Tell Me A Story - Daniel Shortell

Welcome to another addition of TNBBC's Tell Me A Story. 

Tell Me a Story is a monthly series that features previously unpublished short stories from debut and Indie authors. The request was simple: Stories can be any format, any genre, and any length. And many amazing writers signed up for the challenge.

This month's story comes to us from Daniel Shortell. He is the author of Where's Unimportant, a novel about a perpetual wanderer who finds himself tied down in a Manhattan-based soul-sucking career. The novel has been called "Amusingly sarcastic" and "Thought Provoking ". Daniel, a world wanderer himself, has put pen to paper to tell you all a different kind of story....

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On When It Is NOT OK To Stab Someone In The Face

Staring down his opponent, the fact that this may be his last fight feels very real. A long career culminates into a moment defining legacy or obsolescence. A single loss on the minor circuit during his climb to the top, a technicality, killed the match before it began. Since that time, perfection, an absolutely flawless record. Never mind, perfection isn't reality and reality is rarely what it seems anyhow. This moment is all that  matters, this moment is his future, Rick "Painmaker" Johnson.

Rick sees Alonso, hell, Rick has been living and breathing Alonso for the past two months. Hour after hour of video reviewed, strategy refined, tactics played out on bloody, sweat-covered mats. A singular focus, stay alive; just make it to the end. Rick thinks of Elaine, then, just as quickly as the thought arrives, he pushes it away and regains eye contact with Alonso. Rick has learned to temper his emotions. He does not look at Alonso as an enemy, or even a threat. He is an obstacle, a physical specimen blocking the entrance to a tunnel. A door in life that must be walked through. A fear that must be faced. Rick thinks of his kid, Miles, and that little sticky lump forms in the back of his throat. Swallow. Gone, at least partially. Back to focus, back to Alonso "Wrecking Ball" Suarez.

Rick tells himself to quickly review his training, bask in it for a moment, prod, or better yet, stoke, his confidence. Origins in boxing. Years of mixed martial arts and 25 straight wins in the UFC. More recently, underground experience in the cages of Brasilia, raw jujitsu, no rules. Plenty of experience from which to draw and plenty to be confident about. Secure in his abilities, but childish in his methods of testing those abilities. Violence just always seemed to come natural, a perverse sort of contradiction to a coddled upbringing. Painmaker. A moniker earned in some focus-group-like method of character creation. A fierce, hard veneer to protect the warm, fatherly core.

Rick focuses on Alonso's weaknesses. He's not good on his back. He has a shorter reach. He's younger, less experienced. Rick shuts his eyes momentarily and speeds through as many situations as he can conjure up in ten seconds, developing counters to all perceived offences. The screams of the horde fade to silence and Rick's racing heart forces deeper breaths, more oxygen. A bouncing opponent looks on, focused, resolute. The bell.

Officer Jim Packer sits at his desk, reflecting on the previous week's activities. Chasing bookies around Queens and the Bronx, shaking down suspected contenders, assigning detectives to tail known promoters to get some semblance of the weekend's shape. Nearly all leads came up short, and, with so little evidence to go on, Packer resigns himself to a weekend of failure. Despite his best efforts, the matches will go on, money will change hands, lives will be made and lives will be dismantled. Just another weekend of illicit activity.

Packer has orders to follow which direct his action, decide how he allocates his time each week. He used to form opinions about the matches, but, over time, it has become easier to dismiss these thoughts and focus solely on his responsibilities as dictated by the terms of his employment. This is very convenient for Packer because morals no longer weigh and his point of view is rendered irrelevant. Only his job matters. It's not so much a parcelization of life, rather, it is a means by which to be a more effective custodian of the law: follow protocol based on the assumption that the system we operate within is fair and just for all. Period. If he gets any last minute leads, he will jump on them regardless of how involved he may otherwise be with his family on a Saturday night. This is what the job entails.

Alonso receives a powerful left sidekick to the ribs, and hears a very clear cracking sound. It's a familiar sound. At least one, perhaps two ribs just broke. The pain sears, but the mind compensates and a slight grimace is all that anyone could possibly detect from Alonso on a slow motion replay. Alonso fires back with a left hook, but it falls short as Rick clearly anticipated the shot.

Alonso, upon retreat, decides to take a fraction of a second to think about Carlene, his wife of two years. She is gorgeous, much more the desirable physical specimen than he. The smell of her hair, a concoction of indistinguishable fruits, sweet and usually the first indicator of her presence beyond sight. Fantastic. Something which never gets old, never ceases to arouse wonder or fails to evoke some Pavlovian sense of passion. Alonso knows that her attraction isn't his cauliflower ears or his massive leg press. It isn't his warm smile at the sight of her, or his surprisingly gentle touch considering his vocation and the callousness of his fingers. It has more to do with the thickness of his wallet and the paper it bends, but this doesn't unsettle his sentiments towards her. Much the opposite as he believes he is capable of providing her with everything she ever desired. Fists of steel, heart of gold, scent of money.

His attention returns to him in the form of a crushing kick to the inner thigh. Alonso puts his Carlene on hold to refocus on the task at hand. Jab, jab, hook.

Jeremy earns a nice living as the owner of a gentlemen's club on 3rd Avenue in SunsetPark, Brooklyn. He peddles skin and drinks, and easily clears $350k per year. His hobbies are single malts, sports cars and the underground cages up in the Bronx. Eight thousand dollars put him in the front row tonight, close enough to get splattered if conditions are just right. The splatter would be nice, but even better would be the 3:1 he placed on the Wrecking Ball. It would fetch him a solid $25k, easily enough for the new exhaust system. His wife doesn't know what he's up to in the Bronx, and she really doesn't give a shit either. As long as he stays away from the tramps at his establishment, everything else is fair game. This, of course, assumes that her comfy little lifestyle in Long Island is in no way compromised.

Jeremy came with Candi tonight. Jeremy never goes for a night on the town without being properly dressed, and what clings to your arm is just as important as what hangs from your neck. Candi is one of the many girls at Jeremy's club who is happy to earn a few extra bucks by servicing the big man. Just one rule, all after-hours activity is strictly confidential. The penalty for violating this one rule is termination of employment and a visit from Eduardo. Only Chastity has had the pleasure of Eduardo. A scarred face and a GED will get you 40 a week at $7.45 an hour at Key Foods, and the legacy of being deterrence exemplified.

Jeremy has no reason to doubt his choice thus far. "A Wrecking Ball has to take some damage through the steady process of pummeling the shit out of a building," Jeremy tells Candi who responds by checking her lipstick in her compact. Jeremy screams along with the other testosterone in the room and Candi alternates between nuzzling his neck and rubbing his moistening crotch. Wrecking Ball slashes at Painmaker, doing a bit of damage to his abdomen and Jeremy elbows Candi away, jumps to his feet in excitement.

One point five million dollars, that was his bet this evening. Richard Jennings sits in his high-roller box, swirling cognac, shifting his attention between his buddies and the fight. Most of the week, Richard sits decked in Savile Row's best, monitoring the fluctuations of market blips and coordinating financial assaults with high-powered technological salvos. The high-speed trading racket has been good, very good. Sure the hedge fund managers are banking more, lots more, but his trading status at Goldman has put him among the upper echelons of the trading elite on Wall Street. Tips come early off the wires from a network of insiders, and trades are executed ahead of market momentum. Puff up and pull back, let the little man hold the overpriced cards, then buy them back on a push-down the following week. A rollercoaster of unmerited profit. It's good business, with a solid cover of vague rules and no oversight.

