Waiting and Writing Are Just a Letter Off!

how to invest in MasterCard shares in India I’ve been told that a lot of publishing is about WAITING. Waiting for an agent to notice you (the worst wait of all!), waiting for edits, waiting for a sale (oh please oh please oh please), waiting for the book to come out. I’m horrible at waiting!

But what I am good at it is just one letter off of waiting–and that’s writing! (Yes, I literally just noticed that!). So I’ve been working on my second book (starring Katie, from the first book). I’ve also been writing things around town.

I’m not sure if this will be an ongoing thing or not, but I was asked to write about beer bars for Thrillist. As you can imagine, I was thrilled!

I also have the best writing job in the world–a twice-a-month column on historical Ann Arbor things. This month, we look at parades.

And the food co-op book comes out in 11 days, at our annual meeting! Yikes!

But writing will beat the pants out of waiting any day! :)

Six Years Ago….

invest in MasterCard shares in India I really love Facebook’s “On This Day” app. Especially when it brings me happy memories of the best job I ever had.

Read about the amazing kiddos here!

I miss that job, that school, teaching in Detroit. If I can make enough money off of writing, I will go back in a heartbeat. (DPS now pays thousands less than my current job, so I would need to supplement).

Detroit lives matter, motherfuckers!

A History of Ann Arbor’s People’s Food Co-op

indian binary trading app For the past few months, I have been working on my second (and hopefully not last!) book! It is another local history book, this time about our People’s Food Co-op. It is a fascinating place!

senior discount and peace signs

It’s actually three storefronts, which you can kind of see here. The first two (the ones you can see clearly) are the grocery store. The third (sort of around the corner) is Cafe Verde, a fair trade, organic coffee shop.

cafe verde inside

That’s the coffee bar part! It has very tasty coffee and tea and juices and all sorts of yumminess.

The Co-op has been around for 45 years. It got started as a card table on the street, with people selling bulk food. Seriously. And now it’s this big storefront with a cafe!

Front of Cafe Verde

The sun is setting and the Co-op is waiting for you!

I hope I did this place justice. I talked to a bunch of folks, went through thousands of pictures, and looked at every single newsletter that I could find. It will be released at our annual meeting on April 17th, and then for sale at the Co-op or from me.

Here is our Facebook page! Please check us out!


Random Book Reviews

My friend, Cindy, complimented me on my Goodreads reviews. Some of them are pretty good, if I do say so myself. Here are a few random ones:

Houdini Girl (Doug Henning is not in this book. I wish he was. He would have made it more fun)


So seriously? Was this book written by a 14 year old boy? Because if you take out the references to fucking and smoking, the book would be about 10 pages long.

I spent most of the book trying to decide who I hated the most. The Red character had some interesting things to say about magic, but he was annoying and stupid. There was no reason to love Rosa other than that he loved fucking her and then smoking with her. The “lovely” Kim? I wanted to punch her in the face. She was all about fucking (surprise!). And Rosa…her entire character was fucking, with the frequent cigarette thrown in. Why on earth were she and Red together, other than fucking? There was nothing else to her–just fucking. And smoking.

The only reason I didn’t give it one star is because the magic stuff was kind of cool. And I liked the Denis character. And the Amsterdam scenes were interesting. But otherwise, oy. I might have enjoyed this when I was 14 and sex was still a mystery to me but I’m 30 years past and this book just bored the, well, the fuck out of me

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (I sure did love me some Gene!)


At the risk of making you think I am batshit insane, please allow me to tell you a story from my youth. At times, I would imagine that I was on a TV show, complete with an audience who would laugh, clap and go “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” when I did something bad. But the “ohhhhhhhhh” was one of those, “Oh no she dinnit! That Patti girl is so cray-cray!” kind of things that you say while laughing at the protagonist, while simultaneously shaking your head at their craziness.

So I would do stupid shit, imagining that the audience was finding me absolutely adorable and saying, “Isn’t she funny?” all the while. Eventually though, I got over this and curtailed my stupid shit. Chuck Barris, OTOH, must never have lost his invisible audience going “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh”; I mean, he practically brags about paying for dozens of abortions, leaving his dog to starve to death, and generally being a prick to the nth degree.

Why on earth would someone put this in his autobiography? I mean, seriously? Other than that he thinks we are going to shake our heads and go, “Oh no he dinnit! That Chuck just so CRAY!”

And seriously? This guy was an assassin? He’s still high from drugs from the 50s…I wouldn’t give him a gun if it was World War 3

Ya-Yas In Bloom (I think the author was wearing crazy pants when she wrote this book)


Are you fucking kidding me? Did this author not read her Divine Secrets book? I have to think not because of all of the discrepancies between that book and this one (wrong names of kids, for one). Shit like this makes me hopeful that one day a literary agent will notice me because at least I CAN FUCKING REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BOOKS I WRITE.

