Author: zacharysteele

Offering a Word to the ‘Smiths.

zacharysteele 3 Comments

On March 2nd, 2009, the first few whispers reached the blogs that Wordsmiths Books was closed.  No big farewell, no sell-down to a final closing date, nothing more than a note in the window baring a simple message:

I’ve pondered how to start this, but this is the best I can come up with. There is no great way to begin the end of a dream, and there is no gentle way to state that finality is upon you. That said, I regret to announce that, as of Monday, March 2nd, 2009, Wordsmiths Books will close its doors for good. I don’t do this willingly, and I would love to say that there were avenues of exploration yet to wander, possibilities that could avert this outcome, but that would be untruthful. I have explored every possibility open to me, but the sheer magnitude of the decline in sales alone (on the heels of our efforts to right the boat) from our current economic downturn has long since evaporated the fumes. Frankly put, there’s nothing left to make the engine go, and sitting on the side of the road with a thumb out doesn’t seem to earn you much grace as a business…

It’s been two years since I walked away from that store, and it still feels like a lost loved one.  Sure, pieces of it remain. I have the wonderful family of booksellers who worked for me, who remain in contact still; there are reminders fairly frequently from our customers who miss our events; there’s the clever little ghost that houses itself in Foursquare’s platform (I don’t know who did it, but thanks, and everyone else, do feel free to check in when your on the Square); and, of course, there exists a mountain of photos that remind me daily of the days spent toiling for my dream.

 

Photos Like This

It’s a mixture of sadness, and gratitude.  A blend of emptiness and completion.  I look at those pictures, and I wish Wordsmiths Books was still there, and I wish my family was still intact, and yet, we’ve all moved on to bigger and better things.  It has often struck me that we were brought together for a reason, and for a short time were allowed to share in this experience and carry it forward.  Then again, that could just be me.  I couldn’t have been blessed with a better group of people to spend my time with, and I remain thankful every day that they were in my life.  I’ve spent the past few days on Facebook thanking each of them individually, and I still feel I haven’t done it justice.

There are scores of others who were involved, in one way or another, with Wordsmiths, and I know that any attempt to thank them all would be futile, due to the fact that I am purely incapable of remembering what I had for breakfast, much less such a lengthy list of names.  So, naturally, I’ll do it any way, with apologies to anyone I forget.  To Collin Kelley (for his fab poetry events), Laurel Snyder (finalist for the E.B White Read Aloud Award!!!!), Wayne Fishell & Big Peaches (who gave us our soul Debby Harry style), Julia Carrol & Amy Lashley (for being the best cheerleaders/folk duo we could have asked for), Chris Warner (for his awesome sign), David L. Robbins (for his many contributions that stand as tall as he is, as well as for being a loyal and dedicated friend), Jim & Jessie Mundy (for the signed, framed, Wordsmiths Bag, from opening night), to The Georgia Center for the Book (for your support and trust), to Jennifer Brett (for your unbiased, fact-based story on the store’s closing), and to the many, many people who shopped our store, attended our events, and extended their hand when we called out for help, thank you.  There is no measure of words that truly sums up my gratitude.

If you’re up for browsing through it, here’s the original blog for Wordsmiths, during the 6-month run-up to the opening in June 2007.

It wasn’t ever easy, but when is owning a business ever?  I made mistakes in the process of opening that eventually haunted the store.  I made the decision in August 2008 to ask the public for help, for a business that had not even been open two years, and scores of people responded.  It was an emotional time, and to this day I still get choked up thinking about the overwhelming support we received.  The link to the blog above, the one detailing the store’s closing, is littered with comments that I didn’t read until last year’s anniversary that detail the belief that I did this knowing that the store was going to close (an opinion shared my by ex-mother-in-law, I regretfully recall now. Joy, there.).  That I willingly, and deceitfully, took money in order to simply buy me time.  There’s no point in arguing with fools, but I would like to say that I do not quit on anything unless it is beaten and dead (and even then I do it reluctantly), and I do not look someone in the eye and willingly lie in order to spare myself.  Wordsmiths was not dead (beaten maybe) until the economy bottomed out in October of that same year.  At that point we were turning in the right direction, slowly, like a ship turning against the storm.  But when people stopped shopping (in general) and put a cap on Christmas for 2008, we were toast.  And we weren’t alone.  Closing Wordsmiths remains one of the hardest things I have ever done.  Saying goodbye to my family was excruciating.  The image of walking away, turning the key one last time, and driving off (albeit in a very beautiful snowfall that I will always link with a sign of cleansing, and a new beginning) is forever imprinted on my mind.  The fact that the year following left me in a state of financial hardship like I’ve never known, had me contemplating my life’s choices, and ultimately contributed to the end of a marriage, does nothing at all to reduce the power and wonder of the Wordsmiths experience.  I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

And maybe someday, I will.

