michael lee miller

REVERIE: MICHAEL LEE MILLER

By Ron Evans

“There’s a scene where the protagonist does a line off an erect penis. I knew I wasn’t going to get a full page write-up in our local paper.”

Wenatchee author and comedian Michael Lee Miller has finished work on her second book, Reverie, and will be premiering it with a release/book-signing event on July 22 at Ye Old Bookshoppe. While her debut full length book (I Should Have Worn Panties) was released only four years ago, Miller has been spinnin’ yarns her whole life. “I was always a storyteller. Problematically so, at times. I was the liar-kid. I told my kindergarten class I was bringing my mother’s glass eye in for Show-and-Tell. The teacher called her to make sure she knew I was doing so and my poor, exasperated, perfectly-sighted mother had no idea what she was talking about. I would shape that into being entertaining. I’m fat and weird, but also funny and that wins people over.”

In recent years, Miller has also taken her stories to the stage with her stand-up comedy, which is filled with poetically filthy observations on love, sex, politics and pop-culture. I reached out to Miller to chat about the new book, and to find out what initially inspired her, and what continues to compel her to keep putting ink to paper.

Talk about your life leading up to penning your first book.

I was a young wife and mother and spent my 20s raising my family. I focused all my energy on my children and then my parents, who both fell ill in 2009. My thenhusband and I moved my parents into a home we all purchased together so I could take care of them. My father was recovering from his second bout with mouth cancer and had lost his tongue and some of his jaw. My mother had broken her back. My father’s recovery was slow and heartbreaking but my mother’s was impossible. She was an alcoholic in pain; she drank herself to death two years later. I didn’t handle the loss well, and my grief, coupled with other unresolved trauma, caused the dissolution of my marriage.

So, blah blah blah, single mom, school, finding myself, spent my 30s fucking every chubby-chaser on Tinder, spoken word poetry, stand up comedy, karaoke, yadda yadda yadda, found forever love and happiness when I got married in 2021.

My first book I Should Have Worn Panties is an indictment of wage inequality disguised as a trashy romance novel. It’s a chaotically messy, vulgar, hilarious, and deeply emotional story about a woman who suffers from addiction and grief and turns to sex work to support herself and her family. I wrote it in 24 days at the beginning of 2017. I was a dumpster fire at the time: suffering from depression, agoraphobia, and a crippling cycle of poverty. I couldn’t catch a break. I sat down to write, I didn’t know exactly what, and suddenly there were the first three chapters. I gave them to a friend who demanded more and worked at a breakneck pace to do it - to finish something for once in my life. I was a notorious quitter and I needed to prove to myself, my father, my children, to the world: I am capable. I tried to get it published conventionally over the next year and half, sending out at least five dozen queries to agents and publishers. It felt futile. I was a nobody single mom in East Wenatchee with nothing to offer.

One agent did show interest and while he did not take me on as a client, he said I was close to being a ‘sellable product’. The title is catchy, the author is funny, it was almost there. He suggested growing my social media platform and self-publishing. The traditional route of having a publishing house see your potential and investing in you is nearly dead. He told me they won’t so much as look at a submission if the writer doesn’t have at least 10K followers. I took my privacy filters off and started putting myself out there.

My father’s cancer would return, with no hope of fighting. He was going to die. Over that time, the eight years since we lost our spouses, it was just him and me against the world. I was devastated. I grew determined to prove to him (and myself) I was going to be happy and prosperous without him. November, 2018, I impulsively decided to self-publish I Should Have Worn Panties on Amazon so he could physically hold a copy and read the first page where I thank him. It was entirely too easy. I actually messed up the formatting horribly and had to republish it almost immediately. The first attempt was unreadable. My best friend, Hayley Knighten whipped together a fabulous cover and the second attempt was much better. Still imperfect, desperately in need of an editor, but I did it. I wrote and published a book and my dad got to see. But not read. Oh, god, no. It’s filthy.

How was that first book received concerning feedback?

There’s a scene where the protagonist does a line off an erect penis. I knew I wasn’t going to get a full page write-up in our local paper. However, I was, and still am, amazed by the support I’ve received. The story line and content aren’t for everyone; I appreciate that. But I only have *one* bad review on Amazon: by a guy I matched on OKCupid who called it “hard to follow.” Jerk. The community rallied behind me. I cannot express how grateful I am to every single person who spent 10 bucks and a few hours of their time to laugh and cry with me. Or my gratitude to my friend, AnaMaree and her wonderful Ye Olde Bookshoppe, giving me chances to share my work and helping me grow. I’m still blown away that anyone liked it, let alone the overwhelmingly positive feedback I’ve gotten. Reverie featuring cover art by Joseph John Sanchez III

Would you have done anything differently looking back on it?

