Jilly Dybka compiles an update on our Amazon/POD/Booksurge Overlords. Welcome!

Coconut 12

Featuring new poems and collaborations by David Trinidad, Jeffery Conway, Gillian McCain, Reb Livingston, Chelsey Minnis, Elizabeth Treadwell, Christopher Salerno, Lauren Spohrer, Terita Heath-Wlaz, Tyler Carter, Elisa Gabbert, Michael Ball, Brenda Iijima, Sam Truitt, Jessica Piazza, Claire Hero, Matthew Zapruder, James Sanders, Linnea Ogden, Emily Kendal Frey, KC Trommer, Gina Myers, and Seth Landman—has dropped from the palm! Come visit at www.coconutpoetry.org!


Read my poems first! I'm needy like that.

I'm all caught up -- just one more to write. I deserve the NaPoWriMo Medal of Fortistooge. Whoever's in charge of bestowing that -- accept this self nomination.

This Week at No Tell

Daniela Olszewska is partially barred by the loose translations of black market smoke this week at No Tell Motel.

TB received too many shower gifts. In the spirit of Joan Crawford, she was allowed to keep one and made to donate the rest to charity.







And here's Gideon practicing early for his big day:

I haven't fallen down on the NaPoWriMo job, er, I kind of have, but am getting back to it tonight. Been in Pittsburgh for TB's bridal shower festivities. But now that I got that out of my system it's NaPoWriMo overdrive. I have to finish this week because I'm leaving for Berlin on Saturday. Did I mention that? I'm going to Berlin. With my American dollars. I'm gonna live like a king! Or is that live at Burger King? I get confused sometimes. Do they have BKs in Germany?

Spring Walk

One of those Name Dropping Posts

Still in NY -- will be speaking at 6:00 at Marist College about publishing and being a poet. I heard there's a class that's REQUIRED to attend. I love it when people are REQUIRED to listen to me talk. Warms my wicked little heart.

TB and TV drove me to NY Friday night and dropped me and my unreasonably heavy book-filled suitcase at the train station Saturday morning.

In the afternoon I read with George Quasha at Cadmium. I was surprised how well our readings fit together, I didn't suspect they would. He read a series of dream poems (someone else's dreams who collaborated with him) -- and you all know how I'm into that crap. In fact, last night I woke up after dreaming that I was consoling a wretched, weeping poet (won't drop that name here). Yeah, cause I'm all about consoling the poets.

Anyhow, there's video of that reading -- not sure if it'll ever make it online or stay in Quasha's "private collection."

Some famous lady poets in attendance: Lea Graham, Lynn Behrendt, Maryrose Larkin and of course the host Anne Gorrick.

Despite my reputation, Anne invited me to spend the night at her incredible house. Most of the evening comprised of my harassing her friend who was also spending the night. That was a pleasure. Her husband gave me a jar of maple syrup they made from the trees in their own yard. In fact, I dreamed of that syrup last night too. I was walking down the street and pulled it out and said hey, look at this syrup Peter gave me. And somebody asked doesn't it take a lot sap to make syrup? and I repeated what Peter told me in real life: "It takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup." Then TB totally killed the moment with "Why the hell would anyone make their own syrup?"

Hmm, I guess TB represented my inner naysayer in that one. Buzz kill.

Anyhow, the syrup is fabulous.

My big feat for this weekend was keeping my big yap shut and not spoiling Lea Graham's surprise birthday dinner on Sunday. Tommy Zurhellen set it all up and he's very tall and rides a motorcycle, so I knew not to cross him. When Lea and I walked into the restaurant, the waiter asked if we were there for the birthday party and I was all like, "Do we look like the kind of assholes who'd be going to a birthday party?" The waiter wasn't informed that it was a surprise party.

I get to spend the afternoon in the library so I can work uninterrupted -- which is good, I have a pile of work.

This Week at No Tell

Ray Succre wear a fretter's wonder, even now panting, this week at No Tell Motel.

I'll be in NY this weekend. First on Saturday at 2 p.m. I'll be reading with George Quasha at Cadmium Text Series and then on Monday at 6 p.m. I'll be speaking about small press poetry publishing at Marist College. I'll have my laptop, but judging by how far behind I am on things, don't expect a speedy reply unless your underpants are on fire--and even then, it's always a possibility your bits and pieces could get charred.

So I never even heard of this Poem in Your Pocket Day until this morning. Like an asshole, I totally sent Gideon and Chris out into the world without any poems in their pockets.

Did I have a poem in my pocket? Hell no. I don't put things in my pockets, like I'd ever step out of the house with that extra bulk around my hips. Who the hell comes up with this crap? Poem in Your Purse/Manbag Day, that's what I say.

