I judged the second installment last night of the Fringe Poetry Smackdown and naturally, I played the villain a.k.a. the East German judge. Some highlights:
The host covered a poem as a sacrifice. As that is a big slam no-no, I gave him a zero.
One poet co-opted a woman’s sexual assault into a poem, then wedged sexual assault facts into it, then went back into the poem. As I told him that shoving Wikipedia entries into his poem was lazy, along with co-opting someone else’s experience into a poem, he informed me my score didn’t matter and walked off the stage. He got a 3.5.
One poet performed a rhyming essay about changing our diets to be healthier. I informed her that if this was a lyrical essay slam, she would receive higher marks, but since this was a poetry slam, she was getting a 6. Her overcoming struggle poem in round two got a 5 because of its rhyming exposition.
Two poets performed work I have heard before countless amounts of time. They got 3s.
One poet performed a poem where she strung together the names of games and game shows. While she made me laugh, I told her that this concept was done before. She got a 6. Same poet in the second round performed a poem that abused “The revolution will not be televised” over and over. I sighed and gave her a 3.
One poet, just one, received scores higher than a 7, but less than 9.
The audience hated me, not enough to where something was thrown at me, but to where people threatened among themselves to punch me in the face.
Last night angered me because it reminded me how the performance poetry scene in Orlando continues regressing. There was no risk taking. No one on that stage was sincere or gave a damn being there. As long as everyone treats each other as “yay, good job” rather than punish mediocrity, this regression will continue and I will continue to be the one unafraid to say so publicly.
My girlfriend and I went to a bridal/groom shower for one of my best friends and his fiance this past Sunday, the first time I’ve been exposed to anything wedding related post-divorce. The best way to describe where it was held would be that it hosted one of Hilary Clinton’s fundraisers during the last presidential election cycle.
Marriage isn’t necessarily a celebration of love, the joining of two families. To some extent, it’s a pageantry of control, whether it be the bride, or the families involved. The length of time between the will you’s and I do’s can be Hell because of the planning and the details one must figure out. While planning my wedding, I gave my mom and my soon to be mother in law shit over the font and the color of the text on our wedding invitations; the madness hits everyone.
My best friend and his fiance have thrown traditional wedding planning wisdom out the window. They gave themselves mere months from the will you’s to the I do’s to plan everything and based on what I’ve heard, this will probably be the best wedding I’ve ever been to. However to keep the peace, they had to concede to their families throwing them a bridal/groom shower.
The shower was lovely. My girlfriend bonded with my other best friend through their mutual snarkiness of the dog-and-pony show of the event, the ceremony of the soon-to-be bride and groom opening their various gifts from Bed, Bath and Beyond, everyone watching and oohing, aahing at steamers, chip and dip sets, towels, us watching how awkward the soon-to-be married couple looked being the center of attention.
The benefit of being divorced is that if you want to get married again, you get a free pass to do what you want since your family already satisfied their thirst for nuptials the first time around. I’m not adverse to doing it again, and should my girlfriend stick around long enough, I’d be glad to do it on our terms, not anyone else’s.
***
I messed up. I thought the Fringe Toast Off was last Friday and I was so wrong. It’s actually this Friday. Come, watch me drink and be witty. More details are here.
***
It has been a veritable fiction explosion over here.
First, I have something small up at Nanoism. It’ll take you all of two seconds to check out here.
Second, my first standalone Jesus Christ, Boy Detective story is out, which you can check out here.
When it comes to getting my name out there as a writer, I’ve always taken the shotgun approach, where the theory is that the more I appear, the more I put out, the more I tour, the more people will come to me, read my work, buy my work. I’m realizing this approach isn’t working like I thought I would.
Case in point: I performed three times in the same city a couple of weeks ago at three distinctly different venues. I sold a total of seven or eight books. I sold none at my AWP readings in Chicago (and I read three times at three distinctly different venues). I know writers who hardly tour (or never tour or read) and their work sells quite well and I think part of it (other than the quality of the work) is that they hardly/rarely tour or read in public and that adds to the importance, the gravity of their appearances. I’m not Bruce Springsteen or The Cure, who can do multiple shows in one city and sell out every single one, tickets and merch wise.
