Shopping the Book

woman_man_thruhoopsBeen jumping through hoops and knocking my head against the wall since the day I finished my book of stories and began the publisher hunt. They call this phase “shopping” your book. And frankly, it sucks. Here’s why:

Saturday, Day 1: Finish Book

9 a.m. – 11:00 a.m. Finish going through manuscript proofed with track changes by my very good writing friend, Kevin, who is an awesome editor.

11:00 a.m. to Noon Figure how to save manuscript so track changes don’t appear anymore. Which involved a Google search, a couple of head knockings, etc.

Rest of the day/night: Go about having a life outside of the book, pretending not to think about it.

Sunday, Day 2:  Find Publishers

8:30 a.m. – 3:30 p.m. Search through Poets & Writers extensive online database of small press publishers, stopping only for the necessities. Like bathroom breaks.

Why small press publishers, you may ask. Well, many are well-respected universities and presses, plus they’re best-suited for literary manuscripts. In fact, some of the best writers have been published by small press publishers. So, the reasoning goes, If they’re good enough for them, they’re good enough for me.

Monday – Friday, Days 3 – 7: Continue to find Publishers

8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Think about self-publishing while working the day job. Think about the cost, the self-marketing, the decision on which self-publisher to choose. Think maybe…..

6:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m. Home. Continue search through Poets & Writers extensive online database of small press publishers for appropriate publishers for my book.

My Criteria for Appropriate Book Publishers:

  • Publishers who publish short story collections.
  • Publishers with current submission reading dates.
  • Publishers whose submission guidelines you can meet.

Which brings more head-banging and hoop-jumping.

For one thing, finding an appropriate publisher is more challenging than you’d think.There’s a whole lot of small press publishers out there, but finding ones that don’t publish only poetry, or only novels, or only memoirs, or sci-fi, or mystery, or romance, or only want historical fiction.. well, as you can see, this subject deserves a whole other blog post.

For another, not all submission guidelines are alike. Each publisher has its own, very specific guidelines. Still, I’ve been through the submission process hundreds of times getting individual stories published, how hard could following a few book submission guidelines be? I soon found out.

Sample Book Submission Guidelines  (underlining mine)

Publisher X:

1.IN “SUBJECT” LINE please type: LAST NAME / FIRST NAME / FIRST 2 WORDS OF MANUSCRIPT TITLE {What if your book title is only one word?}

2. COVER LETTER should include your bio.  {Ok I have one of these.}

3. AESTHETICS STATEMENT must be attached to your email. This is NOT a synopsis or a summary of your plot, although you may include that. It’s a statement discussing your creative process and/or conceptual intent. It’s a description of why your manuscript is innovative, why you made the choices you made, how you expect the project to be read or viewed, what you were exploring, etc. REMEMBER: We’re interested in your creative process as much as (perhaps more than) the consumer product that results from it.   {Really? So your book can suck, but if your process doesn’t….}

4. CONVERT manuscript to PDF. If the PDF is larger than 8MG, please send email requesting submission instructions {Why not just say, DropBox?}

5.IMPORTANT: Our Publishing Contract requires that you have read, understood and agree with our Business Model. Please read it before submitting your manuscript. {They have a Business Model?}

Publisher Y:

Steps to Publishing With Us   
1. Prospective author is interviewed by publishing representative regarding his or her work, interview typically runs 30-45 minutes, and during the interview we ask a series of questions to ensure that your work is a good fit for our publishing model.  {Yikes, I thought my job hunting days were over.}

2. After the phone interview prospective author receives an e-mail to submit the work for review. {How nice of them not to say, “Or not.”}

Publisher Z:

1. We prefer to receive hard copies of submissions via snail mail. {Wait – you mean actual PAPER?} 

Well that’s just a sampling. I could give dozens upon dozens more, but will spare you.

If only I could spare myself. Writing is hard enough. Finishing your book takes months, even years, of rewriting, finding and getting feedback you can trust, more rewriting, lots of re-imagining, removing stories from your book, adding others you were saving for your next book. Lot of decisions, lots of second guessing yourself, lots and lots of hours spent on the book. Still, it’s your writing, and it’s something you love and don’t really consider work.

But this book shopping stuff? There are at least a thousand small press publishers in this database and I spent one week searching through a couple of hundred of them. Result? I found 3 that might consider my book.

So next week, it’s back to the database where, if I’m lucky, I might find 3 more.

