'm in. We'll be meeting every Tuesday night from 7 to 9:30 p.m. So, after writing at the paper all day, I'll drive with B.J. to the U of I campus for our one class.
Getting permission from Rand, she even told me over the phone the class would be rudimentary for me. And that's fine. It'll be good to be in a classroom again. However, unlike my days at WSU, I'll be paying attention to fiction and poetry. We've already been to the Dey House, home of the Writer's Workshop, viewed as the best creative writing program in the country.
I applied last year. I got my rejection letter in March. Hopefully with this class this semester and possibly another in the spring semester and I'll be better prepared. Because if all else fails, it'll be a good chance to—and excuse this cliche—sharpen my pencil.
It'll get me writing, which is kind of the point. Okay, well, it's totally the point. Hopefully I'll have some interesting assignments to post when it's time. Until then, I'm waiting around with B.J. in some coffee shop as the instructor leaves our information for us at the Dey House.
We've already missed the first class last week. Now, we've got to get the first assignment done in 24 hours. Not a big deal when you only have one class.
Then again, I've got a short story I'm finishing, a novel I'm supposed to be working on, volunteering, a full-time job, a girlfriend and skating. It'll all get done. I'm sure of it.
9.05.2008
"A little bit more like Bukowski..."
Five days in California. Three skate parks. No serious injuries. One Mike Opalek visit. Two trips to the ocean. One dead seal. Two kids drug out of the water. One short story written in a notebook, hopefully the one to get me into grad school.
All senses stimulated. All ideas good. Mood is much better now. Time to keep writing.
8.14.2008
A summer spent undaunted...
Since I don't have a lot to say right now, here's a little photo collage about the summer thus far.
7.26.2008
Update
So here I am, sitting outside on my back porch on the chair I stole out of a dumpster. The cicadas are buzzing in the trees, a hypnotizing rhythm that goes well with the Imogen Heap playing on my headphones, but it's not enough to entirely drown out my shouting neighbors of the "Pop Goes the Weasel" from the passing ice cream truck. The frozen pizza is sitting well in my stomach. Ah, the life of a starving artist.
It's been a weird month, so maybe that's why I've not been updating the blog. Sorry about that.
So, here's what's been going on.
- The Young Emerging Writers Workshop is all but done. The writing part is done. Tomorrow, Shawn Eldridge—the illustrious editor of A Constant Suicide—and I will be putting the final touches on the layout for The Atlas, the literary magazine we publish at the end. Everyone should come to the release party Aug. 11.
- Right now a copy of A Constant Suicide and about 100-or so pages are being read by an agent in New York. It's the one the romance novelists from the reading hooked me up with. The query letter I sent the agent was good enough for her to read my work, so that's a plus. So, now I wait.
- I got another rejection letter about a short story called "Archives." I'll send it out somewhere else and send Word Riot something new. No biggie.
- After seven weeks of healing, my ankle felt great. My new Xsjados arrived, so I went skating in the church parking lot. That lead to up Brady Street, skating at a nearby school and down to the skate park. The X-rays the next day said that was a bad choice. So, I sit around and heal. Anyone who knows me knows I'm not good at sitting around.
- Right now, I've passed the 33,000-word mark on the latest novel. While I've been "working" on it for nearly a year, I've been slacking until lately. Now I'm cruising through it. With an agent looking at it, that means that there's a possibility it might sell somewhere. So, I figure I might as well finish it.
Hopefully everything is beautiful with everyone. If you'll excuse me, I've got some writing to do.
6.27.2008
A writing exercise...
Here's something to try:
- Get a tattoo on your arm that says, "Dolar hic tibi proderit olim," or "one day this pain will be useful to you."
- Go to work and watch the worst thing imaginable that a parent could do to their child. Watch in graphic, horrific detail. Then write a story for the newspaper.
- Feel dead inside.
- After work, go to the bar and drink large amounts of Scotch in an attempt to feel better. Have drink or two with your friend Ryan.
- While at said bar, write a story in your notebook called "I was a child porn star."
- On Ryan's advice, go to a reading, full of Scotch and smelling like it. Read that story to a bunch of hippies and blue hairs. Make three people cry.
- Have two New York Times Best Selling authors tell you afterwards you are good and need an agent. They'll even offer their help.
- Have a better day than you ever thought possible.
