The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

I might not be posting much for a while. Allow me to explain... As a writer, I have on occasion had to stop and ask myself, "Good Lord, what have I created?" I'm currently having one of those moments. About 24 hours ago, I started toying with a story idea. It began with the premise of 'any given Tuesday'. Let's face it, outside of politics, Tuesdays are rarely exciting. The Monday blahs are over, the workweek has begun in earnest for most, and the clock is ticking away 'til the weekend. This was all well and good, until I started adding different elements to the thought of 'any given Tuesday'. That's when I let the weirdness in. I would, if I honestly thought I could , give you an idea of the basic story - but I can't. It's weird. It's complex. It's multiple perspectives of singular events. Overall, it's a challenging exercise in determining identity. There. I've made it sound even weirder and undigestible than is necess...

  I hosted a radio show for a while called It's About To Get Interesting! on Music From the 412 Radio here in Pittsburgh. It streamed all over the US, UK, and Canada, and the really crafty listeners were able to stream it as far away as Australia and Singapore! One of my favorite episodes was when I not only introduced the listeners to all sorts of 'East Bloc' rock & roll, punk rock, pop, etc., but got to interview my friends Abagar Quartet from Bulgaria!  For the next year or so, I heard from a lot of listeners who really enjoyed the show. I decided to do a second episode of it! I was looking for something to listen to while working on some home projects today, and I found the links for both shows, so here ya go! Just in time for the weekend, and the World Cup (for those who enjoy that sort of running around stuff).  There's great music out there, sometimes you just have to go looking for it!  STAY MOIST CITIZENS! click for this episode click for this episode

 I can now add Published Author to my CV.  If you're reading this, you already know I write. A lot. Always have. Probably always will.  For years, many have suggested I write a book - erm, perhaps those folks missed my audiobook .  In the past year or so, I've written a full-length novel (Tales From Americatown), and roughly four collections of short stories. So, what to do with them? I've found the publishing world to be as awful as the music industry. I've had conversations with a number of literary agents, as well a few small publishers. Color me uninterested. The next reasonable step was to look into self-publishing.  I have a few friends who have gone this route, to varying degrees of success. Mind you, we each get to define success our own way. To me, success is finishing a story (or a song, album, performance). These friends have freely given tips and pointers, and for that I'm eternally grateful. After looking through different methods of self-publishing...

Some books start but opt for a timeout before they're finished. This is an excerpt from one such book. - MM Yumi adjusted the microphone. Said something in Japanese. A few people nodded. Someone clapped once. And then - They began. Daniel didn’t know the song. Didn’t need to. It wasn’t about recognition - it was about feel. Something old. Maybe. Or something that just sounded old. There was space in it. Restraint. Notes that didn’t rush to be heard. Vince leaned in. “…okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah.” Yumi’s voice carried without pushing. Clear. Controlled. Effortless in a way that made effort feel unnecessary. Daniel glanced at Hiroshi. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t smiling. Just watching. By the second song, the room had settled into it completely. Not applause-heavy. Not loud. Just - Present. “Good, yeah?” Hiroshi said quietly. Daniel nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Very.” Vince raised his glass slightly toward the stage. “Okay, Hiroshi,” he said. “You didn’t mention this.” Hiroshi shrugged...

Another day. The same aches and pains. When asked by the nurse, his answer is always 'just the usual'. The young nurse tries her best to inform him that most people aren't in pain. He reminds her that most people lie. Once we hit a certain age, some pain is to be expected. Sore feet. Sore back. For others, it's the knees, hands, hips and shoulders. For him, it's all of the above and more.  Fifty years of an autoimmune disorder plays hell on a body - but it's really all he's ever known. A truly pain-free day would be a disturbing surprise for him. He probably wouldn't know how to react.  Sure, some days are better. Some are worse. But most days the pain is just there. Bad enough to let its presence be known, yet not so bad as to incapacitate him. This wasn't one of those days.  The pain had been worse the past few days. He wasn't sleeping - and that always exacerbated it. Such was the constant battle waging in his body. It's how life had been ...

Maybe I'll finish the story...one of these days. - MM The cigar shop, the coffee shop, and the butcher shop were three of the places The Kid visited most often. Every now and then one of his uncles would send him to an old-man bar or a social club, though only during the daytime. Uncle Paul was adamant about that. "You don't need to be hanging around those places at night," he'd tell him. "That's when things get too wild." One afternoon, Uncle Paul told him to meet him after school at a particular social club a few blocks away. The Kid figured he was being sent to pick up an envelope or deliver a message. It was no different than any of the other errands he ran. He arrived a little earlier than expected. The main room was nearly empty. Not seeing Uncle Paul anywhere, he wandered toward the banquet rooms in the back. Voices drifted from one of them. One voice sounded familiar. Uncle Paul. And he sounded angry. The Kid followed the noise and stepped th...