The weekday stress pales immediately upon arrival at the cage. Drinks and blood flow, kicking the weekend off in style. Richard went long with his bet tonight, an unusually cocky week has him flying high, feeling invincible, perfectly in control of all around him. His horse is bleeding pretty good now, but Richard isn't phased. Painmaker jabs, fakes, then stabs to the right shoulder, quickly rolling out of the way. The gash is deep, it was a 'full shot' in cage lingo, meaning, the knife sunk to the handle. "Look at him," Richard yells to his friends, "Wrecking Ball is a fuckin' animal, he didn't even feel that shit. He so juiced that shit didn't even register!"

Alonso felt every bit of eight inches scraping across his humerus. Searing, burning pain, followed by an oddly cool reprieve, then, numbness. Carlene flashes, then his dead mother, followed by the cheers of victory. "Focus," he tells himself, "nothing but Rick, Rick is my everything, Rick is my only shot." Carlene and little green dollar signs fizzle to the outskirts of his mind as he wipes a bloody hand on his shorts, then wiggles his fingers before resetting his grip on the handle.

Big Ron lost his WPBF license first. He got caught by the board gambling on his matches at the underground bookies. His single infraction didn't deter the UFC, so he picked up a three year deal officiating all the top matches in Vegas. Inside a year, he was caught working a fix on another underground gamble, this time, passing quicklime to the underdog who staged an impossible comeback. The UFCdidn't think too kindly of his interference, so he was told to pack up. Ron isn't exactly a moral person, which only enhances his credentials up in the Bronx. 

Ron's at home in his latest gig as referee. From what he could see, neither Painmaker nor Wrecking Ball had a clear advantage in this fight so Ron kept his money under the mattress. Plus, considering the illegality of the match, Ron has little net incentive to influence events as a pissed mob would probably lynch.

Without concern for the outcome, Ron's job tonight is an easy one in three parts, plus, he has the best seat in the house to witness each strike.

     Part 1: Check equipment

·                  Regulation boxer shorts

·                  Regulation metal helmet with neck and face guard

·                  Regulation 8" Bowie knife

     Part 2: Review the Rules

·                  Fight is one round and goes till a winner emerges

·                  All strikes are permitted

·                  First person to die is the loser

     Part 3: Declare winner

·                  Pause fight at any time to check pulse(s)

Not only does his job pay a nice chunk of cash, but he gets to witness those precious last moments in a man's life where his purest self is exposed. Lying, covered in blood on a canvas mat, eyes glassing over from the lack of oxygen, saying his mental goodbyes to those he loves. It's that little sadistic ripple, that little fading light, the moment where God meets man and a life crosses over. Wrenching pain triggering an existential fear, then a melting of everything into a quiet oblivion. Each man is different, handles his finality in a uniquely nuanced way, of which the variations never grow old in Ron's eyes. If only he could be the one to plunge the final blade, his depravity would be complete and he could stand one step closer to God without actually making his acquaintance.

At this point, Ron is a useless body, flailing around the cage, spectator #1. Wrecking Ball and Painmaker are cut up and drippy, but both are still on their feet, relatively steady. Ron dispels his excitement by hopping around the cage, further rousing an intoxicated crowd.

Elaine didn't want to come, in fact she and Rick fought over it for the past three weeks. He said he needed her support. She said she couldn't bear to witness the fight. "I can't lose, I have complete confidence. Have I ever lost?"

"No," she said, "But that is not the point this time"

"This is our chance to make it big, to really earn some serious money, just a single fight, then, back to smaller paydays in the pros, or possibly, complete retirement."

She was not convinced. The stakes were too high. Her high school sweetheart had never lost anything in his lifetime. He was the consummate athlete. She knew he stood a solid chance, but what if? Tears and screams were a mainstay in their house the week leading up to the bout. She took a stand not to come. He felt the blow of her rejection, but took it in stride the way he always takes a knock. Swallow, shake, guard back up. Now, as a morale-booster, she sits ringside, next to Wrecking Ball's tart, showing up at the last minute in support of her brave hero. She fights tears as Rick bleeds profusely from the stomach, hand and thigh. For now though, he appears to be on top, but the flickers of light off metal catch her eye, causing her to flinch knowingly.

Three percent fruit juice, twelve percent grain alcohol, guarana, taurine, gingko, caffeine and corn syrup. Made by a division of the Coca-Cola family of beverages, but legally incorporated as an entirely separate economic entity thereby limiting liability to the king of soft drinks. This legal separation is important, because should the fight get busted, the brand "Hell's Juice" can fold cleanly and begin under the name "Blitzkrieg" in a couple weeks after a quick retool, without impacted the legal budget at Coke.

"Teardowns" - Corporate entities of questionable legality designed to make large profits in short-term volatile situations. These entities can be destroyed and reconstituted in template fashion on short turn-around schedules. The larger corporate umbrella usually keeps three to five iterations of the teardown planned and ready to go once a bust-up occurs.

Vendors weave through the crowds selling 24-ounce cans for $25 each. An overhead signboard encourages fans to 'chug' each time a contender is slashed or stabbed. With each subsequent stab, the intolerable fan seated behind Carlene becomes increasing intoxicated, kicking her seat-back, causing her to lunge forward uncomfortably. She finds herself becoming increasingly irritated and wishing Alonso was seated next to her because he would "straighten that jerk out". For now though, he is tied up in a grapple which has both him and Painmaker outstretched on the mat, each with the other's wrist in hand, fending off a plunge of the blade.

Gerry and a handful of his friends are out for a night on the town. At two grand a pop, they dug deep in the wallet for tonight's least desirable seats. But hey, to watch a couple fights go to the death is worth some overtime down at the docks. "Damn," Reggie says to Gerry "check out Wrecking Ball's bitch in the front row, she's fine!" A Hell's Juice cheers and chug. Painmaker slices Wrecking Ball across his right forearm and a flash of red quickly emerges. "Fuck him up Painmaker!" Gerry yells as everyone chugs.

Dr. Wiley is above all the non-sense. He earned his credentials years ago, had a great little practice, until he couldn't keep up with insurance payments. Had to reduce staff, then close shop. Through a friend he learned how he could make a nice little stack under the table, and, better yet, only have to work a few hours a month, allowing him to focus on his first love: painting. Wiley is on stand-by. Once the winner is declared, he will rush to Wiley to quickly fix any gaping holes before being dropped off at the hospital for more thorough treatment. "Stupid barbarians" is how Wiley refers to them, yet he finds them to be the absolute best subjects for both of his crafts.

Rick collects Alonso's legs in his own, rolls and pins him to the mat. Alonso is clearly wearing down. Rick checks the clock. Five minutes have gone by and Rick is aware he has about one minute of full energy left before he succumbs to fatigue. He quickly lunges into a low mount, keeping Rick's hands pinned.

Alonso catches the glint of Carlene's eye. She is evaluating his progress, objectively, coolly, as if watching a couple of politicians rapt in a heated debate. A little hint of skepticism squints from her left eye as she evaluates the efficacy of the previous move. She bites her lip in contemplation, then remembering, she licks the lipstick from her teeth and rubs her lips together, smoothing out the little indentation on her bottom lip. Unknown to each other, their mental space collides as they both flash forward to their upcoming vacation in Bermuda, waves lapping on her pedicured feet, sun warming his lumpy scar tissue.

Rick is blind. He isn't seeing anything at this point. He's only vaguely aware of himself. Adrenaline overtakes him, a quick little burst of furious power, making his body light-weight and composed. He projects his victory, becomes certain of it, and a buzz tingles down through his fingertips causing him to grip his knife's handle with obscene pressure.