For me to get to the next level, it’s time for me to start becoming a little more reclusive, a little more selective to when I read, where I submit my work, how often I read in a single city. I think making myself a little more scarce from a performance perspective will be better overall for everyone.
***
I am so proud to announce that the first issue of NAP that had me as the Falconer of Fiction is out and it is so good. Diana Salier, my poetry editor counterpart, and I, put together this really kick ass issue that you should enjoy here.
If you are in Orlando tomorrow, Friday, May 17, there are two shows you need to see.
Page 15 put out their first collection of stories called Wars Are Dumb and the book release party is tomorrow at Urban Rethink starting at 6 pm. Check out the literary future of Orlando. (Learn more about the project and the show here.)
The Orlando Fringe Festival is in full swing and I’ll be in the Fringe Toast-Off tomorrow night at 10pm at the outdoor stage. These things are incredibly fun and fucked up thanks to the combination of wits and alcohol. The best part is that this is free! (Learn more about the show here.)
I contributed “On Writing ‘On How An Autobot Sunk The Titanic‘” to the Toasted Cake podcast. I don’t normally enjoy hearing other people read my work but Tina Connolly read it really well. For my trouble, I got $5 in cash and this nice card in the mail.
You’re welcome.
Finally, I have a poem in the May issue of Word Riot, which you can check out here.
Hours before my mini-tour in Portland, I became a grownup in the animated version of Peanuts; every word out of my mouth was a broken trumpet note. I blamed my girlfriend (she works with children, my immune system isn’t used to it). I begged for solutions on Facebook. I almost cancelled.
I’m a tough bastard. I facilitated several training classes at work while suffering gout. I had my right foot pinned beneath the back tire of a coworker’s car while getting into the backseat. Throat problems, laryngitis especially, are my kryptonite. My voice is one of the few things I can actually say is sexy.
On both planes flying to Portland, I slept, conserving my voice. When I got to Backspace to wait for Eirean Bradley to grab me and take me to his place, I talked as little as possible. The first person I met was Housefire staff member, Robert Duncan Grey, while waiting for my host. I hated that I couldn’t talk to him.
Eirean rescued me on two accounts, first to where I would stay for the next few days, second because of the Safeway in his neighborhood, which had Throat Coat tea and honey. I drank it as soon as I could. A sliver of my voice came back.
My first show was that night at Broetry. Broetry, run by The Sparrow Ghost Collective, is best described as a poetry kegger. It’s BYOB and BYOP. There was some tremendous energy in that room, and I got to hear Ansel Appleton, who I haven’t heard perform in a very long time, and also Stephen Meads, who I last heard perform at the 2009 National Poetry Slam. After alternating between drinking water and gargling with apple vinegar, I finally did my set, How Esmeralda Estrus Got Her Revenge and they were incredibly receptive. I powered through my feature, drank more water, gargled with more apple vinegar.
Friday was my first non-show day so I found a theatre and watched The Avengers. It was better than Thor but not as exciting as I thought it was going to be. Whedon is very good with dialogue and group dynamic work but there was something lacking overall. I wasn’t geeked like I was with Iron Man or Captain America when I first saw them. Go see it, but see it during the day and not in 3D. After, I went to the food truck corral over on Hawthorne & 12th, the corral that was featured in a Portlandia skit. It was the most touristy thing I did the entire time I was out there. When I got back to the house, there was a small gathering of friends, and one of those friends was Mike McGee, someone else I haven’t seen since 2009. It was a great way to end the day.
Saturday, I spent drinking more Throat Coat, talking as little as possible, and finishing up Game of Thrones (which I’m now into), and finally watching Inglorious Bastards in its entirety. Eventually, Robyn Bateman (resident of the house I was in) and I went over to the Whiskey Soda Lounge where Eirean Bradley and L.R. Dalby joined us. Britt Shosak eventually came by and we (Brit, Eirean, Robyn, and I) went to a sports bar, where we watched one of the most amazing Fear Factoresque game shows called Total Blackout. Words can’t describe how amazing this show is so I’ve included a clip below.