Moving in Stages

Compliments of Guest
Blogger, Kevin Standifer

manpacking

I moved to Chicago from Austin, TX just over ten years ago. Now after ten years of learning how to moisturize, shopping for the right humidifier, buying the wrong winter coat and then buying the right one, and never ever finding a pair of gloves that actually warmed my hands, I’ve decided to migrate back to the warmer climes from which I came. Moving is never easy, but this time is probably the worst:

1. I’m not just moving myself, but also my partner and temperamental cat, Minou;

2. The partner had to find a job in our future home in Austin;

3. Our lease here in Chicago isn’t up for another six months, winter is beginning, and it’s the worst time to try to find tenants for an apartment.

We’ve found ourselves moving in stages. The original plan was to move in spring, close to when the lease is up. My partner, afraid that he would have trouble finding work, began looking in September. Two weeks later, he had found a job and needed to move in early October. This began what I’m calling The Stages of Moving.

Stage 1: Denial and Light Arguing

Since we can’t break our lease and cannot afford two, I quickly realize this means I’ll be staying in Chicago until someone takes over it. Meanwhile, the partner gets to move, take the car, explore a new city, get a fabulous new job, and generally have a lovely time (a friend is generously putting him up for the interim). I spend an unreasonable amount of time trying to think of ways to not have to sit around in Chicago by myself. No dice. I pick on him for no reason.

Stage 2: Panic

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Unhappy Minou escaping the mayhem.

I force the partner to help me pack everything in our house before he leaves. We do so in about two weeks, with the exception of the stuff I will need in the coming months. The cat gets angry as furniture and boxes are shuffled around the house. Our living space looks odd and echoes now. Our landlord helps us look for new tenants and issues dire warnings that we won’t find anyone until spring. We cavalierly ignore him.

Stage 3: Candy Store

Partner leaves, which is sad but we firmly believe I’ll be joining him in six months. For two weeks I enjoy my newfound bachelordom, watching movies and playing video games to my heart’s content. I make a point to go to restaurants I’ve never been to, and go to museums I never got around to. Life isn’t so bad. I’ll be in Austin soon! …right?

Stage 4: Okay, Ready to Move Now

The initial fun of being solo wears off. I postpone coming home from work because I don’t like being confronted with the empty house. No one to speak of comes to look at the place. No longer optimistic about moving before 2014.

Stage 5: Panic, Part Two

I realize that even though “everything” is packed, there will be a whole second phase of packing that will take just as long when it comes time to actually move. Clothes. Pots and Pans. The TV and all attached gadgets. Bedding, computers, things in the closets, cleaning supplies, tools, bathroom stuff. I have actual panic attacks. I see things to do everywhere but cannot act on it.

Stage 6: Bitterness

After two months, I realize I’m probably stuck here until winter is over. We’ve bumped back the rental date for prospective new tenants twice. I’m also constantly thinking about all the things I need to do once we do have a renter. Book a flight to move the cat, arrange for my dad to come help us move, cancel utilities, find an actual place to live in Austin, plan a going away party, the list goes on and on. Again, I can’t act until we know.

Stage 7: The Actual Move

I envision this as a joyous flurry of activity, ending in a joyous move to a perfect living space in Austin, full of warmth and sunlight. It will be so glorious, it could only be celebrated properly with a song and dance number. The reality will probably fall slightly short of this, and my furniture will probably get damaged.

So now I wait, and wait, and literally count the days. As much as I’ve loved living here the last ten years, spring cannot come soon enough.

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Kevin Standifer knows a really great two bed, two bath place in Andersonville you could rent. Interested? Contact him at kev1981@gmail.com.

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The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer On Reading (worth reposting)

Compliments of Guest Blogger, The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer

read meWell it happened again last night. I started reading a well-known book (Anne Tyler’s Ladder of Years) and I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t read it. It was just so much pablum. I even checked the end to see if anything happened that I would miss. Nope. And this has become more frequent of late.

Take “50 Shades of Grey.” I’ve found cookbooks more compelling. Now I consider myself knowledgeable about sex; I’ve seen some interesting movies. If memory serves, everybody has the same basic original equipment but honestly, eventually you have to run out of things to do with it. I could probably write a short story, or even a novelette, but to write three books about sex between two people there would have to be clowns and a horse involved.

I couldn’t read “The Life of Pi.” I tried three times and you would have to duct tape me to the couch to get me to try again. The premise was so interesting and I understand the movie was beautiful, but the book was… boring.  I bailed on “The DaVinci Code” halfway through even though self-flagellation is one of my very favorite topics.