Sue is working late at the call center. Earlier today, she read an investigative piece on the elusive cages in the Bronx. They sickened her and she felt moved to take a position on the issue. Sue, the otherwise quiet, introverted, apolitical person. The last time she voted she wore a sparkling pair of jellies and one of those sweatshirts with no discernable neck. "Maybe I should write a little email to Schumer or Gillibrand, express one citizen's concern," she thought to herself. She nodded her way through a sense of righteousness as she sat daydreaming in limbo, the clarity of morning filling her head with ideas. Her cell rang. It was Elliot. He left his shin-guards on the kitchen table and needed them for practice later on. Then, the coffee machine buzzed to life with a fresh brew. Sue, drinking her coffee on the way to deliver Elliot's equipment ran through the to-do list for the day and decided that she would reward herself with a quick stop by Bloomingdales to get that new handbag she deserved. Now, on the phone dispatching 911 calls, her memory lurches and she thinks of a man taking his last breathes inside a cage, onlookers cheering. She alerts the NYPD of a GSW in Bed-Stuy, takes a sip of her Diet Coke then browses Zappos for the latest deal. She punches in just three hours.

The knife comes down. It probably didn't puncture the heart, but, most likely, it severed the aorta as the profusion of blood is overwhelming. Rick leaves the blade upright cause he knows that was the strike he was working for. There's nothing left to do, so he takes a pause to gain composure, catch his breath, assess his wounds.

Alonso is back-flat on the mat, sucking little breathes, hoping to capitalize on the leniency his opponent is showing. He tugs at the handle, but the shifting knife pulls at his rib cage causing him to heave nauseous from the structural jarring. Blood fills his mouth. Carlene looks on, calculating how she will approach her damsel in distress routine, rehearses a few lines in her head. Elaine is doubled-over, crying, unreachable to the outside world, connected immediately to what she believes is the grace of God squeezing her, suffocating her. She is trying to imagine just how large ticket sales were, and secondarily, feels an overwhelming sense of relief that her Rick is alive, standing, limping around the cage.

Richard Jennings isn't happy, but he's still in control, always will be and he knows this. "Dumb-fucker let Painmaker get a solid mount, of course he's going to lose at that point. Well, he got what he deserved. This turned out to be an expensive night, eh boys?" Richard's buddies look on, irritated at him for the hard sell, but more irritated at themselves for following his moves once again. Kissing their money goodbye, they take a moment's pleasure to watch their horse gasp for breath, retribution for their loss.

Ron's on his knees next to Wrecking Ball, watching his slowing breath. Clearly he is still alive, therefore, the match is not over. Ron gives the signal that the match is still in progress.

Dr. Wiley checks his watch. He's going to make his 11pm. He smiles at his good fortune.

Rick assesses the damage to his stomach, legs, and arms and glances over at Alonso to see if he is done yet. Nope, his chest is still growing and shrinking, his puckered lips regulating airflow. Rick is bleeding horribly, feels faint as he plods around in drying patches of carmine, his hands raised flaccidly to cacophonous cheers and jeers. Rick knows he is fighting a clock too, so he returns to Wrecking Ball, kneels, grabs the blade and begins jerking and twisting it side to side allowing blood greater access to the open air. Anemically, Alonso grabs at Rick's wrists, attempting to offset his motion, his legs jerk indiscriminately.

Alonso controls his breathing through his nose, as his ears slowly echo then mute the pulse of the crowd. He flashes between the sands of Bermudaand the touch of his wife. He can't remember her name. He can't remember his name. He doesn't know why he is holding the bloody hands of a stranger. He panics, then, stares off into space.

Dr. Wiley whip-stitches several holes shut, as two sobbing women approach. Tearfully, they both congratulate Painmaker then turn chipper as the judges levy their final assessment of the evening.

...LATER THAT NIGHT...

Candice walks through the door; another late night on stage. Jim, while he doesn't approve of her profession, he realizes the blatant hypocrisy of complaining considering their initial meeting was a one-sided dance in a smoky bar. Her choices don't exactly agree with his sense of morality, however, his erratic schedule is certainly a recurring complaint of hers. This is their compromise; blue lights for red neon is the exchange which bonds them.

Sue clocked out hours ago and is now home working her second shift with a colicky Rachael who placates herself intermittently at the nipple. Gerry comes stumbling into the living room, inebriated, but appears relaxed, satisfied for once. He struggles to string together a few words about why he arrived home so late, but Sue hushes him, smiles and tells him to sleep it off. She's proud of her husband and all of the extra work he has been putting in to help with the flailing finances; he deserves a night of fun.

Michelle was stabbed in the face three times by her boyfriend after she was caught in bed with another man in a bucolic-chic stone house off of E Shore Road in Great Neck. Rufus Nolan Wiley, a board-certified pediatrician was booked in Nassau County Jail and place on suicide watch.

...LATER THAT WEEK...

The community was absolutely beside itself with anguish and a mountain of flowers decorated the front steps of Michelle's parent's house. Alan W. Voight, Chairman of the Board of The Coca-Cola Company eulogized his daughter and former New York Statebeauty queen in a private service at his Kings Point getaway. The donations to the Children's Heart Foundation in lieu of flowers was enough to push little Dianne's heart fund over the goal. Her surgery was successful and she quickly progressed out of the ICU.

...LATER IN LIFE...

Dianne Whitmore, survivor of childhood Restrictive Cardiomyopathy went on to lead a healthy, productive life. After completing her PhD in Astrophysics, she, along with her business partner and husband Miles Johnson, co-developed the foundational technology ultimately leading to the full weaponization of space.

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I want to thank Daniel for participating in TNBBC's Tell Me a Story. If you like what you've read, please support Daniel by checking out his website and book. Help spread the word by sharing this post through your blog, tumblr page, twitter and facebook accounts. Every link counts! And be sure to check back with us next month for the next installment....

Review: Don't Kiss on the Lips...

Read 9/27/11
3 Stars - Recommended for readers familiar with genre (and who can find the humor in networking)
Pgs:84

Early one morning, while hanging around the author booths in the back of Javits Center during this year's BEA,  a woman approached me with a copy of this book in her hand. "The author is signing this book right now, if you would like a copy, " she said. I flipped through it quickly, saw that no one was in the line (hence the reason the woman was pitching it to passer-bys) and decided to grab one.

The title is catchy enough.. "Don't Kiss on the Lips and Other Networking Tips" sounds like sound advice, right? And it immediately made me think of my former place of employment.

We didn't kiss each other on the lips... well, that I know of anyway.... but there were times where, at my old job, all members of management met in the upstairs office for hand-off meetings between shifts. And during those hand-off meetings which occured before a holiday, we were subjected to huggings and "cheek kissings" from our respective counterparts, managers, and building manager- much to my dismay - as we wished each other "a happy insert-the-current-holiday-here".

Most people don't mind this display of friendly affection and well-wishing. But you have to understand something.... I am extremely fond of my personal space. I feel most comfortable when coworkers, and any other non-member-of-my-immediate-family for that matter, remain a good arms-length away while conversing with me.

These holiday hand-off meetings at work were sheer torture for me. I referred to them as "greasy cheek" meetings. Because - after the rubbing of many cheeks against my own cheek - it felt as though the side of my face was buried beneath a layer of everyone's oily dead skin and face sweat. (Excuse me while I attempt to swallow the urge to vomit...) I always felt the dire need to run home, strip off my clothes, and scrub my cheeks raw with bleach under a boiling hot shower.

Don't Kiss on the Lips is an extremely quick read, meant to be flipped through in preparation for a business dinner or networking event. Short, simple, and very much to the point. And also, at times, quite humorous.

See, the introduction states that this book is meant for both the seasoned professional and the networking newbie (my term, not theirs). And therein lies the issue. While some of the tips make smart powerful statements, others fall too far off the mark and should be considered "common sense" instead of "networking tips".

Here, let's test a few. I'll share a Networking Tip with you and you have to tell me if it's a smart statement, or    if it should be considered common sense. Ready?

Tip # 1 - Most job openings are filled by networking - It's one of the most valuable skills you will ever develop.  (what do you say, guys? Smart Statement, or Common Sense? Definitely smart, right? Right!)

