State of the Blog: Fall 2015

Dearest Readers,

Denver teems. Tens of of thousands of buzzing Great American Beer Festival attendees line up to taste the beer flowing very freely through the honeycombed halls and chambers of the Colorado Convention center.

I am not one of them.

Instead I sit at my desk at home, left elbow swollen to twice its size, struggling to type a blog post with one hand. I’m recovering from my second elbow surgery of the year: the second attempt to regain the function I lost nearly five years ago. It’s been a total pain in the ass (and arm) but for someone who literally types for a living, a necessary move to ensure less pain in the future.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the people who do get to attend GABF this year. But as fun as it would be to revel in drunken debate over who AB-InBev will sally-up to next, I find my general frothing love for beer settling a bit. My once white hot desire kill FOMO where it stood by brewery hopping and tasting voraciously has cooled into a scholarly reverence for the science, sociology, and anthropology all swirled up in the glass.

That, or the Percocet is speaking for me.

It just so happens that GABF lines up with my anniversary. 2015 marks my sixth year of running Literature and Libation. It’s been a slow one on the blog, mostly because of the two aforementioned surgeries. Physically, they took me out for weeks at a time when I lacked use of fingers, hands, elbows. Mentally, I had to deal with the brain fog and sleepiness of a nacroctic-laced world.

Excuses, I know. But a little explanation (and apology) as to why I’ve missed weeks of blogging at a time.

And by “slow” I mean slow in terms of my writing output, not for overall readership. You readers have been steady and awesome, and I thank you dearly for it. I hope you know that sometimes, when a blogger thinks all is for naught, that comment or like or slight uptick in stats is enough to remind them that someone out there is completing the circuit, turning thing written into thing read and making this whole blogging thing worthwhile.

Instead of being in Denver, seeking yet another pour of Cigar City, I’ll spend my GABF time being a little introspective, and give a little insight into what I’ve been working on, why, and where its fate stands in the grand scheme of my writing.

Writing Outside the Blog

I don’t toot my own horn too much (Rowan Atkinson as Blackadder once said, “well you might at least let us know you have a horn”), but I’m very excited to announce that I’ve been toiling, interviewing, and researching a lot behind the scenes, and have an article about the mystique and design of tap handles coming out in the latest (print!) edition of All About Beer magazine. Writing for a nationally distributed magazine has been one of my goals for a long time, and it feels especially good to see some of my writing come to life on ink and paper, rather than just a screen.

I’m working on a few other things for AAB too, but can’t really say much until ideas are in place and accepted. Either way, I’m very happy to be writing for such a well edited and well put together magazine. It’s really, as cliche as it sounds, a writerly dream come true.

December, 1919

I have posted 12 chapters (or 16,279 words) of my serialized beer novel so far, and have another ~12 chapters written (but not edited). My original goal was to write one chapter a week, but I clearly failed at that. C’est la vie. Life lesson learned: schedules aren’t my thing, and generating creativity on the fly (especially during busy work weeks) is no simple task.

I never made it too clear, but obviously I had not written the novel ahead of time, and planned to write it “live” one chapter at a time, all mistakes and plot holes (and the fun therein) included. I felt particularly Dickensian when I put the plan together. I still plan to finish this novel on the blog, but won’t be holding myself to any specific timeline. It received a pretty solid reception for being something as niche and strange as “beer fiction,” and I’ve even met a few other aspiring beer writers through it, including Leslie Patiño, who is actively writing a beer-centric novel.

I started this project because I thought there was a dearth in beer and brewing related fiction. I still think there is. I’m also working on a list of beer’s appearances in popular media, but that concept will get its own post at some point.

Homegrew

As much passion as I have for the project, I must admit: the effort of running two blogs at the same time was a bit much for me. The creation of posts, maintenance of the sites, sharing the content, all the logistical rigmarole just proved too much. It was either sacrifice the new website or my job, so sad but obvious decisions were made.

The good news is, I actually did grow hops, barley, and capture my own yeast this year. I toiled hard in that backyard dirt and have some very fascinating results, along with several hundreds of pages of notes. I have even added to the original scope substantially, covering things a brewer may want to grow besides the big four, including fruit, spices, and peppers.

I learned a hell of a lot this Spring and Summer, but didn’t have the time (or functional arms) to turn it all into formal blog posts. Now that I’ve gotten the basics under control and better understand my limitations (the wetness of Maryland makes barley here very susceptible to disease), next year I can actually provide some content that will help like minded brewer-gardeners grow all their own beer.

I should have suspected I’d need a practice year, but at least now I’ve got tons of pictures, research, and notes to work from, and can make Homegrew more of an tangible resource for other people to use in 2016.

Nom de Bier

My newest project is very exciting, and I’ve been reading a lot more than usual to prepare for it. I opened with a beer review by Shakespeare, and have two more (one by H.P. Lovecraft, one by Earnest Hemingway) coming soon. It’s going to take me some time to study the authors my readers suggested, so those posts will come after I’ve gotten my feet wet. This whole project requires a lot of extracurricular reading. Not that I’m complaining; I’ll just need to carve out some additional time to put eyes to text.

2016 and Beyond

I rarely admit this, but there were times this year, where (in pain and out of ideas) I thought maybe this blog had reached its natural lifespan, and should be put out to URL pasture. There’s a sort of natural ebb and flow to running and writing for something like this, but I didn’t want to go through too many spiritual rebirths trying to keep my own interest alive and in turn lose the entire identity of the blog.

I’m happy to say that my doomsaying was premature, and now, over the crest of the wave of my surgeries and physical rough spots, I feel a renewed energy to keep writing. I hope you’re still onboard to keep reading.

Cheers!

-Oliver

Nom de Bier – Beer Reviews as Told by Your Favorite Authors

One of my favorite exercises during grad school was to write essays that emulated the style of a specific author. My advisor (and all around amazing person and writer), Cathy Alter, had us read a nonfiction memoir and then, to the best of our ability, recreate that writer’s voice and style using our own words and topics.

It started off rough; trying to understand and then properly execute a writer’s style is like trying to guess the ingredients of an Iron Chef dish by only tasting a small portion during dinner. There are so many elements to work with, and a nebulous je ne sais quoi unique to each writer that makes 3D printing their prose a labor in dedicated and careful study, not just casual keyboard jockery.