I’ve been a big fan of bodice rippers all my life, but I am unable to get past the lack of hygienic facilities on a wagon train, or under the wagon train for that matter. So I cannot suspend disbelief to read them anymore.

I’m looking for that book that holds my attention and makes me think about it when I’m not reading. It holds me captive forcing me to read late into the night. Laundry piles up around me but I have to read. I can’t return calls. It’s all about the book.

Read anything like that lately? I’m all eyes and ears….

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The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer lives in Midwestern flyover country with her dogs. There have been reported sightings of her husband. In between innings of the Cubs game she is working on her web site and can be contacted at pat@pjchilders.com.

The Hapless Vacationer

Compliments of Guest Blogger, Fia Essen

I reluctantly admit I was once a hapless vacationer, charmed by a Greek island and a realtor’s well-practiced tale of tranquil living. I fell in love with a beautiful wreck of a house and simultaneously became convinced I possessed previously dormant carpentry skills. Oh yes, I was almost certain I was one of those people who can build you a shopping mall if you hand them nothing but a length of rope and a Q-tip. Let’s suffice it to say I was quickly brought back to earth with a resounding thud when I fell off a ladder while trying to change a light bulb… so I hired a contractor.

Three days before Mr. Manolis, my contractor, was supposed to begin turning my Greek ruin into a habitable dwelling, I came home from a jog to find a three-man crew lined up in my driveway.

“Hello,” I puffed. “Are you starting today? Did I get the date wrong?”

The three men looked at each other, shrugged, and then stared blankly back at me. I took a moment to catch my breath before asking the same questions in Greek. They looked at each other and shrugged again.

“Okay,” I sighed. “No Greek.”

The almost scarily tall and scarecrow thin man on the left shook his head.

“And no English,” I stated needlessly.

The considerably shorter and much wider man in the middle nodded.

“Italiano?” I tried.

The average height man of equally average weight on the right cleared his throat and said, “Bulgaria.”

“Oh great,” I muttered.

I began the process of opening my very warped wooden front door, which involved a running start and throwing the entire weight of my body against it. Then I headed to my bedroom to call Mr. Manolis. After having called his cell phone a dozen times, paged him and called his office just as many, I gave up. I returned to the crew of three who were shuffling aimlessly around the hallway and said, “You can go.”

“Go?” they parroted in comical unison.

“Yes.” I pointed at the open door. “Go.”

The three of them whispered to each other for a minute. Finally, the human beanstalk said, “Okay. Go.”

I smiled in relief. “Thank you.”

I went back to my bedroom and booted up my laptop. Just as I was about to delete a veritable cornucopia of spam, an earsplitting creak followed by a thud sent me bolting back into the hallway where I found Larry, Curly and Moe standing in a gaping hole where my massive wooden door hung only minutes earlier.

3 Stoogies“What?” I gasped. “What did you do?”

The vertically challenged and rotund barrel-like man gave the front door that was now laying on the floor a kick with his booted foot, and said, “Go!”

Now, almost four years later, I’ve sold the house to another tourist with more optimism than sense… and I’m nearly fluent in Bulgarian.

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Fia Essen

Sofia Essen is the Managing Director and a Change Counselor at Essen & Essen. Change is the theme of Sofia’s existence. Helping people to both deal with change and create it is her specialty. She permanently left the country of her birth before her ninth birthday and she has been on the move ever since. You can find her at: http://fiaessen.wordpress.com/

The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer Survives Vacation

Traffic SignCompliments of Guest Blogger The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer      (aka Pat Childers)

August 22 near Cong, County Mayo  

First day Ireland. Staying at B&B in Cong where they filmed The Quiet Man. Unable to find John Wayne. Weather is actually quite lovely 70 F and mostly sunny.

August 22 near Cong, County Mayo

Conversation:
Me: I forgot they drive on the left here.
He: What?
Me: they drive on the left.
He: Here’s a map. Figure out where we’re going.
Me: No GPS?
He: What?
Me: I’ll figure it out.
He: Oh no a roundabout.
Me: Go straight.
He: What?
Me: That way (pointing)
He: Don’t point. Tell me.
Me: Ok go straight.
He: What?

That’s pretty much the way it’s gone so far

Day 1 into Day 2

Was spent exploring the republic of Ireland’s public health system. A scant 16 hours later we were very pleased to learn no blood clot in my leg, just massively swollen hematoma. Met a lot of nice people though. Spent time on a hospital gurney in the hallway, had blood test and vascular ultrasound and nice little doctor from Pakistan. Cost: 200 euros (260 US). I’m worth it.