I certainly would have spent at least some of the 18 months between writing and publishing on editing. I have recently edited (Thanks Cara Dwyer!) and reformatted it in anticipation of the release of the new book, and woof, was she rough. I hadn’t revisited it, I hated seeing the typos and mistakes. I’m embarrassed how bad it was. But, I didn’t revise too much other than typos and clear errors. She’s a rough ol’ girl, but that’s where I was at the time and it’s part of the charm. I had just started booking more events with other bookstores in the state when the pandemic hit, so I’d probably have started that process earlier.

That’s a part of being an indie creator that sucks: it’s ALL on you. You have to front the cost of the author copies, you have to call bookstores and book your own events. You have to self-promote constantly and, sure, like most creators, I love to talk about myself, but it gets tiring. As secure and experienced as I am now, I’m still stressing the release of the new one. How many copies should I order? How many can I afford? Is it vain or smart to do promotional items? Can I count on the audience that loved my funny, freshman novel to want my grown up, serious new one?

Tell us about your new book.

Reverie is a unique, contemporary fiction novel. It’s a fast-paced, first person narrative that follows salt-of-the-earth Nancy, who day dreams - a lot. She likes to imagine back-stories of people she sees through out the day: lavishly detailed assumed biographies of complete strangers. While the reader is treated to these stories, they learn hers as well, as it becomes questionable if this level of imagination is healthy creativity or concerning dysfunction. Two-forone, the reader unwraps this with Nancy, while also getting a few dozen short stories from her community. Reverie is set in Wenatchee and is my love letter to her and her people.

It will be released July 22nd, available at the book release event at Ye Olde Bookshoppe 4-7pm. And after that too.

Would you describe writing as cathartic? Is it tougher or easier to be vulnerable and raw in the midst of the writing process?

I only describe high-end tequila and certain sex acts as cathartic. Writing, storytelling in general, is compulsory. I can’t not tell a story. But there are levels to it, like, you’re hungry right? Basic human need. That’s an easy itch to scratch. Open a bag of cereal, milk optional, throw it in your mouth. Low effort, low reward. Or you can gather materials, chop, dice, sauté, season, braise, caramelize, and plate it beautifully and savor it. I’m not raw in the process; I’m happy. I’m a maker with a task.

Of course, high effort has potential for failure. Spending six hours on a classic Bolognese only to scorch the pan and order take out. We’ve all been there. The vulnerability comes for me at the end result, the presentation. We’re reverted to children on the first day of school with lumps in our throats: what if they don’t like me? What if I added too much salt? What if I was a one-trick pony and have deluded myself into thinking I’m a writer because people were nice to me when I haphazardly threw together a raunchy, sappy collection of 60K words in a semi-cohesive order four years ago and I spent my whole paycheck on authors copies and no one buys a single one? And yes, that part is tough.

Any words of wisdom for someone out there that may be thinking they wanna try their hand at producing an entire book for publication?

Focus on your motivation, primarily. Why do you want to publish this book? Is it a story the world needs to hear and only you can tell it? Are you bringing awareness to something you care about? Want to prove your parents/haters/junior high English teacher wrong? Focus on that, let it fuel your tenacity. Maybe a join a NaNoWriMo challenge or make one for yourself. The first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to be good. Just complete. And then you have the rare privilege of saying “I wrote a book.”

Next, you polish that gem. I highly recommend putting effort into this step. Cameron Curtis did the Lord’s Work editing Reverie. Pay for or make a cover. It’s obvious when indie writers use the templates from the publisher. People absolutely care about how a book looks. There’s formatting resources out there, you can do it yourself or hire someone. Spend time and effort to promote. It’s helpful if you have an option to cross promote. My comedy sells books. Use the community you’ve built to help you grow. I would absolutely not be here, crossing ‘be interviewed for The Comet’ off my bucket list, if I didn’t have the friends who’ve supported me every step of the way.

And finally, hit the publish button. What’s the worst that can happen: it sucks? So did She’s Come Undone and no one castrated Wally Sparks. As far as I know. It may not be wildly successful, but if you make one person laugh or think or move them to tears: it’s absolutely worth it. will be giveaway stickers featuring the ridiculously good cover art Joseph John Sanchez III designed (joejohnart.com).

I’m @thegirlmichael on all platforms and Reverie is available at: amazon.com/dp/B0B4HJBHGS

And ISHWP is available here: amazon.com/dp/1731199929

Tell us about your upcoming book release event at Ye Old Books - and how can people follow you online?

