Madras Press is a new, non-profit publisher of individually bound short stories and novellas. The Press is a literary and philanthropic project whose books serve as fundraising efforts for a number of charitable causes and organizations. Each of their authors has selected a beneficiary to which all net proceeds generated from the sales of his or her book will be donated; these include organizations dedicated to environmental protection, community development, human services, and much more.
Here’s a list of their first four books (forthcoming December 2009)
The Third Elevator, by Aimee Bender
Bobcat, by Rebecca Lee,
Sweet Tomb, by Trinie Dalton, and
A Mere Pittance, by Sumanth Prabhaker.
Here’s the contest:
Write a 150-250 word fake bio to any of the writers above and post it here as a comment. The person who writes the best bio of a writer will receive a copy of that writer’s book. So, in other words, if you write the best bio of Aimee Bender, for instance, you will get a copy of her book The Third Elevator. Enter as many times as you’d like, for as many writers as you’d like.
Deadline:
November 27, 2009
Update (December 12, 2009):
Gabe Durham wins Sweet Tomb, by Trinie Dalton
B L Pawelek wins A Mere Pittance, by Sumanth Prabhaker
Gabriel Orgrease wins The Third Elevator, by Aimee Bender
Peter Anderson wins Bobcat, by Rebecca Lee
Big Other Contest #2
how is no one entering this? those things are gorgeous!
I’m guessing we’ll see some flurries this weekend. There’s just too many writers out there who can knock out some great stuff and win these beautiful books.
i hope so! i’m resisting all my urges!!
A question I have is are you looking for ‘fake’ bio as in safe, or as in satirical?
What we’re looking for is inventiveness. Form doesn’t matter. So satires would be great.
Aimee Bender is the third daughter of Maxwell Bender, the late great cookie cutter mogul from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. Though writing is at the top of her creative pyramid a little known item in Aimee’s early background is that she got her start in the arts, at the encouragement of her mother, Alice May Bender, in the design of cubist inspired cookie cutters. While on visits to her father’s factory at the age of seven she revealed her penchant for body parts and deformities, and spent several months designing cookie cutters that resembled magical talking elbows. The folks on the cookie cutter assembly line were simply enchanted at these outlines that so realistically defined and memorialized their own industrial losses. With this early experience she came to a realization that elbows know something unique and special. Eventually her emotional depth of investigation led her work into a surrealist post-realism when she began to attach wings to her elbow cookie cutters. These fantastical designs emboldened of kinetic flight were intended for home bakers to combine with multi-colored sprinkles, chopped walnuts and raisins. Unfortunately, though she applied on several occasions, Aimee was never able to intern for Martha Stewart Living, a particular and sad loss to our culinary culture. In college, in a revival of her early interests, she took up wire sculpture as a hobby and besides authoring prize winning books she has produced a private line of stunningly odd earrings and brooches that feature outlines of various etherealized body parts.
After completing his novel, Sumanth came to the bar one last night. He whispered that this book ended as a failed attempt to win back someone’s heart. No one believed him of course. We all thought he was a bit crazy.
He had come here for the last 141 nights and left small pieces of paper every one of them. All mathematical scribblings. A list of numbers, mostly crossed out, looking strangely like a spiral.
Dolly Bearns had once asked, “What the hell is this?” to which Sumanth had mumbled words about “the pattern of prime numbers” and “141 had done him in.” Everyone who heard this coyly looked at each other and immediately ordered a double.
He had mentioned his writing during his time here. His book – something about a dresser falling on someone who was on the phone. Sorry, I was a bit drunk when he told me.
But, I do remember one thing – he showed me a story called “Proposition 46.” Pretty good, but since it was missing, I asked him, what happened to Prop 41. He just looked at me and scribbled on.
Trinie Dalton has been known to claim, usually late at night after a few too many Harvey Wallbangers, to be the granddaughter of Bernard Dalton, founder of the once-thriving but soon-to-be-defunct B. Dalton bookstore chain. Her lamentations always begin nostalgically as she recalls sitting at her grandfather’s side behind the counter of his store in Omaha (the only location he retained after selling his chain to Dayton Corporation in 1979) and devouring every Judy Blume and Ursula Le Guin book he had in stock, but then, depending on how many Wallbangers she’s had, will often turn into a tirade at the corporate idiocy of Barnes & Noble during its later ownership of the chain and its eventual destruction of her grandfather’s legacy. But after returning home, a quick check by her listener of Wikipedia inevitably reveals that not only did Dayton’s establish B. Dalton itself in 1966, but the chain’s name was completely fictitious and there was never a Bernard Dalton. As it turns out, Trinie’s Grandpa Dalton’s name was Hank, an insurance agent in Akron, Ohio. Her passionate fondness for the B. Dalton chain has never been plausibly explained.
Aimee Bender has never been afraid of ghosts. In fact, she has never been afraid. She drives a blue car and carries a red purse. Her secrets will go with her to the grave.
When she was seven, Ms. Bender learned to fly. She flew up very, very high. And when she came down, she put her feet on the ground. People asked her, but she never explained why.
In the future, Ms. Bender will certainly become involved in many and various activities. She will SCUBA dive and hunt large objects in the night. With any luck, she will always remain alive.
Trinie Dalton never had a chance, her poor heart weak-walled from birth. She wrote long books in bed on her desktop computer, keyboard in lap, staring straight out the window. Every half hour, Tina glanced at the monitor to her right to make sure it was still on. It usually was. The author of This Squirrel is Really Up to Something, Dolly Tinti slept and slept. The maid snuck Dilly’s hard drives to New York City and the rest, as they say, is as follows: Born in 1984, I wasted how many years praying to Trinity Dalton not knowing her claim to answer prayers was just the title of her 12th book. Who could fault Tiny Delton, though, with her itty deltoids that she swore would swell up like avocados after track practice but only she could tell? I’m asking–who? Her heaviest book, Call Me Guacamole Maybe, swept the Nobels. She got season passes to Dulles International and whenever she flew, strong chipper men whisked Duly Tutu past security, laughing nervously at the very idea of a frisk. Put me down, Dolly cried, loud enough to charm us all, too softly to hear.
Rebecca Lee is the daughter of Bruce Lee and the motion picture REBECCA from 1940 directed by Alfred Hitchcock and starring Laurence Oliver. She is one of the few writers in the world that can be rolled through a projector and seen on the big screen as well as kicking serious critical ass. For instance, since Michiko Kakutani gave her first work something less than a rave, the noted NY Times reviewer has a ruptured spleen and may be lost to the Times for the holiday season. On occasion, Rebecca also likes to help install furnaces.
Ah, I should have mentioned that Big Other contributors are not allowed to participate in the contest. But let’s keep up your awesome bio here as inspiration for others. Thanks Greg!
I figured that, just wanted to get into the spirit!
Cool!
When will the winners be announced?
Soon! Thanks for checking in.