Day 3

Can’t go to Cong without a trip to The Quiet Man Museum, not open weekends or noon to 1:00, or whenever they don’t feel like it. The main event is a replica of the cottage John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara moved into, with replica clothes if you feel up to reenacting the wedding night scene.

Cowlowres

Just a note to my Wisconsin friends and family — Ireland has the biggest, cleanest cows I’ve ever seen. It’s as if a cow washer appears before dawn to shine them up and then deposit them on little knolls facing the road. I’m sure this has a lot to do with the quality of the cheese too.

Day 4

castleDlowresCastles everywhere most built around 1140 to 1500. The homes are big and beautiful and the fences are made of rocks. No shoulders on the roads just solid rock fences.

The food has been great. You get a bowl of French fries with everything. I had a pork dinner on mashed potatoes with sides of boiled potatoes and a big bowl of French fries. My grandchildren would love it. Going to Kinvara tomorrow. My leg is getting better.

Day 5

Was a lot of rocks. Drove through the Burren which is a large mountain of rock with a bunch of rocks on top. Then they stack the rocks up and call them fences. But really they are just more piles of rocks.

BurrenrockslowresDay 6

We puttered around then went to Dunguire Castle in Kinvara for a banquet dinner and some Irish songs and poetry. The food was quite good. More potatoes with green beans and carrots and a chicken breast. Reminded me of every wedding I’ve ever been to. The sun came out and we took lots of castle sunset pictures.

Day 7

Was a lot of driving from Kinvara to Dingle Town on the aptly named Dingle Peninsula. The roads are wide enough to fit two small compact cars abreast as long as you don’t open the doors. On the sides are piles of rock fences covered with ivy and bushes. In the center of the road is a white line that marks where the edge of your right hand mirror can reach because you’re driving on the left. The object appears to be to drive as fast as possible maintaining a one-inch margin from the rocks on one side and 0 to one inch on the right. When a tour bus or large farm machinery approaches you grab the steering wheel with both hands and wet your pants.

Day 8

We dingled all over the peninsula today and saw many archeological sites as civilization dates from around 3000 bc here. People built houses called beehive huts completely out of rocks (what else?) that still stand today. It was a totally grey day but wild fuchsia bushes sit atop the rock walls that line the roads and add beautiful orange and red color to the probably bloodstained undergrowth. I will have to photoshop the sun into the pictures.

Day 9

We drove from the Dingle peninsula to Shannon. We had the displeasure of stopping for a bite to eat and toilet at a little place that advertised “burgers and hot pizza.” It was the Irish version of a 7/11. She said there was a toilet next door in the green building. I ordered a burger. She said they didn’t have any. No pizza either. They had hot little pies with a bit of gravy inside so we bought them both. What concerned me was the sign that said “food must be consumed within 90 minutes.” Or what, I thought? Anyway there was no green building, it was blue. And it was locked up. “I’ve been using that toilet all day,” she said. I still want to know what would have happened if we hadn’t eaten the pies in less than 90 minutes.

An update about the weather in Ireland. Generally the mornings are cool and cloudy except when the sun peeks through. Then it clouds over until it sprinkles. Suddenly the clouds dissipate and the sun comes out. Grab your camera and look for the rainbow. Oops too late. It’s cloudy again and warm. Take off your sweater. Your face flushes with perspiration just before a cold breeze makes you put your sweater back on. There’s the sun again, you sly dog. Stay there!! No it’s gone and a gentle rain begins to fall as you put your raincoat on. Time to eat breakfast.

Day 10

The final day of our vacation in southwest Ireland. They have gone a long way toward keeping the Irish culture intact here. The signs are usually in Gaelic and English but sometimes, just for fun, they’re just the old Irish and you are suddenly in limbo because these words are so strange you know somebody was kidding around when they made them up — Oifig an Phoist (post office) or Beag (little). Sadly I never did find the one for toilet.

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The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer lives in Midwestern flyover country with her dogs. There have been reported sightings of her husband. In between innings of the Cubs game she is working on her web site and can be contacted at pat@pjchilders.com.

“There’s a hole; there’s a hole in the bottom of the seat.”

Compliments of Guest Blogger, Jody Worsham aka The Medicare Mom
All rights reserved for Dr. Spock

MedicareMom

There was a time when all things laid on a car seat stayed there, sometimes for months. Sunglasses tossed on the seat would remain until, well, one of my sudden stops. An open bag of M&M’s would stay put until the last one was eaten. Of course all this is BS, Before Seat-belts.

