:: long story short ::
Lancelot Schaubert is the husband of Tara Schaubert, the grooviest girl on Earth. He has sold his written work to markets like The New Haven Review, McSweeney’s, The Poet’s Market, Writer’s Digest (magazine and books), The World Series Edition of Poker Pro, Encounter, The Misty Review, Carnival, Brink, and many other similar markets. He reinvented the photonovel through Cold Brewed and was commissioned by the Missouri Tourism Board to create a second photonovel — The Joplin Undercurrent — that both fictionalizes and enchants the history and culture of Joplin, Missouri.
His work terraforms new worlds, tears the veil between the natural and supernatural, and jests with the paradoxes of classical metaphysics. When he’s not writing (or tinkering with cinema-ish narrative), he’s dabbling in dozens of different books, listening to people tell their life stories, camping, fishing, exploring unfamiliar territory (there’s a lot in New York), tinkering with new languages (Spanish, currently), exploring random disciplines like chemical engineering, as well as messing around with improv comedy and leisure de main and music.
PLEASE SEND SOUP — he loves soup. Yes, even if it’s summer. Find him in Brooklyn, New York with his wife, Tara, and their attack spaniel, Echo.
:: PRAISE for Lancelot Schaubert ::
“Schaubert’s words have an immediacy, a potency, an intimacy that grab the reader by the collar and say ‘Listen, this is important!’ Probing the bones and gristle of humanity, his subjects challenge, but also offer insights into redemption if only we will stop and pay attention.” — Erika Robuck, National Bestselling Author of Hemingway’s Girl
“Loved this story because Lance wrote about people who don’t get written about enough and he did it with humor, compassion, and heart.”— Brian Slatterly, author of Lost Everything and editor of The New Haven Review
“I’m such a fan of Lance Schaubert’s work. His unique view of things and his life-wisdom enriches all he does. We’re lucky to count him among our contributors.”— Therese Walsh, author of The Moon Sisters and Editorial Director of Writer Unboxed
“Lancelot Schaubert exhibits his talents in many forms from poetic verse to lyrical prose to musical compositions, all the while infusing them with charisma, passion, and wit. A true creative, Schaubert is one to watch in the literary world.” —Heather Webb, author of Rodin’s Lover & Becoming Josephine
“Lance Schaubert writes with conviction but without the cliché and bluster of the propaganda that is so common in this age of blogs and tweets. Here is a real practitioner of the craft who has the patience to pay attention. May his tribe increase!”— Jonathan Wilson Hartgrove, author of Common Prayer and The Awakening of Hope
“Lancelot was the kind of student every writing teacher hopes to have in her class: attentive, thoughtful, a bit quirky, and innovative. Since his time in my classroom, he has continued to impress me. He ‘sees,’ and his essays, poetry, and fiction are full of details that enable his audience to see. Bravo, Lance.”— Jackina Stark, author of Things Worth Remembering and Tender Grace
“[He writes] characters with distinctive personalities, multi-layered, and unpredictable. [They have] natural voices, succinct and unique to each character.” — The Missouri Scriptwriting Fellowship
“Schaubert’s narratives are emotionally stirring with both a vulnerable sensibility and rawness to them. They take you on a journey full of open wounds, intimate successes and personal delights. His words have a calmness, a natural ease but the meaning is always commanding and dynamic.” — Natalie Gee, Brooklyn Film Festival
• Media Gallery •
Here’s a gallery if you need a headshot to accompany my bio in your publication or conference program. As you’ll see, I’m a pretty expressive person (that’s the modeling / theater / radio / film background talking). I’ve also included unflattering pictures here because, let’s face it, my best friend’s a photographer: it’s going to be painfully easy to find unflattering photos of me on the internet — if you’re out to make me look bad, I might as well make it easy for you.
If you find an image you like, just click on it and the gallery will expand to full screen. If nothing here suits your needs, just shoot me an email and I’ll dig a little deeper:
:: short story long ::
If the pictures above weren’t any indication, I like to have a bit of fun even while firing two barrels full of pride and dignity at my craft. That kind of energy came stock with this engine they call my heart — I motivate and inspire those who work with me: we get the job done and get the story told well.