Sunday, I met the Housefire crew in phases. Phase I was Riley Michael Parker, who took me out to lunch. We had an excellent conversation about our projects that we were working on. Phase II was meeting Riley, Lindsey Ruoff, and Robert Duncan Grey at the Rialto to talk about Bodies Made of Smoke and how to make the ending solid. Then, I ran over to Backspace to get myself ready for the Portland Poetry Slam.
The Portland Poetry Slam is the most unique slam I’ve ever watched. Rather than use the traditional format of selecting judges (3 or 5) and allowing those individuals to score poems, the entire audience is the judge. Two people perform a poem each and then after both perform, the audience decides who moves on to the next round. According to Eirean, the idea is to not only keep the entire audience engaged during the competition, but also to encourage poets to bring an entourage (more people = more money made at the door). After the open mic, I did my feature, which consisted of:
My smores slice of pie. It was the closest thing I could get to a birthday cake.
After my feature, I watched the slam and after watching the slam in action, I liked the audience as judges format far better than the scoring component. In a scored slam, someone of the caliber like Stephen Meads and Mike McGee (who were in the slam that night), would have most likely killed while the rest of the field would have fought for third place. This format though, no one is safe, no one is sacred, all the things you know about poetry slam are wrong. I watched Mike McGee lose in the semi-final round to the eventual winner, who also beat Stephen Meads in the final round. If I was to do a poetry slam again, I would use the Portland Poetry Slam’s format. It takes out the headache of finding judges, takes away the segregation of the audience, and it really keeps them engaged the entire time.
Monday was my final off day and on that day, I had breakfast with an ex-girlfriend and I went to the flagship Powell’s Books. One word: damn. While there, I picked up Jess Stoner’s I Have Blinded Myself While Writing This and Loren Erdrich and Sierra Nelson’s I Take Back The Sponge Cake. Thanks to the return flights, I’ve read through both. Both of these books are amazing, concept and content. I don’t want to spoil the surprises of both books but I will say buy them now and you’ll understand why there are no spoiler alerts here. After the pilgrimage to Powell’s, I got back to the Shire Haus and played a pick up game of Magic: the Gathering, which I haven’t played since 1995.
What’s an infect deck?
Somehow, I won, which was surprising and awesome.
Eventually, I made my way to Monday Funday, a large gathering of Portlandians in a public park.
I experienced Portland’s normal weather coming in and the weather that Portlandians celebrate when they get it: plenty of sunlight, little to no clouds, no rain. I watched 200 people play dodgeball on a tennis court. I made it on base a couple of times in a pick up kickball game. A kickball punched the right side of my ribcage when I tried making it to second. There’s something beautiful about watching so many people treat good weather like a national holiday.
Tuesday, I repacked my bag, tried hosting the one year anniversary of There Will Be Words from my iPod Touch, then cell phone (didn’t work out). Eventually, I made my way over to the Blue Monk for Smalldoggies Reading Series #20, my final show, which I read
Laryngitis is not the end of the world if you treat your voice right.
Get over the weirdness of becoming the oldest person in the room.
Mexican food, the price of well drinks remains consistent no matter where you go.
Your work doesn’t always sell itself. This one I’m struggling with the most because while I perform well in venues, I have a hard time influencing people to buy my merch and I think that might be because of my likability. I’ll admit to being a bit standoffish before a show and that’s because I’m getting myself in the zone. This is something I’ll be working on this upcoming year.
Salt Lake City has one of the most gorgeous airports I have ever been in. Mormons know how to design. Too bad they don’t know how to run the federal government.
In an ideal world, if Tegan and Sara had sex with The Black Keys, their children would be talented. I saw this was proven so wrong during the Smalldoggies reading.
Portland trusts their public transportation users a little too much.
Magic: the Gathering hasn’t changed a whole lot since I played it.
When someone who works as a director of coffee operations shows you where the best latte is made, they are on point.
The fastest way to get into a relationship is to book yourself a mini-tour in a far off place in advance.
I’m looking forward to returning to Portland when my next collection comes out. You are a fine city, Portland. Thank you for having me. Thank you to everyone who came to my shows. Thank you for letting me turn 33 in your city.