The Road

** spoiler alert ** The only thing that would have made me like this book is if they had eaten the father at the end.

Or had this guy in it:


This American Life: Cops See It Differently

Some of you know that I had the misfortune of attending law school.


You heard me.

Anyway, during my first summer of law school, I participated in this internship wherein we eager beaver law students helped inmates at various state prisons. We didn’t do much–mostly sentence modifications, visitation rights, the very occasional appeal. I do recall one guy who was very proud of his plan for when he got out of jail. His big idea was to somehow get the police to beat the crap out of him, after which he and his family would sue and then sit back and let the money roll in. Either that, or else fall in the parking lot of Home Depot (it had to specifically be Home Depot, for some reason).

I remember kicking my supervising attorney under the table, certain that we should say…I don’t know something to this guy. My supervisor just ignored him and went on talking about the sentence modification we were filing. I don’t remember what happened to the case, and I have no idea if this guy ever got out of prison or not. I feel like I should mention that this guy, like about half of our clients that summer, was white. Writing about it now makes me feel like he was exercising this privilege–like he was so certain of himself, of his superiority, that he could bait the cops into whacking him over the head and then hit the jackpot. I’m starting to get really pissed off, the more I think about it.

Anyway, I spent another jarringly isolating day during around and got in two TAL podcasts. Both had to do with police brutality and misconduct. Guess what color most of the victims were? Hint: they were not the same color as our convict friend, above.

It is so bothersome. I know about the well-known, publicized cases but OMG OMG OMG…if white people like our convict friend were getting beaten up in this way–

I don’t have to say it. You know what would happen.

There was one case where a guy in Florida got arrested under the “stop and frisk” 250 times!!!! What was he doing? I mean, he must have been running around the streets with a sawed off shotgun like Omar, harassing little old ladies and nuns and children, right? He must have been throwing bags of crack in the air and yelling WHEEEEEEEEEEE, right?


Nope. He was hanging out at the store where he worked. Where he was employed by a very nice store owner, who also gave him a place to live.

Well, surely the police found something on him, right?

Of course not. They would arrest this man, Earl, for “trespassing”. He would spend a night in jail, and then get out again the next day and go back to work. And get arrested again. And again. And again. Because, you see, the town Earl lived in needed the “numbers”. They had to justify their police budget, police plan, whatever you want to call it. They needed the stats.

There’s more. There’s so much more. But it all just makes me think of that guy in jail, almost 20 years ago. That white guy with his big, grand plan to “get” the police to beat him up so he could sue.

This American Life 1st and 2nd

I am listening to random TAL podcasts in my car. I am going to blog about them. Please click on the About That Life tab you should hopefully see on the homepage for why I am doing this.

1st podcast: My Damn Mind. I picked this at random, because I could hear someone saying it as My DAMN mind. The first story was about a guy (I am horrible at remember names, so I will call him Joe) who had a manic episode at the hospital and–and I’m not kidding–he got shot by the police.

Guess what color Joe is?

So seriously, this guy had some issues, got his life together, but got hit with some Mania. He had the presence of mind to tell the hospital that he was having a manic episode. But he wasn’t put in psych services, and left in the general part of the hospital. Where there were armed guards/police because hey, why not? And they didn’t understand what was going on, thought Joe was about to attack them, and BOOM. Shot him right in the chest. A “kill shot”, it was called. Joe’s dad is a doctor, and he has other doctors in the family. But still, one of his brothers, upon learning that Joe was in the ER asked, “Did they shoot him?”

I’m sad that I know exactly who “they” is, and why an African-American man was asking that.

Episode 2 was about Doubt. Remember that I am listening to these in my car, and so I’m not writing down names. I want to base these blog posts on my memories, and not on what I read online, so I am hesitate to go back and look things up just to confirm names. So bear with me.

This story was about Michelle, who was 18 and had survived a dozen foster homes to make it to her own apartment and her own life. That is really fucking amazing. She had friends, had some sort of job, she had made it. Then some asshole broke into her house, tied her up at knifepoint, and raped her. And just to add the bastard cherry on top of this crime, he took pictures of her and threatened t put them online if she called the police. She called them anyway.

Then Michelle started calling people she knew, to tell them what happened. She called two of her former foster mothers. One of them, Sherry, thought something was “off”. You see, Michelle was talking like “she was describing making a sandwich”, very flat affect. So Sherry decided that the police should know of her doubt.

Initially, the police did what they do–took the sheets, did a rape kit, got fingerprints. But Sherry’s call put the brakes on things. In a scary fast way, Michelle suddenly became the “suspect”. Her other foster mom talked to Sherry, and both expressed doubt about Michelle’s veracity. Specifically, they thought that her tendency to overreact and show off and act histrionic meant that she very well may have been making this all up just to get attention. As one does.