I came by it honestly: grew up around three generations of carpenters – blue collar workers who cared as much about refining their craft as they did telling ridiculous stories, most all of them fictionalized or garnished beyond a mere recollection of facts. Stories like the guy who was using a portapotty when the crane picked it up. Like my grandpa using a sheet of plywood as a parachute. Like Uncle Bryan one-timing a squirrel through the neck with a nail gun.
That kind of thing.
However, somehow in the midst of the epic fantasy we were all busy living out, these men worked harder than their peers, taking to the craft with a passion. Carpentry was serious. Life was the joke, the irony worth telling and retelling. Took me years to pick up that work ethic but once I finally did, I say to other writers what my buddy Colby says to other coffee roasters:
I dare you to work as hard as I do.
Again, I get it from the union boys. I remember recording my first story on dad’s crappy tape-deck answering machine, one involving a cave. I remember it was dark in the house and the house seemed huge. Poems, comics, poetry, speeches — I took to all of these with more passion than my peers. I even painted my whole body gold and dressed up in a scarlet sheet when I did a speech on the god, Apollo. They called me a “liar” or an “overdoer,” but my mentors pushed me to dream bigger and brighter, to imagine new worlds, cross the threshold into them, and then return to tell the tale. I’ll forever be indebted to them for teaching me the difference between lying and telling.
In highschool, I began writing letters to my future wife. That’s really where I began tinkering with poetry and sentences. You’ll think I’m a sap for writing those letters, but wait for it…
In my freshman year of college, I wrote my first novel, which was garbage, so I put it with its kin. I dumped hours and hours into four different blogs (all now deleted… I hope), one of which was devoted exclusively to poetry. I found help in an old blog named Poefusion and its author, Michelle Johnston. I then spent my first college summer in Dearborn, Michigan working among Arabic Muslims who were either poor or seeking citizenship. Most of my work involved teaching English, which eventually resulted in An Open Letter to Arabic Labials. Wrote my second novel in the basement of a very hot, very damp Detroit home, saving that one on floppy discs that I later transferred to the cloud whenever that came around.
In my sophomore summer, I took a road trip across the American Southwest to work in the Rancho Santa Fe district of San Diego, down the street from Janet Jackson’s house. Gates, equestrian clubs, the whole bit was drastically different from my work in Detroit and focused on helping youth and young artistic types. I taught guitar, published some poems, articles, made some short films, and did hurricane relief in New Orleans and Galveston, etc. You learn a different kind of storytelling in California — everyone should try it at least once.
Later on, I snatched up the grooviest girl alive and proposed using those love letters I’d written to my future wife. They had hibernated for four months under the trap door of the hope chest my dad, the carpenter, and I had built for her. It’s important to me that I live a novel-worthy life, that people meet me and wonder if they may have met a character straight out of one of the great fantasy epics of old. That’s why I take to the “overdoer” brand like a boy scout’s arrow of light badge.
My bride later recommended I build an editing and copywriting business, so I did while finishing my second and third novels, both junk — literally threw one into the fireplace. The tornado hit Joplin and we watched churches across all denominations come together to create the fastest recovery from any disaster on FEMA’s records. Still is, apparently.
Winter of 2012, I partnered up with Mark Neuenschwander to dream up what became Cold Brewed, and Mark and I started adding stability to Joplin’s community of artists. Part of this included our rebranding Joplin through the CVB and then a second photonovel, The Joplin Undercurrent.
In the summer of 2014, I moved to NYC to work with artists and poor neighborhoods. I’m slowly starting a nonprofit that gives microloans to starving artists that they might make new worlds and care for the culture around them. That’s my passion, the point of this blog, and my goal for all of my work:
I am a maker of new worlds and I raise up other makers. That’s the goal at least.
But in the end most of the good work I’ve done is really just telling ridiculous stories that make people want to refine their craft and deepen their virtues, just like the blue collar carpenters before me. Novels, albums, and films to come.
When I’m not writing or tinkering with cinema-ish narrative, I dabble in dozens of different books, listen to people tell their life stories, camp, explore unfamiliar territory (and there’s a lot in New York), tinker with new languages (Spanish, currently), and make music that’s mythologically autobiographical. Occasionally, I’m a curatorial judge for film festivals like Brooklyn FF and NYC Indie FF. Find me in Brooklyn, New York with my wife Tara and our dog Echo.
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