Today I was in the Writing Center perusing magazines as I waited for my class to start. I picked up Spin and saw Death Cab For Cutie on the cover. Immediately I heard in my head the lyrics for "Cover of the Rolling Stone." You know, it goes: Rolling Stone, gonna get my picture on the cover. Stone, gonna buy five copies for my mother.
This was prompted by the fact that a guy I used to work with, Nick Harmer, is in DCFC. He was the Music Director and I was a lowly DJ at Western Washington University's college radio station, KUGS. My friend Alison, co-host with me of "The Broadcast," always said Nick would be a rock star. He just looked like a rock star. He was cute, with a little boy/boy next door face. He seemed sweet. We went to their first show at a bar in Bellingham, The 3B, and after the show he practically ran out. He wasn't 21 yet and he was still shy. Now he's 30, a little chubby, and he's an indie rock star. The last time I saw him he was sitting outside a famous Bellingham eatery with Ben, the lead singer of DCFC. He told me he had just quit his job, managing a Blockbuster or something, and that they were "doing the band thing." I pretty much knew he was going to be a rock star. I should have gotten his autograph.
Seeing him on the cover of Spin made me muse on the trajectory of fame, and how our paths intersect with those of others. It also reminded me that I see a good friend of mine for the dorms at University of Oregon, Marc, on TV occasionally. I first saw him in Fred Meyer. He was on a Nike poster hanging from the ceiling. Then he was in one of those Valentine Hallmark ads with the magnetic bears. And then he was in a MGD commercial, the one where the woman tells her boyfriend (he's the boyfriend!) that her roommate is coming home and when he goes to the fridge to get a beer he sees the picture of the roommate and she's a hottie. He smiles and grabs three beers (implied threesome). Funny thing, though: he's gay. One of my best friends in college (a man) was in love with him. He was also in a Honda commercial and currently he's in a Taco Bell commercial. When we lived in the dorms together, I used to borrow his Benneton rugby shirts (green and white stripes). I still have a note he left on my door in the dorms. It's a cartoon he drew of himself, with severe cheek bones and hair made entirely of ninety-degree angles. He looks like Grace Jones.
Ahh! Those were the 80s!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
"To generalize is to be an idiot"
We can thank William Blake for today's title. I came across this gem in the reading for my Theory course. It seemed to intersect nicely with my complaint about the movie "We Don't Live Here Anymore." In another essay, Bernard Paris, in response to Wayne Booth's comment that Robbe-Grillet's The Voyeur "does, indeed, lead us to experience intensely the sensations and emotions of a homicidal maniac. But is this really what we go to literature for?" answers "Yes." Paris's comment relates to a few of my complaints about the movie, and directly addresses Sleepy E's comment that characters do not need to be sympathetic in order to elicit our interest.
I agree both with Sleepy E and Bernard Paris. I do not need to like a character in order to be interested in his or her view of the world. In fact, sometimes I sympathize with a character more if he/she is NOT like me. I want to read a book that enlarges rather than diminishes my view of the world. I want my movies to do this too. "We Don't Live Here Anymore" did not enlarge my view of the world. Rather, it diminished it. To me the movie said "people are shitty. They do shitty things to each other. They pontificate on adultery and the nature of the conjugal contract." As Sleepy E points out, the Jason Patric character is not sympathetic. In fact, he is disgusting. But, he is morally and mentally complex. He's not simply "evil" or a placeholder for the "villian" function in the movie. Rather, he is evil, but in a complex way that is not easily grasped. He also, as we see in the end, seems to have some desirable quality that is also not easily named. He may be an asshole, but he's a decisive asshole, which seems preferable to the waffling banality of the other male characters.
My point is: the particular, the unique, the individual, the idiosyncratic makes great literature. The general is, as Blake so succintly notes, for idiots.
I agree both with Sleepy E and Bernard Paris. I do not need to like a character in order to be interested in his or her view of the world. In fact, sometimes I sympathize with a character more if he/she is NOT like me. I want to read a book that enlarges rather than diminishes my view of the world. I want my movies to do this too. "We Don't Live Here Anymore" did not enlarge my view of the world. Rather, it diminished it. To me the movie said "people are shitty. They do shitty things to each other. They pontificate on adultery and the nature of the conjugal contract." As Sleepy E points out, the Jason Patric character is not sympathetic. In fact, he is disgusting. But, he is morally and mentally complex. He's not simply "evil" or a placeholder for the "villian" function in the movie. Rather, he is evil, but in a complex way that is not easily grasped. He also, as we see in the end, seems to have some desirable quality that is also not easily named. He may be an asshole, but he's a decisive asshole, which seems preferable to the waffling banality of the other male characters.
My point is: the particular, the unique, the individual, the idiosyncratic makes great literature. The general is, as Blake so succintly notes, for idiots.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Why Should I Care?
Over the weekend, MB and I watched "We Don't Live Here Anymore," a film that was featured at Sundance last year. Or sometime. Anyway, it is based on two short stories by Andre Dubus. I bought his selected short stories awhile ago, but I have to admit that it has been slow going. Reading a bunch of his stories in a row is like walking over cut glass in bare feet. I might have to do it in order to get across the street, but do I want to do it? Would I choose to do it? Why would I do it?
The movie was a depressing assortment of characters without motivations or qualms or guilt. Only Terry (Laura Dern) was at all sympathetic, because she didn't want to have an affair, she just wanted to have sex. I love Mark Ruffalo and Peter Krause, but by the end of the movie I just wanted them both to shut up. If I were married to one of them, I'd stick his jeans in the washer with all his underwear, and then I'd leave him. These men were pathetic. Did I mention they were both college professors?
In any case, it made me think again about Dubus's short stories. They contain characters who are so depressed and down trodden and without hope. What's the point? I found myself wanting there to be a big train wreck so the movie would be over. Then I went back and started reading "Adultery" one of the stories the movie was based on. It was totally different of course, but it had the same thematic concerns.
My question is: Why should I care? It's probaby sacrilege to say, but Dubus seems to fetishize the dark aspects of his characters. Unlike Carver, who I think is sympathetic to his characters and more often than not gave them some kind of hope, even if it was only the alcoholic kind, Dubus seems to be making a negative statement about the human condition.
It reminded me of a workshop I took. We had to read "Long Days Journey into Night." At some point I said, "What's the problem? They're all addicts." The teacher made the case that it was more complex than that, that the play was about the intertwining needs of the characters.
Sometimes, I think, it really is simple. The characters are alcoholics. So what? Why should I care? I think it's the job of the movie director or the short story writer to make me care. And if I don't care by the time it's over, has the artist done his job?
The movie was a depressing assortment of characters without motivations or qualms or guilt. Only Terry (Laura Dern) was at all sympathetic, because she didn't want to have an affair, she just wanted to have sex. I love Mark Ruffalo and Peter Krause, but by the end of the movie I just wanted them both to shut up. If I were married to one of them, I'd stick his jeans in the washer with all his underwear, and then I'd leave him. These men were pathetic. Did I mention they were both college professors?
In any case, it made me think again about Dubus's short stories. They contain characters who are so depressed and down trodden and without hope. What's the point? I found myself wanting there to be a big train wreck so the movie would be over. Then I went back and started reading "Adultery" one of the stories the movie was based on. It was totally different of course, but it had the same thematic concerns.
