Preston’s Picks
PRESTON’S PICKS – January 1, 2025 – Lee’s Summit, Missouri, USA
All Preston Littlefield ever wanted to do was make something beautiful. As a teenager, he was convinced he could do it through music. The internet made it easy to explore every musical type and style, from classical to modern pop rock. He appreciated well-known songs and compositions by obscure artists. The only requirement for a song to be added to his immense playlist was that it provoked strong emotions. Preston listened in ecstasy for hours with a smile on his face. The very best songs squeezed joyful tears from his eyes.
He took piano and guitar lessons to try and reproduce the songs in his collection, but painfully realized he had no natural rhythm. His fingers fumbled over the keys and strings. Reading notes on sheet music was a chore. He put in the recommended practice time but recognized he had none of the natural talent shown by other students at the music studio.
Preston finally concluded that playing an instrument was not for him. He still desperately wanted to be a musician, so he joined his high school’s 50-member choir. Other than his enthusiastic expression, he looked unremarkable standing onstage with his choirmates. But he struggled so much with pitch, the director asked him to keep his volume down.
Halfway through the year, a subgroup of choir members toyed with the idea of forming their own group that could perform at parties. One member played piano and another played drums. Preston talked his way into the group based mainly on his excitement and boundless knowledge of artists and songs. Their after-school practices consisted of harmonizing a few current hits and dreaming of their own chart topper.
“Somebody needs to come up with a song for us,” the piano player suggested.
Preston volunteered without a second thought and called, “I can do it!”
He went home imaging himself as a great songwriter and the secret to the group’s future success. He sat at his keyboard once used for piano lessons, determined to pluck out a catchy melody. He ran his fingers up and down, changing up the timing between notes. Nothing sounded good unless he happened to tap out a tune he already recognized.
“Maybe I’ll start with the words and then come back to putting notes around them,” Preston said to himself.
He sat with a piece of paper and tried to rhyme lines with a simple meter. Everything he produced sounded like a silly nursery rhyme you might sing along to a “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” melody. Preston did not want to return to his singing group empty-handed or with a horrible song, so he turned to his choir director, Ms. Mattice, for help. They had a trusting relationship based on their shared love of discovering great music. Preston introduced Ms. Mattice to the unusual style of singer Judee Sill. Ms. Mattice shared with him songs from guitarist Nick Drake. She also asked Preston’s advice on pieces the choir should perform.
“Have you ever tried writing your own song?” Preston asked when he found his teacher in the choir room during lunch.
“I’ve played around a little,” she answered with a smile. “Nothing serious. Writing good songs is really hard.”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying. I thought I could find some notes that fit together. I know I’m not a good singer, but I was hoping I could create something amazing. Like maybe I had a gift.”
Ms. Mattice looked back at him sympathetically. “You should keep trying, but don’t get too discouraged if you’re not an amazing songwriter. I already know you have one of the best ears for music I’ve ever met. You instantly recognize beautiful music. That’s a gift you can enjoy forever.”
Preston nodded but left their conversation feeling dissatisfied. He continued plucking and rhyming for a while but never did produce anything he was not embarrassed to share with his choirmates. The little group with big dreams sang at a couple of school dances and local church events. When the school year ended, they went their separate ways hardly remembering they intended to be famous.
Preston graduated from high school with his love of music intact but with a new acceptance that he would not leave his mark on the world as a musician. He started college at the University of Kansas with no clear plan for what to study. He registered for available classes that looked fun and interesting. One of them was called “Art Appreciation.”
Before the art class, Preston’s exposure to paintings and sculpture was limited. He could identify the Mona Lisa, but that was about it. His art professor, Kevin Karminus, showed photos in class of artwork Preston never knew existed. He stared at the images like he was seeing in color for the first time. They inspired him to look up more examples on the internet and visit the university’s art museum. He sat in the museum for hours staring at some of the installations. They gave him the same deep feelings he experienced when listening to exceptional songs.
Professor Karminus encouraged his class to visit him during his office hours. The only student who did was Preston. They held long conversations about artists Preston was newly discovering and the professor had known for years.
“Let me show you some things the rest of the class won’t appreciate,” the professor said, pulling art books from his shelves.
Midway through the semester, Preston became convinced he was destined to be some type of visual artist. He declared Art as his major and registered for introductory painting and sculpture classes. When they began, he found himself surrounded by students who had been drawing and crafting most of their lives. He had none of their gifts. He could not translate simple objects into ink or clay representations. He had no feel for a paintbrush. When he switched from realistic to abstract images, his colors and shapes clashed into something lifeless.
While he struggled, Preston readily admired the talent around him. He was a sensitive antenna and when he saw anything that sparked an emotional feeling, he was quick to compliment whoever created it. He passed his classes mostly because of the relationships he developed with his instructors. They learned to trust his opinions and even asked him to judge exhibits of student work.