With the passage of the seat-belt laws, all cars developed seat belt holes in otherwise perfectly good bench seats. The seat-belt slots housing the retractable seatbelt became the Black Holes of Inner Space. Eye glasses placed on the seat would disappear down the hole at the slightest turn. M&M’s would pour themselves into the never-ending abyss. Cell phones would slide ringing into the blackness.

Small children are now bribed by parents. “Honey, help Mommy find her glasses. Stick your hand down this hole and don’t worry if you feel something gooey, that’s probably the chocolate bar I lost when I turned the corner yesterday and not zombie brains.”

Others have used the black hole searches to occupy bored and starving children. “You can have all the gummy bears and M&M’s you can find in the seat-belt holes.” Still others use it to threaten misbehaving children. “If you don’t settle down, you’re going to have to search for lost pens in the blaaaaaaaaack hooooooole and it won’t be pretty.”

Like space black holes, you know the seat-belt hole is there; you just can’t see what’s in it. Nor can you prove the existences of anything that has entered the black hole. You saw your driver’s license slip into the black hole, but you can’t prove it to the nice policeman. Unless you have the long fingers of a concert pianist or a cooperative two-year-old, the chances of retrieving the item are slim.  Just pay the fine.

Anthropologists predict that in the future the first and second fingers of adults will grow to resemble pincers due to the continuous probing of the black seat-belt hole. Space ships will have the required seat belts as evidenced by Dr. Spock’s unique hand greeting.

Now when the children are singing that maddening never ending song “There’s a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea,” I will sing my own version.

“There’s a watch on the pen on the earring on the phone on the M&M’s, on the log in the hole in the bottom of the seat. There’s a hoooole, there’s a hooole, there’s a hole in the bottom of the seat.”

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Jody Worsham started officially writing humor when she became a mom again at age 61 to two children whose names are not Viagra and Cialis. Writing humor was cheaper than therapy, legal, and didn’t leave a hangover. She has been married to the same man for almost 50 years and he is not the father to any of the 8 (adopted) children. In fact, each of the seven children have a different father. Jody blogs at http://themedicaremom.blogspot.com/

Smarter, Faster, Cooler

Final Frontier

Thank you, George Takei

Ok, what does it take to teach an old dog new tricks? I have to ask, see, because I’m old enough to remember the days before computers, before cell phones, before the technology boom in all its glory.  And I have to admit, I am a pretty reluctant consumer, always hesitant to jump on the latest technology bandwagon.

I have my reasons of course.  Reason #1: As I recently admitted (It’s the Bomb), I have an addictive personality. It doesn’t take much, and I’m hooked.

For instance, many years ago now, there was this new mini-oven thing that ‘waved’ your food in less than a minute. I knew I would never want to be without it again, would not be able to imagine my life before it, would give up my full-sized oven before I’d give up this wave-your-food-fast-thing. So of course I resisted getting one. But you know where this is going…. Yes, this food waving thing now permanently resides in our tiny, galley kitchen and so what if does take up a huge portion of counter space? The floor is a perfectly good place to stir, chop, blend, though who cooks real food anymore? Not me!

Same reluctance occurred when the “smart” phone came out – which I finally got, oh, let’s say less than a year ago. Yes, I did without one all this time, watched people texting, taking good photos, reading their email, playing games on their phone, and I was satisfied with my antiquated little Samsung because I know myself. I knew once I had a smart phone, I’d pay any amount of money for its data package, it’s games, all the cool apps I could get. Deposit checks via my phone? Yes, yes, yes!

I may also have been the last writer to give up my trusty Corona typewriter for a desktop PC. One of the last to replace my PC with a laptop, or for that matter, to get a DVD player. Naturally, I haven’t given up my VCR and most of my videotapes. After all, I have some old movies, (e.g. New Leaf) that can’t be easily, or cheaply, replaced.

VCR

My beloved VCR

Which brings me to Reason #2: The cost!

You have to admit if you wait a little while until the popular “new thing” isn’t so popular anymore and until most of the kinks are out, you get a better deal. Ok, I know some of you (like you who willingly stand in line for the latest iPhone the minute it comes out) laugh at this idea. I know it’s unthinkable for you not to buy the newest technological wonder the second it’s released. Smarter, faster, cooler… you have to have it! If this is you, more power to you. But these new toys being as expensive as they are, I have to wonder, where do you get the $$?