My question is: Why should I care? It's probaby sacrilege to say, but Dubus seems to fetishize the dark aspects of his characters. Unlike Carver, who I think is sympathetic to his characters and more often than not gave them some kind of hope, even if it was only the alcoholic kind, Dubus seems to be making a negative statement about the human condition.
It reminded me of a workshop I took. We had to read "Long Days Journey into Night." At some point I said, "What's the problem? They're all addicts." The teacher made the case that it was more complex than that, that the play was about the intertwining needs of the characters.
Sometimes, I think, it really is simple. The characters are alcoholics. So what? Why should I care? I think it's the job of the movie director or the short story writer to make me care. And if I don't care by the time it's over, has the artist done his job?
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Spiderman Pecuter
On Saturday, Middlebrow and Son attended the Avenues Street Fair and Son entered a drawing for a Spiderman Computer. When they got home, he told me all about it and asked when the lady was going to call about the "pecuter." He was sure, certain!, that he was going to win. In his view, all he had to do was fill out the paper and the prize was his.
About 8 o'clock that night, the phone rang. It was the woman from the Avenues street fair. Son had won the computer! She asked to talk to him, and after he got off the phone, he said, "See Mom? I told you I was going to win!" I informed him that it is not usual to win the first and only drawing you had ever entered. I, myself, have only ever won one drawing, for a sweatsuit, in 7th grade after I had participated in a Walkathon.
The nice couple brought the computer over, and after I freed it from its packaging, Son played with it. He now calls it his "Spiderman Laptop." It has letters in alphabetical order and different games, such as identifying rhymes and finding the missing letter in words. It took awhile, but I finally got him to close the laptop and put it away.
When I tucked him into bed, he said, "It's a new life. It's my fourth life, because I'm four. And when I'm five, I'll have a fifth life. If I get something new."
So begins Son's new life. He's learned an important lesson: milestones in life are marked by the acquistion of new consumer goods. Long Live the Spiderman Laptop!
About 8 o'clock that night, the phone rang. It was the woman from the Avenues street fair. Son had won the computer! She asked to talk to him, and after he got off the phone, he said, "See Mom? I told you I was going to win!" I informed him that it is not usual to win the first and only drawing you had ever entered. I, myself, have only ever won one drawing, for a sweatsuit, in 7th grade after I had participated in a Walkathon.
The nice couple brought the computer over, and after I freed it from its packaging, Son played with it. He now calls it his "Spiderman Laptop." It has letters in alphabetical order and different games, such as identifying rhymes and finding the missing letter in words. It took awhile, but I finally got him to close the laptop and put it away.
When I tucked him into bed, he said, "It's a new life. It's my fourth life, because I'm four. And when I'm five, I'll have a fifth life. If I get something new."
So begins Son's new life. He's learned an important lesson: milestones in life are marked by the acquistion of new consumer goods. Long Live the Spiderman Laptop!
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Wherein I Jump on the Google Poetry Bandwagon
Donald Trump: Luddite Boy Scout
Dawns the new era when the Boy Scout
Motto "Be Prepared" is, for example,
a luddite described as having more than a color TV
Sad: An electrical accident at the Boy Scout
Jamboree in Virginia has killed four.
Call me old-fashioned, call me a Luddite, I don’t care.
Whether You are a technophile or neo-luddite or if you are (choose one):
1) Donald Trump
2) Richard Branson
3) Martha Stewart
4) Bill Gates
5) Oprah
It's a tough decision to make.
Or, if Trump was a boy scout
before he (never) went to Vietnam
Or if he was a cat or a hooker or a Girl Scout
Cookie. Donald Trump wants to fire you.
Donald Trump wants to. . .
Listen: Even Donald Trump is complaining. Is this Luddite
environmentalism? Is this positive thinking?
Or a gimmick? Like a new breakfast cereal or a press conference.
Donald Trump eats this way, chews this way,
Head in the sand, sad, a Luddite, oh—
He’s my boy, Scout, he’s a mogul.
Visit Google Poetry. Make your own poem!
Dawns the new era when the Boy Scout
Motto "Be Prepared" is, for example,
a luddite described as having more than a color TV
Sad: An electrical accident at the Boy Scout
Jamboree in Virginia has killed four.
Call me old-fashioned, call me a Luddite, I don’t care.
Whether You are a technophile or neo-luddite or if you are (choose one):
1) Donald Trump
2) Richard Branson
3) Martha Stewart
4) Bill Gates
5) Oprah
It's a tough decision to make.
Or, if Trump was a boy scout
before he (never) went to Vietnam
Or if he was a cat or a hooker or a Girl Scout
Cookie. Donald Trump wants to fire you.
Donald Trump wants to. . .
Listen: Even Donald Trump is complaining. Is this Luddite
environmentalism? Is this positive thinking?
Or a gimmick? Like a new breakfast cereal or a press conference.
Donald Trump eats this way, chews this way,
Head in the sand, sad, a Luddite, oh—
He’s my boy, Scout, he’s a mogul.
Visit Google Poetry. Make your own poem!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Running: A Consideration
Running is a solitary act. Even when running beside my friend, I am alone in my pain, alone with my aching knees and my tingling feet. I run first and foremost in my head, perhaps in my solitary consciousness, alone with my thoughts and my doubts. But when running alone, with my friend, I run, somehow, through the doubts and the pain to the end, wherever that is, wherever I have decided beforehand to stop. Though I am tired and thirsty, though I swear in my mind at the lack of water, and rethink everything I ate or drank the day before, I finish.
I don't even like running. Really. But somehow, despite that, or perhaps because of it, I ran 13 miles.
Once, not too long ago, when I was watching TV and there was a guy in running shoes and shorts and a T-shirt, I felt a rev in my body, a physical reaction that said, "Run!"
Today, while doing my "recovery" workout, I wanted to get off the damn bike and onto the treadmill. For once, I considered my knees and did not run.
But I can see now, I can understand in my fundamental human condition, why people run, and why I know for certain that I will run again. Maybe not 13 miles, but I will run.
I don't even like running. Really. But somehow, despite that, or perhaps because of it, I ran 13 miles.
Once, not too long ago, when I was watching TV and there was a guy in running shoes and shorts and a T-shirt, I felt a rev in my body, a physical reaction that said, "Run!"
Today, while doing my "recovery" workout, I wanted to get off the damn bike and onto the treadmill. For once, I considered my knees and did not run.
But I can see now, I can understand in my fundamental human condition, why people run, and why I know for certain that I will run again. Maybe not 13 miles, but I will run.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
The Results of Guilt and Shame
Signifying Nothing has shamed me into posting. I admit, my last two posts were about running, and it had been awhile since I posted (more than a week). The half-marathon is Sunday, and then I will have no more to say about running.
I have been silent as a result of the beginning of school. Between figuring out a series of "play-dates" (which is really just a mom-friendly term for "Will you take care of my son while I work?") for Son and figuring out how both Middlebrow and I are going to get to and from school with one car, one bike, the bus and Trax, I have not had much time for contemplating the meaning of life or the status of my imaginative life. Perhaps my imaginative life has no status at present.
