Monthly Archives: June 2013

New Essay Up at the Weeklings: Courtesy is Not a Word on the Road

From the essay:

“When I later drove to claim my fish at the sushi restaurant, I first tried to park in the lot beside Northampton Brewery, and as I turned right into the lot, a group of four middle-aged women was about to cross the street from the left. I saw the women and eased into the lot by what I considered a wide berth, but one of them, likely buzzed from the brewery, shouted at me as she and her friends passed behind. From inside my car, windows up, it was all just syllables to me, but the message was that I should have stopped and cheerfully waved them on. Her friends smiled, embarrassed, though maybe they felt as entitled as she did, maybe they’d just toasted a couple rounds of Mean Green IPAs to celebrate the completion of their treatise, In Defense of Pedestrianism.”

Thanks to The Weeklings for putting this out!

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From this same series of essays:

All Our Pretty Songs

The BP Oil Spill of Fashion

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NOTES FROM A REAL GOOD TIME

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From 6/7-6/17, Jack Christian and I read in Brooklyn, Boston, Northampton, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Richmond, and D.C.

In the Brooklyn apartment of my friend Lily, we had the most incredible breakfast: jamberry eggcakes. It’s eggs, bacon, hot sauce, and strawberry preserves, served atop a pancake. Savory, spicy, salty, sweet–all the pleasure buttons at once.

Another incredible breakfast was in Richard’s home in Richmond, VA: fresh biscuits with sausage gravy. It was just the best.

At Flying Object, my friends Christy, Anne, Kristen, Brian, and Anu helped me read from my book. Each took a particular character or thread. It was a great chance to perform pieces of the book I usually don’t read from, like all the little comment cards (Christy) and the Tad Parables (Anu). Brian killed as Billy.

Before that, Mike Young played 3 songs, the newest of which he called me up to sing with him, assured I’d kinda pick it up as it went along. I kinda did!

The next night in Baltimore, Tim Paggi stepped it up and corralled a few of his fellow actors and they turned my book into a full-on performance, including a three-person rendition of “Every Man’s Battle,” a primer on goof-dancing. It’s so exciting to see people reinterpret my writing and make it their own.

A suspenseful thing was whether copies of my book would arrive in time for the tour, and they did. Just one day before I absolutely needed them.

The app part of Square Card Reader is better than the cheap plastic attachment. By the end, I forewent the attachment and just entered credit card numbers into my phone by hand, the way Grandpappy taught me.

A good thing is to get more brazen about telling people exactly how/where they could buy your book, and for how much. A tip I heard that proved true: Get someone to accept money on your behalf. It’s somehow more comfortable for everybody to have an intermediary.

Adam Robinson’s now boyish in a clean-shaven short-haired mode. His and Joe’s apartment is decorated with the original collage from Chris Toll’s book and art from Easter Rabbit, and at Stephanie’s I spotted the collage that Fun Camp’s woods photo comes from.

When Adam gave me 20 more books to sell, I (because I was in Baltimore) kept referring to it in my head as “a re-up.”

On a dewey field we got in nine holes of disc and then went out for crab cakes and fries. We passed a woman, standing, hunched-over in unpained repose, leaning down and twisting into herself, an accidental yogi.

I got to hear a bunch of great writers read: Jonathan Callahan, Chris Cheney, Biana Stone, Ben Pease, Greg Gerke, Brian Foley, Matthew Salesses, Jess Lacher, Megan Kaminski, Allison Titus, Tony Mancus, Wei Tchou, and best of all: Jack Christian x8.

The walls of Mellow Pages Library are like a 3D screengrab of a cool kid’s “to read” queue, indie lit’s minimalist homepage.

I woke one morning to Jack’s dog Patty excitedly greeting me. She threw up on the comforter, then happily returned to try to lick my face while continuing to cough as if about to throw up some more. From Patty’s perspective, the best thing would have been to throw up on my face so she could greet me while clearing out her system. I didn’t agree.

Whenever I could, I’d steal away to tend to the ongoing Kickstarter for my new press, Boss Fight Books. In the car I did a podcast. On a train I answered some questions. Hoping This is Good Enough and Pressing Send is the soul of wit.