But after some practice, I got better, and found that by analyzing other writers at a deep, intimate level, my own writing improved. It had the added bonus of teaching me to respect a large range of styles, and understand there is no one best way to present your story.

I’m nearly two years removed from grad school, and I miss those little exercises.

The obvious conclusion, “why not bring them back on the blog?”

Which of course lead to, “how do I emulate another writer’s style but also include beer?”

Enter: Nom de Bier – where iconic authors review beers!

Or, um, I try to recreate their styles and write a beer review in homage to said writer.

Originally, I had planned to do it on my own; randomly pick ten or so of my favorite authors and imagine how they’d review a beer. But one of the best parts about the grad school exercise was that I was forced to read new, different authors, outside of my comfort genres and usual literary wheelhouse.

So I made it social:

If you retweet this, I will, before the year is out, write a beer review in the style of your favorite author. #beer #beerwriting

— Oliver Gray (@OliverJGray) August 17, 2015

I did not expect 27 retweets. I’m fantastically excited that people seemed interested in this idea, and even more excited that I’ve now got an extensive, Twitter-friend built reading list. My Kindle is about to get abused in the best possible way.

When trying to emulate an author, there are three major aspects to capture:

1. Voice (this is the hardest part, and requires a bit of biographical research to know when and where the writer came from)
2. Syntax and sentence structure (this one feeds into voice: Hemingway, for example, penned his novels using a very specific syntactical method that many now recognize as part of his style)
3. Literary themes (easy enough to pick up on; much harder to execute)

Below is the list of requesters and their favorite authors (if I missed you, shoot me a tweet or email). Given that I have a lot of reading to do to truly understand these writers, I may do them out of order as I play catch up on some I’ve read less (or none) of. I may also warm up with some of my favorites, too, just to get into the swing of things before tackling some of the crazier ones on this list.

• Keith Mathias ‏@KWMathias – Cormac McCarthy
• Josh Christie @jchristie – Mary Roach
• Aaron O – BottleFarm ‏@theBottleFarm – Hunter S. Thompson
• Raising the Barstool ‏@RTBarstool – Sun Tzu
• Leslie Patiño ‏@lpatinoauthor – Harper Lee
• I think about beer ‏@ithinkaboutbeer – Mikhaíl Bulgakov
• Andrew ‏@DasAleHaus – R.L. Stine
• michaelstump ‏@_stump – William S. Burroughs
• The Beermonger ‏@The_Beermonger – Michael Chabon
• Tony ‏@DrinksTheThings – Arthur Conan Doyle
• Douglas Smiley ‏@BmoreBistroBeer – Douglas Adams
• Liz Murphy ‏@naptownpint – Christopher Buckley
• Jeff Pillet-Shore ‏@allagashjeff – Neil Gaiman
• Suvi Seikkula ‏@seikkulansuvi – Edgar Alan Poe
• cassie ‏@lastxfantasy – Johnathan L. Howard
• Xtian Paula ‏@drowningn00b – Haruki Murakami
• ‘rissa ‏@ScoginsBitch – Irvine Welsh
• Fayettebrew ‏@fayettebrew – Chuck Palahniuk
• J. R. Shirt ‏@Beeronmyshirt – John Steinbeck
• Sara ‏@DoWhat_YOU_Like – Robert Heinlein
• Nicola Chamberlain ‏@nchamberlain – Kurt Vonnegut
• Michael P. Williams ‏@theunfakempw – Lewis Carroll
• Heather Hedy F ‏@Hedytf – Stephen King
• Robert record ‏@Reach4therail – Richard Wright
• Melba ‏@melba_dnu – Harlequin Romance Style

I’m not going to hold myself to any particular schedule, as I’ve found out that doesn’t work well for me. Or my job. Or my social life. Or my brewing plans.

If you missed the original tweet and want to add your favorite author to the list, shoot me an email at literatureandlibation@gmail.com, or tweet me at @OliverJGray. Assuming I don’t spontaneously combust, or you don’t offer some very obscure, highly niche writer, I’ll get to your request eventually!

(And yes, I am still writing “December, 1919,” and working actively on Homegrew. Posts regarding both coming soon)

Full Disclosure, False Dichotomy

Full Disclosure: Anheuser-Busch paid to fly me out to Wyoming and Idaho to view some of their barley farms and a malt processing facility. They covered my travel, lodging, food, drink, and other costs.

Additional, personal disclosure: At the risk of alienating a subsection of readers, I fully admit: it was awesome. I drank some pilot beer that will never see market, met some wonderful folks, and put more knowledge about agrarian logistics into my brain than I had previously planned to this summer. That said, I’m still the same Oliver now that I was when I got on a plane on Sunday.

But realistically, the conversation about disclosure is fruitless.

If someone pays for your trip, you disclose. There are forms. You sign them. Game over. A winner is you.

I’m much more concerned with the handling of disclosure. Without rehashing too much of what Michael Kiser of Good Beer Hunting said about his Twitter interactions with Andy Crouch on Monday, I want to note that it’s really easy to sit on the sidelines and complain about objectivity when you’re not actively in the middle of a junket, doing your best to, you know, actually be objective.

For those reading this who weren’t privy to what went down, here’s the TL;DR – A bunch of media folks were invited on a raw-materials trip, sponsored by Budweiser. When we started posting on social media, several people made baseless comments about not disclosing the nature of our trip.

It all kind of went pear-shaped from there.

I never even got a chance to disclose because within seconds of mentioning I was dangerously near the jaws of AB, people made some gross assumptions.

Two of Kiser’s points sang perfect harmony to what I felt, too:

1. Assumption attacks a person’s creative and ethical integrity
2. Fueling the AB hate creates a false dichotomy of dialogue with clear-cut goods and bads

The first stings. I’ve spent the past six years spending money I earn from another job to write about beer. I’ve never had advertising nor merchandised anything. I’m clearly not in this for the money or free stuff. I care about beer and brewing, from raw ingredients to pint glass. I’ve written negative and positive essays about all the players, big and small, corporate and independent, so to even insinuate that I’m somehow now ethically compromised based on one 2 day trip is particularly insulting.