I fear I am beginning to exist in Theory World, where words have only contingent meaning. "When you say 'author'" I say to my students, "do you mean 'author' or do you mean 'critic'?" They stare at me blankly. "Are you talking about the 'author function'?" I gave them the whole "Third Bed" speech, and I was happy that I could draw a little stick bed on the board and share with them my prodigious artistic talent. But then I realized I had probably confused them with my picture of the bed, so today I had to revise my speech and draw a bed to represent the bed, and then a bed inside a picture frame to represent representation. You can see why I am overusing quotation marks in my post. "Do you mean 'representation' or Representation?" Soon I will be unable to talk. I will be silent, like the Urn, but I will know everything about Truth and Beauty.
I have been silent as a result of the beginning of school. Between figuring out a series of "play-dates" (which is really just a mom-friendly term for "Will you take care of my son while I work?") for Son and figuring out how both Middlebrow and I are going to get to and from school with one car, one bike, the bus and Trax, I have not had much time for contemplating the meaning of life or the status of my imaginative life. Perhaps my imaginative life has no status at present.
I fear I am beginning to exist in Theory World, where words have only contingent meaning. "When you say 'author'" I say to my students, "do you mean 'author' or do you mean 'critic'?" They stare at me blankly. "Are you talking about the 'author function'?" I gave them the whole "Third Bed" speech, and I was happy that I could draw a little stick bed on the board and share with them my prodigious artistic talent. But then I realized I had probably confused them with my picture of the bed, so today I had to revise my speech and draw a bed to represent the bed, and then a bed inside a picture frame to represent representation. You can see why I am overusing quotation marks in my post. "Do you mean 'representation' or Representation?" Soon I will be unable to talk. I will be silent, like the Urn, but I will know everything about Truth and Beauty.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
The Sylynnvia Half-Marathon
My friend Sylvia and I are going to plan and run our own half-marathon. We were going to run the Salt Lake Half-Marathon until we discovered that it is mostly down hill. So on Sunday, September 3, we will run our own 13 mile "race." I'm thinking of having t-shirts made, just to make it official. The upside is that it is also free. We are going to enlist our husbands and sons to be our support crew, providing water, gatorade and cheering at designated mile markers. (Let this serve as an invitation to all you runners who want to join us. . .let me know and I will tell you where/when).
Sylvia's running the Boise Marathon in November, so it will just be a little warm up for her. For me, it will be the culmination of my summer training. When it's over, I think I'm going to follow some kind of triathalon training program. I want to run less and maybe swim more. I'm not quite sure how I will fit in the biking.
After I ran eight-miles this morning, Middlebrow, Son and I went to the farm stand at 9th & 9th and bought peaches, blueberries and corn. I made a Peach-Blueberry cake, which is currently baking and filling the house with amazing smells. We just ate some of the corn for dinner. It was delicious. The past few days we haven't really had anything that would pass for "dinner." More like a few vegetables, some bread or rice, and maybe something else, some leftover beans?, put on a plate. I call it the Farmer's Market dinner. It's best when we get some amazing bread from Crumb Brothers and eat that with some sliced tomatoes. As far as I'm concerned, that's dinner. (Must be the Iowa farm girl in me. . .).
Sylvia's running the Boise Marathon in November, so it will just be a little warm up for her. For me, it will be the culmination of my summer training. When it's over, I think I'm going to follow some kind of triathalon training program. I want to run less and maybe swim more. I'm not quite sure how I will fit in the biking.
After I ran eight-miles this morning, Middlebrow, Son and I went to the farm stand at 9th & 9th and bought peaches, blueberries and corn. I made a Peach-Blueberry cake, which is currently baking and filling the house with amazing smells. We just ate some of the corn for dinner. It was delicious. The past few days we haven't really had anything that would pass for "dinner." More like a few vegetables, some bread or rice, and maybe something else, some leftover beans?, put on a plate. I call it the Farmer's Market dinner. It's best when we get some amazing bread from Crumb Brothers and eat that with some sliced tomatoes. As far as I'm concerned, that's dinner. (Must be the Iowa farm girl in me. . .).
Sunday, August 14, 2005
The Ten-Mile Run
So Friday night I set my alarm for 7. Before I went to bed, I reset it for 7:30. When it went off in the morning, I turned it off. This did not bode well for my (planned) 10 mile run. So by the time I got up and got dressed, it was 9. I drank a lot of water and ate some Skittles. Why not? When I started running, I thought maybe I'll just run 6. Then I thought, well, maybe I'll do 8. So when I finally headed up City Creek, (about 3.5 miles into the run) I thought, I'll just go to the one-mile marker and see how I feel. But I didn't see the one-mile marker and when I got to the 1.5 mile marker, I thought, well, I'm almost to 2. Then I just kept going and I even passed the 3-mile marker, because I didn't see it. As I was running down the hill, I thought, boy, am I going to be sore tomorrow.
I am a bit sore. But I ran the 10 miles (don't ask my time. I had read in a magazine "you can't run the long runs too slow." So I followed that advice) and then I went to a birthday party and ate the world's best Chile Verde and I had a piece of chocolate cake and two margaritas (not in that order). I feel pretty proud of myself. I'm not sure I want to run a half-marathon, but now it certainly seems possible that I could, in fact, finish one. It might take me two and a half hours, but I could finish.
Now, I guess, I'm ready to start preparations to go back to school. As soon as we finish watching the third season of "Six Feet Under."
I am a bit sore. But I ran the 10 miles (don't ask my time. I had read in a magazine "you can't run the long runs too slow." So I followed that advice) and then I went to a birthday party and ate the world's best Chile Verde and I had a piece of chocolate cake and two margaritas (not in that order). I feel pretty proud of myself. I'm not sure I want to run a half-marathon, but now it certainly seems possible that I could, in fact, finish one. It might take me two and a half hours, but I could finish.
Now, I guess, I'm ready to start preparations to go back to school. As soon as we finish watching the third season of "Six Feet Under."
Sunday, August 07, 2005
The (Inevitable) End of Summer or Camping to Avoid Reality
Yes, it's true. Summer is winding to a close. I can hear the theme music rising in the background. I must prepare myself for the credits and the inevitable exit into the glaring sunlight of reality. But first I must go camping with Middlebrow and Son. I, of course, am the instigator of said adventure. Middlebrow likes to go, but he would never suggest it. I don't think he likes sleeping on a thin pad on the ground. I like to go. Mostly I love an excuse to eat hot dogs and smores. I also love hiking and then coming back to camp and wading in the stream to cool off my feet. I like it when my clothes smell like wood smoke. I don't love sleeping on the ground on a thin pad, but maybe we just need better equipment.
Once when MB and I were in grad school we went on a backpacking trip with a few grad school friends. Two of them were a married couple (still married! with child!) who had the best camping gear I've ever seen. We all set up separate tents (them in one, MB and I in another, the three single folks in another). When they got their tent set up and we looked in, well, it was like looking into the Four Seasons from the Motel 6. One of my friends, Gary, hiked up with a can of Cheez Whiz in his backpack and nothing to drink but a bag of wine (he removed the box before cramming the foil wine pouch into his backpack). Another friend, Susan, looked like a toothpick carrying a turtle on her back. At one point she did fall over and couldn't get up. I think the backpack, empty, may have weighed more than her. Yes, this was the famous trip when, in the middle of the night, after listening to me complain that his side of the tent was somehow superior to my side, Middlebrow yelled "You wouldn't last ten seconds on this side of the tent!" In the morning we discovered that MB had been sleeping on the bag of tent stakes all night. It was under the tent. So maybe it's not all about the gear, but is about being smarter, somehow, than the gear.
