How I Learned to Love the Game

When I was a kid, I hated baseball. I played one year of T-ball and that was it. My brother went a little further, but I don't think he really enjoyed it much. We went to Reds games as a family, but they bored me to tears. I didn't understand any of it and my dad couldn't ever be bothered to fill me in; he was too busy listening to the game on his little radio. My parents separated and the games got too expensive, so that was the end of that. But I really didn't mind. I hated the sport and I hated Cincinnati. It was over ten years before I went to another Major League game.

I tried watching baseball on TV, usually the Olympics or something like that, but it still seemed exhausting to me. It wasn't until my freshman year of college that I started taking any interest in baseball and sports in general. Since I hated my roommate, I spent a lot of time with my suitemates, one of whom was a huge sports fan. He actually explained things to me, so I enjoyed it more. We watched football, soccer, hockey, baseball. It was a good time. It helped that he had the best TV in the whole dorm too. Matt Gahris, my suitemate, actually just joined the staff at Blog Red Machine; do me a favour and look him up. He's a good writer and he knows his sports. After doing a semester abroad in the former half of my sophomore year, I transferred from Wright State University to Ohio Wesleyan University, so I no longer was able to watch sports with my suitemate. I still miss that a little. Some of my best times at Wright State were sitting around with Matt and his roommate, Tony, watching TV—whatever sport was in season or America's Funniest Home Videos (the original with Bob Saget) at 1AM.

When I got back from my semester abroad and started at OWU I developed a pretty strong friendship with someone I had known a long time from bowling and he officially made me a baseball fan. We went to a Cleveland Indians game together and I loved it. It was against the Yankees on a Sunday afternoon. We were sat in the second-to-last row in right field, near the bull pens if you're familiar with Progressive Field. Even though we were surrounded by Yankees fans and didn't make it in time for batting practice, we still had an amazing time, especially since the Indians won—even with Grady having just been put on the DL and A-Rod having just come off. I wanted to go to another game that season, but once he started soccer in the fall, we didn't have time. The next summer we went to another game—Saturday night against the Reds the night before my 21st birthday, seats just a few rows back from first base. We stayed the night in downtown Cleveland and got a free upgrade since our room wasn't ready when we went to check in; we scored a $365 a night room for $140. The next day we went to Cedar Point. Excepting when I puked all over the hotel bathroom, it was an awesome weekend. I've since learned to never consume chocolate while drinking cider. Sadly, I am no longer friends with that person, though am hoping we could change that.

That same summer I started watching my neighbour's grandson play Pony League; he's the fifteen year old best friend I've mentioned before. It was a lot of fun watching the kids play ball. Really made me wish I had. I took him to his first Major League game that summer: the Indians vs. the Toronto Blue Jays on a Monday night. I scored two awesome seats on Stub Hub for less than half the face value. He had an amazing time. The next summer (this past summer) we went to another four games, including Opening Day. We also were able to land front row seats on the first base line for less than face value. We were the only “kids” in the front row and didn't get much attention from our waitress. She introduced herself to everyone but us. Actually, I don't think she even talked to us. But it was still awesome sitting in the front row. I only missed a handful of games on TV that summer. If I couldn't watch it at home, then I was watching the play-by-play on my phone. To be honest, I really don't know how I ended up loving baseball so much when I used to despise it. But I'm glad I do. There's a reason why its America's favourite pasttime.

How I Met Kate Nash

This isn't going to be long and drawn out and featuring a goat like How I Met Your Mother. I met Kate Nash after seeing her in concert back in the fall of 2010; it was in October, I think, but I can't remember the exact day. I'd check the ticket stub (which is autographed), but it's on a shelf in my room and I don't want to get off the couch. The show was at the Newport Music Hall and was in support of her second full-length album, My Best Friend Is You. I didn't have anyone to go with me, but I wasn't going to pass up the chance of seeing one of my favourite artists live in concert, so I went by myself; it was no big deal.

The show was incredible. Easily one of the best I had seen. It was a little awkward because I was about the only guy there by myself. But I didn't care. I love Kate Nash. It was electric when she hit the first notes on the piano for “Foundations”. The crowd erupted. For lack of a better word, it was amazing. Occasionally she'd interject with some funny comments or explain some British slang used in her lyrics. Before one song, she told us about an interview where she was told she was a hot mess because she had scraped up knees. Her response: “Hot mess? What am I—Lindsay Lohan?”