Wordsmiths Books was nearly everything I dreamed it to be, and I still believe that it lives and breathes in the memories of those who shared in it.  And on March 2nd of every year that I am blessed enough to live, I will raise a glass to its memory, to all that it offered me, and salute.  R.I.P to my little bookstore child.

The Bookstore, Episode 7 Lady Muslim

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Here’s #7 in The Bookstore series. This one is based on a customer I encountered today.  She seemed perfectly normal, albeit odd as she wandered from spot to spot in the store, looking at nothing and everything at once.  Then she decided to tell me something.  Whisper something, actually.  And so, here she is, immortalized as only Xtranormal can.

Talking Baseball

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I just applied to become a full-time baseball nut.  MLB.com is going to send someone to NYC for a full baseball season, where they will watch baseball all year (every game to some degree, every day), blog about it, vlog about it, tweet about it, yell about it, talk about it, be interviewed about it, and…well, you get the drift.  I’m stoked.  A full, non-stop, ridiculously busy year of baseball.  To which of the baseball Gods do I need to beg and plead?  Anyway, there was a two-part essay, and I thought I would share it here.

The first half, in 500 words or less, was a bit about myself and why I dearly love baseball so.  This is what I wrote:

The day that I die, I will bequeath to this world a heart with one seam and two hundred and sixteen stitches.  As it is, I’m quite certain that when I was born—I arrived one week early in late June of ‘72—I did so in a desperate need to avoid closing out the first half of the season in utero.  No self-respecting baseball fan wants to be born during the All-Star break.  I grew up on a diet of Reggie, complemented that as I aged with sides of Garvey and Cey, spent the glorious span of summer reliving the celebrated games of years past with a whiffle bat and tennis ball, and ultimately found there was no greater joy, no greater love than settling into an uncomfortable seat with a hot dog in one hand and a program in the other.  I came alive as spring rolled in, overcoming what most people now refer to Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I always just called the Offseason Blues.  I lived in Florida.  It wasn’t cold.  There just wasn’t any baseball, and the internet wasn’t even through Rookie League yet.

I wrote my first short story when I was twelve.  It was a heroic tale about a young boy who twisted his ankle while walking to the championship game.  It was a horrendous injury, one that left him certain there was no way he would make it to the game, much less play when he arrived.  It was heart-wrenching.  I poured my soul into that story, and cheered the boy on when he mustered the courage to fight through the pain, make his way to the field, and bring home the deciding run when all seemed lost.  I was convinced this was the greatest tale ever told, and no moment in life would ever best it.  Four years later, Kirk Gibson hit his limp-legged shot into the seats in the ’88 World Series off Dennis Eckersley, and I wasn’t entirely sold that he hadn’t intentionally stole my thunder.  Of course, it was historic, and I became less interested in vengeance with every fist-pump, every painful step he made around the bases.  I let it slide, and decided I should at least make do with the chops I’d been given.  I might not have to limp (though I could if I needed to impress the girls), but I could string the words together to someday write the best baseball story ever written.

There are no words to adequately express my love for the game.  Now two books into a career as an impoverished author, I’ve decided the only reason I want to make Trump-town cash as a writer is in order to own a franchise.  I never evolved as a player—though I’ve had quite the career in my mind—but I live and breathe this sport.  I have to be involved in it every day, every year, and relish every moment of every game I see.  I’m Gonzo.  Baseball is my chicken.

Right.  Part two asked what I believed this year’s big story would be.  And so sayeth I:

Albert Pujols and his forthcoming pile of Genie’s gold is going to be in everyone’s ear this year, whether he wants it that way or not.  The Yankees are going to sob loudly in their room after being jilted at the Prom by the two-headed stud-monster of Cliff Lee and Andy Pettitte.  Adam Wainwright is the latest in what now totals over 150 Major League pitchers who have had, or are scheduled to have, Tommy John surgery.  Young phenom Bryce Harper is on the trail to projected glory, soon to join a promising future in the nation’s capitol.