Ignoring the fact that a lot of personal attacks are echoes of psychological projection, when you attack someone’s integrity, you’re attacking their baser identity. You’re saying you can’t or don’t trust them. It’s a cruel jab at writers, especially those who’ve worked very hard to to create at their best level of fair.

But here’s the real grind of my grist: I shouldn’t have to defend myself. I shouldn’t have to justify going to a place to see and learn things I would never normally have the chance to see and learn.

I didn’t join in the Twitter conversations (for the most part), because I did not want to feed the false dichotomy that has taken over all macro vs. craft debate like a malignant cancer. I didn’t feel the need (or desire) to explain my actions when my entire ethical pedigree points pretty damn clearly to “skeptical of everything.”

People on both sides have transcended the “us vs. them” argument, dug in deep, transformed beer from a beverage with deep ties to culture, economy, and biology, into some kind of political maelstrom where craft might as well be a blue C and macro might as well be a red M.

It sucks, and we lose so many potential stories to the hellish pit of needing to be correct.

I understand we’re wired to take sides, and in turn, assume our side is right. But a two-path dialogue misses all the nuance, scrutinizes the bad of one side while glossing it over on the other, and most definitely vice versa.

I know people want AB to be this sinister, root evil who are in cahoots with the Illuminati and lizard people that want to take over the planet and grow humans as meat, but it’s just not true. Has ABInBev done some brutal, less-than-desirable, rampantly capitalistic shit? You betcha (check out this piece from Christopher Barnes). Have they also done other, more altruistic things, like not patenting or trademarking barley varieties and sharing their agronomic research to the benefit of the entire global malting community? Yes.

Check your prejudice. If your immediate reaction is to decide you are right, you are probably not. What’s right and what’s wrong is a sliding scale, unique to each human and her specific experience. We need to stop with this binary either/or rhetoric. Modern beer culture could stand for a bit of intellectual humility, critical thinking, and amiable neutrality.

We’re all right. We’re all wrong. That’s the beauty of this crazy life. Try not to force your presuppositions onto others who are trying to look a little past the horizon of current party lines, but if you absolutely have to, be kind about it.

The Antagony of Anheuser-Busch

Every story needs an antagonist.

Harry’s horcruxing wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting without Voldemort’s noseless threat, and Frodo’s plucky resilience wouldn’t have been as impressive without the Great Eye stalking his every step. Any cursory examination of myth and human storytelling will show that we’re hardwired to need adversity. It’s literature echoing a universal truth of life. Can’t have darkness without light, can’t have good without evil.

The concept transcends literature too, sneaking into other aspects of our lives like a 14 year-old into a R-rated film. We build conflict where there need not be any – rival sports teams, preference for a certain brand of electronics – because having an enemy gives us a cause to unite against. The antagonist exists to be overcome, to give the hero’s struggle and journey meaning and purpose.

The story of “craft” beer is no different.

Joseph Campbell argued that the role of the monomyth was to further the “maturation of the individual.” We’re seeing that unfold live, as Americans undergo a series of gustatory revelations. People are using beer as a cultural vehicle to ween themselves off the dependency of traditions, to strike out into brave new worlds of their own design, to develop unique identities. They are, in a way, trying to mature through beer, an irony not at all lost on me.

But for the mission to succeed, for beer to descend into the underworld and emerge anew, it needs a clear and obvious nemesis.

Want to know why people argue fruitlessly over the definition of the word “craft?”

Hint: it’s not because it defines its fans and gives us societal validation. It’s the exact opposite. “Craft” creates a context of what we are not, and as a result, identifies our story’s main antagonist.

It’s all very archetypal so far: under the freshly drawn line in the sand we see phrases like “independent,” “quality,” and “flavor” – superlatives to keep our hero’s motives pure. On the mirror side of the line, we see phrases like “adjunct,” “mass produced,” and “corporate” – pejoratives we toss around to keep our enemy alien and faceless.

This beerish tale was born from the desire for change, and we built our monsters from those who refused (or, those we convinced ourselves refused). We picked the most obvious target possible, the one who appeared to be counter to all our values and beliefs. It doesn’t help that Budweiser rocks the “King” moniker, further feeding the idea of a repressed citizenry overthrowing a cruel monarchy.

But I have met the enemy, and he is us.

There is a Star Wars fan theory that the Empire was not building a massive fleet of planet-destroying weapons for the purposes of galactic oppression, but instead to defend the entire galaxy from a coming invasion. When you flip perspectives, you see that our protagonist – you know, the one we paint as fair and just and wholesome – is actually a bad guy (or in the case of the Rebel Alliance, a terrorist group). It’s entirely possible smaller breweries used the underlying negativity towards corporations in this country as a tool to further their own agenda. Sam Adams and Sierra Nevada may be moving towards the building of their own economic Death Stars. Without all the cards on the table, that line between good and evil in this story is surprisingly blurry.

I don’t mean to get sympathetic, nor apologetic. A brand that makes $22.3 billion a year doesn’t need defending. But I saw Anheuser-Busch this weekend, for the first time, as people. In my mind they had always been the archetypal shadow-self of good beer, a soulless machine hell bent on money and efficiency. Confirmation bias in the echo-chamber of craft beer kept them monolithic, inhuman.

I drank the craft Kool-aid, and forgot my Joseph Campbell.

My bad. No really, my bad. I aim to remain far more objective than I have been.

Ultimately, the story relies on AB (and MC and the others) to have any credence or purpose. Without “adjunct pale lager” to rail against and hold up as a point of negative comparison, how could we have established baselines for what new, fresh, “good” beer should taste like? From whence would IPA have risen if not from the flavor void of legion similar tasting lagers?

It’s important to stay your knee-jerk bias. As much as we like to take swings at them, without them, our cause would not exist.

I think the key is to keep perspective; the best world of American brewing exists somewhere between macro and micro. The two live a delicate life of culture and conflict, sometimes symbiotic, sometimes parasitic, but always reliant upon each other for existential validation.

The beer myth isn’t finished yet, but I do know one thing: while Budweiser may not be the beer craft drinkers want, Anheuser-Busch is the antagonist they need.