- Get a tattoo on your arm that says, "Dolar hic tibi proderit olim," or "one day this pain will be useful to you."
- Go to work and watch the worst thing imaginable that a parent could do to their child. Watch in graphic, horrific detail. Then write a story for the newspaper.
- Feel dead inside.
- After work, go to the bar and drink large amounts of Scotch in an attempt to feel better. Have drink or two with your friend Ryan.
- While at said bar, write a story in your notebook called "I was a child porn star."
- On Ryan's advice, go to a reading, full of Scotch and smelling like it. Read that story to a bunch of hippies and blue hairs. Make three people cry.
- Have two New York Times Best Selling authors tell you afterwards you are good and need an agent. They'll even offer their help.
- Have a better day than you ever thought possible.
6.16.2008
Konichiwa! -- My Moleskine in Tokyo
Another pit stop for the same notebook that hit London was Tokyo.
Marsida from Moleskine posted these. The girl in the center is flipping through my notebook while it's on display at the Tokyo book fair. I think this is it's last stop before it heads back home to me.
It's had some adventures. I think I'm overdue for one myself.
On a side note, the first draft of the latest book should be done by the time my cast comes off. While I'd love to put the stamp of guarantee on there, something might come up. Or I'll make more excuses. Whatever I prefer.
6.10.2008
A letter addressed to me...
Dear Brian,
I know you saw a man with one leg Friday. And then you thought something like, “How do you know what you'll miss until it's gone, whether it be a leg, your vision, or someone?”
That same day, you ordered new shoes. You also told your “little sister” you needed some new jeans because the gray ones you were wearing were looking pretty bad.
That was after you took the skin off your left skate so your friend could make a pattern out of them. Well, it wasn't the only pattern.
Then you went skating at SkateChurch as normal on a Friday.
You've been skating a lot, but you haven't been writing that much. You know, that novel you've been working on for almost a year now? Well, you always thought you needed a push. I gave you one, even after all these warnings.
My favorite warning was right before you did that pole stall, a little kid asked you, “Hey, did your head heal?”
And you responded, “Yeah after a few days. I'm a quick healer.”
Less than an hour later, you had your annual spring visit to the emergency room. They cut the leg off your jeans and your skin from your left Valo skate fit really well over your splint.
You broke your left ankle, just like all the signals I've been giving you.
Well, at least you're writing more, just as you should remain for the next six weeks as you sit on the couch in your bright neon green cast.
Enjoy your time off skating and use it wisely. Also enjoy living your life like someone who has taken something for granted for too long.
Love,
Karma.
I know you saw a man with one leg Friday. And then you thought something like, “How do you know what you'll miss until it's gone, whether it be a leg, your vision, or someone?”
That same day, you ordered new shoes. You also told your “little sister” you needed some new jeans because the gray ones you were wearing were looking pretty bad.
That was after you took the skin off your left skate so your friend could make a pattern out of them. Well, it wasn't the only pattern.
Then you went skating at SkateChurch as normal on a Friday.
You've been skating a lot, but you haven't been writing that much. You know, that novel you've been working on for almost a year now? Well, you always thought you needed a push. I gave you one, even after all these warnings.
My favorite warning was right before you did that pole stall, a little kid asked you, “Hey, did your head heal?”
And you responded, “Yeah after a few days. I'm a quick healer.”
Less than an hour later, you had your annual spring visit to the emergency room. They cut the leg off your jeans and your skin from your left Valo skate fit really well over your splint.
You broke your left ankle, just like all the signals I've been giving you.
Well, at least you're writing more, just as you should remain for the next six weeks as you sit on the couch in your bright neon green cast.
Enjoy your time off skating and use it wisely. Also enjoy living your life like someone who has taken something for granted for too long.
Love,
Karma.
6.02.2008
New short story
On a Wednesday, the old lady and I packed up and shipped off to Six Flags Great America, a place I only visit once a decade. Not on purpose, just happens that way.
Waiting in line for each ride, surrounded by tons of junior high and high school kids, we were innudated with warning signs. No loose fitting shoes, no one under this height, rar rar rar.
Then there's my favorite. The one that looks like a Weeble Wobble with a hole in it's stomach that's holding a packing peanut.
Do not ride if you are pregnant.