I was determined to meet Kate Nash after the show. One of my friends (he lives in London) has a tendency of meeting the band after the show and then always rubs it in my face—the worst was when he saw The Blanks and met Ted from Scrubs. I asked him for some tips and he told me to find the stage door and just wait after the show. I did just that. It worked. Me and a handful of others stood in a single-file line along the tour bus anxiously waiting for the redhead Londoner to walk out the stage door and down the olde stairs to the alley that lie behind the Newport. She came out and quickly went by the line, stopping to inform us all that she would be right back. She retreated to the tour bus, but returned in a matter of moments with a Sharpie in hand.

Kate Nash was superb. She was so friendly and welcoming. She went down the line one person at a time, signing ticket stubs and posters and CD booklets and talking to each person. All I had with my was my ticket stub, having forgot my CD booklet for Made of Bricks at home. Her signature is a bit... incomprehensible, but I know what it says. I had no idea what to say to her when she got to me. I was wearing my England soccer shirt, which she quite liked. The whole thing was like when in a movie or TV show when a guy meets the super pretty girl and can't utter a single word. Finally I said “great show” and got a picture. But, alas! My phone was nearly dead, so the picture didn't save. It was disappointing, but gave me a reason to get back in line. I asked a girl to take my picture with her camera and send it to me and she agreed. Kate was quite alright doing another picture. I was glad my phone died too because I ended up standing in the alley with Kate and a few others just talking and hanging out for the next half hour or so. It was such a surreal experience. She told us some jokes and anecdotes and stories. Her sister, or at least I think it was her sister, kept telling her to hurry up so they could get back to the hotel, but Kate kept telling her she needed to tell us an important story. One of them was about a dream she had, something about a kitten. I got two or three hugs, I think, before I finally left. It was a night I would never forget.

Kate Nash has had a big impact on me. I can (and have) listen to her music nonstop and never get bored. I bought Made of Bricks on a depressed impulse buy my freshman year of college and listened to it more or less nonstop for the next three or four days, much to my roommate's and suitemates' displeasure. Occasionally I took a break to listen to Regina Spektor. Kate Nash's voice was soothing during a depressing time in my life, having lost a best friend over something stupid, something I had never dealt with before.

The Definition of Colorshow

I have almost the entire Avett Brothers discography on my iPod. There are a couple EPs and live albums I'm missing, I think. Ones that were self-produced and are now out of print and super hard to find. When it is really cold outside (which has been seldom this winter so far), I like to put them on shuffle; they make for good wintertime music. Though, they make for good anytime music, really. I know most of their songs, but since their discography is several hundred songs, there are still a few I've never heard. Occasionally one of those songs comes up and takes me by surprise. “Colorshow” was one of those songs. It is off the album Four Thieves Gone: The Robbinsville Sessions, released in 2006. It was the start of the Avetts getting a little... “heavier”. Drums became a regular addition and the boys plugged in their guitars. The Avetts recorded the album in about ten days; they didn't use a traditional studio, but rather recorded the album in a rented house in Robbinsville, North Carolina. I think it's awesome when bands record in weird places like that. Sufjan Stevens used to record in an old church until his mic fell over and picked up some creepy voices. Or at least that's what he once told Rolling Stone.

When “Colorshow” started playing I was a bit perplexed. It was unlike any other Avett Brothers song I had heard. It was almost angry in tone, which the Avett Brothers never are, and features screaming from Scott and Seth I could only compare to that of Lennon and McCartney in the later years of The Beatles. In its most basis sense, the song is about being yourself: “Be loud, let your color show/Try to keep the madness low/If they hear and it's wrong/And they come with torches on”. The first verse, and really just the first line, is awesome. Be loud, let your color show. That's an anthem, a mantra, words to live by. That's why I named this blog after it. That's what this blog is about. It's about being yourself and following your dreams. It's about letting your color show.