All of which will create a generous buzz between now and October.   And yet, we’re going to spend this year talking about four pitchers and what they mean to the history books, what they mean to the game, and what they mean to a franchise racing against time for one more run to glory.  In Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt, Cole Hamels, and Cliff Lee, the Philadelphia Phillies have a quartet striving to equal, or perhaps best, the pitching staffs of the ’93 and ’95 Braves, and the ’71 Orioles.

In Halladay, Oswalt, and Lee alone, the Phillies have 3 of the top 5 pitchers in highest career winning percentage, with a minimum of 100 starts, in baseball history.  They have two (Halladay 2.67, Lee 2.98) of the four pitchers over the last 3 seasons with sub 3.00 ERA’s and 600+ innings.  And Cliff Lee, well, all he’s done over the past three years is rank 6th in wins (48), 7th in ERA (2.98), and 5th in IP (667.1).  Toss in his stellar record in the postseason (7-2, 2.13), and his run in the second half of 2009 with Philly (7-4, 3.39, 4-0 in the playoffs), and you have reason to believe the Phillies have the making of something historically special.  If that doesn’t sparkle your fireworks, and if the idea of pitching in a notably hitter-friendly park makes you squeamish, it’s important to note that of the top 6 ERA’s in Citizens Bank Park, the Phillies now own 3 of them (Oswalt 2.10, Halladay 2.21, Lee 2.52).

The Phillies head into 2011 with the reigning NL Cy Young winner in Roy Halladay (ahem, no-hitter in the playoffs, ahem), a pitcher in Lee who only walked 18 men last year while striking out 185, Roy Oswalt, who only went 7-1 with a microscopic 1.74 ERA after being traded mid-season, and Cole Hamels, who may be a bit sporadic and reminds one a touch of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, but had an ERA last season of 3.06 with 211 strikeouts in 208.2 innings.

There may be questions about the Phillies age, whether or not their bullpen can save a frog from jumping, and whether or not they can stay healthy enough, and score enough runs, to win a championship, but one thing is rock solid certain.  Everyone is going to be talking about how this rotation stacks up against history.

——–

I WANT THIS JOB!

Tweeting the Quack

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This is actually a post from the Southern Authors Blog, A Good Blog is Hard to Find, but I would be doing it a great disservice if I didn’t post it everywhere, so, here it is.  May your day be filled with the glory of my brilliance.

And stuff.

——-

This is a duck.  His name is Ducky Thomas.  He is a duck named Thomas.

He’s stuffed full of cute, loves adventures, and is quite convinced that the world is the most fantastic thing a duck could ever hope for.  He also loves the cat who loves him most.

This is a video about a bookstore.  It has nothing to do with ducks–not yet anyway I guess I must admit–but does indeed have a lot to do with the point.

They both have something in common.  They have nothing directly to do with the books I write, but have everything to do with me as a writer.  They are independent of what is published, but a vital cog in the publicity of who I am.  And they aren’t the end or the beginning.  They are the journey.

There.  I’ve waxed poetic.  Now I can get on with the point.

We all know about Twitter.  If you have the time and patience, you can gather a following, make a name for yourself, your opinions, and your work.  The same can be said for Facebook, albeit in a more centralized, and long-term kind of way.  You’re going to make your friends, have your followers, talk about anything from The Simpsons and their obvious lack of relevance to Obama and his quest for health care.  You’ll be “liked”, have the “@” symbol thrown your way, tagged, or even re-posted/re-tweeted.  People will laugh with you, at you, talk about why your opinion is pointless and not at all as potent as what they have to say, and send messages to one another about whatever it is you posted last.  Above all, they will know you as a writer, and understand you as a person in ways readers never could before, and they will look forward to what you have to post next.

But they are merely one step toward lifting you, as a writer, into the conversations of the world.

We live in a digital age.  One in which communication is almost entirely of the written word.  We view Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Foursquare, Plancast, Tumbler, and so on as pure facets of publicity, meant to broaden our audience and stamp a nice, fancy, little brand upon our heads.  All of which is most certainly true.  But it’s not the mere existence of our digital selves on these sites that makes full embrace of what they offer us.  It’s what we write.  It’s how we use them.  It’s taking the blank slate and filling it with content that both evolves who we are as writers, and demonstrates fully what we can do with the words we are blessed with.  True, starting a blog and writing about anything–anything at all–is exactly the right approach.  But it isn’t the endpoint.

