Thursday, October 17, 2019

The Emperor's New Clothes


When I was a kid, I realized something about a story called
The Emperor's New Clothes.

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The moral was enlightening; very simple too.

You shouldn't help mean assholes.

Yes, while everyone remembers the little kid who shouted, "He's naked!" no one ever considered everyone else remaining silent.

No one told the emperor he was naked because:


He was arrogant and might have killed them.


The kid was probably safe, because most people won't kill children, at least in stories written by Hans Christian Andersen.

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I think about this when someone upsets me. If I tell the person something like, "You're an asshole," I'm actually suggesting they become a better person and am giving them advice to improve upon themselves.


WHY?



Why would you give advice to someone you don't like? Sure, some people in this world better themselves even through hearing another person curse at them. What if you called someone who rejected you a bad name, the person thought about it, improved themselves, and then was better to the next person and got married? You helped someone you resented. 

This should bother any sane person. You shouldn't help people who wrong you. It's mentally draining. 

It's wonderful to help others.


Like the emperor, individuals exist who are arrogant and won't change their metaphoric clothes. Instead, they'll remain naked (ignorant) no matter what you say, or they'll not recognize anything you did and you'll be left angry, hurt, and resentful.

Sometimes it's best to say nothing like the crowd in the story. Leave a situation and surround yourself among positive people you can grow from. Forget the emperors of the world who demean and annoy you. Never help them, because it will drain you into exhaustion, hence the metaphor the emperor will have the person executed for helping him.



Mentor those who deserve your attention.

Don't help assholes.

You might make them a better person, but screw them. Better yourself and those you care about instead.


In case you read this for information about the 42 Stories Anthology, I am finishing my master's degree in education this year and will get back with you after December most likely.

We are however reading and replying to some submissions currently. Please have patience.

Remember to remember . . .
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Friday, February 1, 2019

42 Stories Anthology Staff

No anthology team is complete without editors and professional eyes. Below is a list of some members of the 42 Stories Anthology team, with their 42-word bio. This will give you a look into the lives of the people behind the book.


(image taken in Nagoya, Japan)




Editors

Amy has words at McSweeney’s, The New Southern Fugitives, Drabblez, FlashBackFiction, Parabola and other sites. She’s working on a short story collection. She lives in the South with her husband, two kids and two dogs that all inspire and distract her writing.


Cathy’s works appear in print and online, including self-published short story compilations, poetry collections, and children’s picture books. Wolves Don’t Knock, her first novel, was published mid-2018, and she is working on the sequel, Mister Wolfe. Cathy lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Crystal Durnan is a fiction writer and editor who lives in Florida with her husband and two kids. After years as a wildlife rehabber, she decided to pursue her passion for fiction. She loves birds, the beach, books, video games and tacos.


Karen Milstein, Clowder Mater, absolutely loves Sword and Sorcery, Fantasy, Romance, and Dungeons and Dragons. Fergus, the dragon from her book, Fergus and the Princess, is real. He sits above her computer to provide guidance and inspiration as she writes her stories.


After years of guiding students through the process of strengthening their oral and written communication skills, Kim has taken her “grammar that never shuts off,” packed up her collection of colored pens, and
moved out into the real world to help others.

Maggie MacConnell lives in Cincinnati with her cat, and spends her time reading anything she can get her hands on. After majoring in English and (annoyingly) correcting her friend’s grammar, she decided to put it to good use as a freelance editor.

Sage Borgmästars is optimistic and verbose by nature. She currently lives in Finland, where actions matter more than words. She’s looking for outlets for the surplus. To this end she does collaborative editing, especially in children’s literature and social studies educational materials.


Facebook Page

goodreads

 

Critique Partners


Jennifer Worrell is a medicine- and forensics-obsessed author, heathen, and unabashed pie zealot intent on shaming all non-readers into submission. She lives in Chicago with her husband and cat, the latter of who edited this bio and would appreciate any freelance work.




Terry Groves has been writing fiction for most of his life and has published both short stories and poetry. He works for the British Columbia government. He lives on a boat, where he kayaks and writes for the love of the craft.


 

 

Robbie is a master of IT and loves books more than you. He loves books so much so that he would marry a book if it had a red wing, which is why he is happy to promote the 42 Stories Anthology.


Promoters and Advisers


Dawn Greenfield Ireland is an award-winning author of 8 novels, 15 screenplays & 4 nonfiction books. Background includes 34 yrs as a technical writer/editor. Her online critique group is accepting new members. Need help? Contact her.







Compiler 

Ever since Bam started writing he's wanted to help other authors. After majoring in creative writing and appearing in several anthologies and magazines and years editing and beta reading, he launched the 42 Stories Anthology with a goal of publishing 1,764 wordsmiths.

