the everybodyfields

Have you all heard of the everybodyfields? If you haven't, they might be worth your discovering.

I found out about them because J.C. is abandoning me next week. She's going to Chicago to see friends and 1) attend a concert, where the everybodyfields will be opening and 2) watch a Cubs game during their home opening weekend.

At first, I was only jealous about her sitting at Wrigley in early April. Now, I'm a little pissed about the fact that I'll be here in Galesburg while she's watching the everybodyfields.

She'll also, I'm guessing, get to eat good sushi, which irks me some, too.

But, alas, I have work to do.

I finished a story this morning that I'm pretty excited about. It's a kind of sequel to the first ever story I published, way back in 2003 in McSweeney's. I thought this story was going to do a certain thing, but it didn't end up doing that, and now that means there's going to be a third story in the cycle. I'll be visiting the coffee shop tomorrow night to give this story a final lookover to see what I think of it.

For fun, here's the first few sentences:

Peloma left the consent form on the dining room table with a sticky note attached to it. The form was folded into thirds as if it had been in an envelope, and the yellow note rose from the paper like a little ramp.

On the note, she had written, “Please?” and beneath that, in small block letters inside parentheses, “I can help pay.” I had to squint to see it, but she’d drawn a tiny smiley face—with X’s for eyes, no nose, and a smile no bigger than a comma—beneath the word “help.”


Scott Garson said...

To paraphrase Mick Jagger, these are three sentences that could get a dead man reading. Great stuff.

Chad Simpson said...

Thanks, Scott.

Now that I finished it and sent it off, I haven't looked at it again, but I imagine the story falls to pieces shortly after those two paragraphs.