In Boston I met up with Super Mario Bros. 2 author Jon Irwin, who turned out to be the great guy I’d suspected he was. The encounter filled me with self-congratulations for knowing how to pick ’em.

In a Baltimore kitchen after our reading, Jack misstepped, grabbed a sink to steady himself, found that the sink was not stable, and tumbled down, cracking open a spot above his eye on an open cellar door. There’s a version of the story where Jack continues falling, down into the cellar, and his life ends there. Instead: He butterfly-bandaged the wound and bounced back like a champ.

For the front half of the tour, Jack and I challenged ourselves to read all-different stuff each night. By the end, we’d both dropped it and just read what we wanted.

Music! Guy Petit played camp tunes on the P.A. at Flying Object. The night before that, Jack and I gushed over and sang along to the entirety of August and Everything After. Brian Foley, if he had any sense, recorded this occasion in his brain and made fun of us to mutual friends as soon as he was out of the car.

I slept mostly on air mattresses, and slept hard every night. At Jack’s friend Phil’s I wore an eye mask to keep out the morning sun, challenging the close-held notion that I’m not an eye mask man.

On the streets of Manhattan, I had the most insanely easy meet-up with my old friend Andrew and new friend Maxwell within an hour of one another. In both instances, I’d assumed we’d meet up later in Brooklyn and instead we were within the same block of each other in Manhattan.

Before that, I met the most famous cat in Manhattan, Jimmy Jazz. “Do you think fame has changed him?” I asked his owner Julie. “Well he knows how good-looking he is,” she said. “He’s dumb but good-looking.” His coloration was especially impressive: the black on his hind legs formed a boot cut and the black on his front legs stopped at the mitten zone.

I’m really starting to come around on French press coffee.

What do you write when you sign a book? Traditionally, something pithier than what I wrote in friends’ books, which was usually about how I was glad to see them and how I hoped not much time would pass before they’d come see me in Los Angeles.

Our chillest reading was in the new Philly home of Zach Savich and Hilary Plum. I read a little something with Jack and our new LA friend Jess, and then we feasted. It was good to see Z&H happy and alive in a real city.

At the beginning of my last reading in D.C., I tried to raise host Mark Cugini’s mic stand to a height that was 6’4″-appropriate and ripped the top of the mic stand right off its base. Holding the stand like that, I felt like an 80’s comedian and proceeded to make an obsolete joke about airline food.

I succumbed to McDonalds and paid in pain. I succumbed to Arby’s and got out pretty clean. A place that sucks is Bukowski’s in Boston. The photo of a sign I saw in Dunkin Donuts got mad likes on Facebook.

I had one mojito, one glass of wine, one Fun Camp (invented in my honor by Z&H: proseco, vodka, and a bit of blue Kool-Aid burst), but mostly drank beer. Writers, so.

A couple months ago I took an improv class for eight weeks. I told friends I felt like the class’s secret lesson was “How to Be Fun at a Party Without Drinking Too Much,” and indeed my nerves never pushed me over the line. I also felt like improv had made me weirdly fearless about doing readings. I’ve always liked reading my stuff, but now I was excited for the unplanned elements, and sensitized to the secret truth that at a reading, people want to see you get up and talk to them as much as they want you to read from your book.

“Dag, yo,” Jack would say. And during the readings, he’d speak of “old friends and new friends” and mean it. And all his new shit went over great. And whenever his wife called, Jack would go, “It’s Liane!,” happy to hear from his buddy.

Over drinks in Richmond, I played “Ask the Expert” with Dave and Jenna where your friends ask you questions about the world and you’ve got to act like you know everything. We also played “Which friend’s inner thigh is depicted in this photo?” and “Split the drunken noodles.”

And before we split ways, Dave read me a story my friends from college had cowritten about a saucy young writer, Dabe Gurham, whose hotel blows up while he’s on book tour. The story’s really lusty and profane. The first paragraph went like this:

It was a pretty ordinary day at the beginning, what with the hotel alarm and the shower and shaving and complimentary continental breakfast and all.  Yessir, nothing about the Styrofoam coffee or rubber bagel alluded to the total clusterfuck of a day that was about to descend upon successful musician-novelist-blogger-PublisherOfBooksAboutVideoGames and gigolo-about-town Dabe Gurham. He had arrived into the godforsaken tobacco ghost-town of Richmond, VA the night before, in preparation for a reading of his newly published and critically acclaimed first novel, a book of such verve that it left audiences weeping for joy and for their wasted lives lived pursuing things that would never contain one-millionth the genius found on just one page of Gurham’s bold prose.  “It feels good to change lives”, thought Gurham as he ate his third bagel.