Be loud let your colors show
Try to keep the madness low
If they hear and it's wrong
And they come with torches on
Yeah come on

Be loud let your colors show
Try to keep the madness low
I tell them no with my hands
Make them understand the plan of it
Bright and gone

And I'm done forever
It's you and me forever
Cause I'm done forever
It's you and me forever

Be loud let the others know
First a whisper then it grows
I tell them go with my hands
Make them understand the last of it
Yeah come on, pain and all

Leave out pack your things and go
Leave the baby makers home
There's a time (now) and a place (now)
Someone built to take the race
When it calls you go head down

Head down don't you make a sound
Keep your plans all to yourself
They'll come true they follow you
They're what you're obligated to
Don't you listen to nobody else

And I'm done forever
It's you and me forever
Cause I'm done forever
See it's you and me forever

An Updated Bucket List

1. Write a best-selling book
2. Travel by land from Ohio to Rio de Janeiro
3. See the following bands in concert at least once, but preferably more: Arctic Monkeys, Avett Brothers, Blue Man Group, Mumford & Sons, MGMT, The Killers, Kid Cudi, Kanye West, Eminem, Vampire Weekend, Death Cab for Cutie, the Decemberists, Florence and the Machine, Panic at the Disco, Weezer, Bright Eyes, Matisyahu, Nine Inch Nails, Cold War Kids, Gorillaz, She & Him, Spoon, The Shins
4. See the following bands in concert at least once more, but preferably more: Kate Nash, The Kooks, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foxy Shazam
5. Jam with the Avett Brothers
6. Spend a day with Justin Bieber
7. Eat lunch and have a beer with Stephen Fry and Ranulph Fiennes
8. Be the Star in a Reasonably Priced Car
9. Blow shit up with Johnny Depp
10. Write and direct a movie
11. Make some music
12. Adopt a child over the age of 8
13. Travel coast to coast by land
14. Take a tour of the world's underground culture (i.e. red light districts, donkey shows, ladybird bars, black market, etc.)
15. 
    
16. Go on a date with Zooey Deschanel
17. Go on a date with Kate Nash
18. Eat a pastrami sandwich on rye (no mustard) at Carnegie Deli
19. Write about baseball
20. Own a professional sports team (preferably the Cleveland Indians)
21. Hold season tickets for first row right behind first base for the Cleveland Indians
22. Spend at least one weekend in the most expensive hotel suite in the following cities: London, Las Vegas, Chicago, New York City, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Boston, Cleveland, Toronto, Bangkok, Windsor (Ontario)
23. Attend a baseball game at every Major League stadium, preferably in one season, preferably first row on the first base line
24. Bowl more than one perfect game
25. Win a doubles bowling tournament with my best friend
26. Interview Jim Thome
27. Write a book about Woodstock
28. Have a pair of private bowling lanes in my home
29. Be fluent in another language—probably Spanish, though preferably something slightly obscure like Dutch
30. Found a non-profit organization and educational institution
31. Make a significant donation to Ohio Wesleyan University, thus reserving naming rights to the fourth floor of the Hamilton-Williams Campus Center and allowing for a massive expansion of the library
32. Never weigh more than 165lbs for the remainder of my life.
33. Go to Graceland
34. Visit Folsom State Prison
35. Coach my son's baseball team—if and when I have a son
36. Be a loving father, husband, son, and brother
37. Obtain a higher degree

How to Find Inspiration

Inspiration is the hardest thing by which there is to come. People ask me all the time where I get my inspiration, and I really don't know what to tell them. I see something or hear something and I write about it. Sometimes I just feel like I have something to say. So I say it. If I don't say it, then I'm likely to go insane. Go insane or spontaneously combust—those are the two most likely options, I figure. I don't want to find out though. So I say what I have to say. I think it was Isaac Asimov, the science fiction writer, who said something along the lines of “I write for the same reason I breathe.” That's a fair statement, in my opinion.

My poetry is almost entirely based in human emotions. I like to write a lot of angry poems, typically ranting about some aspect of life. Writing is a good way to express anger in a healthy way. It frees your emotions; otherwise they're locked up inside until you blow up on the wrong person. It still always helps to yell “FUCK” at the top of your lungs sometimes though. Lock the car doors, roll up the windows, turn down the radio, inhale, and let that four-letter word flow from deep down. If you're leery about poetry, don't be. No one ever said it has to rhyme; abstract and incomprehensible metaphors are a thing of the past.