When I first started blogging, I didn’t intend on writing about the adventures of a stuffed duck, and I had no plans to begin at first a blog, and then a series of videos about life in a bookstore.  But the more I worked through my personal blog, the more I came to see each entry as a script of my life–pages of the mind fluttering from the inner sanctum of thought to the public forum offered to me.  Each entry was another showcase of what I could offer.  In a very real sense, each time I posted a blog, I was adding to my resume.  Obviously, it is every writer’s great hope that each book that is published will further enhance the aura and legacy of who they are (read in: you will become instantly uber-famous, and own two castles in a decade).  But it doesn’t have to end there any more.  In fact, the sheer number of books that are being published by extension of the popularity of a blog speak volumes to the time in which we live.  Used to be that you had to find a press to print your article, or a series of collected works in which to be included in order to broaden the scope of your work.  Now you have the internet, and whatever time you offer it.  Work it all in unison and not only do people start to pay attention–no matter how small your collective–but they start to anticipate what’s to come.  Then that audience can grow as people share what you have to offer–which is far less work than what you will put into creating it, given that the sharing aspect of it is usually accommodated by the gratifying click of a button.

It’s so very cliche, but the truth is, you never know who is watching, who is reading, who will share what you have to say, who is paying attention to as you scream from every corner of the internet you can crawl from, “HEY! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”  So, go.  Do.  Find your inner duck.  And make every word count.  Your future readers will take note.

The Bookstore, Episode 6

zacharysteele 1 Comment

Here’s the latest in The Bookstore series. This one is called French Stuff is Hot, and is a step further in the evolution of the characters. I’m just happy that Stacy isn’t bashing Anointed. I don’t know what I’d do if she didn’t like it.  Kill her I suppose, but even for a God that’s a pretty harsh reaction.  Anyway, and stuff, Jericho doesn’t know French.  He just knows it’s pretty hot.

The Bookstore, Episode 5

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The fifth installment in The Bookstore series is a public service announcement from Eddie and The Bookstore regarding the forthcoming bankruptcy filing by Borders.  He has more to say than he wants, and isn’t about to let black mascara get in the way.

Back to The Bookstore

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The most recent episode of The Bookstore is a fair bit of a self-indulgence. But this is my universe, so I’ll construct it as I like, thank you. Actually, the true point of these videos is simply to entertain and tell a story, and it is my great hope that do exactly that.  But I would be remiss in not utilizing it to also promote myself, so why not have Eddie profess me to be one of the greatest writers ever?  I was rather touched by his sentiment, even if he’s just doing so in a vain attempt to bait me into doing an event at The Bookstore.

I’ve upgraded to Xtranormal’s new movie-making program, which they call State.  It allows for more than 2 characters–which I’ve utilized here–and the ability to move characters around.  There’s a nifty voice over thingy that I will ultimately have to give a try, but for now…baby steps.

As with every project I ever undertake, I’m open to comments, thoughts, and ideas.  Additionally, I’m very (I think I mean to say VERY) open to you sharing these videos on Facebook, Twitter, or anywhere you socially congregate.  As well, you can visit the videos on my You Tube page, and add comments, likes, and so forth.  Don’t underestimate how much it helps.  Same with my books on Amazon.  It’s a public forum in which people who have never heard of me (like Stacy in the video) have the opportunity to read what other people are saying.

Ok, enough promoting. Here’s the fourth video in The Bookstore series, Going Viral.

 

Bowling for Jesus

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Here’s the latest post from the Southern Authors Blog, A Good Blog is Hard to Find in which I talk about things that may, or may not, have happened in regard to what I may, or may not, have wanted to be when I grew up:  http://southernauthors.blogspot.com/2010/12/bowling-for-jesus.html

Being a Non-Christian Means I Get Your Pet, Right?

zacharysteele 7 Comments

So, fueling off of yesterday’s blog regarding the End of the World proclamations of the folks at wecanknow.com, it has been brought to my attention–by the ever vigilant, yet slightly askew Kimberly Kennedy–that I neglected to cover a very critical aspect of the forthcoming Rapture: What to do with your pet.