Review of Laurel Snyder's The Myth of the Simple Machines at Pickle Me This.

That these simple machines would do much more than they appear to. The ordinary language is arranged in extraordinary ways, syntax twisted to catch on, wordplay belying horror, images arranged with every element in its place and things are not what they seem, nor will they stay that way. The seesaw illustration on the cover absolutely fitting, tilting back and forth with every line-- hanging on "only", "despite", "but", "and then..." and even when these conjunctions are not present, we sense the same weighing effect.

Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit

Reading in the Hudson Valley on Saturday

CADMIUM TEXT SERIES

Reb Livingston and George Quasha

April 19, 2008 at 2pm

The Gallery at R&F Handmade Paint
84 Ten Broeck Avenue
Kingston, NY 12401

A $5 donation is suggested.

WordTech Communications' response to Amazon's POD policy.

Back from the recently declassified Bachelorette Party location: Atlantic City.

Went to a dance club. Haven't been to one of those since 1928 when I was dating a totally fly chimney sweep with a pimped out horse drawn carriage.

The club had professional underpant-clad lady dancers on the table tops -- although a lot of them seemed to be phoning it in. But not my favorite, she wanted to be there, I know it.



I also found Davy Jones' shirt. It had a gross ketchup-looking stain that you can see if you click on the picture:





And that's about all from this weekend fit to mention here.

You know what I mean, yes, I think you do.

Now back to your scheduled NaPoWriMo.

This Week at No Tell Motel

Richard Froude develops an acute sensitivity to earthquakes this week at No Tell Motel.

NaPoWriMo will resume on Sunday. I'm off for Tender Buttons Bachelorette Hijunked Weekend at an undisclosed location.

Dream (with some poet names removed to protect the innocent)

I walk into my usual hair salon. A male hairstylist runs to Dede (my hairdresser) and says "your client came in first, you win." They had some kind of bet between each other. Dede says that since I got there first, I'd get a bonus. Then we consults about what I want done to my hair. Turns out I got a perm (!!!) the night before by another hairdresser. I say I wanted volume and body for my sister's wedding. Another hairdresser comments that she' so sick of flat hair. Interestingly, she has very flat hair. Dede says my hair looks good. I say I don't like the short layers she cut into my hair last time, so only trim my bangs. We discuss coloring options, but since I just got a perm, that might not be a good idea. I start to wondering why I even came in.

Dede sends me into the spa in the back with a pumice stone topped with exfoliating gel and another pumice stone with a wooden handle. This is my complimentary bonus for arriving first. She gives instructions on which tub to soak my feet in, I'm a little confused but go back. There's a lot of young girls (teenagers, maybe younger) back there, being loud and a little rowdy. It doesn't strike me as the serene, relaxing scene that a spa should be.

I go into a steam room (the steam part is off) -- fully dressed, mind you. Three male poets of differing Asian descent are there. We take turns reading from Nick Carbo's book, Secret Asian Man. One of them starts feeling dizzy. I tell him he's getting hives on his face. We leave the room for air.

Is GoodReads a dating site?

Barrelhouse Dave Did Call Me Mouthy on Saturday

Omigod, one summer when I was a teenager, I babysat my little sister and cousin who I totally neglected cause my aunt had MTV at her house which was way more interesting. Every few hours I'd check to make sure they were still alive and to discover what happens when you leave two little kids to their own devices, like smearing mud all over the porch or emptying an entire can of mousse into each other's hair. So every few hours I'd go into this long, loud screaming tirade (I grew up in a house of screamers, don't worry I don't scream anymore, I've worked through all that and now I write boo-hoo you don't love me poems. See, all cured.).

Well, I'd scream at them, they'd scream at me, then each other and then I'd scream at them some more. Anyhow, one time the neighbor came over and yelled about the screaming. He claimed I was disturbing the entire neighborhood or something. I was caught off guard and surprised he said anything.

Anyhow, I'm sure glad I didn't give him the finger or tell him to suck it considering what this article claims about him. I could been the trigger that made Harvey Street go boom.

Selling Poetry Books is Difficult

No Tell Books sold 380 books during 2007.

This number does not include sales by authors. In most cases, the author sells more books face-to-face than through the press.

This number also does not include outstanding invoices or consignment (i.e. books that haven't been paid for).

I'm working on my taxes -- NaPoWriMo will resume shortly, when I'm done pulling out my hair.

I'm not sure what happened, but all of a sudden the "you owe" box on TurboTax shot up and quadrupled (and I thought I was done!). After spending several hours going over everything and it all looking correct, I'm having a professional look it over. But I fear we're going to owe a very large sum of money and I think I'm going to have to stand outside the bingo hall and mug some old ladies.

In the end, mugging old ladies is OK -- as long as I finish NaPoWriMo, right?