Tip # 3 - People are more likely to remember how you said something than what you said. So speak with confidence. (Smart Statement or Common Sense? I'm sticking with smart again. It's good advice.)

Tip # 7 - Ask the person you are talking to how they like to be contacted.  (I think that is an extremely smart statement. Are you with me so far?)

Tip # 11 - Do not be a stalker. (Oh shit..... can you define stalker..?)

Tip # 15 - Send handwritten thank-you notes telling people why it was good to meet them, and include your business card so they will remember you. (That's another smart statement. We could always get better at this one!)

Tip # 22 - It's never OK to lie. (Really? Like... never ever? Damn... I was saving a coupla good ones up...)

Tip # 25 - Your business card should not be so thin that it gives anyone a paper cut. (I'm torn on this one. On the one hand, it's a smart statement, right? I mean, we certainly don't want anyone bleeding all over the place because we were too cheap to purchase quality cards... yet on the other hand, you'd have to be a complete moron to hand those razor-wanna-be's out, right?)

Tip # 32 - When someone hands you a business card, take time to read it. (Totally smart statement.)

Tip # 37 If the person you would like to meet is in the middle of a conversation, do not interrupt. (uhm.. duh? Common sense. Move on.)

Tip # 42 - Brush your teeth before you go to a networking event. (No wonder everyone was staring at my mouth as I spoke.. I had this HUGE ASS piece of spinach between my teeth! Why didn't anyone tell me??)

Tip # 82 - Try not to swear. (Ok, I'm screwed. I mean, between the whole "it's never ok to lie" thing, and the fact that stalking is frowned upon, and now the not swearing thing.. Hell, am I allowed to breathe? Are you going to to try to take that away from me too? Geesh!)

So, you see what I mean? There are 84 tips in all... and while there are a lot more smart statements like the ones I've shared above, there are also a handful more of those completely unnecessary tips that made me chuckle. Maybe that's why they are in there? To lighten the mood, to add a little comic relief? To give this book cross-genre appeal? To make it impossible for the employees at the book store to determine whether it should be shelved with the humor books or the informative ones? All of the above?

Whatever the case, I found it highly entertaining and may even photocopy a few of these pages to display in my office window. To give the guys something to think about as they go from meeting to meeting, and person to person... Something to influence the building's morale. God knows we've all got to take a good look at what we are doing right, and what we need to do differently. And sometimes, we just gotta learn how to laugh at ourselves too!

Indie Spotlight: Wink Publishing

The world of publishing continues to evolve - to meet the needs of todays writers and readers.

I have a special new publisher I would like you to meet. Their called Wink Publishing, and they are asking for your help in deciding which new books they should publish.

Yup, you heard me right. A publisher who is asking for reader input on which breakthrough new novels get published. Check out their guest post explaining it all....


The problem with publishing.

Wink Publishing shouldn’t exist.  Its purpose, the problem it was created to solve, shouldn’t exist, but it does.  So Wink Publishing is here, looking for the best undiscovered writing talent and offering something more to new authors than traditional publishers currently do.

There is a problem at the heart of publishing which eBooks have brought into sharp focus.  It’s a problem which has always existed, but the accessibility to sales platforms such as Amazon’s Kindle and Apple’s iBooks has brought the issue into the dazzling sunlight.

The problem is that while many writers don’t write for the money, the majority of publishers publish for profit.  This misalignment of interests has shaped the publishing world for years.  While publishers haven’t taken advantage of author’s lack of commerciality, their financial imperatives have coloured their title list.  An editor will usually stand behind only those novels which will at the very least break even, unless it is seen as a loss leader to a franchise or a continuing body or work from that writer.  The plethora of celebrity titles, ghost written fiction and formulaic genre bestsellers are evidence of publisher’s mercantile mindset.

But literature has nothing to do with money.  In its purist form it is the most efficient, entertaining and everlasting way to share ideas and emotions.  It allows one person to share their unique view of the world with people they will never meet and never know.  If asked, most writers would happily give away their work if they didn’t need to eat as the spiritual nourishment of sharing their work would be enough.

Until the advent of eBooks, there were no credible alternatives to the publisher’s way of publishing for authors to take advantage of.  Publishers controlled the supply chain, had the financial resources to all but guarantee a books success and kept civil and profitable relationships with all of the books shops, both independent retailers and chains.  The system was designed to benefit everyone except writers, who were expected to give up control of the work that they had spent years crafting in return for a fraction of the income it generated.  While it was ideal for publishers, it was simply the better of two ills for writers, the alternative being eternal obscurity.

Everything changed when Amazon arrived.  While it just sold print books, publishers only noticed the increase in sales.  They didn’t notice any change in the overall landscape, not even when the Kindle eReader was launched.  Neither did they spot the potential risk to their way of doing business when Kindle’s Direct Publishing was launched, followed by Apple’s iBooks and iBook Store.  It was just another fad which would fade into the landscape.

But it hasn’t.  When the history of eBooks is written, Christmas 2010 will be marked as the watershed, the time when it all changed.  Whether it was because of the launch of the iPad, the lower price of the Kindle or simple zeitgeist only time will tell, but 2011 has shown phenomenal sales increases for eBooks.  The income has, belatedly, convinced publishers of the benefits of this new way of enjoying literature.

It has also seen the rise of the best-selling, self-published author. The number of writers who have sold over a million books without the aid of a publisher so far this year is almost as many as in the entire history of publishing.  This is all because of eBooks and shows no sign of slowing down.

While this trend is welcomed by struggling writers, it also accentuates the oldest problems in publishing.  The problem which Wink Publishing exists to solve.  How does a reader discover a new writer? 

Traditionally, a publisher would back a writer with the necessary marketing campaign and financial resources to ensure that the author becomes well known, thus ensuring steady sales.  However, with more writers choosing to eschew publishers in favour of going it alone, the reality of becoming a lone voice in a deafening chorus clamouring for attentions bites early and bites hard.  How does a new writer, without a big budget marketing campaign, find their readers?  How does a new writer become discovered?

It’s an old problem, but a problem, which, thanks to technology has a new solution as well as providing Wink Publishing with a reason to exist.

If the main purpose of a publisher is to sell books, and to do that readers need to want to buy that book, why take a risk on a novel?  As a publisher, why not take out the guesswork about which books will be popular and only publish those with a proven track record?  Until now it has been impossible to do this with an unpublished writer, but we’ve found a way to do just that.

Wink Publishing doesn’t choose which books to publish, we let readers do that.

We select a number of titles which have been well written and then ask readers to vote for the one which they want to see published.  No other publisher is doing this.  It’s scary for us, but the benefits will, we believe, far outweigh the drawbacks.

But we’ve decided to go further than that.  Not only do we offer undiscovered authors another way to connect with their readers, we offer a fairer deal.  Whatever income their debut novel generates is split 50/50.  Any costs of generating that income is taken from our share, so the writer always gets half of the income we receive.

We also do more than just publish their book.  We try to find people who are interested in filming their work, or people who want to serialise or use the novel in another way.  In this respect we fill the role of the writer’s agent.  Again, something no other publisher does at the moment.

The new publishing landscape opens lots of possibilities for publishers and we have only scratched the surface so far, but if you think we’re doing something worthwhile, please help us help new writers.

We don’t want your money or even much of your time. 

All we need is your vote.

Please read the entries for our current contest here and then vote for your favourite.

Without you we won’t have anything to publish.

Without you a new writer may never be discovered.

(Wink Publishing can be found on twitter and facebook as well as on their website.)

Book Giveaway: Damascus

TNBBC has the incredible honor of hosting a mid-month Author/Reader discussion with Joshua Mohr 

and you know what that means......!!

In order to stimulate discussion,

We will be giving away 10 domestic copies of his newest novel 

Damascus

(domestic means US residents only)

(sorry, international followers!)