Beer Bloggers and Writers Conference 2015: The War of the Worts

Thursday, July 17, 2015

12:02 PM

We dismissed the very first warnings like an annoying carpenter bee, assuming the threats hollow, the dangers distant. A threat so immense seemed outlandish at best, over estimated at worst. This town had seen its fair share of strife, and the strength and skill of our people was known far and wide.

But this afternoon, the sirens shrieked a warning we’d all feared for an entire year. I sat and huddled with my family, gathered close to keep the baby bubbles safe, listening to the announcement that might herald the end. Over hushed hisses and whispers, a voice announced they’d already washed through Raleigh – chewed through it like a yeast through sugars – and left ethanol devastation in their wake.

If Raleigh could not stay the invasive tide, what chance had Asheville?

Friday, July 18, 2015

3:44 PM

We see them now, emerging from the sky and ground. They descend in t-shirt and khaki clad droves – writers, bloggers, media junkies, updaters of websites strewn with horrifying photos of my fallen brothers and sisters. The legacy of their thirst precedes them. Some say they’ve drained entire towns dry and then had the callous gall to write about the liabtious murders publicly, on the internet.

They know little shame. They know few limits. They are finally here for us, and our defenses are too few.

They’ll come pouring through those doors in less than fifteen minutes. All we can do is hide behind the stainless and pray.

5:21 PM

I hear them now, singing orders over the din of greetings and zealous embraces. Some call for five or six at a time – “rounds” they say – in deceptively cheery tones. Milt fought hard against the current, but I saw him slip quietly into the darkness of the undertank. He’s probably in that transparent guillotine already.

Remember our names for I fear we won’t have them much longer; the night has only just begun.

9:39 PM

They laugh! Horrid ripples that echo in the ever growing empty space above us.

Some spill the lifeblood of my family as callously as one might spill water from a kettle. We’ve lost nearly half our group in mere hours; all sucked down and forced through lines like cattle being lead to slaughter.

From the clinks and gasps I gather our glass-borne cousins faired no better. Vienna mentioned something about laying low in Virginia until they passed, but the Devil’s at play here, and I fear no one is safe. Red mentioned heading even farther north, but I almost fear the open air more than the wort-hungry wolves at our door.

11:11 PM

It sounds – dare I say it – like they’re slowing. Few of us remain, but the night is not a total loss. A few neighboring tribes suffered even heavier losses. At least two camps of Ippeh went down early. They seemed to favor the flavor of them most.

Perhaps we’ll live to see tomorrow after all. I won’t sleep tonight.

Saturday, July 19, 2015

7:38 AM

We survived the night quietly, calmly. In the somber midnight we counted our losses; several hundred in our tribe alone had their lives pissed away. Such a waste. A passerby said our distant cousins Jack and Morgan hadn’t gone unscathed either, but we had our own to mourn.

8:59 AM

A local scout noted the swarm seems more sluggish now. Many wear eye protection and and drink brightly colored liquids, moaning grotesquely while rubbing their heads. Perhaps they are weakening. Maybe our luck has turned?

We have no time to rebuild defenses; our only hope is that our numbers prove too much for them and eventually they move on, bellies full, sated.

12:54 PM

No.

It can’t be.

They definitely have not weakened; if anything, their bloodlust seems renewed, compounded, surreal. They’ve gathered thousands from the Bottle tribes in one place for reasons unknown. Ritual chants come from crowded side rooms. Flanders thinks they’re working towards some kind of sick ritual sacrifice.

How can we possible stand against such energy, such passion, such voracious desire for our flesh?

1:09 PM

::indecipherable scribbles next to a brown stain::

7:21 PM

I nearly lost myself to the abyss. Only a handful of us remain. We can see the gaping maw of our doom sucking in the last vestiges of our people, our culture, our legacy. I’ve fought all I can. It’s just a matter of time.

9:49 PM

Riss is gone, and I feel a tug on my legs. Horrid oxygen above, swirling death below. I see no other choice. My fate lies beyond the seal.

If anyone finds my journal, tell my story. Remeber the stuff we were made of.

They will come for you next.

They are powerful.

They are legion.

They will cheers your death and then write your life.

Hey, Steve. This keg is kicked; can you switch it over?

Morituri te salutant

Beer Bloggers and Writers Conference 2015 – Moving Beyond the Beer Review

In a few weeks, amidst the serene beer landscape that is Asheville, North Carolina, I’ll be presenting on a panel at the Beer Bloggers and Writers Conference. The panel itself, “Moving Beyond the Beer Review” promises to be a pretty awesome foray into moving ones blogging and writing into the fertile lands that exist past the walls of the basics, and I’ll be speaking with some very esteemed company (a description of the panel can be found here).

I’ve done a lot of presentations in my 29.7 years, either at work, or through school, or as part of some culminating social experience. I’m one of those people who doesn’t fear speaking publicly, and sometimes even really enjoy it (especially the “have energetic conversations with enthusiastic people” part). Call me loquacious. Call me loudmouthed. I like to speak.

But this presentation manifests in my brain differently; perhaps because it’s the first presentation I’ve ever done about this little laborious love I call a blog, or about beer, or about writing about beer. It means a lot more to me than some generic book presentation or SharePoint training, and as a result, I really want to make sure I get it right. Thus this post.

Moving Beyond the Beer Review

Note: This is not a copy of what I’m going to present at the conference, I just wanted to get my ideas down/logically oriented and simultaneously make a reference document to share with attendees. If you’re going to be at BBC15, there might be some overlap, but I promise I’m not giving everything away. Think of this as supplementary ramblings.

When I started writing about beer, I wrote beer reviews. Creating accurate expository descriptions of beer means taking the time to learn brands and smells and flavors, giving a writer a good basis for creating good prose. Basic beer reviews are Beer Writing 101; a prerequisite needed to ground your mind and palate in the proper context, before exploring more elaborate topics.

I quickly moved past the beer review in my own writing, and have, for a few years now, sort of looked back at them with irrational disdain. My default line is that the traditional appearance, smell, and flavor driven review is boring. But simply dismissing them as not interesting doesn’t capture my true sentiment. It’s not that they’re inherently bad or have no use (the popularity of sites like Beer Advocate and Rate Beer proves otherwise), it’s that they don’t offer a reader anything except flat, encyclopedia-like information. I wanted to dig deeper and figure out why the beer review turned me off so much.

