What Happened to Blu?

Blu Magazine was, as a project, heart-breaking. People still tell me they loved Blu. Stauntonians, I think, need a magazine like Blu, and I think they miss it very much.

Our first issue looked quite good, the stories were fun and interesting, and putting out a magazine from scratch that had as many ads as we did and was as pretty as it was made me proud. The second issue was even better, and people who read it told me we were on the right track.

With our great, energetic, volunteer writers, photographers, graphic designers, and calendar compilers, we put together an awesome third issue that we were excited to send to print. Unfortunately, a series of problems between my partner and myself developed that ended up preventing us from running the third issue. I don't want cast aspersions on anyone or assign blame, but I feel like I did everything I could on my end to soldier on and continue serving our growing readership, advertising base, and those who were kind enough to help with content. As the months passed, I thought I could find the resources and publish the issue under a different masthead, but the material became dated, people moved on, and it became clear that I couldn't find funding with the recession, and I didn't want to string people along with false hope. With regret, I realized it was time to abandon the issue we all worked so hard on.

I'm still crestfallen by the way this project ended. I lost some money, but not so much that I can't recover. I may have lost some face, but I hope to earn it back. The worst part is that I lost an opportunity to do something that affected people's lives positively, and that's a very sad thing.

I apologize for how long it took me to write this explanation, but I didn't want to say anything about Blu until I knew the whole story myself.

I've heard my former partner has his own version of these events, but I feel my work in the year and a half I've lived in Staunton speaks for itself. Since Blu died, I managed the Curren For Delegate Campaign, starred in a German production of Hamlet; I also help manage the Darjeeling Café (which I'm happy to say is busier than ever), and I'm the Marketing Coordinator for the American Shakespeare Center (also busier than ever). And now there are new great and fulfilling projects I'm involved with. As I commit to new projects and see them through, I think it's clear to those I work with that I am the kind of person who fulfills my obligations, keeps my promises, and that I'm a hard worker who holds himself to a high standard. People I work with have actually told me that I'm "an ingredient in the recipe for success."

I'm very sorry to everyone who contributed to this project and feels like it might have been for naught; I know how you feel. Our advertisers got what they paid for, and some even didn't have to. Some checks were never cashed, but I'm sending those back. I'm particularly sorry to the subscribers; unfortunately, since I don't have access to records kept by my ex-partner, I have no way of knowing who you are. If you were a subscriber, please contact me, and I'll try to make it right, and thank you for believing in us. I hope that I can make a wonderful thing that you'll like in the future.

Me but really tired

Don't Fear the Peeper.

I just found out my boss is afraid of chickens.

Roy H. Williams and His Memos

Roy H. Williams is one of my favorite people. He looks at the marketing world in a way that simplifies and articulates his views in a way that compel one to consider his observations throughout the week––if not into perpetuity. I look forward to his MondayMorningMemos every week. It's my favorite things about Mondays.

This week, Roy lamented the world's loss of a genius, J.D. Salinger. Salinger touched every American in some way. He compared the loss to the birth of the iPad, which also will touch every American in some way, I suppose. . . as much as any gadget can.

I wish that the American Shakespeare Center would get a donation that is earmarked for the marketing department so that I could go to Roy's Wizard of Ads Academy. I think it would benefit the company and even all of Staunton. Anyway, I wrote this email to Roy today. I thought I would share it.

Dear Roy,

This missive is depressing. I expected you to at least give us something to learn from the death of Salinger and the birth of something dubious.

I've come to expect a lot more on Mondays.

Also, I almost never watch videos through my iPhone. I look up facts, research different things, find guitar chords so that I can entertain friends with music, and I take pictures of events I attend to entice others in VL to join me in RL (sometimes I use it as a telephone). People have been predicting the nadir of culture with every technological advancement since pencil hit paper, and I don't suspect that this pharmakon will be any more poisonous than those that have preceded it. Some will be addicted to the machine, but some will employ the machine to free up intellectual capital for better uses. The only thing that sucks about the iPad (other than its unfortunate moniker) is that it seems like an Apple misfire. It seems like they misread their audience, which seems like a really good topic for your memo. Everything I read online is how lame and off-the-mark the Pad is. Perhaps Steve Jobs should subscribe to your newsletter.

Anyway, thanks for the weekly thoughts. I work in a nonprofit arts organization and will probably never have enough money to come see you, but we in the marketing department find your memos an indispensable part of what we do. A true resource.

Thanks again.

Yours,

Jack

Perhaps I should have posted this to my Shakespeare blog. I will post it there, too.

Sarah Louise Green at BRL

I like the first two poems in this collection of three. It's easier to say bad things about the third than it is to say good things about the first two. I really love the first poem, though, "Perch."

I like the sonic echos that thread the stanzas together. And the animals kind of mirroring each other.

Back Room Live used to be a live reading, and even though the navigation on the site is clumsy, I adore the BRL, and I'm proud to say that I was there from the beginning.