See the reluctant consumer part of me always has to ask: why pay for cable when rabbit ears will do? Why pay for a phone that requires an expensive data package when you already have a computer and are paying for internet access? And aren’t DVD’s already passe? I can’t keep up! I don’t want to keep up! It’s going to cost me dearly!

As if it hasn’t already.

Sigh.

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De-Worming Norpie

Compliments of Guest Blogger, Timothy State

After five days of no hearing in his right ear, the sensation he is underwater, and a YouTube diagnosis, Norpie was convinced he had a worm take up habitation in his ear canal. At 9 p.m., I finally said, “We’re headed to the MinuteClinic.”

photo 1When we discovered the MinuteClinic was closed, and not open 24-hours like the Web said, we asked the Pharmacist on duty where we could find another urgent care center that is open late, or 24-hours.  We explained the worm situation.

Pharmacist response to Norpie’s hypothesis a worm is living in his ear. “I got 2 Prozac I could give you; that would make you feel better.”

Within 10 minutes, we were at another urgent care center.

photo 2Intake clerk: “Do you have a religious preference?”

Norpie: “Christian Scientist. Sort of ironic I’m at a medical clinic?”

Intake clerk: “What’s your emergency contact?”

Norpie: “The bald man next to me.””

Intake Nurse

@norpsforkncork “I think I have a worm in my ear.”

Norpie indicated he would pay cash, and she offered him a 49% discount. After the insurance triage, he was swiftly taken to a treatment room where he was hooked up to machines.

photo 4

Norpie in the cuff

[#TwitterBan. Details of the examination are lost; the Doctor swiftly shut my social media down.]

“Do you think he is dying?” I ask the doctor in reference to the worm Norpie thinks has taken shelter in his ear canal.

“Seriously,” the doctor said, “Seven a.m., 42 year old Asian guy who ate vegetables and rice. Non-smoker. Had a full on heart attack. Right here.” She shakes her head in disbelief and walks out of the room.

Diagnosis: No worm, just fluid.

The diagnosis was devastating to Norpie, after learning how the ear is supposed to drain to the back of the throat.

The doctor called in a prescription that she said would help reduce inflammation, and help the fluid drain.

photo 2(1)PharmacybasketsWe head off to our CVS to get the script, hopeful that we might also get free Prozac.

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The videos + the story “De-Worming Norpie” can be viewed on Storify where it was ‘trending’ on Twitter.

Timothy State is Associate Vice President for Alumni Programs at Lake Forest College. On the side, photography, writing, swimming, and biking are his things.

Inspirations

 Compliments of Guest Blogger, Kevin Standifer

Neko Case
Since I was a child, I’ve considered myself a writer, but my other loves have always bled through.

One of my earliest memories of something I wrote was a short story assignment for my second grade class. I don’t recall there being a prompt, but at the time, I was obsessed with an early Nintendo game, Dragon Warrior, in which a troupe of heroes vanquishes a constant onslaught of monsters in order to save a kingdom, or something. My story involved giant robots, but otherwise had the tedious prose style of the game. I even described how much damage the heroes of my story were inflicting on the giant robots. My teacher, a gentle older woman, was most likely very confused, but I think she gave me a B+ anyway.

In high school, I was writing more often and with the extreme seriousness of the teenage mindset. One cycle of stories was dramatically titled “Animals” and revolved around the romantic betrayals of a group of youngsters. A piece of music I was obsessed with found its way into a crucial scene, catching one of my innocent characters in a reverie, with disastrous results.

These days, I still feel most inspired by things that aren’t writing: the beauty of a still frame from a beautifully-shot movie, for example, or the implacable emotion triggered by a song. Two albums, in particular, I’m obsessed with somehow translating into writing. Coincidentally I purchased them on the same day, and both without hearing them in advance: Neko Case’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood and Animal Collective’s Feels.

I don’t think I’d ever succeed in honoring Neko’s artful way with words and melodies, the way she’s able to say so much with few words, but Feels is still in the back of my head. Occasionally, I’ll give it a spin and remember the first time I heard it, and how overcome I was. I immediately wanted to listen again, despite hardly understanding a single word that had been sung thanks to the way the vocals were interwoven with the rest of the mix. True to its name, it’s an album you feel more than hear.

Is it even possible to capture those nameless feelings without sound? Someday I’ll put it on repeat, with pen and paper or at my keyboard, and begin.

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Kevin Standifer lives in Chicago and likes reading, writing, arithmetic, cats, chocolate and, of course, music.