Running Man Press

It was a dark and rainy day...

Okay, apologies over the whole 'It was a dark and stormy night' cliché, but I discovered over the Victoria Day weekend that one of my stories became front page news in a journal called the Running Man Press. The interesting thing is that I had almost forgotten that I had written and submitted the piece (the editor who said that he would inform me of the date of publication never contacted me about the issue). I have also discovered that it is not available online (the page I found advertised how to submit, the fact that they only print 5000 copies per issues - a smart idea, I think - and that they have many wonderful t-shirts and other doodads available to support their cause).

And there was one final thing...

I could not get an issue.

Well, it was a rainy Sunday, so naturally the restaurant whose window I looked through and saw a pile of issues was closed (Montréal, I expected so much from you). Naturally, I took this in a mature manner, running down the street and desperately looking for a café, store, bar, abandoned phone booth that would hold a pile of issues in their front window. Eventually, I discovered a second-hand record store that had it, right next to other free papers, ads, bills, posters, and notices for upcoming shows and concerts in the city. I think that I may have left a bad impression on the girl behind the counter when I picked up three of them, asked a question about a record I clearly knew nothing about, and left quickly, shoving those papers into my backpack.

So, it has happened again.

I have found myself back in the indies.

And do you know what I mean?

By indies, I mean the independent papers, magazines, journals and the like that made up the backbone of my publishing history. I was quite surprised the first time I picked up some of the 'zines and papers of people who were devoted to music, art, literature and other subjects back in the 80s and 90s. There were tomes called 'Eye Weekly', 'Hour', 'Ici', 'View', and so many others whose names have been forgotten (there should be some sort of waystation or museum to preserve this past effort). I was even tempted to make one of my own, focusing on my particular tastes in music, art and literature, but the constraints on my time and wallet made this just a dream. It would not be until I had travelled overseas and compiled a collection of poems that I would see my name in the publishing game.

Although, that is not totally true.

I worked on student papers and journals, helping to decide on which submissions would be worth of us. I must confess now that I have more sympathy for the people behind the mastheads out there now that I have had the occupation of editor. There were a lot of desperate poetasters, terrible painters and sketch artists, ranters and ravers, and the simply untalented who thought they deserved to have their work heard and enjoyed.

And this is why I find this latest publishing triumph so surprising.

By chance, I had seen the second issue at a bookstall in one of the buildings of a university campus. It was the last copy, and clearly the paper had been picked up and discarded - maybe a few times - by previous readers. The publishers wanted local colour, and I had a story about what I imagined would be an intriguing one about a homeless woman encountering a man waiting for a bus. I had been through that situation many times myself, just without the interesting twisting and turning I added at the conclusion.

And they said yes to it.

So, I am not sure if I will keep on sending them my old work, or even new work I think would be better for the local press (sorry, Vocal), but I am back to my old habits. And I have saved several copies because of the discovery that this is the only way to preserve my work. I may even have something a little less fictional to add to their publication.

Thank you, Running Man Press, for reminding me that to write is to always being a step ahead of things while looking back at a familiar path.

Check out their web site here:

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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