So tomorrow we head out, not too far, for a few brief days of camping. I'm ashamed to say it is our first and only camping trip this summer. I'm not sure where the summer's gone. . . (don't we say that every year?) but it has been a good one. Camping will provide me with the opportunity to make coffee with a stovetop espresso maker (thank you Tony Caputo's!) and to avoid preparing for the start of school for at least a few more days.
When we return, we will attend a Stinger's game (all praise Thirsty Thursday!), also the first/only of the season. Again, where has the summer gone?
One last note: I cannot claim to have been "successful" at NaNoWriMo (or whatever) but I did write 20,000 words (so far!). I'm not giving up. But I have to scale back my expectations. Maybe I'll try to write 20,000 words next month too. Or something.
In other news, I am going to run a half-marathon in September. I figure if I can run 10 miles this Saturday I can do it. Even if I walk some of it. Hey, it's better than sitting on the couch. And when I finish, I can have a big piece of chocolate cake! (Not right after, but maybe after lunch or something. . . )
Once when MB and I were in grad school we went on a backpacking trip with a few grad school friends. Two of them were a married couple (still married! with child!) who had the best camping gear I've ever seen. We all set up separate tents (them in one, MB and I in another, the three single folks in another). When they got their tent set up and we looked in, well, it was like looking into the Four Seasons from the Motel 6. One of my friends, Gary, hiked up with a can of Cheez Whiz in his backpack and nothing to drink but a bag of wine (he removed the box before cramming the foil wine pouch into his backpack). Another friend, Susan, looked like a toothpick carrying a turtle on her back. At one point she did fall over and couldn't get up. I think the backpack, empty, may have weighed more than her. Yes, this was the famous trip when, in the middle of the night, after listening to me complain that his side of the tent was somehow superior to my side, Middlebrow yelled "You wouldn't last ten seconds on this side of the tent!" In the morning we discovered that MB had been sleeping on the bag of tent stakes all night. It was under the tent. So maybe it's not all about the gear, but is about being smarter, somehow, than the gear.
So tomorrow we head out, not too far, for a few brief days of camping. I'm ashamed to say it is our first and only camping trip this summer. I'm not sure where the summer's gone. . . (don't we say that every year?) but it has been a good one. Camping will provide me with the opportunity to make coffee with a stovetop espresso maker (thank you Tony Caputo's!) and to avoid preparing for the start of school for at least a few more days.
When we return, we will attend a Stinger's game (all praise Thirsty Thursday!), also the first/only of the season. Again, where has the summer gone?
One last note: I cannot claim to have been "successful" at NaNoWriMo (or whatever) but I did write 20,000 words (so far!). I'm not giving up. But I have to scale back my expectations. Maybe I'll try to write 20,000 words next month too. Or something.
In other news, I am going to run a half-marathon in September. I figure if I can run 10 miles this Saturday I can do it. Even if I walk some of it. Hey, it's better than sitting on the couch. And when I finish, I can have a big piece of chocolate cake! (Not right after, but maybe after lunch or something. . . )
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Blog Drought and a Dearth of Intriguing Novels
I apologize for my notable absence. I wish I could say that all my writing prowess is being spent on my amazing (shitty) first draft of my novel. But, alas. I have learned that I am a good every other day writer. I can write 2,000 to 3,000 words, every other day. So my average is good. I want to blame my lack of writing on my amazing fitness schedule. I have been very good on that score. I have been running or swimming every day, with the requiste two days off. And my clothes fit better, though I am sticking with my goal to never step on a scale (except for those yearly visits to the dr). I am tan and fit looking. But I can't seem to give up french fries (for this I blame Middlebrow) or chocolate (no one to blame for this but myself). So I realize I will never look like those women who look like they do nothing all day but lift weights, run and eat protein. But then again, I get to eat chocolate, so screw those health club women. (I feel better now).
In other news, I keep picking up books, wanting desperately to get sucked into a book I can't put down. Then I don't get sucked in and I set the book down, disappointed again. Recently I have started The Corrections (what's up with that first chapter? If I had to read anymore descriptions of the stacks of magazines in various locations around the house, I was going to scream!), The Ten Thousand Things (our book club selection. yawn. I admit it, I am shallow. I don't like books that start with ten page descriptions of the setting. I just don't.), The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (this I liked, but I was at B&N and I didn't want to buy it. But I saw the trailer for the movie and now I want to read it because I want to see the movie), and Summer in the Land of Skin.
Ahem. Just a word about this last one: I am sucked in. Against my will. This book was written by a woman I went to school with at WWU. Middlebrow claims she was "weird" and she did have this weird eye thing. But to me she was just overly sexual. When I first met her we were both teaching intro to writing and we were writing ice breaker lists for our students (you know, find someone who grew up in Idaho, etc.) and the one she wrote is "Find someone who knows what Keigel exercises are." I mean, is this appropriate for Freshman Composition? Then she went on to write a paper about "Sexual Tension in the Classroom." I think sexual tension exists in the classroom, but you don't have to wear see-through white billowy shirts and make it worse. Enough said.
Anyway, the book is actually pretty good. I'm not sure someone who never lived in Bellingham (where it is set) would like it as much. Also: it is "based on" real events. I know that the main character "Arlan" is actually this guy named Arlan. I was friends with him and Middlebrow used to go on benders with him once in awhile. The way he is described in the book: exactly how he looks. And the book is dedicated "To Kathryn" Arlan's girlfriend. Except in the book she's named Lucy and she's kind of a psycho bitch. Anyway, there's lots of sexual tension in the book and I'm only about sixty pages in, and there's already been a masturbation scene. So, I guess I'll read on. Plus, it's like reading someone's diary. Someone you know, who dishes about who slept with whom, and why, all while describing drinks and parts of Bellingham that I miss. Also, I respect her for actually sitting down and writing a book. I mean, she finished it. Who the hell am I to criticize?
The book has made me a bit nostalgic for my time in Bellingham, when I thought I was sexier than I probably was (much like the narrator, Anna), and I spent a little too much time in dark bars (when a bartender, Richard Buckner actually, offered me a free Guiness before noon, I knew I had to stop going there), and when I was a little too self assured about the longevity of said sexiness and my ability to surf that into infinity, and when I drank a little too much (but I also lifted weights and rode my bike everywhere, so it was probably okay), and I lived in a studio apartment and drank coffee from a stovetop espresso maker. Oh, hipness, Where hast thou gone?
In other news, I keep picking up books, wanting desperately to get sucked into a book I can't put down. Then I don't get sucked in and I set the book down, disappointed again. Recently I have started The Corrections (what's up with that first chapter? If I had to read anymore descriptions of the stacks of magazines in various locations around the house, I was going to scream!), The Ten Thousand Things (our book club selection. yawn. I admit it, I am shallow. I don't like books that start with ten page descriptions of the setting. I just don't.), The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (this I liked, but I was at B&N and I didn't want to buy it. But I saw the trailer for the movie and now I want to read it because I want to see the movie), and Summer in the Land of Skin.