Here's the Goodreads description:

It's 2003 and the country is divided evenly for and against the Iraq War. Damascus, a dive bar in San Francisco's Mission District, becomes the unlikely setting for a showdown between the opposing sides. 

Tensions come to a boil when Owen, the bar's proprietor who has recently taken to wearing a Santa suit full-time, agrees to host the joint's first (and only) art show by Sylvia Suture, an ambitious young artist who longs to take her act to the dramatic precipice of the high-wire by nailing live fish to the walls as a political statement. 

 An incredibly creative and fully rendered cast of characters orbit the bar. There's No Eyebrows, a cancer patient who has come to the Mission to die anonymously; Shambles, the patron saint of the hand job; Revv, a lead singer who acts too much like a lead singer; and Owen, donning his Santa costume to mask the most unfortunate birthmark imaginable. 

 Damascus is the place where confusion and frustration run out of room to hide. By gracefully tackling such complicated topics as cancer, Iraq, and issues of self-esteem, Joshua Mohr has painted his most accomplished novel yet.

The contest will run through September 27th. 

 Here's how to enter:

 1 - Comment here stating that you would like to receive a copy of the book.

 2 - You must be a resident of the US and leave me a way to contact you.

 3- Agree to participate in a group read book discussion that will run during the middle of October  through the middle of November over at TNBBC on Goodreads. Joshua Mohr has agreed to participate in the discussion and will be available to answer any questions you may have for him. 

 *If you are chosen as a winner, by accepting the copy you are agreeing to read the book and join the group discussion at TNBBC on Goodreads (the thread for the discussion will be emailed to you by the 15th of the October).

 Winners are chosen randomly 

and will be announced here and via email on September 28th. 

 Good luck!

Review: Damascus

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2011 Brooklyn Book Festival, FTW

What happens when you give a bunch of publishers, countless authors, and book lovers and bloggers like TNBBC and BookSexyReview free reign of Brooklyn's Court Street? The 2011 Brooklyn Book Festival, that's what!

I was horrible about taking photos this year, so rather than write a super long, not so interesting post about everything that happened, I'm gonna break my BKBF experience down into a list of highlights and lowlights:

BKBF11 Highlights:

• Hanging with Tara from BookSexyReview, my literary partner-in-crime! We drove into the city together, so we had loads of time to girl-talk and book-talk and enjoy the festival.
• How about that weather, huh? Not a drop of rain! A bit windy at times, but a totally gorgeous day to be out among the bookish!
• Meeting Richard Nash of Red Lemonade and Jessica Deutsch of Coffee House Press - two publishers I began working with this year, and look forward to working with again and again.
• Seeing Erin from Graywolf Press and Erica from Harper Perennial again. I love these ladies! Show me someone who doesn't, I dare you!
• Meeting Alan Heathcock, author of Volt. Alan and I have communicated online many times over the past year and I just happened to catch him walking by me at the festival (hours before his scheduled panel). He is extremely cool in person and wrote a lovely little message in my copy of his novel when he signed it. BTW, we will be giving away copies of his novel and hosting a discussion of it with him in the coming months! We are extremely excited and hope you will be too! 
• Listening to the Getting To It and Getting Through It and the Short and Sweet (and Sour) short story panels. I enjoyed seeing Alan Heathcock's read from Volt, and got to hear Amelia Gray read from her flash fiction collection AM/PM.
• Accidently asking for two tickets to the Colson Whitehead / Patrick Somerville panel, when all I needed was one, and being able to pass that extra ticket on to Levi Asher when he tweeted that he had no ticket and couldn't get in! How's that for an accident?! 
• OMG, the food trucks! I had no clue NYC had such deliciousness driving around on 4 (or is it 8 or 10?) wheels! Tara enticed me into ordering from a grilled cheese truck that made a to-die-for short rib sandwich, and then talked me into ordering an angus burger from Frites N Meat - which initially looked and sounded scary but ended up being quite tasty, and had the best employees in the food business. 
• I know this defeats the purpose of the Festival and goes against everything the publishers are trying to accomplish, but I did not buy ONE book! I was surrounded by millions of awesome looking novels and quelled the urge to spend all of my money on them, and by god, It wasn't easy!. There is no way my TBR pile could have handled any more additions..... 

BKBF11 Lowlights:

• There just are not enough hours in one day to contain all of the author panels and signings, the networking with the publishers at the booths, the eating, the peeing, and the standing in line for tickets! Hell, there aren't enough minutes in between each event to even get from one panel to another without missing a signing or a reading! I would have to recommend splitting out the events across two days, with an hour-long break between each panel.
• The damn weekend Subway changes! Making adjustments to the trains and which lines they are running is hell for a subway-challenged individual like myself! Thank god Tara knows what she is doing! We got on the C train under Port Authority, headed to Brooklyn, and then realized it was running the F line, which was cool till it parked it's ass in the middle of the trip and never started back up again. After losing 20 minutes just sitting there, we jumped over to the R line (I think?!) and had another 20 minutes to kill while we waited for it to arrive. Fuck public transportation! I am convinced I could have walked to Brooklyn from Port Authority quicker than those subway rides got us there.
• Making an ass out of myself at the PM Press booth. I introduced myself and thanked them for a copy of a book they don't publish! I mixed them up with another relatively new publisher to me - both mailed me books at the same time -and I walked away feeling like a complete nube! That's never happened to me before. Oy! 
• Carrying around copies of books by A.M. Homes, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Ben Lerner all day - expecting to crash the signings - and never making it to a single one! See the first bullet point; something had to give, some things just didn't make the cut. (sigh) Last year I had loads of books signed. This year... only one!
• For me, the lowest of the low: The fact that the day finally, grudgingly, had to come to an end!!!!

Were you there? What was a highlight for you? 

Ben Spivey on "Being Indie"

On "Being Indie" is a monthly feature that will be hosted here on TNBBC. It is my hope that we will meet a wide variety of independent authors, publishers, and booksellers as they discuss what being indie means to them.

Ben Spivey is Co- Founder, Co-Editor and Publicist for Blue Square Press, which was established in 2010. He is also the author of Flowing in the Gossamer Fold, which was reviewed here back in March. And he blogs at Your Brain's Black Box.

Ben's novel was partially influenced by photographer Yelena Yemchuk and the beautifully uneasy feelings her artwork created within in.

Today, he shares with us this thoughts on the term "Indie" the personal impact of such labels.

I am not purposefully trying to be "indie." What I write—what I am doing—is what I love to do, it is what I believe to be important, and however that is classified is whatever to me.

While I do not label myself I understand the importance of such distinctions.

I've heard the kids with the shoulder bags talking on the train—people who enjoy being able to say they like writer X, "haven't you heard of X?" And when their friend says, "who?" They say, "X is an indie writer. Where have you been?"

            

I'd be just as happy as an Oprah book-of-the-month as long as my vision and my words and my passion was not compromised in the process.

            

The "indie world of books" is what excites me right now. Is it an entire world? Feels like it sometimes. It can be overwhelming, like a table full of BBQ nachos can be overwhelming.

           

People become board with "mainstream literature" but that doesn't mean there are not great popular fictions, just like anything there are good and bad, worthwhile and not. "Indie," can be more exciting and feel more personal, but it can be just as bad as anything else.

            

So what is being "indie?" If it's being independent, then I am not. If it wasn't for fellow writers, authors, designers, publishers and close friends, I'd be nothing.

            

A lot of the people I am involved with support each other in someway. It's a network. Maybe it should be called "being collective."

            

When I think "indie" in the conventional sense I think small press and all of the beautiful works that a lot of those hardworking people produce, distribute and love.

Book Giveaway: The Bee-Loud Glade

I am especially thrilled to be able to offer following giveaway !

Steve Himmer's novel The Bee Loud Glade will be featured in

 October as part of TNBBC's Author/Reader discussion 

In order to stimulate discussion,
we have 5 books to give away for US residents
and 2 books to give away Internationally!!