To start, there are some inescapable flaws with the traditional review:

• They’re too subjective to be worth much
• Thousands upon thousands of people have already reviewed most beers
• Myriad sites already exist with this content, so reproducing it on a blog doesn’t offer anything new
• There are so many other things in beer culture to write about besides what the beer tastes like

But these still didn’t get to the beating heart of why I disliked reviews so much. After much soul searching, I came to this ultimate, writerly conclusion: a generic beer review offers no story, and as a result, has a very hard time engaging a reader who seeks anything beyond rote fact.

A quick, important grammar lesson before moving on. And don’t get me started on your “not liking grammar.” A writer who doesn’t like grammar is like a chef who doesn’t like spices or a soccer player who doesn’t like shoes. Learn how to use your tools or find another trade.

Annnnnyyyyyway, there are two kinds of verbs: transitive and intransitive. Transitive verbs take a direct object, while intransitive verbs take a subject compliment.

Transitive: Oliver writes about beer.
Intransitive: Oliver is a writer.

While both sentences are similar, the transitive sentence shows me more information and progresses the sentence by using a strong verb, as opposed simply telling me a fact about the subject. Whenever you see “is” or “was” substitute in an equals sign and you’ll see what I mean.

Oliver is a writer (Oliver = a writer)
The beer was an IPA (Beer = an IPA)

All you’re doing with “to be” verbs is creating a comparison, not actually moving the writing forward, or creating an engaging narrative.

Let’s look at a full (but simple) paragraph to get an even better sense:

Transitive: Oliver writes about beer. He spins stories about fermentation. He also enjoys teaching people about grammar.
Intransitive: Oliver is a writer who writes about beer. His stories are about fermentation. Teaching people grammar is something he enjoys.

See the difference? Notice the lack of flow and staccato rhythm of the intransitive sentences? You’re also sinking deeper into the mire of passive language when using intransitives, and are forced to adorn your sentences with even more grammatical embroidery to capture the same information.

The operative word and idea is that transitive verbs show the reader something. There’s an old adage that pops up in writing workshops everyday: “Show, don’t tell.” It’s the idea that you want to guide your reader through a narrative and let them experience it as they will, not hold their hand and point out every little detail that is suppose to be important. Even if you’re only writing a review, readers want a arc, a mini-plot, a point, not just a data dump. This concept isn’t scary or new, either, it’s part of storytelling (and fiction!) fundamentals.

Knowing this grammatical sleight of hand, we discover that the beer review is not in fact boring, it simply does not show the reader anything.

Instead, it tells them. Forces information through their eyes and into their brains with no elegance or flow. It tells them what it tastes like, what it looks like, what it smells like. Why, as a reader, would I want that? Why not just go out and experience that myself?

When you ground your writing in intransitive comparisons (I see a startling overuse of “to be” verbs in nearly every review I read), you’re subconsciously telling the reader you don’t trust them to properly read your writing, or understand what you’re trying to say.

Not cool beer writers, not cool. Trust your readers, assume they’re smart and that your writing is clear. Have as much faith in your product as you do in the products you review.

BBC15 TL;DR – The innate problem isn’t the idea of beer reviews themselves, but with how a vast majority are executed. I see the same problem is event recaps, brewery and brewer profiles, and release statements, too. If you want more readers, more conversation, more engagement on your blog, you need to learn to use verbs to tell a story, even if that story is of you sitting at home, tasting a beer.

For some examples of transitive, story-based beer reviews, check these out:

http://literatureandlibation.com/2013/11/06/beer-review-sam-adams-thirteenth-hour/
http://literatureandlibation.com/2014/09/10/beer-review-southern-tier-warlock/
http://literatureandlibation.com/2014/06/27/beer-review-bells-two-hearted-ale/

Grammarian’s note: I don’t mean to imply that intransitive verbs are incorrect and should never be used. Obviously that’s not true, as I used dozens of them in this post (including this sentence). Just be aware of when you’re using them, and if they’re the proper verb for the context of your sentence. Sometimes they are, but with newer writers, often times they’re not. For more information about verbs, read this.

A Father’s Day Bone Marrow Donation Guide

Six scars dot the spot on my hips just above my butt, three on either side. Six natural tattoos that align like a constellation made flesh, remnants of fallen stars turned permanent scars.

Truth be told they’re fading, the angry aubergine blotches of 3 years ago now lavender and calm. But I still know they’re there, popping out against the pale of my sun-starved skin every time I look in the mirror, constantly reminding me of when I did battle with cancer on behalf of someone else.

The process hurt; it was a literal pain in my ass. The lead up to the marrow donation wasn’t exactly a lazy garden party either; friendly but stabby phlebotomists would harvest fresh red cells from my arms weekly, testing them for diseases and genetic markers that sounded more like Sanskrit than science. For several months, in the artificial brightness of the Johns Hopkins Weinberg Cancer Center, I’d sit and wait for my name to be called, staving off the sadness of being surrounded by people worn down to their last tatters and threads of hope.

Some wore masks; immune systems too weakened or compromised to chance a random infection. Some sported wheels or oxygen, as their bodies played host to an evil tug-o-war between cancer and chemo. All were there for one reason though, one solitary call to arms from family, friend, and fears:

To fight.

I donated bone marrow to my father not because of some righteous motivation, or some personal grab at attention, but because I saw how hard he was fighting, and wanted to fight alongside him. It only seemed right, to throw myself into the fray when the man who’d fought his whole life for me, needed reinforcement.

Unfortunately, the battle proved much for already weary bones, and my father is now feasting in the halls of Valhalla. But that’s not always the case. A family friend is celebrating her husband’s eighth (8th!) year in recovery, after undergoing a harrowing bone marrow transplant to combat his Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML). Even more impressive, the man who donated was a complete stranger, from the other side of the country, who physically gave part of himself to another out of purely altruistic love. I can’t help but smile when I see the pictures of Jean and Rob happy and healthy, and am proud that I tried to give my dad the same gift.