The fiction I write is a different story. You'll find a plethora of autobiographical references littered all throughout my fiction, especially my longer fiction. I pick out traits from myself, my friends, and my family and mold them into my characters. A significant amount of the names I use are the names of actual people in my life. My longer fiction though, all begins as a short story, or at least an idea for what is intended to only be a short story. Sometimes, the five pages just aren't enough. Sometimes even ten pages isn't enough.

My fiction is usually inspired by something I've seen or heard. I guess if I'm going to generalize it, it would be music where I get most of my inspiration. The first novel I started writing is called Birds, after the song by Kate Nash. It was originally going to be a short story based on the song “Ghost of Corporate Future” by Regina Spektor, but it soon became more than that.

A man walks out of his apartment,
It is raining, he's got no umbrella
He starts running beneath the awnings,
Trying to save his suit,
Trying to save his suit.
Trying to dry, and to dry, and to dry but no good

When he gets to the crowded subway platform,
He takes off both of his shoes
He steps right into somebody's fat loogie
And everyone who sees him says, "Ew."
Everyone who sees him says, "Ew."

That was the initial basis. But I wanted to write something based on Kate Nash's “Birds” too. So I fused all of the ideas together and started a novel. It is still unfinished, something like 10,000 words, I think. I haven't worked on it much. Ironically, I've lacked inspiration. It's a rom-com, I guess. I guess that's what you'd call it. It's actually pretty unique. It tells two stories simultaneously at the same time. Except the two stories about the same two people: one when they first met as children and the other when they reunite as adults. Rather than using flashbacks or telling the story of their youth and then jumping several years forward, the story alternates chapter to chapter. I think it's a pretty cool concept. I hope the publishers do too.

Most of my short stories are inspired by lines from songs too, I guess. Or at least their names are derived from songs: “Some Weird Sin”, “You Are My Best Friend (My Best Friend Is You)”, “...And There Was a Kid with a Head Full of Doubt”, “Don't Go Revenging in My Name”. Some are based on true events in my life though, like “This is the Story of London”, “Thanksgiving in London”, and “The Coaster”. Others are based on people: “You Can't Help But Be Romantic (About Baseball)” being about slugger Jim Thome and based on a quote from the film, Moneyball. That one is another I'm working on turning into a novel. I would like to be able to interview Mr. Thome myself for research, but so far, no luck—just another rejection, but from a different kind of agent this time. My completed novel, On the 5:15, is named after a song by The Who. It's based on a man I saw in a documentary on Woodstock. A Belgian guy who is actually now a pretty successful voice actor (I think he's a regular on South Park, actually); he came to America and on his very first day, he went to Woodstock. Incredible. His first day in America was at Woodstock. That's a story that needs to be told, I thought. So I wrote it. My character is Irish though, not Belgian. And he ends up owning a record shop in Chicago, not providing voices to cartoon characters.

I went to a Garrison Keillor book signing at Books and Co. in Dayton. Someone asked Mr. Keillor about this very subject. He told the kid, maybe a couple years younger than college freshman self at the time, to find inspiration in the people he sees every day: “Their lives will go unrecorded without you,” he said. That is a quote by which I live. If you want to write, but don't know what to write, just look around you. It's out there. Even if you live in a small town of only 750 people, like me, it is out there. You'll know it when you find it. Even the simplest of idea can create the most magnificent of story—you just have to write it.

Why You Don't Work For Family

I've held the same job for the last six and a half years—since my junior year of high school. I work at my uncle's small-town grocery store. It's family-owned and almost entirely family-operated, save for a couple outsiders. It's probably the worst job in the world. Underpaid, overworked, under-appreciated, and less than respected. In short, don't work for family.

Working at a grocery store isn't all that rough of a job. There's of course a level of manual labour involved, but that's not too bad. So long as you remember to bend at the knees and not at the waist. The issue is that it adds a whole new level to your relationship with your family. You're working for family, so you're expected to work even harder. But in turn, they don't necessarily pay you as well as they should. Sometimes you'll find yourself doing to the job of four-to-six people by yourself for just a little more than minimum wage. And if you slack off and don't get that excessive load of work done, then you've just created some interesting tension at the next big family get-together. That creates a huge level of stress that should not be associated with such a menial job. Really, when you're left feeling under-appreciated despite how hard you work, whether you're working for family or not, it is going to add stress that shouldn't be there, especially when you have no other options for the time being.