July 22nd, 4-7pm. We’ll have a blast, there You can also pick up a copy at the release /signing event at Ye Olde Bookshoppe at 11 Palouse st. in Wenatchee - Friday, July 22 4-7pm. C

THE PICKPOCKET

By Seth Stivala

Jimmy McGinty pulled the hood up over his head. He hated doing it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Then he got off the subway and followed the suit. “They make it too easy,” he thought while looking at the Rolex on the guy’s wrist. “Definitely, an escalator man,” Jimmy thought. He followed him from a few people behind as they approached the stairs and escalators. Sure enough, the suit hopped on the escalator. “Not much for extra work, are ya fatso?” Jimmy thought and snorted. He moved slowly up behind the guy in the suit until he was riding the escalator right behind him. When they got to the top the guy in the suit went left and Jimmy went right. He took out his phone and set a reminder “Suit 6:50am.” Then checked his schedule: “Phone zone 8:15am.” “Bag lady 10:45am.” “Ugly stick 12:50pm.” “Busy day,” Jimmy thought and smiled as he walked to the hot dog stand on the corner. “Hey Jimmy! The usual?” the hot dog guy asked. “You know it, Tony,” Jimmy said. “Coming right up,” Tony said with a smile and put together two hot dogs. One had ketchup and was covered in sauerkraut and the other had mustard and was likewise, covered in sauerkraut. “Here you go,” Tony said, handing Jimmy the dogs. “Thanks. Can I also get a large coke?” Jimmy said, handing Tony a twenty. “You got it,” Tony said, pocketing the twenty and filling up a large styrofoam cup with coke. “There ya go,” Tony said, handing Jimmy the coke. “Thanks,” Jimmy said, taking it. “Alright, you ready?” Tony asked. “Bring it on, old man,” Jimmy said with a smile. “Two dogs, kraut, and a coke. What’s the tax on the total?” “Two dogs at two bucks a pop, sixty cents for the kraut, and three bucks for the large coke is—” “Actually, it’s three fifty for the coke,” Tony interrupted. “What’s the idea raising the price on me?” Jimmy asked. “Tourist season. You know that,” Tony said. “Do I look like a tourist?” Jimmy said. “Nah, you look like the Unabomber,” Tony said. Jimmy pulled down his hood and took off his sunglasses and said “Funny guy ova here.” “Well, I’m waiting,” Tony said. “Eight ten total, multiplied by the eight point eight seven five percent sales tax is seventy-two cents rounded up,” Jimmy said. Tony laughed and said “I swear you’ve gotta calculator up there,” pointing to Jimmy’s head. Jimmy just shrugged and smiled as Tony handed him his change with the discount of one dog for getting the question right. “So, what’re getting into today?” Tony asked. “Same thing I do every day, hustle,” Jimmy said smiling. “I’m a pretty good dancer myself,” Tony said and started dancing a few moves from

the hustle. Jimmy laughed. “Seriously though, Jimmy. You’re smart. You should go to college,” Tony said. “Nah, never liked school,” Jimmy said. “Well, I dunno. Maybe apply to be an accountant or somethin,” Tony said. Jimmy scoffed and said “Yeah, can you really picture me behind a desk? Doing people’s taxes or some shit,” and then noticed a few people had formed a line behind him. “Hey, I’ll see ya, Tone,” Jimmy said. “Later Jimmy. What can I get ya?” Tony asked the next person in line. Jimmy headed to Central Park and found a bench. After eating his dogs, he stayed to watch the sunlight find its way into the concrete jungle. Then the alarm went off on his phone. “Time to get to work,” Jimmy thought.