Ahem. Just a word about this last one: I am sucked in. Against my will. This book was written by a woman I went to school with at WWU. Middlebrow claims she was "weird" and she did have this weird eye thing. But to me she was just overly sexual. When I first met her we were both teaching intro to writing and we were writing ice breaker lists for our students (you know, find someone who grew up in Idaho, etc.) and the one she wrote is "Find someone who knows what Keigel exercises are." I mean, is this appropriate for Freshman Composition? Then she went on to write a paper about "Sexual Tension in the Classroom." I think sexual tension exists in the classroom, but you don't have to wear see-through white billowy shirts and make it worse. Enough said.
Anyway, the book is actually pretty good. I'm not sure someone who never lived in Bellingham (where it is set) would like it as much. Also: it is "based on" real events. I know that the main character "Arlan" is actually this guy named Arlan. I was friends with him and Middlebrow used to go on benders with him once in awhile. The way he is described in the book: exactly how he looks. And the book is dedicated "To Kathryn" Arlan's girlfriend. Except in the book she's named Lucy and she's kind of a psycho bitch. Anyway, there's lots of sexual tension in the book and I'm only about sixty pages in, and there's already been a masturbation scene. So, I guess I'll read on. Plus, it's like reading someone's diary. Someone you know, who dishes about who slept with whom, and why, all while describing drinks and parts of Bellingham that I miss. Also, I respect her for actually sitting down and writing a book. I mean, she finished it. Who the hell am I to criticize?
The book has made me a bit nostalgic for my time in Bellingham, when I thought I was sexier than I probably was (much like the narrator, Anna), and I spent a little too much time in dark bars (when a bartender, Richard Buckner actually, offered me a free Guiness before noon, I knew I had to stop going there), and when I was a little too self assured about the longevity of said sexiness and my ability to surf that into infinity, and when I drank a little too much (but I also lifted weights and rode my bike everywhere, so it was probably okay), and I lived in a studio apartment and drank coffee from a stovetop espresso maker. Oh, hipness, Where hast thou gone?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Word Count and Pocatello goes Newsweek!
Today's word count: 11,229 (which means I wrote 3,000 words today, but am still behind)
In the Newsweek that arrived today, there was an entire article devoted to people who are buying investment property in my hometown of Pocatello, Idaho. The article said that prices are going up there, and that the University provides a steady pool of renters. Most of the investors had not even visited Pocatello, but had bought their properties through local agents. A few of the real estate agents cautioned that people should actually visit the town before buying there. Granted, housing prices there have languished until recently. When I was in high school, my mom bought a house for $60,000. I think she made a small profit when she sold it, but I drove by it last year and it looked like crap. Whoever bought it had painted the trim green. Anyway, I'm sure it would still sell for much more that $60,000. Pocatello might have below average housing costs, but it lacks one thing that makes sure that houses increase in value: jobs. Since I lived there, it seems like jobs have been leaving the area in a steady stream. Another thing: there are maybe two decent restaurants in the whole town. Sometimes good restaurants open, but just as quickly they close.
On the bright side, Poky does have a good, independent bookstore: The Walrus and Carpenter, downtown. But the downtown is so pitiful and has been for so long, that I'm not sure it can be saved. My best friend's mom once owned a funky toy shop downtown, but it closed. She also owned one of those good restaurants, with amazing soup, but it also closed. The one consistent good source of food: Buddy's. Salad and pizza. I am also pleased to note that on our last pass through Pocatello, I stopped (for nostalgic reasons) for a Space Burger at the Tastee Freeze. It wasn't as good as I remembered, but it was about the same, so maybe I've changed. (At least I hope so. The 80's hair is gone, at least).
In the Newsweek that arrived today, there was an entire article devoted to people who are buying investment property in my hometown of Pocatello, Idaho. The article said that prices are going up there, and that the University provides a steady pool of renters. Most of the investors had not even visited Pocatello, but had bought their properties through local agents. A few of the real estate agents cautioned that people should actually visit the town before buying there. Granted, housing prices there have languished until recently. When I was in high school, my mom bought a house for $60,000. I think she made a small profit when she sold it, but I drove by it last year and it looked like crap. Whoever bought it had painted the trim green. Anyway, I'm sure it would still sell for much more that $60,000. Pocatello might have below average housing costs, but it lacks one thing that makes sure that houses increase in value: jobs. Since I lived there, it seems like jobs have been leaving the area in a steady stream. Another thing: there are maybe two decent restaurants in the whole town. Sometimes good restaurants open, but just as quickly they close.
On the bright side, Poky does have a good, independent bookstore: The Walrus and Carpenter, downtown. But the downtown is so pitiful and has been for so long, that I'm not sure it can be saved. My best friend's mom once owned a funky toy shop downtown, but it closed. She also owned one of those good restaurants, with amazing soup, but it also closed. The one consistent good source of food: Buddy's. Salad and pizza. I am also pleased to note that on our last pass through Pocatello, I stopped (for nostalgic reasons) for a Space Burger at the Tastee Freeze. It wasn't as good as I remembered, but it was about the same, so maybe I've changed. (At least I hope so. The 80's hair is gone, at least).
Monday, July 18, 2005
Live from the Salt Lake City Library!
I am having one of those "urban moments." I came here to our lovely downtown library to work on my (somewhat failing) novel month adventure. I did okay, writing the requisite 2,000 words to make up for my three slacker days. So now I'm up to 8,591 words. And my character, Kate, actually left the house and had a conversation with another person. So that's good.
Middlebrow and I (okay, most Middlebrow) have been cleaning in anticipation of City Clean Up. We put our old swamp cooler out on the curb yesterday. In what must be some kind of Clean Up record, it was promptly picked up by a man with two children in a Suzuki SUV of some kind. I think the elapsed time between setting it out and him taking it was maybe 20 seconds. Maybe.
That's my update from Novel/Library headquarters. I must run now, so I do not receive a ticket on the car.
Middlebrow and I (okay, most Middlebrow) have been cleaning in anticipation of City Clean Up. We put our old swamp cooler out on the curb yesterday. In what must be some kind of Clean Up record, it was promptly picked up by a man with two children in a Suzuki SUV of some kind. I think the elapsed time between setting it out and him taking it was maybe 20 seconds. Maybe.
That's my update from Novel/Library headquarters. I must run now, so I do not receive a ticket on the car.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Park City Writers' Retreat
I have just returned from my 24 hour writers' retreat with two friends from Writers at Work. The retreat was at a board member's house. We sat on her deck and wrote; went to a coffee shop for lunch and "writing" (I talked to Sylvia and browsed for books); went back to the house for writing & reading; went for a 2 hour hike; drank wine at another writer/friends house; went back to Retreat Central; took showers while our hostess made Pork Loin stuffed with feta, apricots and spinach!; ate "dinner" around 9:30 on the patio while we drank wine. I read a chapter of Angle of Repose before going to sleep. Got up around 7:30 this morning for a bit of yoga, coffee, fruit salad, and toast on the patio while we watched a few hot air balloons pass overhead. All in all, it was like going on vacation, even though I was only half-an-hour away. It was nice. I did miss Son and Middle-brow. I wished, for a few minutes, that we had our own cabin/retreat, but one that was far, far away from other people. It could be my writing cabin/summer home. Sounds good, doesn't it?
