Home of Michael Perry – New York Times Bestselling Author, Humorist, Singer/Songwriter, Intermittent Pig Farmer

Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

Why I Love Indies

If you’re planning a whitewater rafting trip down an alligator-infested lava flow without a life preserver, may I suggest you retain the manager of your local independent bookstore as a guide? In the world of books and publishing, few have been more buffeted by change and circumstance than your local “indie,” and if there’s one still standing in your neighborhood, I can pretty much guarantee its run by hard-working optimistic survivors with one potentially fatal weakness: they love books, and just won’t quit.

And thank goodness for that. Thirteen years ago, when Population 485 was released, it was hand-sold into existence by independent booksellers–but they just won’t quit.

How do I know?

Because thirteen years later, out of the blue, I get an email with proof that the indie crew is still out there, hand-selling every day:

2015 MIBA list

I don’t know why it’s back on the list. But I know it didn’t pop back up there on its own. Thank you, indies.


New Writing Lesson for an Old Dog

At 50, and about 25 years into this accidental author thing (cheesehead farm boy with a nursing degree stumbles into typing), I lately find myself regularly revisiting–both in life and in writing–how best to navigate whatever time remains. In fact, I was noodling on this idea in a recent newspaper column:

Having crossed the 50-year yard line, I’m as susceptible as the next person to fond reminiscence and the temptations of revisitation and regurgitation as a substitute for facing the future. Or encouraging the future. My demeanor is a perpetual minute-by-minute work in progress, but one of the things I’ve really been focusing on lately is the way folks seem to take one of two turns as they age: some dig their heels in and make themselves as wide as possible so as to hold back the tide; others keep moving forward while re-energizing themselves on the power of the young and the new. Somewhere in there is the balance, and I’m nowhere near to achieving it, but lately am leaning toward the second path. And for the record, I am talking about trying new thoughts and ideas as opposed to getting a sporty car or a new hairstyle. Regarding the former, I prefer old pickups; regarding the latter, the options just aren’t there.

It is popular to impugn social media as a low-culture time-suck, and I’m a guy who’s watched a few slo-mo puke GIFs in his time, but our interconnected electronic world is also a glorious thicket of tangents often leading to enlightenment. That is for a much longer essay, but in short we are led to learn things we need to learn, even if by accident, and we learn them from people that in another life and time we would have never come to know.

I’ve never met Daniel José Older. As I recall someone sent me to his Twitter feed because we’re both writers with backgrounds in EMS. We’ve shared a few brief electronic exchanges but beyond that he’s working at his thing and I’m working at mine. He’s a young writer coming on strong, and I couldn’t be happier for him when he gets another bit of good publishing news. But I’m also grateful for a world in which I can reside in rural Wisconsin and take lessons–cultural and professional–from a man in Brooklyn. For instance, this video led to me changing the way I approached the italicization of non-English words in The Jesus Cow and all books to follow.

School was in session again today, when Daniel wrote about writing and self-discipline. As a self-employed freelancer with kids to feed, I am definitely of the “put-your-ass-in-the-chair” school. (OK, the put-yer-tennies-on-the-treadmill school). I love (and live for) the mystery, the magic, the spirituality, and the transcendence of the creative process, but I am also a flat-out matter of fact blue-collar clodhopper: you wanna be a writer, you write. Every day.

And then I read this. And I say, y’know what? Daniel José Older is right.

This weekend I’ll be speaking at a writers conference. The “how do you write?” question will be a given. As of this morning, I’m working up a fresh answer. No big revolution. Just moving forward. Re-energizing myself on the power of the young and the new.

Population: 485. Miles: Who Knows.


Thirteen years ago this book arrived at my house on Main Street in New Auburn. I took it on tour and haven’t stopped since. Still not stopping. But gonna retire this edition, park it within sight of my desk as a reminder of good fortune, good people, and the everlasting thicket of tangents.

Special thanks to “Nobbern” and the NAAFD, John and Julie for the cover, and the late editor Robert Jones, who called from New York City one day and said, “Michael the chapter on death is perfect…and the rest…can be fixed.”

Stitching Up the Jesus Cow


Plodding through final pass of first pass of “The Jesus Cow.” It’ll be out in May of this year (early listen here). There are five pages like these and 100+ (maybe 200+; I didn’t count) markups/changes in the manuscript. Found things like the word “capacious” used twice within the space of 9 pages. Typed “shown” where I meant “shone.” That sort of thing. And this doesn’t even reflect all the hard work by editors and copyeditors. And yet there will likely still be a few errors and head-smackers when the book comes out in May. And if someone politely points them out, I will thank them and see what I can do. But if someone says something along the lines of, “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LEFT OUT A COMMA!” I will smile warmly and reply, “Well, why don’t you go right ahead and insert one wherever you choose…”

*Grins Maniacally*

These are the days I can’t even come close to expressing sufficient gratitude for being allowed to do what I do. Thank you to all the six directions.

We Are Always Children

Reading Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist,” I respect and resonate with this line from the acknowledgements:

I’m hoping my parents don’t read this book, but they are beloved and have made all things possible.

Each of my “adult” books include a similar thank you:

First and foremost, to my parents—anything decent is because of them, anything else is simply not their fault.

They did what they could.

We do what we will.

But we are always children.