Portland, Oregon— August 14, 2018 — Today, Unsolicited Press announced immediate availability of David C. Miller’s Finding Stuff, a poetry collection that examines concepts such as love and death in fresh and invigorating ways. Miller boldly uses free verse to wonder about the texture of words. Do they have mouth feel? Does poetry deliver a reality separate from the imagination, or is reality dependent on the imagination? David C. Miller finds out in Finding Stuff.
Following a series of poor choices, David Miller eventually graduated with a degree in English from Purdue University. Subsequently, he made one mistake after another resulting in extended periods of study at the University of Iowa, Cal State Long Beach, the University of California at Riverside, and UCLA. All that changed when his muse consented to marriage. He showered, shaved and went to medical school at Loma Linda University, Loma Linda, California. He is in practice in Indiana, which is well situated for clandestine bohemian pursuits. He has authored twenty science-related articles, and was the co-author of a non-fiction book, (Womenopause, O-Books, London, UK, 2010). Recent poetry has appeared in Metaphor, Harbinger Asylum, Deronda Review, Sacred Cow, Leaves of Ink, Haiku Journal, Ancient Paths Literary Journal, Dunes Review, and Canary.
Finding Stuff by David C. Miller is available for purchase directly from the publisher or through all major retailers. Booksellers can order copies from Ingram. Book clubs should contact the publisher at email@example.com to receive a bulk order discount.
Founded in 2012, Unsolicited Press is a small publisher based out of Portland Oregon. The team is dedicated to publishing outstanding fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction.
In my neighborhood a house has been boarded up, its grass crispy and uncut, a stubble of weeds longer than a five o’clock shadow. The absent owner leaned an enormous piece of plywood against the side of the house where he crudely spray-painted the words, “Trespassers Will Be Prose.”
A slow walker will notice a faint attempt at including the letter C after the word Prose but for some reason the fullness of the threat never materialized. I smile whenever I walk by. In my imagination I have already scaled the chainlink fence and responded with my own spray-painted reply, “Visitors Will Be Poetry.”
As a former and currently retired English teacher, I learned to recognize when my students had a grasp on basic grammar by noticing who laughed after I posed this simple riddle in class: What’s the difference between a cat and a comma? Nobody would be laughing yet, not until I answered the riddle: One has its claws at the end of its paws, and the other is a pause at the end of a clause. At its root grammar is a kind of logic you shouldn’t have to memorize.
But everyone stumbles over language’s peculiarities, and no one needs to feel guilty about being exposed with his or her modifiers dangling. Nobody’s perfect, and nobody should seek that distinction. Once I asked a doctor before undergoing a medical procedure if a colonoscopy would interfere with my ability to punctuate correctly. He scratched his head, gave me a quizzical look, and immediately put me under. I swear I heard a round of applause in the background before I lost consciousness.
Misspellings are the most common errors, some of them simply typos, and many of them switched by a software’s auto-correction feature. Occasionally a truly poetic misspelling unintentionally occurs. I’ve seen Thursday appear as Turdsday, which seems to me to be a perfect descriptor for having to spend one more day at work so close to the thought of Friday.
I tried to explain to a ex-student’s mother why it’s important to be aware of grammar, but not to get past, present, or even future tense about it.
“My son has no idea what an adjective is.”
“That’s not unusual for a ninth grader.”
“But he doesn’t want to know.”
“That’s not so strange either. Most adults hate grammar.”
“How will he ever be able to describe what’s going on inside of him?”
“Adjectives aren’t the only parts of speech that describe.”
“I have a confession.”
“I know, you’re not sure what an adjective is either.”
“It’s a genetic flaw. Not even my parents had a clue.”
“Relax. Millions of people lead full and happy lives without knowing.”
“Do you think if I study up and start using them my son will get interested?”
“You’ve already been using them.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No apology necessary.”
“Apology. That’s an adjective, isn’t it?”
“No, apology is a noun, but sorry is an adjective.”
“How can sorry be an adjective when it’s also an apology?”
“The labyrinths of grammar are complicated.”
“What’s a labyrinths?”
“Labyrinth is a noun, labyrinths is the plural form of the noun.”
“I feel so stupid.”
“Stupid is an adjective.”
“Oh, well then, I feel so adjective.”
“Actually, the word adjective is a noun.”
“Is there a pill I can take to help me?”
“Grammar itself is a pill.”
“I swear I took it, but I never passed it.”
“It takes a lifetime to digest.”
Portland, Oregon— August 1, 2018 — Today, Unsolicited Press announced the immediate availability of Local Speed by Susan Pepper Robbins
Crystal Ball, a 12 year old foster child, is saving her 16 year old epileptic sister from the predatory Keith Peller, and writing a novel whose working title is “Dead and Gone.” She is sure that Keith Peller caused her Uncle David’s drowning the summer before and is intent on raping her sister. She plans how she will rescue her sister, also a “foster,” and get them to Texas where her aunt lives.
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