This Week at No Tell

Lina ramona Vitkauskas creates her tongue and braids her grave this week at No Tell Motel.

12 Years Ago Today

Spent the day at the Conversations and Connections conference and the evening with Chris celebrating our wedding anniversary.

NaPoWriMo will resume (and be caught up) later tomorrow, er today. Sunday!

I just trounced Gideon in Candy Land. He wanted a second chance and I agreed, but half way through when he was ahead he just up and quit--asked for lunch instead.

I told him he's never getting to Candy Land with that attitude.

Today Jeannine gives a mini review of Laurel Snyder's The Myth of the Simple Machines

The Myth of the Simple Machines can be purchased at Lulu, B&N, Powell's and other retailers.

Jeannine Hall Gailey gives a mini-review of Your Ten Favorite Words:

Rebecca Livingston's collection (from Coconut Books) of flirtatious, saucy, edgy-with-a-LangPo-twist poems provides portraits of an American woman coming to terms with her country, her lovers, her culture, and yes, her words and herself.

You can purchase Your Ten Favorite Words at Lulu, B&N, Powells and other online retailers

Dreams About Poets

Every week around 5-10 poets make appearances in my dreams. If I dream of a party or event, many more. Some of these poets I know, but many I know only via their work and/or blogs. Sometimes, I only know their names and nothing of their work or them personally. Once I dreamed of a poet and didn't consciously know he was a poet until I googled his name. Of course, it's possible I just didn't remember seeing his name or reading his work.

I thought it would be interesting to list all the poets I've dreamed about recently, but decided against that. Cause that might freak people out or even worse, certain people might ask what exactly happened in the dream. Would you freak if I said we were walking down the street and I stuck a balloon up your butt -- the helium making you sing like an angel?

Yeah, well in that case, don't ask for the details!

Here's a dream from last night involving the Keeper of All Poet Dreams -- someone I never met, and pretty much only know from her poet dream blog. This dream isn't too embarrassing (I think):

I'm delivering a package on behalf of Lynn Behrendt to either my Pilates studio or my old gym. I go to the Pilates studio first. I pass a soldier on the way who is looking for the package, it's his job to get it, but he doesn't bother with me or try to take it. I walk back home, realize I forgot to do something, and walk back, this time crawling past the soldier -- he pays me no mind. I go into my old gym and a woman who works there greets me, says certain trainers miss me or want to work with me. I don't remember most of them, but pretend I do. She enourages me to attend special sessions over the weekend, but I tell her I'm going to be out-of-town. She says X (another poet, will remain nameless else he may self-google and get an inflated ego) will be teaching a self-defense class on Sunday at 3:00. I ask if he's coming all the way down to VA just to do that. Then I remember that he's doing something at the Pilates studio at that time -- and tell her of the potential scheduling conflict.

I walk out -- going a different way that takes me right past the soldier who is sitting on the desk outside the parking lot. He has to be aware that I have information about the package, but again he pays me no mind and is speaking to someone on the phone about it. A man walks by me and I hear him saying that there was something very dangerous in that package. I don't know what was in it, but I doubt what he's saying. I try to imagine what might be in it, I think maybe wine, but realize the package wasn't heavy enough. I consider warning Lynn or the people I delivered it to, but don't.

Reminder

I'll be participating in the Conversations and Connections conference in Washington DC on Saturday, April 5.

12:15 — 2:00:
Speed Dating with the Editors and Lunch

and

4:00 — 5:15:
Web Markets and Marketing (panelists: Rachel Adams, Thom Didato, Reb Livingston, Zachary Benavidez)

Lulu released a terse statement saying that the new Amazon policy won't affect books printed by Lulu. I have no idea what deal was struck but it appears that No Tell Books will still be available on Amazon, for the time being. Not that I'm encouraging anyone to buy from there.

More holes in Amazon's ha-ha statement that they're implementing these changes for the benefit of their customers.

You know I guess I can't blame Amazon. In today's day and age, who knows what you can get away with unless you try. People commit atrocities and we re-elect them. So why not give shady, strong-armed business tactics a whirl? Most people's attention spans and memories are short.

Except my memory. I remember everything and my grandkids will be hearing all about this. Sunday dinners with Grandma Rebbie will be #1 Old-Timey Memory Lane Joy Time!

In my day, when we were pissed off, we didn't burn holes in each others foreheads with our fancy mnemonic eye rays, we ranted on our blogs--and posted graphics of solidarity forwarded from our blog buddies. And it was better that way!

Shanna explains some of the ramifications of Amazon's new POD policy for Bloof Books. It's a similar situation for No Tell Books.

At this point, I still haven't heard from Lulu how this affects us -- but either way, Amazon is dead to me.