That got my creative juices flowing. Standing in the mix with all the little emo high school kids that don't look they're having any fun, I wondered if there in the thousands of people, someone would ride roller coaster after roller coaster to end an unwanted pregnancy.
After some thought and research, it's totally possible in the middle of all those G-forces to do damage to the placental wall and either terminate or complicate a pregnancy after five months.
So I got home and for the first time ever, I was able to write a short story in two sittings. It's 2,800 words of something I thought would be totally repulsive and nauseating, but instead came off as one of the saddest things I've ever written.
I'd post it here, but I think it has a chance of getting published somewhere. I'll keep everyone posted.
Until then, enjoy your summers and hit the amusement parks.
Waiting in line for each ride, surrounded by tons of junior high and high school kids, we were innudated with warning signs. No loose fitting shoes, no one under this height, rar rar rar.
Then there's my favorite. The one that looks like a Weeble Wobble with a hole in it's stomach that's holding a packing peanut.
Do not ride if you are pregnant.
That got my creative juices flowing. Standing in the mix with all the little emo high school kids that don't look they're having any fun, I wondered if there in the thousands of people, someone would ride roller coaster after roller coaster to end an unwanted pregnancy.
After some thought and research, it's totally possible in the middle of all those G-forces to do damage to the placental wall and either terminate or complicate a pregnancy after five months.
So I got home and for the first time ever, I was able to write a short story in two sittings. It's 2,800 words of something I thought would be totally repulsive and nauseating, but instead came off as one of the saddest things I've ever written.
I'd post it here, but I think it has a chance of getting published somewhere. I'll keep everyone posted.
Until then, enjoy your summers and hit the amusement parks.
5.20.2008
'ello love! -- ACS in London
Marsida Shuyti -- a hard-working woman in Mila, Italy -- uploaded a whole bunch of photos from the Moleskine booth at the London Book Fair. Amongst notebooks of artists and writers across the globe, there's my first pocket-sized notebook and a copy of A Constant Suicide.
So I'm geekin' right now to see it in the international audience the same month the book was featured in ONE Magazine.
Let's just say it's been an interesting month. And it's only half over.
5.15.2008
One year later...
When I graduated from college in 2004, my mom gave me a copy of Dr. Seuss' "Oh the Places You Will Go."
One of my favorite lines has been, " You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go."
A year ago today, the place I went was releasing A Constant Suicide. With the help of some very influential people in my life -- some I knew well, some not at all and others I've come to know very well since then -- I've had more life-changing adventures all over the place that I don't believe would have ever happened without some great decisions I've made.
From having more than 300 friends show up to a book release party that lasted until sunrise to book signings at Borders where the staff wanted us to come back regularly because of how loud and boisterious we were, nothing can compare to the feeling of putting myself out to an audience, not knowing how it was received.
Of course I've had many people tear the book apart. My favorite was an anonymous review on Amazon that likened reading the book to suicide itself. But I don't worry about that person. I think of the high school kids that tell me it was the first book they read and now are reading the novels that inspired my writing.
I think of the people who have dealt with suicides in their families and thanked me for getting it right. I think of the people who say I accurately captured the typical college experience.
I think of people telling me that Ethan's mom made them horny, or the people who say they both laughed and cried when reading it.
I think of the book tour Bryon Garrison arranged for me in southern Illinois, going to hometown libriaries smaller than my apartment and judging a county fair talent contest, watching my back as I left the fair because of who we chose as the winner. There's more at stake to those things than you think.
Then there's Dave at Copia, hocking my book to everyone who came in. There's nothing weirder than selling someone a book and then taking their drink order. Then again, that's a great humbling experience and would have hoped for nothing better. So is seeing the boxes of unsold copies in my apartment.
I think of the candid radio interviews and desperately waiting for my copy of ONE magazine to see the first review of my book. Getting a sense of validation and then wanting nothing more than to start writing again.
What I think of most are the real life characters I've met since writing the book. The colorful, ambitious writers who asked for advice or the book afficianados who said I should give up writing.
The guy rumored to be formerly connected with the mob that ran the hotel and no matter what time I went to my room, he and the maintenance man came walking out of it. The crazy stalker girls at the bar. Ryan from Quad-City Arts and the reading with only six people there.
Dr. Seuss was right -- hang-ups do happen. But then again, " Your mountain is waiting. So...get on your way!"