I hate my job for others reason too. The biggest reason is that I am not making a single difference. Whose lives am I affecting by stocking shelves and bagging groceries? On whom am I having some profound impact? I'm not making a difference. I'm not helping anyone. When I was in college I worked with kids, both as a volunteer and as a paid employee. I helped kids. Not only did I aid them in the schoolwork, but I gave them general life advice. I gave them someone to talk to, someone to rant to, someone to ask for help. I've had kids tell me they've thought about suicide, that they're confused about their sexuality, that they're bullied on a regular basis. I made a difference with that job. Even if I was just playing dodgeball in the gym or swinging on the swing set, I knew I was having a positive impact on at least one of those kids, and a lot of them needed it. I miss that job; I miss working with kids. One day I'd like to found a non-profit organization to help the youth of America and eventually an educational institution. Except I'll need a few million dollars first. Until then, this blog will have to do.

Like a Bird in a Cage

If you've never been to a concert, then you need to go to one. Just make sure you know all the words to all your favourite songs before you go.

The first concert I ever went to was when I was fourteen years old. My brother took me to the Plea for Peace tour, headlined by Omaha rockers, Cursive. It also featured punk rock band Decahedron, metal group Darkest Hour, and a solo acoustic act by the very Asian Mike Park. This was before the smoking ban in Ohio, so I almost passed out from not being able to breath. That was the only bad part. That and when a mosh pit broke out during the Darkest Hour's set. We didn't even know they were playing, so that was pretty unexpected. Cursive was amazing though. I've never seen someone rock a cello so hard. I was hooked on live music.

My friends had a band, so I watched them perform a lot and that was always awesome. They were a great band. Kind of hardcore, but with a keytar. They've since disbanded, so I don't get to go to shows as often anymore. The last show I saw was The Kooks back in November on the day after Thanksgiving at the Newport in Columbus, Ohio. They're coming back in June supporting Foster the People and I really want to see that show. I actually took my best friend/little bro (we're not related in any legal or biological way); it was his first show. Now he's hooked. Originally his first show was going to be the Avett Brothers last spring when they were in Columbus. When we went to buy tickets though, the show was sold out. I posted an ad on Craigslist to find tickets and actually got a reply from a girl in Springfield who said she was to go with her little brother, but he has recently passed away. All she wanted was face value. Unfortunately, my best friend ended up having a double header with his travel baseball team that day so we couldn't take her tickets. The whole thing was very sad and somewhat mind-opening. Put things in a little different perspective.

We're both now determined to see the Avett Brothers live. We'd really like to see them in their homestate of North Carolina. The atmosphere would be immense. But we're not picky. We'll see them anywhere. I first heard of the Avett Brothers maybe a year and a half ago, not long after discovering Mumford & Sons. I wasn't interested at first though. It was the kind of music I liked, but it just didn't click. Then I heard “Kick Drum Heart” on the radio and was in love. I have almost their entire discography, save for some early EPs that are next to impossible to find. It's only been in the last several months though that I would declare them as my favourite band. They're right up there with The Beatles and Bob Dylan. The Avetts are real American music. A band everyone should listen to.

My best friend fell in love with the Avetts at Indians Opening Day 2011. We were sat in the outfield, three rows back I think. It was the Indians vs. the White Sox; the Sox won. They had a big tribute for the late Bob Feller before the game and during the video they showed they played the Avetts' “Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise”. My best friend loved it. He was fourteen at the time, nearing the end of the eighth grade. Not the kind of band you'd expect a kid that age to like. He's pretty eclectic, just like me. I thought it was incredible they chose that song. This was just as the Brothers were starting to get popular. I want to make music like them. Real music. Legitimate music. Music that makes you think. Music that makes you feel.

Why Justin Bieber

Those of you reading this who actually know me are probably a bit perplexed by number six on my bucket list: Spend a day with Justin Bieber. Especially so when I tell you it's not to punch him in the face. True, I find his music quite obnoxious, and let's face it, he's really not much better. But really, he's just being a seventeen year old boy.