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42 Stories Anthology Facebook 


Send us your 42-word story if you haven't already. Guidelines. If a piece was rejected, write a new one and send it to a different category. You have a 50/50 chance of getting one story accepted into a different category. 

Happy writing. 

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Monday, January 7, 2019

In Memorial of Jazzmullin, or Goodbye Dad


Facing the music: My father, James Michael Mullin, "Jim," or Jazzmullin is gone.

Left living in Japan without a family to call my own, plus I’m so busy with my master’s program, the 42 Stories Anthology, and fulltime work that I'm pretty much left by my lonesome to feel sad.  
Without a father for a week now
A 35-year-old orphan 
Thoughts marinated with what he loved 


Cars
 


 

Food


(me yelling at a turkey)


     Women, as in ALL OF THEM
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Stevie 

Stevie

Stevie Delay 



and his children 
(me, Jayson, Dad, Stacy: September 24, 2007)

His likes are the above in that order from least to greatest. Fun fact, Jim's birth name was Stevie, as were all orphans that were dropped off at birth like him at the center in New York. His mother, Rena, from Metuchen, renamed him James Michael upon adoption. 


Wait, I digress. Jazz was his number one passion, owning countless CDs and records, which filled a house. 

Jazzmullin never remembered my birthday, but could tell you Charlie Parker’s or Miles Davis’s in a heartbeat. Dad knew more about jazz than any living human on Earth. 
 


Early December, I took a boat from Oita to Ehime, Japan, for the weekend. Got in so late that the hotels were closed. I found a jazz bar opened until 1am and felt like my father guided me from the freezing winds somehow to this place. 





The bartender and I talked about jazz and my dad’s passion for the music beyond closing time. On my way out, he asked and played my favorite song, which was actually my brother’s. I don’t have one. 


 Throughout the song, the bartender rhymed the history behind the album, which I’d already known thanks to my father. 

 
Dad had an addiction: If you rode with him in a car, you were going to get a dose of jazz jargon regarding whoever was playing at the time. 







My problem with this was I’d try to listen to the song while he’d talk over the music. His friends and various girlfriends would complain that they just wanted to hear the songs. 
One day, I gently told him, “I don’t hear a word. No one listens when you go on like this. I mean, who really cares that Miles Davis used to moon his fans and blamed it on a bad back?” Reflecting, that fact was funny.  

 



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Dad's face told a tale of sadness over my comment. 
And so I added, “You’re not picking the right audience. Find someone interested in the topic and share the info dump with them.”

     
Later he told me, “You were right. Now I have this community of jazz friends and we get together and talk about the history behind the music. When we disagree, we’ll Google it. I’m never wrong.” He laughed, reassuringly. Then, my father thanked me for the suggestion. I loved how he would really listen to what people said and often consider trying the feedback out. I won’t get into how he didn’t listen when everyone told him to go do this and that for his health and hit the hospital or he would die. 
They have a saying in Japan for this type of situation: 仕方がない.


Anyway, I used to test Dad’s jazz knowledge by playing a random song and having him name who and what. He always got it right, except one time when I played a jazz tune by a Japanese artist I liked.
(Sadao Watanabe)
He recognized Watanabe's name upon reflection.

Dad was a musician, writer, poet, and often inspired my writing including "How My Life Changed the Time I Almost Got Mugged," which won the Story of Excellence Award and he named characters in my featured story with Hamline Journal called “Day Off.” (Miles, Parker, Kelly Grace, and the villain, Gorelick after Kenny G.). Before you hated Justin Bieber, my father loathed Kenny G. He's not alone:
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Dad would say G's crap wasn’t even worthy of being played in an elevator, or bathroom stall, and all records of it should be tossed into the sun by Superman. 
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Personally, I’d take John Coltrane or Thelonious Monk any day over that junk too. 
 
(credit, credit)


I’ll never be a huge fan of jazz like my father was, but hearing it will make me think of something he loved, which is why the sax sounds will always spark a dim light of joy for me and those that knew him for years to come. 



When he became a brother. 


 
When he could lift his brother, and a truck. Dad was a bodybuilder and personal trainer for half of his life.  
 
    When he became a father. 



Dad loved jazz so much because his favorite uncle and childhood role model, Bertram who played the trumpet, 
inspired his 
passion.
 

Secret Hidden Bonus Video

Love you, Dad. I'm convinced you found Stevie on your way to the afterlife, who left this world one month before you, and you two stopped by the pearly gates to let him take a piss. 



  

DOD: 12-30-2018, 64.





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