One of my favorite lines has been, " You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go."
A year ago today, the place I went was releasing A Constant Suicide. With the help of some very influential people in my life -- some I knew well, some not at all and others I've come to know very well since then -- I've had more life-changing adventures all over the place that I don't believe would have ever happened without some great decisions I've made.
From having more than 300 friends show up to a book release party that lasted until sunrise to book signings at Borders where the staff wanted us to come back regularly because of how loud and boisterious we were, nothing can compare to the feeling of putting myself out to an audience, not knowing how it was received.
Of course I've had many people tear the book apart. My favorite was an anonymous review on Amazon that likened reading the book to suicide itself. But I don't worry about that person. I think of the high school kids that tell me it was the first book they read and now are reading the novels that inspired my writing.
I think of the people who have dealt with suicides in their families and thanked me for getting it right. I think of the people who say I accurately captured the typical college experience.
I think of people telling me that Ethan's mom made them horny, or the people who say they both laughed and cried when reading it.
I think of the book tour Bryon Garrison arranged for me in southern Illinois, going to hometown libriaries smaller than my apartment and judging a county fair talent contest, watching my back as I left the fair because of who we chose as the winner. There's more at stake to those things than you think.
Then there's Dave at Copia, hocking my book to everyone who came in. There's nothing weirder than selling someone a book and then taking their drink order. Then again, that's a great humbling experience and would have hoped for nothing better. So is seeing the boxes of unsold copies in my apartment.
I think of the candid radio interviews and desperately waiting for my copy of ONE magazine to see the first review of my book. Getting a sense of validation and then wanting nothing more than to start writing again.
What I think of most are the real life characters I've met since writing the book. The colorful, ambitious writers who asked for advice or the book afficianados who said I should give up writing.
The guy rumored to be formerly connected with the mob that ran the hotel and no matter what time I went to my room, he and the maintenance man came walking out of it. The crazy stalker girls at the bar. Ryan from Quad-City Arts and the reading with only six people there.
Dr. Seuss was right -- hang-ups do happen. But then again, " Your mountain is waiting. So...get on your way!"
4.30.2008
Bits...
- The review from One magazine was outstanding. I don't know if I could have asked for anything better. I'm at a loss for words for what it did for my drive to write, but I'm definately writing more right now, including book reviews for the magazine. Check out the next issue for my review of Bukowski's "Factotum" and also a short piece on the Iowa skating scene. The book reviews will be a regular, steady gig for me.
- I'm currently working on a short piece for a magazine's upcoming political issue. It's a fictionalized version of a trial I recently covered regarding wartime bidding and how deals were made in Kuwait regarding government contracts near the invasion of Iraq. It's probably the most sophisticated piece of fiction I've written to date.
- The novel keeps chugging along, slowly, yet surely. I'm timid in certain points and get blocked, so that prevents me from writing on it on a regular basis. Still, I am confident where it is headed and what I have so far. Maybe I just need to put my ass in the chair and get moving along.
- All things considered, my life is very copasetic right now. Great things have fallen into place all around me and many endeavors are paying off it bucketloads. I hope the same is true for everyone else out there.
- The one-year anniversary of A Constant Suicide coming up, so stay tuned to the blog for the year re-cap and tales from some of the interesting and great things that have happened to me since May 15, 2007.
- I'm currently working on a short piece for a magazine's upcoming political issue. It's a fictionalized version of a trial I recently covered regarding wartime bidding and how deals were made in Kuwait regarding government contracts near the invasion of Iraq. It's probably the most sophisticated piece of fiction I've written to date.
- The novel keeps chugging along, slowly, yet surely. I'm timid in certain points and get blocked, so that prevents me from writing on it on a regular basis. Still, I am confident where it is headed and what I have so far. Maybe I just need to put my ass in the chair and get moving along.
- All things considered, my life is very copasetic right now. Great things have fallen into place all around me and many endeavors are paying off it bucketloads. I hope the same is true for everyone else out there.
- The one-year anniversary of A Constant Suicide coming up, so stay tuned to the blog for the year re-cap and tales from some of the interesting and great things that have happened to me since May 15, 2007.
4.09.2008
Teenage writers needed
I've been invited to help teach in the Midwest Writing Center's third annual Young Emerging Writers Program, an internship program for Quad-Cities authors.