Father’s day often feels like a masquerade holiday, where we put collective masks over our patriarchs, pretend they’re stock jokes and knee socks, play a silly game of beer and barbecues and calendars of babes. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that; most dads love a little attention and at least a day to romp in their most baser joys.

But this father’s day, I urge you to think bigger than a new set of grill tools or ratcheting sockets. Consider giving a gift that transcends the material, that could mean the difference between hopelessness and an optimistic future.

How to Donate Bone Marrow

Blood cancer is one of the few types we can directly treat, and treat with a relatively high success rate. The process is a miracle of modern science: through balanced chemo they reduce the recipient’s immune system to nearly nothing, then introduce the healthy donor marrow. Over the next few months, the healthy marrow replicates and creates a new immune system inside the patient’s body, which eradicates cancer causing cells naturally. Even more incredibly, the recipient will have the same DNA as the donor!

Donating is simple.

1. Educate yourself – BetheMatch.org overflows with information about donating. It covers the hows, whens, whats, and ifs related to the procedure. The major difficulty for most patients in need of a marrow transplant is finding a healthy match, so the more people that sign up to donate, the higher their chances will be. Have questions about meeting the recipient, who pays for what, and other ethical quagmires? Look no further.
2. Know the risks – There are two ways to donate; one involves a simple blood/plasma draw, and has no real side effects. The other is a surgical procedure, like the one I described above. It is surgery, in a hospital, with gowns and beds and surgeons. You have to go under anesthesia, and you will have pain for up to a few weeks afterwards. But weigh that against giving someone a decade or more of life. Seems like a no-brainer.
3. Know the rewards – If you happen to be a match, you’re already a statistical anomaly, so you should feel pretty special. It’s difficult to describe the psychological power of knowing you sacrificed a bit of yourself to save another, but don’t underestimate how good it can make you feel. Want to feel like you’ve made a difference in this world, validate your existence, and discover that you really matter? Save a life.
4. Sign up for the registry – If you think you want to give someone this gift, you can sign up for the registry here. Remember that signing up doesn’t mean you will get picked, but it does enter your hematological information into the pool, which means you could  be a match for someone, someday. Signing up is pledging that if you are a match, you will donate. Matches are somewhat rare, so make sure you’re committed before you sign up.

This Father’s day, even if you do decide to give your dad some fun gifts, remember that there are thousands of other fathers out there who want nothing more than to stick around on this planet a bit longer. If you’re healthy and care about giving gifts that really matter, I can’t think of any better gift to give.

I’m also happy to answer any donation related questions in the comments below.

Growing a Career

Seven years ago, I held a bunch of seeds in my hand. A herbaceous menagerie piled lazily in my palm.

Some I’d had since birth, stored away by my parents in little bags and boxes until the soil was fertile enough to plant them. Others I deliberately picked out myself after years of scrutinizing plants and perennials, flowers and fruits. Others yet appeared as if by natural magic, wild and weird and full of unknown potential. My future rested there, dormant and dry, needing naught but my time and energy.

On one side of the garden, I prepared the soil. Spent years learning the inborn dos and donts, uncovering how best to make the seed yield a plant that would yield a crop. I thought I knew which seeds went where, which I wanted and suited me best, which would grow the fastest, the strongest, the tallest. Armed with oddly specific education, I dropped these seeds into the tilled dirt with utmost care, careful to spread them out evenly, set them deeply, water them diligently.

On the other side, I haphazardly scattered those random mystery pods that had mixed in with the rest, unsure how to make them grow, of if I even wanted them to grow at all.

The sun shone and rains fell. The earth turned in the sky and on the ground, the work of worms and wormholes. The seeds took root, extending their little legs into the ground around them, building a base before shooting tender probes out from the safety of below, to peek out at the above. As expected, the seeds I had planted with dedication grew first, in clean, traditional rows that at first, looked healthy and bright.

But then something wholly unexpected happened. The random seeds, despite a lack of research or education or attention, began to sprout too. They popped up here and there, some spindly some leafy some altogether bizarre, but all of them healthy and in some ways, miraculous.

For a few years, I focused on tending the chosen set of seeds; spent most of my sunlight hours weeding, feeding. They grew steadily, and after a short amount of time, required significantly less care than I had originally expected. This left time open in the fading twilight of most days. I turned my attention to my random sproutlings.

By now, they were bushy and broad, almost antithetical to my organized rows on the other side of the garden. I took some time to learn what they were now that their true identities had burst forth from the seeds, and found that what I’d accidentally planted was actually really cool. The plants proved much more exotic and engaging, and unlike my slow but steady growth on the other side, some grew rapidly with next to no direct input from the gardener.

I began to split myself in two; tending my faithful crop as always, but finding myself spending more and more time cultivating the growth of the randoms on the other side. Some days I’d neglect my planned garden entirely, lost in a verdant bower of intertwined barley and hops. All the plants thrived, but my original plan, to grow and cash in on a traditional crop, suddenly seemed lacking, when the possibility of a much more exciting but much less consistent path opened up to me like a tulip on a sunny spring day.

It’s almost time to harvest, at least for the first time. Despite the balancing act, both sets of plants have budded and nearly come to flower; their nascent peak, my mental pique.

I’m at a horticultural precipice. I have a decision to make. I know that once they flower, it will be impossible to keep both alive. If I choose one side of the garden to devote my attention to, the other will wither and die. I’ll lose the invested time and resources, the connections and friendships I’ve made with other gardeners and farmers, the proprietary industry knowledge that might carry me into the future. But if I don’t make a choice, neither crop will flourish, and I’ll be left a failed gardener, with little to show for my half-decade-plus of work.

It’s not an easy decision to make. Safety or adventure? Boredom or risk? My thirty years around the sun haven’t helped clear up much, and I stand, staring at my plants, wondering what the hell to do.

Seven years ago, I held a bunch of seeds in my hand. A future, maybe, but not the one I planned.

How can one make a decision now that might affect his always? What does one do when waiting for a flower to bloom?

The Beer Apocalypse: The World After Big Beer – Displaced People

(This is the first post in a series of theoretical end-of-world scenarios probably resulting from my reading too much dystopian science fiction. The series will cover how the people, places, markets, and beer of the United States would change if Anheuser Busch and SABMiller just up and vanished. I’m not playing apologist or anything, just having fun with what-ifs. #longread warning)

The unifying craft cry resounds obvious and singular: big beer is bad.