Here is the book description as it appears on Goodreads:

 When Finch, a recently fired marketer of plastic plants, takes a vow of silence to live as a hermit on an eccentric billionaire's estate, he finds that his attempt to contemplate nature and deeper truths is foiled by his noisy inner thoughts and his new employer's booming demands.

The contest will run through September 20th.

Here's how to enter:

1 - Comment here stating that you would like to receive a copy of the book, and tell us what you would consider taking a 7 year vow of silence for. 

2 - Pleas tell us if you are a resident of the US, or if you are international (In this case, Canada is considered international) and leave me a way to contact you.

*If your comment is missing any of this information, it will be considered ineligible.

3- Agree to participate in a group read book discussion that will run during the month of October over at TNBBC on Goodreads. Steve Himmer has agreed to participate in the discussion and will be available to answer any questions you may have for him.

*If you're comment is chosen as a winner, by accepting the copy you are agreeing to read the book and join the group discussion at TNBBC on Goodreads (the thread for the discussion will be emailed to you at the first of the month).

Winners are chosen randomly

and will be announced here and via email

on September 21st.

Good luck!

Review: A Burden To The Earth

Read 8/31/11 - 9/7/11
4 Stars - Strongly Recommend
Pgs: 279
Unpublished

TNBBC is breaking new ground! I had an opportunity to beta read Michael J. Sullivan's manuscript A Burden to the Earth. The pre-edited, unpublished book found it's way to me during a break in the action at the 2011 Indie Book Event (IBE) that took place in NYC this past July.

Michael's wife, Robin, was sitting front row in the audience at the event. Though I had never met her in person before IBE, we have quite the history together. Robin is a long time member of the TNBBC goodreads group. After the initial Hi, so great to finally meet you's, Robin and I discussed her publishing company and the authors she represents. Conversation eventually turned to her husband, who is enjoying his success as a sci-fi writer. Unlike his Riyria  books, she informed me that the book he had just finished writing was literary fiction, which is a new genre for him. She asked if I would be interested in giving her and her husband some feedback on it. Once she delivered the elevator pitch, I couldn't say no.

The book focuses on Elliot, a forty year old man, single and still living at home with his mother, who harbors a hatred for a world that he feels left him behind. Very much wishing things were still as simple as they were when he was growing up, Elliot struggles to adjust and adapt to life in the 1990's. Always a bit obsessive over women - he still has the unopened bottle of Coke that a girl he crushed on in middle school had given him and stalks the cute waitress who humors him with conversation at the Fox Den -  he damages the only friendships he has when he finds out that the two people he cares most about, Rachel and Randy, have begun dating behind his back. In his mind, their friendship is no longer equal and he nearly loses his mind after Rachel refuses to give into his demands that she pay him the same "attention" she does Randy.

Beta reading, while exciting to be one of the first few to see a book before it passes into the hands of the publishers, can also be a frustratingly long and tedious job. Reading between the lines in search of character development, pace, and overall story arc is fun. Discovering grammatical and structural errors and communicating the adjustments, removals, and recommendations - not so much. I found more of my time was spent typing up the edits than reading the actual content. And this is where I think beta reading works for me, and where it might not work for others. I know many a blogger who cannot STAND it when they come across a poorly edited sentence, let alone page, and don't get them started if it's poorly edited all the way through! Yes - it is important to know the difference between their, they're, and there. Yes - it is important to understand comma placement and how improperly placed commas can impact the performance of a sentence. And in a finished edition of the novel, those things are certainly much less acceptable, and reflect negatively on the author and editors for having let those things slip by. But in these early stages, with a manuscript or review ARC, I can see beyond all of that, into the meat of the story, and see the gem that is hidden beneath. Though, if I'm being honest, I have always been able to look past the typo's and still find nothing but love for the content. It's this ability to separate the two - the grammatical errors from the story's content and development - that allowed me to see this novel for what it really could be.

Exceptionally well paced, A Burden to the Earth delves into the flawed and fractured mind of a man who is frighteningly close to the edge of losing everything, including himself. As the cracks in his reasoning become more obvious and worrisome to others, in Elliot's mind things are simply starting to appear more clear. "Life is a joke God plays on people...", and Hell be damned, he has finally become tired of being God's little punch-line.

I thought Michael did Elliot a great deal of justice when he wrote him - there is so much wrong with Elliot that readers will find themselves wondering what is wrong with them for not loathing him. He is completely dependent on his mother for room, board, food, and conversation and hates himself for it. His friends and family see him for what he is, and he hates them for it. Yet, we all know someone with some of the same qualities, don't we? Just a little too obsessed with a new girl he has just met, just a little too easy going within small groups of friends when things are going fine but then just a little too mopey when things don't work out the way he anticipated, a bit of an over-reactor to change.... There is something creepily familiar about Elliot... and therein lies the rub.

When you've finally had enough of feeling like you're always pulling the short straw, to what lengths would you go to show people you've had enough?

AudioBook Review: City of Thieves

Listened 8/28/11 - 9/7/11
5 Stars - Highly Recommended / The Next Best Book
8 Hours

This is a book that sadly sat on my "to buy" list for years. From the moment I read the jacket copy, I knew I had to read it and I was certain I would love it. Every time I stepped into a bookstore, I would pick it up, read the jacket and carry it around with me as I browsed, but something else always caught my eye and forced me to put City of Thieves back down. Then, for an incredibly long time, I stopped shopping in bookstores. (Part of the yin and yang of being a book blogger... most of the books I have are courtesy of wonderful indie publishers and authors looking for reviews, while the rest come from the endlessly overflowing local library book sales, thus rendering me incapable of purchasing brand new books for lack of time and space!)

But the recent Borders "Going out of Business Sales" enticed me to enter through their doors in search of some audiobooks to snag at a discounted price. I was about to leave home for a week, embarking on a 5 hour drive up to Massachusetts for a work thing, and I wanted something good to listen to on the way there and back. (God only knew how many radio stations I would pick up and lose on the trip. I have no patience with searching for new stations every 10 miles....)

Wait...I don't think you realize how big of a thing this is for me, shopping for audiobooks.

See, for most of my life, I've had a difficult time with them. Remember when we were kids and you could buy those books that came with audio tapes? They were so cool because you could follow along as you listened to the book being read to you. For me, it helped to keep me focused on the story - without the book, within 5 minutes of pressing the play button, I would suddenly find myself zoning out and completely lost, not having heard a word that was being spoken. And this habit has carried itself with me throughout my adult years as well. I'm an excellently disciplined reader. Plop me on a couch with a book in my hands and nothing can break my concentration. Not even sitting in the middle of kids screaming and fighting over the tv channels with the phone ringing off the hook! But put me in a silent car with an audiobook, and the entire thing is lost on me. My focus is out the window the moment the narrator's voice kicks in and I'm mentally listing off grocery items I need, thinking about upcoming episodes of True Blood, or quietly cursing the traffic. (I swear I am not like this when people are standing talking right in front me, or talking to me on the phone!) And then suddenly I remember - Oh Shit! I'm supposed to have been listening to this fucking book! How much did I miss? What the fuck is he talking about? How do I rewind? Did I rewind far enough? Fuck!

But recently, after attending the BEA and unexpectedly finding myself the owner of two free audiobooks, I decided to give them another chance. It's a miracle I still want to listen to the damn things after the shit I put myself through with these audiobooks - take a look at attempt #1, and attempt #2 to see why!

But I digress....

I popped into Borders, and headed over to their audiobook section. Being so late in the closing sale, the shelves were mostly picked through, and there wasn't a heck of a lot of fiction audio left. I did, however, find a copy of City of Thieves, which I happily grabbed. And this time, I did not let go! (I also took home an audiobook of Pygmy, which I absolutely do not recommend to anyone.)