A few times at readings I felt the throb-throb of appreciation for those who’d helped make my book happen, and of affection for friends (and sibling) I hadn’t seen in awhile. There’s something cool about getting to perform for people you love, where suddenly the quality of your writing seems beside the point and the main thing is the “all of us here together” feeling.

If the worst part of readings is the incantation of lit mag names, the best part is a momentary fusion of the private and the public, the leaning in close for a secret.

And the secret to a book tour in general? Think of it as a fun road trip to visit friends, culturally sanctioned and partially subsidized.

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Interview Season

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It’s all happening.

Tobias Carroll interviewed me in Vol. 1 Brooklyn, mostly about FUN CAMP and also about Boss Fight Books.

Adam Robinson did a Q&A with me in What Weekly in anticipation of my Baltimore reading.

GameTrailers had me on their video podcast Invisible Walls to talk Boss Fight.

DJ Grandpa had me on his audio podcast to talk Boss Fight.

I answered a lot of questions about Boss Fight for Cubed3.

Lori Hettler interviewed me about Boss Fight for The Next Big Book Blog.

Matthew O’Mara interviewed me about Boss Fight for The Financial Post.

Meanwhile, I did some Q&As with our Boss Fight authors. (But you’ve got to back Boss Fight to read them.)

Thanks to everybody who has taken the time to talk/email with me the last few weeks! It’s always fun.

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New Essay Up at the Collagist: All Our Pretty Songs

READ IT HERE.
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Thanks to Matt Bell for publishing this! Teaser below.

Of the TRAIN Act, National Petrochemical & Refiners Association President Charles T. Drevna said, “Many of EPA’s costly regulations threaten America’s economic and national security and job creation, while providing little or no significant environmental benefit,” adding, “Existing regulations also need to be examined so those that do far more harm than good can be eliminated.” Jane Goodall asked a USA Today reporter, “If we’re not raising new generations to be better stewards of the environment, what’s the point?” and in the number one song in America, Adam Levine sang,

You say I’m a kid
My ego is big
I don’t give a shit
and it goes like this,

and the next day, the House voted 249 to 169 to approve the TRAIN Act, which was especially good for certain old coal plants like Virginia’s Potomac River Generating Station, which polluted at such high levels that it would have been shut down, cutting jobs.

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Introducing Boss Fight Books

BOSSFIGHT-kickstarter-cover

SURPRISE. I’m starting a press that I hope will catch on and turn into the 33 1/3 of video games.

We need help putting out our first five books so we started a Kickstarter.

Our launch roster is:
Galaga by acclaimed novelist Michael Kimball
ZZT by prolific game designer Anna Anthropy
Super Mario Bros. 2 by Kill Screen writer Jon Irwin
Earthbound by writer/actor Ken Baumann
Jagged Alliance 2 by game designer/web developer Darius Kazemi

Ken designed all the covers and Jesse Grce filmed/edited our Kickstarter video. I couldn’t have done this without them.

Take a look!

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Quincy Rhoads Reviewed FUN CAMP in The Fiddleback

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Big thanks to Quincy Rhoads for his review of FUN CAMP in The Fiddleback.

Fun Camp offers surreal laughs, as when a camper yells “refresh inbox!” at a clothesline designated for inter-camper notes, or the ghost story pastiche around the campfire: “To this day, La Malhora appears at the crossroads whenever someone is going to die. That baby was my daughter. That psycho was me.” And the book offers surprisingly familiar pathos, as when veteran campers mourn the loss of summers gone by or when scratchy love notes are stowed in socks.

It was Quincy’s review that set off a big controversy at HMTLGIANT when it appeared anonymously and then disappeared mysteriously hours after being posted. And by “big controversy,” I mean “a thing that happened.”

Secure your copy here.

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