It’s bad because it doesn’t taste good. It’s bad because it’s corporate. It’s bad because compared to modern beer, it’s adjunct junk. Repeat ad nauseum.

What the claim lacks in tangible, objective proof, it makes up for in passion and consistency. The rising tide of local, independent beer would stop at nothing to push the current market share nearer and nearer 100%, completing a role reversal that would radically change the definition of “American beer” for good, and for better. At least that’s the common assumption.

Given the money involved, these giants would not go quietly in the night, nor would they go alone. If smaller, local breweries do eventually take over a majority of the market, it will be the result of a slow and steady decline; an empire falling from internal Cran-Brrr-Rita centered conflict, backlash from fed up citizenry, and other really poor decisions. It will be years – decades even! – of lost battles, attempts to retake old ground or stake flags in new, maybe even resulting in the transformation of the big beer companies as we know them as they finally decide the only way to compete is to brew for beer, not brew for money.

But let’s just say that small beer fans got what they wanted, and for the sake of this piece, they got what they wanted overnight. That by some divine stroke or extraterrestrial intervention, Anheuser Busch, SABMiller, and all their corporate subsidiaries just went poof. Eaten by zombies. Spirited away by cosmic horrors in the midnight deep. Vaporized in a hellish post-nuclear landscape.

What would the United States look like without “big” beer?

(To keep things more simple, I’ll focus on the two beer behemoths only, as they do represent 68.2% of the overall US beer market.)

Displaced People

First things first, a lot of people would be waking up to get ready for jobs they no longer had. Even after Carlos Brito’s “fat-trimming” during the InBev take over in 2008, Anheuser Busch alone employs nearly ~14,000 people nationwide. SABMiller employs another ~10,000 (as a point of reference, Apple employs ~98,000, but that includes on-site Apple Store employees). When flooded by ideas from the media, it’s easy to think of corporations as executives; suits and yearly bonuses and unnecessary salaries. But behind the overly designed blue and red and chrome of crushable cans, a football stadium’s capacity of people need and rely on the companies to pay their mortgages, feed their kid, live their lives.

If you included the entirety of the international parent companies in my made-up scenario, the loss of big beer would put over 200,000 people out of work. While that may seem like a drop in the bucket when considering the global population, it would seriously, negatively impact areas and cities in direct proximity to the breweries (like St. Loius, which homes nearly ~4,200 of the aforementioned ~14,000).

And that’s just people employed directly by the breweries. The beer industry relies on a massive logistical network of distributors and transporters. It’s difficult to pin down exact numbers because the three tier distribution systems splits the labor of moving and selling beer too minutely to easily research metrics. But if nearly 70% of the beer made and sold in the country disappeared, it’s safe to assume there would be significantly less need for industry support staff, at least initially.

Distributors would need fewer salespeople. Trucking companies fewer drivers. In states where beer can’t be sold at gas stations or grocery stores, we’d see a sharp decline in the number of in-liquor-store employees needed; a direct result of stores losing money from flagship macro sales. Those sales might rebound as other breweries flood into the ginormous AB/MC shaped hole, but it would take time to build consumer confidence and physically brew and ship enough beer to meet demands.

While accurate, all these numbers omit those people on the economic periphery who might indirectly rely on the sales of macro lager: tiny, local bars in small towns who depend on alcohol sales to stay afloat, the bartenders and wait staff they employee, the landlords who rent the space to the bar. If a very popular drink (41% of drinkers prefer beer over wine or spirits) suddenly vanished, the bar would either have to make up sales by selling other beer (that its blue-collar based clientele might not like, or more importantly, be able to afford), or other liquors. My guess is many would close, leaving large social and economic dents in places that are already swirling the recessional drain of middle America.

Price would remain paramount. “Big” beer is cheap, while “craft” beer is expensive, partly due to economies of scale. Without the ubiquitous macro lager, drinkers would either be forced to pay a premium for beer (until smaller breweries managed to speed-brew lagers on a cheaper, more sprawling scale), or drink something else. At the behest of stretched wallets, expensive “craft” beer could indirectly lead to a rise in sales of cheaper spirits in the 75.42% of the population who make less than $50,000 a year. Assuming not everyone wanted neat whiskey or vodka or rum, the preferred drink may manifest mixed, soda or juice to cut the harshness of lower tier spirits. Soft drink companies (who also own juice and water brands) like Coca Cola would drink up those new found profits gladly.

It’s also worth noting that the directly displaced employees would have to go back into a highly competitive, noticeably limited job market. The beer industry is expanding rapidly, but smaller breweries have smaller staffing needs, and might not be prepared for the additional space or money needed to bring in quality assurance, marketing, and financial personnel. While the best brewers from AB and MC might find new jobs at Sam Adams, Sierra Nevada, and New Belgium, the “craft” section of the industry might not be able to fully (or properly) integrate all these additional resources, either forcing people to seek entirely new careers, fight tooth and nail for positions in smaller breweries that probably pay less (and would probably require relocation), or start their own breweries in a densely packed, ever bloating market.

The ripples of losing ~$80 billion in big beer sales would eventually hit every corner of the country, causing financial chaos and social displacement. It’s easy to bully big beer for their group-thunk terrible marketing ideas, or for just not tasting anywhere near as good as the other options we have today, but we can’t forget how many people actually rely on the fizzy yellow stuff to make ends meet.

Up next in the series we’ll look at the brewing infrastructure that would go fallow in: The World After Big Beer – Abandoned Places.

Sexism in Beer – Seriously, Stop Being Stupid

(Warning, somewhat #longread)

Yep, another post on sexism in beer. Why? Because as a friend just said, “with a topic like this, the quantity of supportive voices matter.” (Maybe a slight paraphrase)

To recap: the Brewers Association popped the cap off the 32nd annual Craft Brewers Conference last week in the beer-mecca that is Portland, Oregon. Amidst the networking, brewing innovations, and heavy drinking, several breweries decided to host events in strip clubs. The collective beer subculture responded, mostly negatively, denouncing such behavior as juvenile, unprofessional, and sexist.