I think I am behind now on my word count. I didn't write at all on Thursday (I was trying to give Middlebrow the whole day since I left on Friday). Yesterday I wrote by hand, so I probably only wrote a thousand words. So I have to catch up today and tomorrow.
Middlebrow is urging me to finish. He wants to go furniture shopping. We really want to put the old couch out on the curb for City Clean Up.
I think I am behind now on my word count. I didn't write at all on Thursday (I was trying to give Middlebrow the whole day since I left on Friday). Yesterday I wrote by hand, so I probably only wrote a thousand words. So I have to catch up today and tomorrow.
Middlebrow is urging me to finish. He wants to go furniture shopping. We really want to put the old couch out on the curb for City Clean Up.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Writing the Novel AND Why I Hate The Historian
I started my attempt at National Novel Writing Month (known as NaNoWriMo). On the first day the word count goal is 1,667 words (or something). I wrote 2, 450. I think it's the only day I will be ahead, so I'm bragging. Don't ask me next week when I'm behind by 5,000 or so words. Shall I share one line from my new version of the novel I've been working on? Okay, I just looked at what I wrote and I can't bear to reveal any of it here. Which must mean I am taking NaNoWriMo to heart and have kenneled my Inner Editor. So you'll just have to wait until August 12 (the day after I finish my novel!) to see if I can bear to reveal any of it here, to you, my faithful readers.
In other news, I am incredibly irritated by the release and instant Best Seller status of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. First, Random House paid two million dollars for the book, so of course they are going to promote the hell out of it (articles in Time and Newsweek; full page ads in The New York Times and New Yorker, etc, etc, etc.). Second, it's getting press for no other reason than. . . Random House paid two million for it. "It's the next DaVinci Code!" As if we all needed another reason NOT to read it. But at least the New York Times didn't fall in line and praise it. Henry Alford (the reviewer) didn't hate it, but he hated the tricks it employed and the many references in the book to "writing" or "scrivenings." He said it makes him feel "ready to skin a small animal." Ha!
But the most irritating thing, to me, is that BookSense (the consortium of small book sellers) has chosen The Historian as it's top pick for this month. Why? Does this book need any more support? To me, the point of small bookstores is to tell me about the books I wouldn't normally hear about, the small, quiet book that might never make the Best Seller list, but should; the book that will quietly continue to sell decades after the DaVinci Codes and Historians are taking up space in used book stores. Every time I look at the Fiction Best Seller list I want to weep. There is no book on the hardback Fiction list that I even want to read! On paperback, I am happy that The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is there. It redeems the otherwise lowbrow selection. On the paperback NonFiction, I'm happy to see David Sedaris maintaining his reign. Actually, the nonfiction list is suprisingly good: Malcom Gladwell's book is there, as is The Devil in the White City, and Guns, Germs, and Steel, and Under the Banner of Heaven. So the nonfiction list gives us reason for hope. I should switch to nonfiction?
Well. Please join with me in not reading The Historian (or at least check it out of the library rather than buying it). Instead, visit your local small bookstore and ask them to recommend a book you've never heard of by a writer you've never heard of but will love. Middlebrow has promised to argue with people who insist that The Historian is a good book, even though he refuses to read it. Can you get more Middlebrow than that?
In other news, I am incredibly irritated by the release and instant Best Seller status of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. First, Random House paid two million dollars for the book, so of course they are going to promote the hell out of it (articles in Time and Newsweek; full page ads in The New York Times and New Yorker, etc, etc, etc.). Second, it's getting press for no other reason than. . . Random House paid two million for it. "It's the next DaVinci Code!" As if we all needed another reason NOT to read it. But at least the New York Times didn't fall in line and praise it. Henry Alford (the reviewer) didn't hate it, but he hated the tricks it employed and the many references in the book to "writing" or "scrivenings." He said it makes him feel "ready to skin a small animal." Ha!
But the most irritating thing, to me, is that BookSense (the consortium of small book sellers) has chosen The Historian as it's top pick for this month. Why? Does this book need any more support? To me, the point of small bookstores is to tell me about the books I wouldn't normally hear about, the small, quiet book that might never make the Best Seller list, but should; the book that will quietly continue to sell decades after the DaVinci Codes and Historians are taking up space in used book stores. Every time I look at the Fiction Best Seller list I want to weep. There is no book on the hardback Fiction list that I even want to read! On paperback, I am happy that The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is there. It redeems the otherwise lowbrow selection. On the paperback NonFiction, I'm happy to see David Sedaris maintaining his reign. Actually, the nonfiction list is suprisingly good: Malcom Gladwell's book is there, as is The Devil in the White City, and Guns, Germs, and Steel, and Under the Banner of Heaven. So the nonfiction list gives us reason for hope. I should switch to nonfiction?
Well. Please join with me in not reading The Historian (or at least check it out of the library rather than buying it). Instead, visit your local small bookstore and ask them to recommend a book you've never heard of by a writer you've never heard of but will love. Middlebrow has promised to argue with people who insist that The Historian is a good book, even though he refuses to read it. Can you get more Middlebrow than that?
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Mosquito Bites, Cowboy Boots, Alcohol
Here's my postcard from Island Park: we were beset by mosquitos, due to the incredibly wet spring, everyone got way too many bites. The highlight of the trip, for me, was the purchase of Son's new cowboy boots in West Yellowstone. We had looked at boots in Park City, where the cost was beyond prohibitive ($50). But we found a pair on sale in West Yellowstone. Son put them on immediately, with his shorts, and walked around town with his hands in his pockets, a decided swagger in his step. We had seen Old Faithful earlier, waded into the Madison, seen an eagle, a moose and some elk, but the trip was all about the boots. Son was disappointed that he didn't get to see a Real Cowboy, but I promised him that some live around Salt Lake and that we would go on an expedition to find one. I also told him we might see a cowboy or two at the Fair, when it comes to town (last year the highlight for him was the Butter Cow).
Aside from the mosquito bites, the trip was really marked by excessive consumption of beer, and the best margaritas I've had for awhile (it was the fresh limes and the company, I'm guessing).
Oh, did I mention that someone forgot to put my bag in the car? That's okay. I purchased a Supergirl T-shirt (selected by Middlebrow) at the K-Mart in Rexburg along with a pair of shorts. So I had two outfits for the trip.
The mosquito bites hardly even itch anymore. Did I mention how much I love showers? I love showers. Just when I think I am reviving my brief stint as a Nature Girl, I run smack into the brick wall of my own love of Modern Conveniences, such as showers and indoor plumbing and the refrigeration that gives us ice to be the rocks in our margaritas. Sigh. I should just let Middlebrow convince me of the sanity of car camping. It's true that ice does not do well with the whole backpacking ethos.
Ahh, it's good to be back home!
Aside from the mosquito bites, the trip was really marked by excessive consumption of beer, and the best margaritas I've had for awhile (it was the fresh limes and the company, I'm guessing).