The Bieb is an interesting character. He's actually incredibly talented. He has a pretty amazing singing voice and can play just about any instrument on which he puts his hands. He's slowly getting better at writing lyrics too, though that is certainly still an area for improvement. It is unfortunate though that he wastes that talent on pseudo-love teenage pop songs. It kind of reminds me of The Beatles. When the Fab Four first started they were playing greasy rock 'n' roll standards at a bar in the red light district of Hamburg (a place to visit for bucket list number fourteen), which you might compare to the Bieb playing covers on stoops and street corners. Once Brian Epstein came along though, The Beatles went through a huge transformation: instead of leather jackets and jeans, they donned suits and ties and tidy bowl cuts. Without Epstein's changes, Beatlemania would have never happened. The same can be said of Scooter Braun and Bieber Fever. Justin Bieber certainly has a much commercialized image and without that his success would be minimal, just like The Beatles. John, Paul, George, and Ringo, though, eventually broke the mold and went back to doing only what they wanted to do. George took the group to India, John played with distortion, and they all got really freakin' high. But they left us with some of their best work after that: Sgt. Peppers, Let It Be, Abbey Road. I could give you the full track listings for those albums, but it would take a good guess to give you even one track of their debut Please Please Me. I have a feeling the same will one day be said of the young Bieber. His obnoxious whiny prepubescent voice in “Baby” will one day be forgotten for whatever interesting musical creation he comes out with next. His music is gradually maturing, just like him, and I for one am anticipating his next album. With songs like “Mistletoe” and the remix of “That Should Be Me” featuring (the horrible country group) Rascal Flatts, Justin is definitely showing potential for becoming a groundbreaking artist comparable to The Beatles and definitely surpassing his idol, Michael Jackson.

The Search for Publication

The writing world is a tough one to break. There are two ways of doing it: go straight for the publisher or go for an agent first and let them deal with the publisher. Neither one is really all that easy. Agents receive thousands of cover letters from aspiring writers every year; of those writers, only a handful are asked to submit a full manuscript. The amount of those who get an offer for representation is even smaller. Essentially, your chances at publication are entirely based upon your talent at writing a genuine cover letter. You could have a manuscript that could easily outsell Harry Potter, but if you can't write a letter that really sells it, then no one will ever get to read it save for a few supportive friends. In a little less than one page (once you add the heading and closing), you must give a full description of your manuscript (including any and all major plot points—even the twist ending), identify a key audience, explain why this is a good book, discuss any previous publication history, and give some brief biographical information about yourself. And that's all at 12pt font, not 8pt. Over a page and they're most likely not going to read it. Fortunately though, most agents anymore accept (and prefer) e-mail queries over snail mail, so it's not as noticeable if you go a little over that one page limit. It's also cheaper and easier for you, the writer. And since you're a writer, an aspiring (and therefore struggling) writer, any way you can save a few cents (how much is a stamp these days?) is especially preferred.

If you're going to try for publication, be ready for a plethora of rejection letters. Unless you're the reincarnate of Mark Twain, don't expect your first submission to get published, whether it be to an agent or a short piece to a magazine. If I had a dollar for every rejection letter I've received, then I'd be okay if I never land a publishing deal. Rejection letters tend to be the same: short, to the point, generic. It's a form letter most likely. Sometimes they at least put in your name, but usually it starts with something like “Dear writer”. Then they proceed to tell you that although they enjoyed your work and it is of good merit, it just doesn't quite “fit” that for which they are looking. It's discouraging. Makes you question your writing ability. Don't. Don't let anyone ever make you question anything at which you know you are good, whether it be writing, a sport, music, or what have you. Writing is one thing I know I can do well. It's the one thing I know I want to do. When I cross off number one on my bucket list (write a best-selling book), which I know I will one day do, I'll just have to add to the end of the list “Write another best-selling book”.

I'd like to close this post by sharing with you the most interesting of all rejection letters which I have received. It is from agent whose name I shall not disclose. It is the most peculiar of form letters.

Dear Author,

Well, it's finally happened: after over thirty years of answering every query letter that has ever come my way, I've been forced to finally acknowledge that a new era is upon us all. Before the arrival of e-mail submissions, I used to receive perhaps one hundred queries a week. That was a lot of queries but it wasn't frankly unmanageable. The F******** Agency now receives more than twice that on a daily basis and it's becoming impossible to attend to much of anything else!  I'm so sorry for the impersonal response, I hate to do this.  Writing a good book or a good proposal is among the hardest things in the world to do; I promise, we're not unsympathetic!  You have our word that we are reading every single query letter that comes our way, but from now on, we're only responding personally if we're sufficiently curious and would like to read further. Please don't take offense at this Draconian measure-- there is undoubtedly a wonderful agent out there for whom your book might just be the perfect match. Toward that end, we wish you all the best!