The inherent sexism of the white male-dominated beer world is obvious to anyone willing to open their eyes and actually see, but for some inspiring commentary on the situation, see Melissa Cole’s open letter calling out boorish behavior for being exactly that, Heather Vandenengel’s painful but important message about living (and working) through her own personal encounters with sexism in our industry, and Jeff Alworth’s context-placing piece that helps explain PDX culture, and how it ties into what went down at CBC15. Stan Hieronymus also pulled together a great round-up, in case you’re somehow looking for even more proof that unabashed sexists are still alive, sitting in bars, drinking beer all over the world.

Look, I get it: beer is an industry where hedonism to the point of embarrassment is built-in to the business model. But that doesn’t mean we get to shrug accountability because it’s an “industry thing.” In fact, because the product we support contains inhibition-loosing adjuncts, we have more responsibility than other industries to remain professional and poised. It should be our goal to act like good human beings at all times, social posturing and levels of consumption be damned. It’s 2015 and we’re part of a modern, inclusive groundswell. Act like it. Be progressive, not regressive.

Those social aspects noted and very temporarily put on one side, I’d like to acknowledge an often unmentioned side of sexist beer attitudes: how fundamentally stupid they are, especially from a business perspective.

I don’t mean to use “stupid” as an ad hominem playground insult; I mean the very classic definition: “lacking intelligence or common sense.”

Example: It was stupid of Oliver to stick his hand into the hornet’s nest.

The “Portland Strip Club Debacle of 2015” is a large, obvious, easy to unpack and understand, manifestation of sexist attitudes in beer. It’s easy for men to say, “well this sort of thing can be avoided in the future!” then move on, as if pulling the head off the weed does anything to kill the roots. The sexism that still prevails is smaller and less obvious: those millions of every day micro-aggressions towards women that range from lewd advances to condescending dismissals. There is no bigger culprit of casual sexism than breweries who use women as sexual caricatures as a basic part of their marketing model.

Whenever some brewer gets put to task on social media for sexist branding, or any time I see a bottle of beer with a buxom female stereotype, I’m distressed, not only as someone who supports equality, but as a person with a functioning brain. A label is a blank canvas. A clear, effective way to market to independent thinkers. To slap some lame female objectification on your product is to say, “we lack any awareness of our industry’s demographics” and “have creative ability tantamount to dick and fart jokes,” which then translates to “don’t buy this beer” as said messaging alienates 50% of potential drinkers before they’ve even tasted it.

I know brewing (as a profession) wears a collar that’s bluer than it is white, and I can’t expect every single brewery to be pushing the boundaries of art. There’s always going to be some repetition because of boundaries of beer style, and some simplicity for rusticity’s sake.

But even the quaintest, small town brewery should have a marketing and branding plan, if only as a reflection of their commitment to the product. If the summation of your marketing process is “MOAR T&A,” I’m going to be pretty concerned about the culmination of your brewing process. A sexist label suggests sexism in a brewery’s staff, and subconsciously promotes a sexist environment wherever your beer is sold and consumed.

Said branding need not be as highbrow oblique as Brian Strumke’s “beer as modern art” approach at Stillwater Artisanal; hell, one of my local favorites, Heavy Seas Brewing, uses a pirate theme, which many would argue is childish, cheesy. Yet, the branding is consistent and the brewery’s marketing team creates thematically appropriate and clever titles that tie into the style of beer, like Red Sky at Night, Siren Noire, and Blackbeard’s Breakfast. Their commitment to their brand, creativity, and willingness to invest thought and energy into their designs makes them stand out, at least in local markets.

No sexism required. It’s proof that success isn’t tied to tropes of flesh as a salesman; except for Flying Dog’s Raging Bitch, and Lagunita’s Lil’ Sumpin’, not a single brewery on the Brewers Association Top 50 for 2014 used female objectification or degradation to sell their beer. In fact, many didn’t use any baser appeals to human nature at all, instead opting for aesthetically adventurous fonts, colors, and layouts.*

To throw away the chance to win over new drinkers by using sexist messaging, especially in a market swollen with competition, is the manifestation of immature thinking. “Craft” beer is so fresh and wide open that you could choose any relatively popular theme and probably make it successful. A video game themed brewery? A board game themed brewery? A “pioneer” brewery with beers named after famous composers or artists or scientists? I could think of a million ideas that I’d consider long before I even came close to, “let’s put a chick with big bewbs on the label!”

Accidental or intentional sexism speaks louder than you ever could for yourself. I know some people argue it’s a part of that proverbially quoted but never quite defined “shock value,” or that is should be protected under freedom of speech. Some (usually male) people argue it’s empowering for women.

If you don’t get that it’s sexism: wake up; you’re being stupid (see above definition).

If you do get that it’s sexism, and still won’t change: you’re not stupid, but you’re also probably not a very nice human being to be around.

It can be hard to sway the minds of men who quickly shift the focus with chants of “not all of us” or minimize the situation with unfair comparisons to broader social problems. If they won’t accept that sexism is hurtful and degrading as a basic fact, perhaps they’ll listen if we tell them their designs have all the imagination of a horny 13 year old boy. If you’re a brewer or brewery considering (or already) using the image of an objectified or eroticized woman on your branding, take a moment to stop doing that, because what the hell? It makes you look bad, and women feel bad. The industry is guilty by association. Literally no one wins.

Remember: despite how easy it is to dismiss or derail the conversation about sexism in beer, because hey, after all, “it’s just beer,” sexism a real thing that really matters. It transcends beer, and is reflective of the attitudes of male-dominated cultures. If you’re not ready to face the idea of feminism yet, OK, but don’t try to defend sexist behavior as “no big deal” when our wives, sisters, mothers, aunts, nieces, and daughters, can and are being marginalized by a male lack of awareness. If you can’t contextualize it when it happens to a stranger, imagine a picture of your mother, scantly clad on a beer label, being callously remarked upon by guys repeating “hey, it’s just a joke, man” whenever you tell them to stop.

Brew good beer and don’t be stupid.

The first should be the hard part, not the second.

*My own research. I did as thorough a review of labels as time would permit; feel free to correct me in the comments if I missed something. I’ll update accordingly.

As one.