Professor Karminus grew into an informal advisor and one day he pulled Preston aside for what he called a difficult conversation.
“What I’m about to say, I’ve never said to any student before. You have the extraordinary eye of a master, but you’re all feeling and no touch. I’m afraid I don’t see a career as an artist for you.”
Preston nodded disappointingly. It was something he already knew.
“I say this as your friend,” Professor Karminus continued. “I know you will love and appreciate great art for the rest of your life, but you should choose something else for a career. I think you would be wise to change your major.”
Preston knew the advice was heartfelt and meant to help. He took it seriously and found the fastest path for graduating with a different degree. He switched to Psychology and after graduating, landed a job as a product manager for a software firm based in Kansas City. His day-to-day life focused on sales and customers and product features. It was the opposite of the creative life he once imagined.
Preston did find solace and joy in his music collection and at the many Kansas City art museums. He happily spent entire weekends enjoying photography collections, traveling sculpture exhibits, and film screenings. After hearing or seeing an especially powerful piece, creative ambitions flickered in his head. He knew he would never make beautiful music or visual art, but maybe there was something else. He decided to try writing.
Preston was not much of a reader or writer. He did enough to get by in school and at work, but never for pleasure. After wondering how he would start his writing experiment, he happened upon a website designed for that very thing. It provided story prompts and encouraged users to let their imaginations run wild. Preston wrote down some of the prompts and tried to brainstorm plots and characters. They did not come easily. Neither did sentences. His attempted stories were less than 500 words long. He typed them into an online form and awaited feedback from other wannabe writers.
As Preston clicked around the writing website, he stopped to read stories submitted by others. He marveled at how creative and entertaining some of them were. He quickly forgot about his own writing attempts as he discovered how much he enjoyed commenting on better stories. He left behind generous praise, especially after reading a rare piece that sunk deep into his emotions and left him thinking about it for days.
Preston found other websites dedicated to writing. They were filled with everything from essays to poems by countless aspiring writers eagerly awaiting feedback. Preston found critiquing so fun, he spent chunks of his workday sneaking off to one corner of the internet or another in hopes of uncovering written gems. He became fast at sorting out the very good from the mediocre and moved from shorter works to full-sized books, both published and unpublished. After a year and a half and hundreds of reviews, he became one of the most recognized profiles on sites like Goodreads, Medium, and Wattpad.
Then during the fall of 2019, Preston learned about a writing and publishing convention in Kansas City. He reserved tickets and spent an afternoon strolling past booths advertising upcoming books and book series. He stopped at a table sponsored by one of his favorite writing websites and met one of its founders, Lauren Fischetti. Lauren recognized Preston’s name as one of the site’s super reviewers. She invited him to lunch.
“It’s always exciting to meet someone like you face-to-face,” Lauren said, after they sat down to enjoy barbecue sandwiches. “I find myself agreeing with your opinions more than any other active reviewer. When you recommend something, I know it will be good.”
Preston blushed. “Well, thank you. I didn’t know anyone was paying attention. I mostly do it for fun. Actually, I got started by hoping to be a writer myself. Unfortunately, I’d have to give my own writing pretty bad ratings.”
Lauren laughed. “The world needs you a lot more as a critic than it needs another writer. The word ‘critic’ has kind of a bad connotation, but to me a good critic is a light in the darkness. There’s a massive amount written every day and it needs sifting and curation. You’ve got an extraordinary gift for picking.”
It was Preston’s turn to laugh. “I’ve had this conversation before. Once upon a time, I wanted to be a musician and then an artist. Turns out, I was only good at criticizing music and art.”
“I’d pay attention to anything you had to say. I’d love to see your list of recommendations.” Lauren paused like a good idea was being uploaded to her brain. “Why don’t you start something? You could have your own website or run it through social media. People would find you and listen.”
The lunch conversation profoundly affected Preston. Within two weeks, he started his own website called Preston’s Picks. At first, he thought it should have a more sophisticated name, but he liked the alliteration and eventually liked that it sounded down-to-earth. He organized the website around three categories: music, visual arts, and writing. He began with a list of ten recommendations for each category that every human should experience. For every new week, he added something to one of the lists.
Preston’s new purpose in life became finding and recommending the most beautiful creations in the world. He drew from his music collection, art student days, and book reviews. He scoured the internet and made weekend trips to art and music festivals, looking for the best of the best.
As Lauren predicted, as Preston’s lists grew, so did his trusting followers. After five years, tens of millions of people checked regularly to see what new thing might make his lists. Previously unrecognized books and movies saw surges in popularity after a Preston recommendation. With one entry, he could lift an obscure author into star status. His picks were coveted like awards. Website advertising allowed him to quit his product manager job and concentrate on full-time critiquing. He spent much of his time traveling to museums and concerts that he had once only experienced in pictures and sound clips.
In his role as curator for the world, Preston remained remarkably humble. He liked to remind people that he was first and foremost a failed artist. He was secondly, a successful art fan.
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