My mark left in the Shire Haus.
And here’s where you can see my contribution to the really cool PocketESCs project.
This week, I fly out to Portland for the first time and I’ll be doing three shows while I’m out there. I assure you that no setlist will be the same so you will be handsomely rewarded if you come to one, two, or all three of my shows. And here we go.
Thursday, May 3 @ 9 pm – Broetry Night at The Treehouse – this is an open mic house show that is free but donations are accepted for the feature (which I would appreciate the food or booze money)
Sunday, May 6 @ 8 pm - Portland Poetry Slam at Backspace – my first slam feature since 2010 and my 33rd birthday. I might be doing the Sharpening the Pen workshop beforehand, which would also be cool.
Between those dates, I’ll be hanging out, working on the novel (almost 39k by the way), seeing The Avengers, and doing other adventurous stuff. See you soon.
My girlfriend and I went to the UCF’s Spring MFA reading last night. Each of these readings from my experience are never in the same place. The first one I went to last year was at the Kerouac house. Last fall, it was over at Stardust Video & Coffee. Last night, it was at this pizza place over on Lee Road. Before we left, I had this gut feeling that we should have stayed away and gone to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner instead but I wanted to be supportive and potentially book some talent for There Will Be Words.
Our night began with our server forgetting small things, like plates and napkins for our garlic knots, then silverware for our salad. Then the patrons who were not affiliated with the MFA reading would not shut up while the graduates read (this included the kitchen staff and servers). The sound system, to be used for karaoke, was tinny and not able to overpower the conversations. Then, when someone spilled their drink, we could smell the mold coming from the mop. I’m surprised we weren’t food poisoned. We heard maybe half of what everyone read.
MFA graduate readings should be special occasions. The work read has been battle tested in the editing and defense process, the outcome of which shared among friends, family, faculty, and strangers with literary tastes. It should be treated as a major event not just in the university community, but the city’s literary community. Last night was memorable because of all of the elements combined that made the whole event a clusterfuck, not because of the work read.
I get the sense that while MFA programs help writers with their pagecraft, it does nothing for their stagecraft. There should be courses on how to present your work in public, how to organize a reading, whether it is one reading or a series. Until you get famous, you have to learn how to connect with people face to face to better sell yourself, and that’s part of the larger scope of being a writer. People don’t just want to read your work, but see you and hear you read your work. I think had those skill sets been added in the coursework, the MFA graduates who organized the reading would have done a much better job in venue choice, sound system choice, presentation of their work. Such courses would be helpful even for undergraduate English majors. It’s probably one of the things I’m actually comfortable teaching because I’ve organized shows for 11 years, performed for 14 years.
The release party for We Will Celebrate Our Failureswent extremely well. All of the readers contributed something amazing and heartbreaking, whether it was funny or serious. Sip is a terrific venue and I will use them again and would recommend others in the literary community to use them to host shows. It is a hidden gem of a venue. The video is taking forever to post online due to my DSL being atrocious, but I will include me reading the title story live at the show.
I got my contributors copies from Durable Goods. They are tiny and cool. See?
I also have two poems in the latest issue of UP, which you can read here.
I found this when I was trying to cheer up my girlfriend and thought y’all might want to see it (and recoil). Before reading below, please check out the latest Sex Laws column here. Enjoy the 2002 version of J. Bradley aka King of the Emotards!
My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours
oh yes, it’s true
my fellow wallowers My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours!
i am the bottom the barrel
of the evolution scale!
i am an Imperial Stormtrooper!
i am a Green Koopa!
i am Skippy from Family Ties!
i tell no lies
when i cry
to the heavens above
and the hells below My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours!
jealous are you?
you should be.
it has taken 7 years
of bad poetry,
6 years of listening to The Cure,
5 years of therapy,
4 years of watching The Crow
3 times a day
2 years of not hugging my mom
& 1 really bad prom experience
to make me more inferior
than you
and it feels good
to be superior at being
mediocre.
ha ha! My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours
and you shall behold and worship me as i
hate myself
like a bad Nine Inch Nails song
whine more than
a Dashboard Confessional song
beat my head against inanimate objects,
attempt suicide
badly
(a spork takes a long long time
to break skin)
cry,
tell myself
i’m not good enough for love
tell myself
i’m not good enough to listen
to the sound of doves
cry
tell myself i’m not good enough
to masterbate.