Oh, did I mention that someone forgot to put my bag in the car? That's okay. I purchased a Supergirl T-shirt (selected by Middlebrow) at the K-Mart in Rexburg along with a pair of shorts. So I had two outfits for the trip.
The mosquito bites hardly even itch anymore. Did I mention how much I love showers? I love showers. Just when I think I am reviving my brief stint as a Nature Girl, I run smack into the brick wall of my own love of Modern Conveniences, such as showers and indoor plumbing and the refrigeration that gives us ice to be the rocks in our margaritas. Sigh. I should just let Middlebrow convince me of the sanity of car camping. It's true that ice does not do well with the whole backpacking ethos.
Ahh, it's good to be back home!
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Not Drowning, But Waving
No, I have not abandoned the bloggerhood. I have been consumed with family visits and some other things, only I can't remember what they are. My mother and her husband visited from Phoenix. They got a condo in Park City and we all went up and stayed there. It was much cooler and this visit was the best yet to PC, I think because I went for a run each day on the Rail Trail. Despite how great PC is, it is also terribly depressing. Evidence: art galleries. There are too many on Main Street and what they sell can only loosely be called "art." I'd call it western kitch or it-will-match-your-color-scheme. We did find one cool gallery, Coda, with amazing paintings and some cool handmade furniture and interesting metal work. In my opinion, it was the only art there.
The other depressing thing about PC is the incredible development. We drove up to Guardsman Pass (?), and there is so much building going on up there, it made me sick. Tons of houses. PC is going to become just like Estes Park or Aspen or Sun Valley. It will be killed by too much development and then the reason it was so interesting in the first place will cease to exist and what will be left? Lots of fancy hotels and resorts and condos for people who don't really like the outdoors (because they've destroyed it with their Hummers and "cabins"), but who like to look at "nature" from their million dollar decks. But soon they will just be looking at other million dollar decks. sigh.
So that's my rant for the day.
We're off to Island Park for a few days to stay with my dad and his wife. My sister will be in from Michigan with her two kids. Son is very excited about playing catch with lone boy cousin. Much bonding will happen, I'm sure, especially over Smores.
The other depressing thing about PC is the incredible development. We drove up to Guardsman Pass (?), and there is so much building going on up there, it made me sick. Tons of houses. PC is going to become just like Estes Park or Aspen or Sun Valley. It will be killed by too much development and then the reason it was so interesting in the first place will cease to exist and what will be left? Lots of fancy hotels and resorts and condos for people who don't really like the outdoors (because they've destroyed it with their Hummers and "cabins"), but who like to look at "nature" from their million dollar decks. But soon they will just be looking at other million dollar decks. sigh.
So that's my rant for the day.
We're off to Island Park for a few days to stay with my dad and his wife. My sister will be in from Michigan with her two kids. Son is very excited about playing catch with lone boy cousin. Much bonding will happen, I'm sure, especially over Smores.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Of Bill Murray, the New TV, & the End of W@W
First things first: Last night Middlebrow and I watched "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." Despite the fact that it included, in addition to Bill Murray, my other favorites Owen Wilson and Willem DaFoe, the movie was not good. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was incoherent. I didn't care about any of the characters, despite being predisposed to love Bill Murray in just about anything. It was visually stunning at times, but about halfway through it underwent a bizarre genre shift to action/adventure. The highlight, I have to say, was the Portugese versions of David Bowie songs.
Second things: Middlebrow gave in to my hysterical whining and purchased a new TV this morning so that I could watch Wimbeldon coverage. Our old TV (which we bought just months after moving to SLC, once we got bored of drinking margaritas and playing Spite and Malice, because we were the only people we knew in SLC. I can't remember the first movie we watched on it, but that was seven years ago) mysteriously "broke" this morning after we let Son do some unsupervised TV viewing, because he woke up at 5 a.m. Why, you ask, did he wake up at 5 a.m.? It seems that, unbeknownst to MB and DW, who were watching the movie, last night Son got out of bed and changed out of his pull-up and back into his underwear. Around 5 a.m. his bladder gave out, prompting him to undress in the middle of the kitchen and then run into our bedroom proclaiming, "I pooped in my pants!" I didn't know about the furtive wardrobe change, but found the pull-up wedged between his closet and his small dresser. Ah, children! The joys, etc!
Let me just say that the new TV is so worth it. I got to watch a fantastic match between Roddick and Grosjean (whose first name is Sebastian, btw). And now I can watch the matches between Venus and Sharapova (go Venus! I have to root for Venus. It's her comeback!), and between Davenport and Mauresmo (I will most likely root for Lindsay, because she's American, but I really don't care who wins. It will be a fantastic match, I predict.)
And in Writers at Work wrap-up: The final reading was quite good, with Michael Downing my absolute favorite. His reading from Breakfast with Scot was funny and touching. Pam Houston's reading was fine, but a little fast. I'd already read the book, so I knew what was coming. I had to leave the reading early so I could help arrange the fabulous food: bruschetta from Martine, salmon from Wild Oats, salads from Noodles & Co, wine from a box. What could be better? Oh, and desserts from The Paris (I especially love the pecan/chocolate pie thing). See how the readings get one line and the food gets three? I have my priorities straight. Kevin McIlvoy is overall my favorite person. Ever. Without reading any of my novel, he gave me many ideas to get me restarted. So I'm indebted to him. And my favorite reading was the Young Writers. Some amazing, amazing stuff. Very impressive. Richard Frost was a close second, mostly because he was so surprising. He seemed like a very mild mannered sweetheart (which he is) but his poems were funny and shocking and great. See his "For My Brother" if you need some proof.
Next year (so far) we have lined up Suzanne Paola (for nonfiction) and Bruce Beasley (for poetry). We also hope to bring FC2 (publisher/editor) and someone from a poetry press, like Graywolf. We are also bringing Susan Strayed for the Young Writers.
I'm enjoying the perfect weather and the fact that I have no obligations for the next week or so. My mother and her husband arrive Friday and we will be spending some time with them in Park City over the next week. Then we head up to Island Park next week to see my dad, and my sister and her kids who are flying in from Michigan. Family mania!
Second things: Middlebrow gave in to my hysterical whining and purchased a new TV this morning so that I could watch Wimbeldon coverage. Our old TV (which we bought just months after moving to SLC, once we got bored of drinking margaritas and playing Spite and Malice, because we were the only people we knew in SLC. I can't remember the first movie we watched on it, but that was seven years ago) mysteriously "broke" this morning after we let Son do some unsupervised TV viewing, because he woke up at 5 a.m. Why, you ask, did he wake up at 5 a.m.? It seems that, unbeknownst to MB and DW, who were watching the movie, last night Son got out of bed and changed out of his pull-up and back into his underwear. Around 5 a.m. his bladder gave out, prompting him to undress in the middle of the kitchen and then run into our bedroom proclaiming, "I pooped in my pants!" I didn't know about the furtive wardrobe change, but found the pull-up wedged between his closet and his small dresser. Ah, children! The joys, etc!