It's a month-long program from June 16 to July 17, where ten to twelve high school-aged writers write poetry, fiction, non-fiction and drama that will later be published in their own literary magazine.
Besides getting their poems or short stories published, ambitious young authors will learn more about the creative process and attend a three-day writer's conference. Most importantly, they will GET PAID TO WRITE!
So, spread the word so any budding young authors can get a start on their careers. Applications are due by May 23.
For more information click here or email my collegue Ryan Collins, the Literary Arts Administrator at Quad City Arts.
It's a month-long program from June 16 to July 17, where ten to twelve high school-aged writers write poetry, fiction, non-fiction and drama that will later be published in their own literary magazine.
Besides getting their poems or short stories published, ambitious young authors will learn more about the creative process and attend a three-day writer's conference. Most importantly, they will GET PAID TO WRITE!
So, spread the word so any budding young authors can get a start on their careers. Applications are due by May 23.
For more information click here or email my collegue Ryan Collins, the Literary Arts Administrator at Quad City Arts.
4.04.2008
Out this month...
Be on the lookout for One magazine and their review of "A Constant Suicide." It hits the stands of the best stores in the country later this month.
3.21.2008
Misc. ramblings from the notebook...
Here are just a few things that will probably leak into the book. Right now, there just random thoughts that will weave into the mindsight of some of the book's more colorful characters.
"Everyone was once someone's kid. We were all once teenagers with goals, aspirations, raging emotions and out-of-control hormones. A lot of us forget that all the time."
"Underneath it all, it's still there. It, the unknown and unnamed. These feelings, the fear of the unknown. What I do know is that I like what I don't know.
Blind ignorance.
A chosen stupidity.
Constant disaffection.
Unalarming apathy.
I have it because I want it."
"Tell people they're worthless.
Tell a guy he's lazy.
Call a girl a slut.
Tell a boy he's crazy.
Call another a freak.
Don't worry, they won't disappoint you.
They'll be everything you tell them they'll be.
Or nothing at all.
If you tell them."
"No one really ever wants to see someone else be happy. We love the misery of others."
"Everyone was once someone's kid. We were all once teenagers with goals, aspirations, raging emotions and out-of-control hormones. A lot of us forget that all the time."
"Underneath it all, it's still there. It, the unknown and unnamed. These feelings, the fear of the unknown. What I do know is that I like what I don't know.
Blind ignorance.
A chosen stupidity.
Constant disaffection.
Unalarming apathy.
I have it because I want it."
"Tell people they're worthless.
Tell a guy he's lazy.
Call a girl a slut.
Tell a boy he's crazy.
Call another a freak.
Don't worry, they won't disappoint you.
They'll be everything you tell them they'll be.
Or nothing at all.
If you tell them."
"No one really ever wants to see someone else be happy. We love the misery of others."
3.13.2008
The Ides of March
The Ides of March was the day Julius Caesar was warned about by the witches. Then his best friend goes and betrays him.
Knowing that little tidbit of information got me in the good graces of my college English teacher. I really wish I would have kept my mouth shut.
It's also the day my high school current events teacher said was a good day to go out and kill our favorite Italian leader. The principal at the time was Italian.
This year, the Ides of March mean more. Besides the day of the Quad-Cities' annual St. Patrick's Day parade and Augustana College's annual STIGMA, it now means something for me.
It's the anniversary of the death of Ethan Costello. I kind of haphazardly chose that day for him to kill himself, but immediately I thought of Mrs. Cavenaugh in high school. She taught me Shakespeare, so I had to run with it.
So, whether celebrating a campus full of house parties or the day for the guy who rid Ireland of snakes this Saturday, don't forget about Ethan. He was a good guy who loved the partying. Do it in his honor this weekend.
Knowing that little tidbit of information got me in the good graces of my college English teacher. I really wish I would have kept my mouth shut.
It's also the day my high school current events teacher said was a good day to go out and kill our favorite Italian leader. The principal at the time was Italian.
This year, the Ides of March mean more. Besides the day of the Quad-Cities' annual St. Patrick's Day parade and Augustana College's annual STIGMA, it now means something for me.
It's the anniversary of the death of Ethan Costello. I kind of haphazardly chose that day for him to kill himself, but immediately I thought of Mrs. Cavenaugh in high school. She taught me Shakespeare, so I had to run with it.