My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours
My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours
My Inferiority Complex Is Better Than Yours
nani nani boo hoo
stick your head in tofu
and choke
choke on any self-esteem
you have left
because you
don’t suck as much
as i do.
I’m finally home from my trip, despite my cab driver being a total asshole. I needed this trip as a mini-recharge and it did what it was supposed to quite well.
Laura Straub with Vouched Books Atlanta knows how to put together a reading. Friday’s reading was one of the best readings I’ve ever had the pleasure to participate in, and I was lucky enough to capture everyone on video.
I opened first with a piece called “On Writing ‘How An Autobot Sunk The Titanic’”, meta fan fiction that I’ve only performed once live and that was in April 2010 in Normal, IL. I was going to also read a poem after but I forgot I deleted most of my e-chaps (doh!) from my iPod Touch. You can watch it below.
Closing out the night was Matt Bell. Note, there was also a wedding reception going on at the same time of the reading. See if you can hear the Journey in the background of Matt’s reading.
I crashed at Matt DeBenedicits‘ house, the chief of Safety Third Enterprises. Thanks to him and his lovely wife, Jennifer, I got caught up on Breaking Bad and had a great time (and finally got to meet the amazing designer Brian Manley and his wife, who is on the cover of The Serial Rapist Sitting Behind You is a Robot). Overall, great trip. Can’t wait to go back.
In release news, my five story collection It Smells Like Plastic And Hurt Feelings is available through KUBOA Books. You can get the free e-book version over at Smashwords here.
The genesis of the Jesus Christ, Boy Detective concept is live at red lightbulbs, which you can read over here.
We Will Celebrate Our Failures got its first review, which you can check out here. If you are in Orlando, you should come to the official release party, which the details are available here.
Once, I Was An Angry Penguin comes out on April 23 as an e-chap through NAP. Here’s the cover for it. Can’t wait for y’all to read it.
Off to write some more for the novel and to edit Bodies Made of Smoke. Enjoy your Monday.
It’s been ages since we’ve talked. Ages. Let’s get down to business.
The first five hundred words of Jesus Christ, Boy Detective and The Royal Flush of Fate is up over at Unshod Quills. You should read it here.
The novel is just a hair under the 33,000 mark. I think this weekend while I’m out of town, I’ll make some serious progress (hopefully).
This is why I’ll be out of town this weekend by the way.
Yes, Atlanta, that’s this Friday. This will be my first time reading in Atlanta since July 2010, while I was in the process of my divorce. Come witness an emotionally unfettered J. Bradley do things with literature that will make you go ass to ass with a stranger for it by the end of the night (ass-to-ass).
I put together a page here on my We Will Celebrate Our Failures release party two weeks from this Thursday, which you can check out here.
There is a good chance that while I’m in Portland, my novella through HOUSEFIRE will come out provided everything goes right and I want everything to go right so badly. They released another promo still today, which you can check out below.
I don’t normally talk about upcoming poems coming out in a magazine, but this one is worth mentioning. Last Thursday, I got a poem accepted into Prairie Schooner. To say this is a major win is accurate. I work my ass off as a writer and I know my style of poetry is unusual at times and not conducive to everyone and that could be said with writing or art in general. When I got the acceptance, yes, there was a girlish scream, and drinking of almost a full bottle of $3 wine to celebrate. Then I got four rejections but so what. The secret to this game we call writing is acknowledging that you will die one day. When you accept your mortality, you become very motivated to get shit done.
The sequel to Drive came out and I bought it and read it on my Kindle this morning. Enjoyed it tremendously and am reading it again. I am hoping, hoping they adapt it into a film because it deserves to be seen on the big screen. Ryan Gosling knows how to be heartbroken. Not giving y’all spoiler alerts, though, but seriously Driven is so good (and I’m listening to this I write this paragraph).
That’s it from me for now. Hope to see you this Friday in the ATL.