Let me just say that the new TV is so worth it. I got to watch a fantastic match between Roddick and Grosjean (whose first name is Sebastian, btw). And now I can watch the matches between Venus and Sharapova (go Venus! I have to root for Venus. It's her comeback!), and between Davenport and Mauresmo (I will most likely root for Lindsay, because she's American, but I really don't care who wins. It will be a fantastic match, I predict.)
And in Writers at Work wrap-up: The final reading was quite good, with Michael Downing my absolute favorite. His reading from Breakfast with Scot was funny and touching. Pam Houston's reading was fine, but a little fast. I'd already read the book, so I knew what was coming. I had to leave the reading early so I could help arrange the fabulous food: bruschetta from Martine, salmon from Wild Oats, salads from Noodles & Co, wine from a box. What could be better? Oh, and desserts from The Paris (I especially love the pecan/chocolate pie thing). See how the readings get one line and the food gets three? I have my priorities straight. Kevin McIlvoy is overall my favorite person. Ever. Without reading any of my novel, he gave me many ideas to get me restarted. So I'm indebted to him. And my favorite reading was the Young Writers. Some amazing, amazing stuff. Very impressive. Richard Frost was a close second, mostly because he was so surprising. He seemed like a very mild mannered sweetheart (which he is) but his poems were funny and shocking and great. See his "For My Brother" if you need some proof.
Next year (so far) we have lined up Suzanne Paola (for nonfiction) and Bruce Beasley (for poetry). We also hope to bring FC2 (publisher/editor) and someone from a poetry press, like Graywolf. We are also bringing Susan Strayed for the Young Writers.
I'm enjoying the perfect weather and the fact that I have no obligations for the next week or so. My mother and her husband arrive Friday and we will be spending some time with them in Park City over the next week. Then we head up to Island Park next week to see my dad, and my sister and her kids who are flying in from Michigan. Family mania!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Another Day, Another Dinner
Last night was Brenda Miller's reading. She read some great stuff, two pieces from her first collection (one of which appears on brevity, it's called "Split"). I felt very inspired to write more after her reading which, for me, is a sign of great work. It's inspirational. She and I also had some great discussion (earlier, when we were shopping instead of hiking) about making the classroom a more contemplative/reflective space. I think all the teaching of argument I've done in the past seven years has worn me down. Brenda is attending a workshop at Smith about meditation and education, so I look forward to hearing more about it from her. After our discussions I decided in the next creative writing class I teach I'm going to bring "objects" and require students to write about them: a loaf of bread, a flower, a photograph, an orange. The best essays, in my mind, are those that range broadly and freely, and usually begin from stopping and looking deeply at something, even for just a moment. So my time with Brenda has really helped me to start thinking about teaching in a different way, and ways teachers can set up or influence the space/feeling of the classroom.
After Brenda's reading, the board and faculty went to an amazing house in Federal Heights for a dinner. It was great. The view was fantastic, the company/conversation was fun, the woman who hosted us was gracious. Her husband is retired and has taken up photography so there were amazing huge photographs of flowers all over the house. Truly wonderful. And the dessert! Let's just say I love chocolate and I love layer cake, so there you have it.
I stayed up too late, but managed to make my consultation this morning. Carol was a generous reader and gave me many good suggestions for improving my story. Actually, after the consultation I felt a little down. Not because of her comments, but because I don't really want to work on the story. I'm not sure if it's because I'm lazy or if I've just moved beyond that story. She did like the characters and encouraged me to revise it. I think I'm just exhausted. Maybe next week I'll feel like working on it.
Tonight is the booksigning at The King's English, followed by readings by John Vernon and Richard Frost. Then my friend and I are going out to dinner with the agent. More tomorrow.
After Brenda's reading, the board and faculty went to an amazing house in Federal Heights for a dinner. It was great. The view was fantastic, the company/conversation was fun, the woman who hosted us was gracious. Her husband is retired and has taken up photography so there were amazing huge photographs of flowers all over the house. Truly wonderful. And the dessert! Let's just say I love chocolate and I love layer cake, so there you have it.
I stayed up too late, but managed to make my consultation this morning. Carol was a generous reader and gave me many good suggestions for improving my story. Actually, after the consultation I felt a little down. Not because of her comments, but because I don't really want to work on the story. I'm not sure if it's because I'm lazy or if I've just moved beyond that story. She did like the characters and encouraged me to revise it. I think I'm just exhausted. Maybe next week I'll feel like working on it.
Tonight is the booksigning at The King's English, followed by readings by John Vernon and Richard Frost. Then my friend and I are going out to dinner with the agent. More tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Dispatch from the Writing Conference
No great crises to report. All the writers are lovely. I'm especially taken with Michael Downing, Crystal Williams, and Kevin McIlvoy. All are generous, funny, delightful to be around.
Kevin McIlvoy gave a fantastic reading last night, reading two stories, "Ice" and "Smoke," from his collection The Complete History of New Mexico. He's a great reader and the stories have great voices, distinct and individual. I think "Ice" is as close to a perfect story as I've heard. It has everything I like: voice, idea, some plot, and, most important to me recently, heart. Mac is a writer that exemplifies the principle of heart. He is giving as a writer and as person.
Last night we all went to The Pub for a few pints and some chit chat. We talked about writing, of course, but also the state of the world, gay mormons, the documentary "The Smiths," life in Salt Lake City, the lack of affordable day care for working mothers. You know, the basics.
Tonight is Brenda Miller's reading. I'm introducing her, so I'd better get to writing that darn thing. I bought a sexy new shirt/sweater combo that I'm debuting tonight at a fancy soiree that was supposed to be a "out-by-the-pool" party. It may be an indoor party now. Oh well. I'm just hoping for one perfect martini that's so dirty, it's pornographic.
I'll report tomorrow on my consultation with Carol Houck Smith, an editor from Norton. I gave her one of my stories entitled "When I Say Idaho." I already know she doesn't love it (she hinted), but I'm hoping she'll have some good suggestions for how I can improve it.
Oh: David Hamilton from the Iowa Review is also very sweet and nice. So all you poets, send him your work!
Kevin McIlvoy gave a fantastic reading last night, reading two stories, "Ice" and "Smoke," from his collection The Complete History of New Mexico. He's a great reader and the stories have great voices, distinct and individual. I think "Ice" is as close to a perfect story as I've heard. It has everything I like: voice, idea, some plot, and, most important to me recently, heart. Mac is a writer that exemplifies the principle of heart. He is giving as a writer and as person.
Last night we all went to The Pub for a few pints and some chit chat. We talked about writing, of course, but also the state of the world, gay mormons, the documentary "The Smiths," life in Salt Lake City, the lack of affordable day care for working mothers. You know, the basics.
Tonight is Brenda Miller's reading. I'm introducing her, so I'd better get to writing that darn thing. I bought a sexy new shirt/sweater combo that I'm debuting tonight at a fancy soiree that was supposed to be a "out-by-the-pool" party. It may be an indoor party now. Oh well. I'm just hoping for one perfect martini that's so dirty, it's pornographic.
I'll report tomorrow on my consultation with Carol Houck Smith, an editor from Norton. I gave her one of my stories entitled "When I Say Idaho." I already know she doesn't love it (she hinted), but I'm hoping she'll have some good suggestions for how I can improve it.
Oh: David Hamilton from the Iowa Review is also very sweet and nice. So all you poets, send him your work!
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