I’ve been asked a few times lately about my infatuation with cigars, specifically regarding my pairing them with reading and writing. Though I will likely be forced to continue defending my obsession, I feel laying it out in a blog post may curb the questions. Or it may rouse a group of like-minded gourmets, in which case, Welcome, Friends! I have never been a cigarette smoker. In fact, growing up, I routinely took a dramatic exit when my mother lit up in the living room (she doesn’t smoke anymore, hasn’t for years). I fanned barely noticeable smoke from my face when entering bars. I vehemently stomped on butts left to smolder on sidewalks and curbs. In short, I was a snobby little punk. The impetus of my cigar habit is a mystery; the staying power, however, is quite explainable. I love the smell. I love watching the large plumes of…
Posts By Caleb J. Ross
(This interview is cross-posted at Outsider Writers Collective) Full disclosure: I’m writing this intro after having imbibed a few pints of Guinness at a downtown KC Irish pub called O’Dowds, which, as a nod to authenticity, has been given my grandmother-in-law’s seal of approval, all the way from Ballyshannon, Ireland. The inebriation is all the more fitting, considering Alan Kelly's Dublin area connections. Alan first contacted me, years ago, by the invitation in one of my first publication author bios: "He welcomes conversation via email." I intended the trailing line to garner no more than a grin from the few who read it. But Alan's willingness to contact a stranger should have clued me in early on to what a true individual he is. We have been communicating online and following each others work since. When I first heard about his novella, Let Me Die a Woman, I was quite…
I bring you #2 (heh) of a hopefully long-lived series: Kansas City Reading Coves. When I can, I like my reading retreats like my collection of chained basement mimes: varied and quiet. Today’s cove: Homer's Coffee House – 7126 West 80th Street, Overland Park, KS 66204 Homer’s keeps bringing me back, yet rationally, it should not. The black coffee only is okay; the coffee drinks are adequate at best (they have a powdery, grainy texture); the pastries taste like grandma's...if grandma worked at a Hostess factory; and most of the time the entire building has a gross cat box smell...sorry, cat LITTER smell...to it that can be tough to combat (if the place actually smelled like a cat box, I'd expect more coffee drinking male cats in the crowd). Homer's was originally established as as a ministry of KC Christian Business Men's Connection so consequently it caters to a Christian…
*neither James Patterson nor Stephenie Meyer wrote this book** **Thank fucking God*** ***though I wouldn't mind their sales. Get to it, asterisks readers.
Episode #005 of The Velvet Podcast is now live! In this interview episode I talk with Matt Bell, author of The Collectors (Caketrain Press), Wolf Parts and the forthcoming How They Were Found, both from Keyhole Press. Matt’s short fiction has been published and anthologized just about everywhere and is forthcoming to Ninth Letter, the ML Press chapbook series, and Kill Author. We talk about live-writing with an audience over at Everyday Genius, editing for The Collagist, teaching writing to fourth graders, and mucho more. Please, give it a listen. Subscribe via Feedburner, Podcast Alley, or iTunes.
[display_podcast] In this interview episode of The Velvet Podcast, Caleb J Ross interviews Matt Bell, author of The Collectors (Caketrain Press), Wolf Parts and the forthcoming How They Were Found, both from Keyhole Press. Matt’s short fiction has been published and anthologized just about everywhere and is forthcoming to Ninth Letter, the ML Press chapbook series, and Kill Author. We talk about live-writing with an audience over at Everyday Genius, editing for The Collagist, teaching writing to fourth graders, and mucho more.
Most of you probably don't know this, but secretly, I am not the cunning stallion that I appear to be. Sure, I am a sexy reader, I can do the robot worm electric slide, and I dress in the finest clothes straight from snazzy street (Snazzy and 14th Avenue is where the local Salvation Army clothing depot is located; they always have the hippest fanny packs). But underneath all of this slathered-upon cool, I carry a potentially social-life threatening secret. I like signed books. Sure, it's not the most embarrassing collection out there. I know a kindergartner who collects rocks. Seriously. And not even cool rocks, either. Regular, gravel-style gray lumps of compressed sediment nonsense. I drove him down a country road once and his head exploded. But this post isn't about dumb kids. It's about dumb adults. Here's my collection for all of you to pick through and criticize.…