So, whether celebrating a campus full of house parties or the day for the guy who rid Ireland of snakes this Saturday, don't forget about Ethan. He was a good guy who loved the partying. Do it in his honor this weekend.
3.03.2008
'ACS' up before an international audience
If you browse down past the last blog entry, you'll find an ode to my notebook. And that's all I thought it would be -- a short blog post to give the blog an update.
It was, but it's not now.
Shortly after writing it, I was contacted via e-mail by Marsida an employee with Moleskine. She said she loved my ode to their product and had a proposition for me.
She told me about the largest book fairs in Europe in Frankfurt and London. Moleskine focuses their attention at the trade show through the original and artistic use of Moleskine notebooks. They wanted to choose and expose a small quantity of "the most stylish Moleskine notebooks."
Basically, they wanted to show off one of my notebooks. It was either that or send me one to decorate and personalize. I opted for the first option. Last week, I mailed by pocket-sized notebook, warped and yelled from two years of writing, to Moleskine in Italy along with a copy of my book.
At the Moleskine booth at the book fairs, people in the business will be able to leaf through my notebook, complete with doodles, clippings and quotes. The book that holds some valuable secrets and memories will be up for anyone there to read. It'll displayed next to a copy of A Constant Suicide.
I chose to send my notebook so people can see the thought process that went into the book. If I just decorated one, it would have seemed fake. Still, I'm a bit nervous not having it with me.
Besides the chance to show my book and the notebook that helped shape it to 23,000 members of the global publishing community, I get five of the same notebooks. These will be blank. And free.
And then, after months in Europe, my notebook will be returned to me. Hopefully in one piece, but if not, that's no biggie because the adventure might be worth a torn page or two.
It was, but it's not now.
Shortly after writing it, I was contacted via e-mail by Marsida an employee with Moleskine. She said she loved my ode to their product and had a proposition for me.
She told me about the largest book fairs in Europe in Frankfurt and London. Moleskine focuses their attention at the trade show through the original and artistic use of Moleskine notebooks. They wanted to choose and expose a small quantity of "the most stylish Moleskine notebooks."
Basically, they wanted to show off one of my notebooks. It was either that or send me one to decorate and personalize. I opted for the first option. Last week, I mailed by pocket-sized notebook, warped and yelled from two years of writing, to Moleskine in Italy along with a copy of my book.
At the Moleskine booth at the book fairs, people in the business will be able to leaf through my notebook, complete with doodles, clippings and quotes. The book that holds some valuable secrets and memories will be up for anyone there to read. It'll displayed next to a copy of A Constant Suicide.
I chose to send my notebook so people can see the thought process that went into the book. If I just decorated one, it would have seemed fake. Still, I'm a bit nervous not having it with me.
Besides the chance to show my book and the notebook that helped shape it to 23,000 members of the global publishing community, I get five of the same notebooks. These will be blank. And free.
And then, after months in Europe, my notebook will be returned to me. Hopefully in one piece, but if not, that's no biggie because the adventure might be worth a torn page or two.
2.25.2008
"ACS" in One
This last weekend I and 15 other rollerbladers went to the Bitter Cold Showdown, the biggest competition and trade show in the industry in Columbus, Ohio.
Besides skating an insane park, interviewing and talking with the pros, I checked out the booth for One Magazine. I pretty much had to for several reasons.
It's a great magazine with outstanding pictures, great stories, but the part I like the best is that it has more culture aspects of life than any other sporting magazine I've read. It's truly well-rounded.
For starters, it combined skating and writing. And secondly, I sent them a copy of A Constant Suicide. The editor, Justin Eisinger, had said he had read it, but never said whether or not it was going to be in the magazine in the "Tidbits" section.
I met Justin and he immediately recognized my name. Like it was no big deal, he said, "Yeah, the review's going to be in the next issue."
I said nothing. I was completely speechless. A blanket of euphoria covered me, wrapping me into moments than only a certain girl has made for me before.
Then it really hit me. My book, the self-published little piece of myself, will be featured to an international audience inside the pages of the best sporting magazine ever published. That, and considering other writers they've featured were Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk, two of my favorite authors.
HOLY FRIGGIN' CRAP! That's pretty much all I could say. Then I made a sad attempt at trying to be all cool about it, but I'm sure it failed.
