I really love The Bold Italic. I have ever since I randomly stumbled on them one evening, when I was probably a bottle of wine deep watching a movie I didn’t want people to know about.
(A League of Their Own.)
(No, seriously. It was probably A League of Their Own. If you don’t like that movie, you’re a bad person and don’t laugh at commercials with talking animals.)
But, no. I like them a lot. They embody everything I wanted to be a part of when I decided one day that I’d actually like to be a writer. So, I sent them a wacky idea that was pretty (wait for it) self-deprecating and they were into it. And they published it. And made pictures for it. Which makes it feel like I’m a real boy.
The link below is the post I wrote for them about my ridiculous identity crisis that has been boiling up for over six years in San Francisco. Thank you so much to The Bold Italic for being the first pub to put a little faith in Rocket Shoes. Here’s hoping I can write 4,934 more for you.