Take care,

M**** F*******

Welcome to Colorshow

I've tried blogging before, but it never quite seems to work out. I get bored. Unmotivated. Things are difficult when you lack motivation. It's hard to push through and make yourself do it without anyone or anything behind you, under you—supporting you. All too often the people who should support you the most are the ones who support you the least. Parents don't often tell their kids they're proud of them. That makes a world of difference. My best friend gives me the most support. He's fifteen—almost seven years my junior. He encourages me more than anyone else ever has. I'll do this blog with him by my side.

Since June when I graduated with a BA in history from one of the most prestigious schools in Ohio, I have been desperately seeking a legitimate job so that I can get away from the minimum wage job I've held since my junior year of high school. For such an easy job, it causes a significant amount of stress. Word to the wise: never work for family. If I could, I'd stay at home all day and write. That's what I really want to do. I've been seeking publication but that's a bit of a struggle. To date I've completed a 52k word novel with work started on two others and a collection of three novellas, over 600 poems, a strong collection of short stories, and a handful of academic writings including two papers on the Woodstock Music and Arts Festival based upon my own original research. It gets discouraging as the rejection letters build up, but if it is something you really want, then you have to keep going for it. That's what this blog is about.

I decided last week to write a Bucket List, a term made popular by that quirky buddy comedy starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. It's a pretty good flick so you should check it out if you've not seen it. Really, anything with Morgan Freeman is worth watching (mostly for his bad ass voice). My list is filled with some pretty absurd and crazy things. It's a big outlandish. Most people would probably read it and think “hah, good luck”. But that's the point. If you can dream it, then you can do it. If you're going to dream about it then why not make it reality? Dreams shouldn't just happen while you sleep or while you zone out in chemistry class; they should make up each and every minute of each and every day. Otherwise, what's the point? I don't want to be another drone working on the line at Honda, so why should you?

This blog will continue from now until the time I cross off every item on my bucket list, and I will document each and every adventure. I have a lot of my life left to live still, though; I'm only twenty-two after all. So don't plan on that happening anytime soon. I'll think of new things to add almost every day. But for the time being, here's the list as it stands now:

1. Write a best-selling book
2. Travel by land from Ohio to Rio de Janeiro
3. See the following bands in concert at least once, but preferably more: Arctic Monkeys, Avett Brothers, Blue Man Group, Mumford & Sons, MGMT, The Killers, Kid Cudi, Kanye West, Eminem, Vampire Weekend, Death Cab for Cutie, the Decemberists, Florence and the Machine, Panic at the Disco, Weezer, Bright Eyes, Matisyahu, Nine Inch Nails, Cold War Kids, Gorillaz, She & Him, Spoon, The Shins
4. See the following bands in concert at least once more, but preferably more: Kate Nash, The Kooks, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foxy Shazam
5. Jam with the Avett Brothers
6. Spend a day with Justin Bieber
7. Eat lunch and have a beer with Stephen Fry and Ranulph Fiennes
8. Be the Star in a Reasonably Priced Car
9. Blow shit up with Johnny Depp
10. Write and direct a movie
11. Make some music
12. Adopt a child over the age of 8
13. Travel coast to coast by land
14. Take a tour of the world's underground culture (i.e. red light districts, donkey shows, ladybird bars, black market, etc.)
15. 
    
16. Go on a date with Zooey Deschanel
17. Go on a date with Kate Nash
18. Eat a pastrami sandwich on rye (no mustard) at Carnegie Deli
19. Write about baseball
20. Own a professional sports team (preferably the Cleveland Indians)
21. Hold season tickets for first row right behind first base for the Cleveland Indians
22. Spend at least one weekend in the most expensive hotel suite in the following cities: London, Las Vegas, Chicago, New York City, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Boston, Cleveland, Toronto
23. Attend a baseball game at every Major League stadium, preferably in one season, preferably first row on the first base line
24. Bowl more than one perfect game
25. Win a doubles bowling tournament with my best friend