Later in the day, I talked with Justin more about the magazine, skating, journalism and just writing. I talked with him about anything I could contribute to the magazine. I'm set to do book reviews.
So, subscribe to One and be on the lookout for issue No. 9 next month.
Until then, I'm going to be twittering like the big geek I am.
Besides skating an insane park, interviewing and talking with the pros, I checked out the booth for One Magazine. I pretty much had to for several reasons.
It's a great magazine with outstanding pictures, great stories, but the part I like the best is that it has more culture aspects of life than any other sporting magazine I've read. It's truly well-rounded.
For starters, it combined skating and writing. And secondly, I sent them a copy of A Constant Suicide. The editor, Justin Eisinger, had said he had read it, but never said whether or not it was going to be in the magazine in the "Tidbits" section.
I met Justin and he immediately recognized my name. Like it was no big deal, he said, "Yeah, the review's going to be in the next issue."
I said nothing. I was completely speechless. A blanket of euphoria covered me, wrapping me into moments than only a certain girl has made for me before.
Then it really hit me. My book, the self-published little piece of myself, will be featured to an international audience inside the pages of the best sporting magazine ever published. That, and considering other writers they've featured were Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk, two of my favorite authors.
HOLY FRIGGIN' CRAP! That's pretty much all I could say. Then I made a sad attempt at trying to be all cool about it, but I'm sure it failed.
Later in the day, I talked with Justin more about the magazine, skating, journalism and just writing. I talked with him about anything I could contribute to the magazine. I'm set to do book reviews.
So, subscribe to One and be on the lookout for issue No. 9 next month.
Until then, I'm going to be twittering like the big geek I am.
2.19.2008
Ode to my notebook
It's simple ruled notebook with 192 pages. In the back, is a pocket folder. A piece of gray ribbon marks the page I last used. An elastic band keeps everything together.
I'm nearing the end of the second Molesine notebook I've started since taking writing seriously. Another is waiting to become the object of my attention for the next few months.
These same notebooks were the ones used by Van Gogh, Picasso and Hemingway.
These notebooks I recommend to many writers. They're currently being used by the next great writers such as Travis Hulce and Bruce Bales.
My first notebook began in December 2005 with little quips and phrases, some from me, others from friends who let bits of wisdom and humor drip from their tongues. Sometimes, at the most inopportune moments.
The pages of the second notebook began last July while on a youth mission trip to New Orleans. Twenty pages in, I began scribbling a scene which is now my latest novel. It's simply titled, "Meds." It's seven pages of long-looping cursive others have said looks more like the Declaration of Independence than a writer's mind diarrhea.
My Moleskine comes with me everywhere, recording moments of passionate thought I don't want to lose. Pages of poetry for Erica and her handwriting from when she couldn't speak following wisdom teeth surgery. Quotes from idiots in court. Writing tips. Drawings.
Notes from the K-Zoo skating comp. Notes on prescription medications and mental illness. Bits and pieces of short stories. A narrative for a zombie comic book.
The pocket itself holds other treasures. A speeding ticket. Bar napkins drooling with sentiment. Doodles and quotations of wisdom handed to me.
It's these pocket-sized relics I never want to lose. If my house would burn down, they'd be the first thing I'd grab.
I don't pay attention when grabbing a new one off the shelf at Borders. I just grab the first one. By the time I'm done with it, I'm saddened that such a good friend will rest on my desk while another will take its place.
Not a replacement, but another extension of its twin. Another great oppertunity to turn the blank pages into something other than just blank pages.
I'm nearing the end of the second Molesine notebook I've started since taking writing seriously. Another is waiting to become the object of my attention for the next few months.
These same notebooks were the ones used by Van Gogh, Picasso and Hemingway.
These notebooks I recommend to many writers. They're currently being used by the next great writers such as Travis Hulce and Bruce Bales.
My first notebook began in December 2005 with little quips and phrases, some from me, others from friends who let bits of wisdom and humor drip from their tongues. Sometimes, at the most inopportune moments.
The pages of the second notebook began last July while on a youth mission trip to New Orleans. Twenty pages in, I began scribbling a scene which is now my latest novel. It's simply titled, "Meds." It's seven pages of long-looping cursive others have said looks more like the Declaration of Independence than a writer's mind diarrhea.