The book is narrated by Ron Perlman - the odd-faced man behind HellBoy and the Beauty and the Beast series, who, believe it or not, has a wonderfully deep and lovely reading voice - and could easily become a contemporary classic lit novel.

The author, David Benioff, did an excellent job infusing this story of two Russian criminals - sent out on a dangerous journey in search of a dozen eggs during the Nazi's siege of Leningrad - with humor, culture, and pride. Young Lev, arrested by his own people for looting a dead fallen German solider, is a cautious worrywart. His cellmate, the cool, calm, womanizing Kolya, counts off the passing days based on the last time he has taken a shit and waxes poetic about an unknown novel entitled The Courtyard Hound.

Rather than face execution, which is the sentence for anyone arrested during the war, A Soviet colonel promises to set them free in exchange for a dozen eggs, which he needs in order bake a cake for his daughter's upcoming wedding. The kicker - there are no eggs to be had in the frozen city and the boys have less than a week to find them.

City of Thieves goes beyond the long, cold journey of these two strangers, peering straight into the heart of survival, the need for physical romance in a time of emotional upheaval, the lengths people would go to in order to ensure a meal awaited them at the end of the day. It deals with the suffering, mistrust, and hatred that the Nazi siege inflicted and infected Russia with.

Buried within the pages, or in this case inside the discs, there are encounters with cannibals, a rooster named Darling, discussions about sex and how to woo a woman, a chess game where life and death are on the line, and an extremely difficult passage for me to listen to involving a dog with a bomb strapped to his back.

Ron Perlman did a phenomenal job with the narration. His character voices were natural and subtle, so you always knew who was talking without being distracted away from the story. Unlike most of the other audiobooks I had listened to, he didn't attempt to make the women sound like women - those nasally, high pitched, whiny voices I had begun to believe were mandatory when narrating - and I love him for that.

I am really happy I picked this up as an audiobook because it's a great example of how audiobooks SHOULD be. And it finally gives me hope that I may find some others out there that are just as good. I am also thrilled to be able to move this book from my "to buy" shelf and into my "read" shelf!

Review: Stories for Nighttime and Some for The Day

Read 8/27/11 - 9/7/11
4 Stars - Strongly Recommended
Pgs: 208

Ben Loory's Stories for Nighttime and Some for The Day demonstrates the power and beauty of the english language when it's stripped down to its very core.

He plays endlessly with our notion of reality; twisting it, turning it, bending it, burying it and digging it back up again. His stories are bred of magic and mystery, dreams and nightmares, fears and hopes. They are wonderful and frightening, all at the same time.

Many of his stories serve as cautionary tales: such as the man who has a public pool drained when he sees a monster swimming at the bottom, only to realize too late that he has released it of its prison.... or the octopus who sacrifices the quality of underwater living to live an eternally bland life on land.... or the woman who unintendedly increases sales of a book she despises simply by speaking out against it. They warn the reader to be careful of what you wish for, to curb your curiosity, to weigh your options carefully.

His collection reminds me of a darker, more twisted play on Aesop's Fables, in that his stories mostly seem to end on a bitter note. I say mostly because, with some of them, I am not always sure what sort of ending his characters were dealt. Though it is always clear.. I would not have done such things if I were you!

As I devoured each tale, many of which I read out loud to my eight year old son, I recall the feelings and thoughts they stirred within us. Quite a few of them resulted in mid-reading conversations, the two of us trying to determine what might happen to each of the characters as they moved throughout the story. Other times, as they ended, we would just look at each other, shrug, and move onto the next one.

Extremely well written and cleverly executed, with a gorgeous cover to boot, Stories for Nighttime and Some for The Day is a collection everyone should own. Young and old alike can find something to enjoy within the pages of this book. Bigfoot, aliens, and magical shields are waiting to share their stories with you... I'll let you decide which are best read under the cover of darkness, and which should be let out into the light.

Many thanks to Ben Loory, who so willingly shipped over a copy of his book for review!

Indie Spotlight - Rae Bryant

 Rae Bryant believes in writing about the things most people would prefer to shy away from. Her newly released collection of short stories, The Indefinite State of Imaginary Morals, which deals heavily with magic realism, surrealism, satire and postfeminism, was nominated for the Pen Hemingway award.

No stranger to writing and publishing, Rae's short stories have appeared in BLIP Magazine (formerly Mississippi Review), Opium Magazine, and PANK, among others. She is also the founding editor of Moon Milk Review, a nonprofit print and online literary and arts journal.

Rae joins us on TNBBC today to discuss why she writes about sex and violence, why she enjoys experimental writing, and how being a woman, wife, and mother is affected by these choices:

 "I should state, first, that it seems sex and violence for some writers are the bad or taboo or closeted things in other people’s narratives. It is a literary conceit, I think, this notion that serious literary writers should disengage with the “sex” and the “violence.” 

"Imagine the words whispered like unmentionables around the MFA workshop table. Writers who do engage directly with sex or violence or alternative forms are often termed the “others” or sometimes the Experimentalists, sometimes a dirty connotation in and of itself. And it is true, sex and violence and Postmodern structures can have different voices in narratives than say the conventional love affair as told from first person or the man walking his dog through life in third person or a retro landscape of a US town gone to ashes, but I like the different. 

"It is what makes the written word necessary for me. I can engage with conventions in real time. When I immerse in a story, I want to be taken to a place where I must engage creatively and rigorously with the work. I want to face and question my sense of convention and morality. And don’t get me wrong. I enjoy and seek more simplistic and realistic narratives. It is a style I sometimes prefer writing when the story requires it, but for me, the “other,” the edge, isn’t an optional engagement. It is ingrained, a way of organic crafting for me.

"I must admit. I do have a twisted sense of creativity. I blame Swift, mostly. Fell in love with “A Modest Proposal” at an early age, works by Woolf, Poe, any mythology I could get my hands on, and so the “other” has been imprinted on me. As a result, I often consider how normal scenarios would smell and taste and sound in a strange land, with a bent perspective. 

"My one standard is language. I like attention to language. I want unrelenting rigor and music, and I’m not afraid of fusions. Prose and poetry combined is a beautiful experience, albeit reading or writing. It disappoints me when readers and/or writers limit themselves to only one or the other to the detriment of a fuller exploration.

"And the female question? The mother, wife question? Should it matter in the realm of creative properties?

"Chaucer, Swift, Nabokov, O’Connor, Oates, Vonnegut, Woolf, Williams, Gaitskill, McCarthy... A small sampling of authors who pushed or push edges with an elegance and wit beyond me, and their works stay with me each time I sit with a book or pen in hand. Each time I return to them, I learn a little more about the writer I want to be. "

Her book, The Indefinite State of Imaginary Morals , is a "visceral collection of stories that explores the wits, moralities, edges and sometimes broken realities of lovers and friends, life and death, and the mundane tragedies in a normal day. From detachable women to cow tipping, kingfishers to drive-thru sex, Bryant pushes the boundaries and creates for her readers the amusing, the heartbreaking and the magically bizarre conditions of woman and man." - Book description from Goodreads.com

You can find out more about Rae by visiting her website, "liking" her on Facebook,  and following her on Twitter. 

Review: Broetry

Read 8/ 25/11 - 8/27/11
3 Stars - Recommended to readers familiar with genre
Pgs: 121

Welcome to a whole new world of poetry, as told from the "man's man" perspective. Say so long to the flowery, romantic, whimsically girly prose you've become accustomed to! Brian McGackin's laying down brand new rhymes that speak to the heart of all of us... in terms we can all relate to.

With a manly flair, Brian pulls much of the content for his broems from past experiences - spelling out his dating horror stories, addiction to video games and beer, and unhealthy obsession for Taylor Swift for us in neat, concise lines that drive straight through to the heart of it all.