Now suddenly the consensus was that Michelle was making the whole thing up. The cops called her back in and had her write a statement recanting her accusations, saying that she made the whole thing up. Word got out. The newspapers printed the story, along with her “false” police report and picture. They threatened to pull her public housing from her. The non-profit that managed her housing publicly shamed her. Women who lived with her walked by and yelled things at her. People called her a slut, a whore. She began to doubt herself.

Then, she got charged with filing a false police report. She pled it out, paying $500 in court costs, agreeing to probation, agreeing to counseling for filing the report. Not for being raped, because everyone thought she was lying. Because she was so robotic when she told people. And she giggled sometimes when she was telling the story. And because people like Sherry, who had also been raped at some point, just couldn’t fathom why she wasn’t hysterical and crying and why was she calling everyone and telling them anyway?

Years later, a rape was reported in Colorado. Long story shorter–it was Michelle’s rapist. They caught him, linked him to her rape, and he got 300 years in prison. So, yay. But Michelle spent years with all of this shit. Because one person cast doubt on her.

And that person, her former foster mom Sherry, still says that while she “doesn’t want to blame the victim” and she “knows this sounds bad”, she still thinks Michelle didn’t act quite right.

If this is not a shining shit show example of Rape Culture, then I don’t know what is.

Next up: Police See Things Differently

Writing, Editing

I got the first round of intern comments from my agent (even after almost a month, writing “my agent” is astounding and wonderful!). I have been working on incorporating some of the edits. More are on their way, and I can’t wait!

Meantime, I have been keeping up with my writing gigs around town!

My bi-monthly column something cool in Ann Arbor’s history over at Concentrate Media

An article over on Mittenbrew, about one of my favorite pubs and brewers! I will be seeing both this Friday at the Winter Beer Fest!

Happy reading!

The Writer’s Platform

There’s this romantic image of a writer, pecking away at a typewriter with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he hides in a dark room. Then the writer pulls out the paper, gives it a kiss, and mails it off to be published. Then he sits back and waits for the royalties to roll in. I don’t think this image was ever really true, at least not for most writers. Maybe it worked for, what, 50 people out of 7,000,000,000? Yeah, I don’t dig those odds, son.

Anyway, those days are over. No one smokes any more, for one. And we use laptops, not typewriters. Today, we need to establish our platform even before we are published. I embrace this idea, just as I have embraced all social media.

To wit–I have an Instagram account (PattiFSmith), a professional Twitter (@WriterPattiFS), a Facebook page (Patti F. Smith, Writer), and this blog (www.PattiFSmith.com). Do you see a theme?!?!??!?!!

I’m open to other suggestions. I feel like I have created a bit of a niche for myself in Ann Arbor, as a historian, writer, and public speaker. Now it’s time to expand that. Please join me!

What Am I Reading?

This past Friday, Ken and I went to our friends’ house to watch ZOMBIE MOVIES!!! We had some debate about whether to watch something completely cheesy, something semi-cheesy, or something not bad. We ended up with a movie that can best be described as “fascinating premise, horrible lead actor, not the best execution of a movie, maybe better as a play?”. Of course, I am talking about:


The movie features this guy as a radio DJ on a small radio station somewhere in Ontario. (My favorite moments included when they would say things like, “Should we call the OPP [Ontario Provincial Police]?” and I’d be all, “YEAH YOU KNOW ME!” Things are coasting along until one of their reporters on the street (actually, in a helicopter but not really–it’s funny because he is only pretending to be in a helicopter!) reports that thousands of people are storming a local doctor’s office. And then he reports that hundreds of people have crowded onto a car and are imitating the windshield wipers.

We don’t see any of this, and that’s just as well, because the image in my mind is fairly scary.

Things escalate from there. Rather than belabor what happens, I will say that the movie inspired me to read the book upon which the movie is based: Pontypool Changes Everything. It’s…different. Again, great idea but the execution is odd.

What are YOU reading?


Random Writings

I am very lucky to not only live in the best city on earth (that’s Ann Arbor, in case you forgot), but that I also get to write about it!

I have a bi-weekly piece in Concentrate Media that talks about our local history. Also, today I learned, bi-weekly means both every other week and twice a week. NUTS, HUH??? In this case, I mean every other week. Here are a few of the more recent articles:

Coffee shops

Pretzel Bell

Argo Beach

I also write for Mittenbrew! I get to do all sorts of fun things because of this job!

Ann Arbor Distilling Company

Arbor Brewing Beer Tastings

I need to say that absolutely none of these articles would be possible without the best photographers, Doug Coombe and Steph Harding, and the best editor in town, Jeff Meyers.

Didn’t I tell you that this was the best city?!