My Moleskine comes with me everywhere, recording moments of passionate thought I don't want to lose. Pages of poetry for Erica and her handwriting from when she couldn't speak following wisdom teeth surgery. Quotes from idiots in court. Writing tips. Drawings.
Notes from the K-Zoo skating comp. Notes on prescription medications and mental illness. Bits and pieces of short stories. A narrative for a zombie comic book.
The pocket itself holds other treasures. A speeding ticket. Bar napkins drooling with sentiment. Doodles and quotations of wisdom handed to me.
It's these pocket-sized relics I never want to lose. If my house would burn down, they'd be the first thing I'd grab.
I don't pay attention when grabbing a new one off the shelf at Borders. I just grab the first one. By the time I'm done with it, I'm saddened that such a good friend will rest on my desk while another will take its place.
Not a replacement, but another extension of its twin. Another great oppertunity to turn the blank pages into something other than just blank pages.
2.04.2008
My first reading...redux
We walked to the third floor of the Bucktown Center for the Arts. It's snowing heavily outside, flakes sound proofing the streets below us. All we see on the sidewalk are our own footsteps that took us to the locked front door and the locked side door. In the back, we were met by an old poet who immediately knew I was me.
On the top floor looking down, we're alone in the loft-like room filled with empty couches, tables and chairs. It's nearly seven o'clock and the reader's there, but not the listeners. We joke about how no one will show because of the bad weather. I joke that my friends are never on time for anything.
And it becomes time to begin. There's about ten of us there. Most of us are writers.
Ryan begins, reading a selection of his own poetry. Then the old man from the door, seeking input on a poem he wrote years ago and is thinking about switching around stanzas. Then another guy wearing a plaid scarf like an ascot. He reads one poem about how the world will end if Ron Paul is elected president.
Then Ryan introduces me, the featured reader. I've decided to read the homecoming chapter from "A Constant Suicide." Erica later tells me it was probably the wrong choice considering the audience. I was thinking that as soon as I started reading it.
Leslie smiles as me when I look up to read. Her daughter, Catherine, is following along with her own copy, even though I told her she wasn't allowed. Tony watches from the corner of the room. Erica sits up front.
It's the first time I'm reading the book since it was published. I'm having fun reading it, but realizing there were better chapters I could read from.
Then, it's onto the second chapter from the second book. The one that doesn't have the title yet. As I read, I realize it's a long selection. I'm spitting as I talk, frothy white gobs landing on the printed pages. I need water.
When I'm done, there's applause. The first reaction comes from the old poet. "Maybe someday you'll learn to slow down," he says.
A woman in the back says, "You're a very talented writer." I almost blush.
In this room filled with either good friends or complete strangers, I've immediately cured all fears of reading my own work aloud in public.
Now it's time to book the next one.
On the top floor looking down, we're alone in the loft-like room filled with empty couches, tables and chairs. It's nearly seven o'clock and the reader's there, but not the listeners. We joke about how no one will show because of the bad weather. I joke that my friends are never on time for anything.
And it becomes time to begin. There's about ten of us there. Most of us are writers.
Ryan begins, reading a selection of his own poetry. Then the old man from the door, seeking input on a poem he wrote years ago and is thinking about switching around stanzas. Then another guy wearing a plaid scarf like an ascot. He reads one poem about how the world will end if Ron Paul is elected president.
Then Ryan introduces me, the featured reader. I've decided to read the homecoming chapter from "A Constant Suicide." Erica later tells me it was probably the wrong choice considering the audience. I was thinking that as soon as I started reading it.
Leslie smiles as me when I look up to read. Her daughter, Catherine, is following along with her own copy, even though I told her she wasn't allowed. Tony watches from the corner of the room. Erica sits up front.
It's the first time I'm reading the book since it was published. I'm having fun reading it, but realizing there were better chapters I could read from.
Then, it's onto the second chapter from the second book. The one that doesn't have the title yet. As I read, I realize it's a long selection. I'm spitting as I talk, frothy white gobs landing on the printed pages. I need water.
When I'm done, there's applause. The first reaction comes from the old poet. "Maybe someday you'll learn to slow down," he says.
A woman in the back says, "You're a very talented writer." I almost blush.
In this room filled with either good friends or complete strangers, I've immediately cured all fears of reading my own work aloud in public.
Now it's time to book the next one.
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