Poking fun at the format, Brian pretends he is a guest on Jeopardy in his broem "I'll take Crazy Bitches for $200, Alex", where he answers questions like...

"Crazy  Bitches for $400. Usually referred to as "zero," "nonexistent," or "the same as that of Hell freezing over," her family still calls it "pretty good." What are the odds of us getting back together? Correct. "

Sweetly demonstrating his sensitive side in "Whorecrux", he lists out all the girls he's dated over the years that have broken his heart, beginning with the red head in first grade who put him off Snack Packs and ginger hair for the rest of his life.

"Modern-Day Heroics" finds him pondering the act of killing a spider for a sex reward, though he ends up feeling extremely guilty over the dead arachnid.

I don't know why, but I had fully anticipated opening this book up and finding myself bombarded with a collection of pensive poems about farting, and scratching, and masturbating. And to be honest, I am a bit disappointed that I didn't come across much of that. What the hell does that say about me?!!

My personal perversions aside, this book is a must buy for the man in your life. As a stocking stuffer, birthday gift, anniversary present... you can't go wrong with a little Broetry.

Many thanks to Eric over at Quirk Books for making this review copy available to me. I look forward to reading more of their catalog in the future.

The Journey to A Greater Monster

David David Katzman is on a journey. It's a journey many authors have made before him, and one that many shall make in his wake. He is on the journey of self-publishing.

Like most journeys, the path is well worn, one footprint indistinguishable from the other; the territory, though familiar, remains frightening. It's a trip that is not taken lightly, humbling the traveler. It requires an inexhaustible amount of exertion and effort, an incredible amount of preparation, and a tireless determination to succeed.

This specific type of journey, however, also requires something of us, dear reader. It requires our support. Without our support, self published authors will have made their incredible journey for next to nothing.

Author of the independently published Death by Zamboni, David has completed his second novel - A Greater Monster. After researching countless publishers and carefully submitting his novel for consideration, receiving little to no response, David has decided to self publish.

Watch the video below for a little history on David and his new novel:


 David has created a Kickstarter page, where people can fund his efforts by donating money towards his goal of $3000 - the estimated cost of generating a print run of 1000 copies of his book on 100% recycled paper.

Not only are you helping David bring his groundbreaking multi-media novel to life, but if you check out the right hand column of his Kickstarter page, there are cool gifts associated with your donation. So, for example, if you were to pledge just $10, David will write a unique stream-of-consciousness email that is inspired by your name. Pledging $25 will land you a signed copy of A Greater Monster....

Here's the kicker... He needs to hit $3000 in pledged donations by September 26th, or his journey will come to an end. If he fails to reach $3000 by his deadline, he receives nothing. nil. nada.

As of this posting, David has generated a total of $2,021 towards his goal! Can we help him get all the way to $3000?! I think we can!

Help support the journey to A Greater Monster. Every dollar counts.

Tell Me a Story - Matt Micheli

Welcome to the next installment of TNBBC's Tell Me a Story!

Tell Me a Story is a monthly series that features previously unpublished short stories from debut and Indie authors. The request is simple: Stories can be any format, any genre, and any length. And many amazing writers signed up for the challenge.

Todays story comes from the wildly unpredictable mind of Matt Micheli. Matt is the author of Memoirs of a Violent Sleeper, and coins himself as "a transgressive fiction writer out of Austin TX who deals with lead characters that don't quite fit the norm". His analytical, sometimes satirical, and often times blunt views of religion, love, loss, life and beyond are expressed through his storytelling. For him, writing is an escape from the confines of a consistent and ordinary normality. He is currently working on final edits for a new novel titled SMUT.

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Pennies

Her:
Is this supposed to taste good? Because it doesn’t. It tastes like shit. Am I doing this right? Maybe I’m doing something wrong. But then again, how else would you do it? How else is there? This is the only way. It’s no rocket science. Jesus. Eugh. Mother . . . fucker, this is gross. I always thought it’d taste like pennies. Or at least that’s how I remember it as a kid. Like pennies. Not like fucking . . . rotten shit. This better work. For all this? This shit better work. How am I supposed to know? Am I supposed to feel something? Is it like drugs or something? I always heard it was like drugs or something. Like Ecstacy. Well, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything, yet. Or does it take a while? Maybe it takes a while. Eugh. How much am I supposed to drink? Maybe I need to drink more. But, I don’t know if I can. This is awful. Absolutely awful. Maybe my senses are heightened; that’s why it tastes so bad; so . . . strong. Is that what happens? I always heard that your senses go crazy. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe that’s why it tastes so . . . bad. Sniff. Sniff. I don’t know. I can’t really smell or . . . see anything differently. I don’t . . . think, I can hear anything differently. Maybe I need more. Maybe I haven’t had enough. Oh God, this is disgusting. Gulp. Absolutely . . . disgusting. I thought this would be easier. I didn’t realize it would be . . . like this. I mean, was it like this for you? For your first time? I don’t know how you did it. Or . . . why you did it. Eugh. I guess I’ll drink more. Cause I haven’t felt anything . . . yet. Or . . . maybe, I am feeling . . . something. Yuck. Maybe we could’ve gotten a . . . a slightly higher quality. Maybe the quality isn’t good enough. Maybe that’s why I’m having to drink more than I thought. Maybe, it’s the low-quality. How much did you have to drink . . . your first time? And was it low . . . or high quality? Or does it matter? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Eugh. This is . . . gross. But, I guess we gotta do what we gotta do. And what do we gotta do . . . after this? I mean, I have my suspicions, but . . . Is it always like this? Does it always taste like this? Like crap? Does it ever taste like pennies? That’s what I always remembered as a kid. The taste of pennies. Gulp. Eugh. It’s sticking to my throat. Smack. Smack. Is that supposed to happen? It’s like . . . coating it. Ew. It’s thick. I think its . . . thickening. Should I keep drinking? It’s starting to stink in here. I think my senses are heightening because it’s starting to stink. Alright. I think I can feel it, maybe. Or maybe not. Or maybe . . . well . . . Maybe. I mean, I feel . . . something. Eugh. It’s really starting to stink in here. Does it always stink like this? Maybe it’s always gonna stink like this. Is it? Eugh. Ok. It’s getting thicker. How much more do I need to drink?

Him:
We barged in and found her there, sitting on the floor, buck naked, covered in blood, talking to no one. There was blood everywhere. It stank to high-heaven. I threw up. Actually I think we all did from the smell but I was the first one to enter. The first one. I don’t know how long she had been in there but it must’ve been several days; the body was decomposing and looked bruised and sunken in and the odor wasn’t from, how should I put this, fresh kill. There were chunks of flesh missing from (the officer swallows and looks down) the victim’s arms and legs. The girl’s mouth was covered in blood; she had obviously been drinking and eating from the corpse. (Still looking down, he shakes his head back and forth) Sick. I’ve seen some sick shit in my day (he looks right at me nodding his head up and down) but never have I seen anything like this. Her mouth: I remember her teeth. It looked like there were pieces of flesh between them: her teeth. I have never (he shakes his head and looks off) . . . never seen anything like that. (His head still shaking) And her eyes; like a cat in a headlight. Wide open, but . . . empty; dead; (he pauses to think) like mirrors. That crime scene; that smell, it still keeps me up at night. That girl’s cat eyes and her mouth smeared in blood and her talking some uncontrollable gibberish and the smell. (He shakes his head looking off at nothing) I still see images of it every day. (He looks down again, contemplating) I still smell it. I taste it . . . like pennies.

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I want to thank Matt for participating in TNBBC's Tell Me a Story. If you like what you've read, please support Matt by checking out his website and book. Help spread the word by sharing this post through your blog, tumblr page, twitter and facebook accounts. Every link counts! And be sure to check back with us next month for the next installment....