We’ll call this section of the blog, “So, You’re Being Raptured, Section 2, sub-section 43a: What to do with your pet.”

It seems that you’re on the list to ride the G-train to Heaven, and when the Rapture comes, you’ll be making your way with millions of Christians, while the remainder of the heathens stay behind to be dominated and controlled by the Anti-Christ for the five months leading up to the End of the World.  That takes care of that, right?  I mean, naturally, there is sadness for those whom you may love, to some varying degree, that were not wise enough to embrace Jeebus, and make him their BFF (or would it be BFFE–Best Friend for Eternity?), but that’s the way the communion wafer floats in the grape juice, right?  They had their chance.  But–and this is a horrifying thought, I would think–what happens to your pet?  What becomes of Fluffy the cat, or Bruiser the dog, Golden the goldfish, or Tyrus the turtle?  They didn’t have their say.  Nobody asked them if they wanted to accept Jeebus as their Lord Owner and Feeding Savior.  What if they wanted to be Christian?  Even Noah had to rescue the poor beasts of the Earth before the Great Flood, so what now?  You can’t very well leave your pets with…with…non-believers, can you?

Well, don’t fret, because the good people (and aren’t they just the best for being so thoughtful, and willing to pitch in?) at After the Rapture Pet Care have your answer.  Here’s a video to help out!

Lookit!  Real testimony from the website!

It’s a real concern, and a legitimate concern. Our pets are given to us by God for us to care for. We are stewards of their lives. Should we simply forget them at the Rapture, allow them to starve or worse?

Real…and legitimate.  Wow.  Powerful words.  Powerful.

But who are these Caretakers, and why should you trust them with your pets?  Well, right there on the Home page is your answer:

Most Volunteer Pet Caretakers fit this description:

  • They are atheist or another non-Christian religion.
  • They love animals enough to register with us even though they do not believe there will be a Rapture (or are agnostic about it).
  • They are not paid, so they are not signing up simply to make a quick buck. In fact, they’ve agreed to care for the pets they rescue as their own, including being financially responsible for them.

We match Volunteer Pet Caretakers by location and the types of pets they wish to care for. Some Volunteer Pet Caretakers will care for any type of pet, while others express interest in only caring for particular animals, such as only dogs or only cats. They have agreed to seek out other Volunteer Pet Caretakers to help them with our mission if the Rapture occurs. Each Volunteer Caretaker will be given access to our database of animal shelters and other animal rescue groups so they can quickly find other animal lovers to help rescue your pets.

Now, I’m not trying to suggest that God might require you to submit paperwork at the Pearly Gates, proving that you have made proper arrangements to have His Creatures cared for, but you might not want to take that chance.  You might not want to be the one in line that gets dropped through a cloud like a trapdoor on a stage with the simple pull of St. Peter’s Magic Lever of Descent.  You might–just might–want to avoid the spiritual embarrassment of nullifying an entire life (or five minutes, depending on how last minute you repented) of Jeebus Faith by taking a spare few minutes for the pets you love and adore, and ensuring that they will be cared for until the End of Time (or sooner, if they don’t survive the five months We Can predicts).  Just sayin’.  The Pope may not think too highly of condoms, but sometimes it’s better to be protected than to roll the dice on behalf of other lives.

Don’t wait.  He who hesitates, hesitates.  Your pet loves you, and will be very, very, very, very sad to see you go (unless you own a cat).  So sad that you might want to take a few moments now and have a good cry, and plead to God to allow you to bring your pet along, and that they’ll be really good, and not pee on the clouds, and you’ll keep them in your corner of Heaven and He’ll never even know they’re there (which He will, but, hey, semantics, right?).  But after you’ve cried long, and hard, and come to realize that every day between now and May 21st will be one in a series of Last Days You Spend With Your Beloved Pet, run to your computer, fall over it if you have to, but save these poor pets lives before they die of absolute, and utter, loneliness and despair.  It’s your chance now.  Your…last…chance.

Don’t fail your pets.  Save them now, like they couldn’t be Saved while you were there.  You can Ascend knowing they will be cared for.  They will be loved.  They will be fed.  They will play, and find some sense of happiness in your departure.

For at least five months anyway.  Then, like the rest of us, they’ll be dead.