I had to google “Dispatches From Vermont” — except I didn’t capitalize any of the letters — because I didn’t want to take a title from something that sure sounds like it’s already a title to something. There are all sorts of dispatches from this place and to that place. It’s a writing trope, for sure. And I’m pretty sure the gist of the content is all pretty similar. I say that knowing nothing about any of these other dispatches, but just off of a gut feeling. It’s some guy–it’s probably always a guy–talking about someplace that he is, to the place that he is from. It’s The Great Adventure. A manly man of epic man stuff. Men: On the Road. For I have had my battles here, and now I will go have my battles elsewhere.
I googled “Dispatches From Vermont” — though I was very lazy; I did not capitalize any of the letters — and it turns out that nobody has written “Dispatches From Vermont.” However, there is a book called On Anarchism: Dispatches From the People’s Republic of Vermont. I live in Vermont, and I did not know that it was a People’s Republic, which makes me question if I’m really the right guy to be writing “Dispatches From Vermont.” But, I have a calling, and my calling is writing. It has been ordained not from a higher power but because it is the thing that I am the best at that only requires just sitting somewhere while doing it. Most dispatches are written sitting down, I figure, and this dispatch will serve two purposes: I will have an opportunity to sit down and I need to be writing because there is a group of people that I need to show that I have been writing and that some people have been reading.
I wrote a book. Coincidentally enough, it’s about not having a place to sit. Actually, here’s a blurb about that that I feel sums up the plight and the plot:
“Dreams were racing away from us and I still didn’t even have a [place to sit].” -blurb taken from Chapter 12 of C.M. Steven’s Steve’s Tour Journal (blurb edited for clarity).
I’d add more, but, you see, I’m doing all of this so I can get an agent because I wrote a book (a whole book!). Agents don’t really like it if you’ve published any part of your book on the internet or anywhere else before they’ve had a chance to see if they can get someone to publish it. I’ve already published another blurb from the book (see previous post) and I don’t want to overdo it. There are still so many blurbs left, but I’ve never been good at budgeting.
This is the first installment of “Dispatches From Vermont.” I live in Vermont and I love it. I think it is so beautiful and filled with stories to be told. Dispatches to be dispatched. This will not be a masculine telling of tough times in the mountains or of hunting animals for fashion, but other things like, ummmmmm, today I saw this really big burly guy using a pool noodle to swim in the lake. I loved it. Like, he plowed and plodded into the water and he looked really tough and he had really tough sunglasses on and he looked like if we were to put our toughness at odds, him and I, he would clearly be the winner. I’d congratulate him and go look for the nearest place to sit. Either way. He plowed and plodded into the water and I turned my head because somebody said something to me and when I turned back, this man was using a pool noodle to swim. Doing kind of a doggy paddle-type thing. His tough sunglasses looked a little less tough with his flailing hands and the spittle coming out of his mouth as he was doing his best.
It was 85 degrees and sunny until it wasn’t. Soon we will be getting a hurricane. That is currently what is going on, or, what I would like to dispatch from Vermont. I am currently sitting, but it is not because my novel has been successful enough that I made enough money to buy a place to sit. No, for that, I’m going to need an agent, which is why I’m doing all of this.
OTHER DISPATCHES
On Anarchism: Dispatches From the People’s Republic of Vermont
Who should buy it:
Anarchists, it seems. Maybe people either from Vermont who like reading about their state, or anyone not from Vermont who, most likely, know nothing about it.
What it’s about:
I haven’t the slightest clue, but it sounds dangerous.