Chapter 2: Smooth Operator

Jimmy stood behind “Bag Lady” on the subway. He mentally thanked the assholes not giving up their seats and then bent down as if to tie his shoe. After he set the eight ball beside his foot, he stood up and pinched it with his other foot as the train started moving. He waited for the train to decelerate for the first stop, then stepped on it and applied pressure. It shot across the floor and banged against the far wall. Everyone looked towards the sound and that’s all it took. “I knew you weren’t from here,” Jimmy thought while looking at the ID of Sarah Willis from Vermont and tossing the purse wallet in the dumpster. “No one carries their money in open bags like that here,” he thought. Jimmy counted the money. “Fifty-seven bucks. Not a bad haul to start, even with “Phone Zone” being a no show,” he thought while heading back to the subway. He looked at his phone and realized he had about two hours to kill and decided to do some scouting. At the subway he sat down and started watching people. He always thought it was incredible how people were in their own little worlds. People on their phones were the most common. Looking for an escape from the real world. Some used music, some read, and some even slept. Anything for an escape. Jimmy shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. It had been pretty sparse. No double riders he recognized…and then he saw him. A guy in khakis and a blue button up polo with a brown leather jacket. What clicked for Jimmy wasn’t this guy’s appearance. It was the wallet sticking out of the small jacket pocket. At first an alarm bell went off in his head. “Cop!” Jimmy thought. However, the guy’s beard put him at ease. Cops weren’t allowed to have facial hair except mustaches. Undercovers always looked like they were just beginning to grow theirs out. This guy was a Viking. He sat down on the opposite side in the far corner of the train. Jimmy pretended to look at his phone, but kept stealing looks at the guy. He watched as he put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. “Long day, big guy?” Jimmy thought as the train got moving. Three stops later the guy still hadn’t gotten off. “Where are you going?” Jimmy thought while watching the guy zone out and just stare out the window. Finally, at stop number four the guy got up and Jimmy followed, but saw the guy’s wallet had fallen on the seat without him knowing. Jimmy briskly walked over and grabbed it thinking that if anyone saw him, he would just say he was going to catch the guy who dropped it. He exited the train and noticed the guy was already at the stairs. Jimmy couldn’t believe his luck and pocketed the wallet. He decided he was getting hungry again and headed up the stairs himself. The Viking headed the same way he was going, but Jimmy was no longer concerned, just noticing. They parted ways when Jimmy turned down an alley. He opened the wallet and found thirty-two dollars and a folded note beside the money. Curious, Jimmy opened it and read:

To whom it may concern, alone. Tired of being a nothing and a nobody. Tired of just scrapping by and worrying about how I’m going to make it to tomorrow. At least I can choose my last day instead of wondering when it’ll be. Feel free to use what you can from what’s left of me. I’m an organ donor after all.

I guess that’s it…

William Donovan June 30th, 20XX

P.S. I don’t have any family, so don’t worry about getting ahold of anyone.

“What the hell?!” he said staring at the note and then took out his phone and went to the calendar. “June 30th.” Jimmy ran.

Chapter 3: What’s right?

Jimmy glimpsed Will on the other side of the street as the traffic was going full force. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” Jimmy said, hitting the crosswalk button. The streetlight turned yellow and he lost sight of Will, but thought he saw him turn left. The walk sign appeared and Jimmy ran across. “Excuse me. ‘scuse me. Move!” Jimmy said, making his way. He reached the place where he thought he saw him turn. It was an alley blocked by a garbage truck. Jimmy squeezed in along the side between the wall and the truck and hopped over some garbage cans. When he landed, he saw someone stepping onto a roof from a fire escape ladder. Jimmy ran harder and got to the fire escape. He climbed as fast as he could and took the stairs even faster. When he got to the final ladder to the roof he slipped and hit his head off of one of the rungs. “Damn it! Ugggh,” he said, holding his head for a second and then resumed climbing. When he pulled himself up to see the roof, he saw someone on the ledge. “Wait!” Jimmy said, stepping on to the roof. The guy was startled, but didn’t fall and turned to look at Jimmy. “Don’t do it man, please,” Jimmy said, cautiously walking forward. “Who the hell are you?” Will said. “My name is Jimmy. You dropped your wallet,” Jimmy said while pulling out Will’s wallet. Will smiled, gave a small laugh, and then said “Keep it. I don’t need it anymore,” and looked back toward the ground below. “Wait! Please!” Jimmy begged. “Why? You don’t even know me,” Will said, still looking at the ground. “Because it’s not right!” Jimmy yelled. Will turned his attention back to Jimmy. “What?” Will asked. “It’s not right to do that to someone!” Jimmy said. “Kid, I’ve got no one. It doesn’t matter.” “Everyone has someone that cares about them whether you believe it or not. It might be someone you don’t even think about.” “I’m telling you. I’ve got no one. Now leave me alone,” Will said, shifting his gaze back to the street below. “Look, I’m here! I care! I don’t want you to do this!” Jimmy said with tears in his eyes taking a few steps closer. “Why? Why do you care?!” Will said, looking at Jimmy again. “Because my dad killed himself!” The words hung in the air as Will stared at Jimmy, seeing the tears streaming down his face. “So come on, please,” Jimmy said, reaching out his hand. Will’s eyes watered as he took Jimmy’s hand and stepped back onto the roof. He pulled him into a hug as his tears fell free.