News flash ... or should I say flash news?
The master of the "flash" form of literary nonfiction, Gretchen Clark, is back this month with "A Hot Spot" on Flashquake.
Stay tuned. From what I hear, there are more stories in the publishing pipeline.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Land of Enchantment
From Albuquerque we drive north in our rented Ford Escort, playing “The Vanishing Breed” over and over.
It’s cloudy but warm and the landscape looks a lot like California at first, but as we follow the Turquoise Trail into the hills, everything changes. The ground rises, rocky and dotted with sage brush. We round a bend and everything is green. A forest of small trees spreads out before us.
All the while Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble work their magic.
The workplace is all but forgotten.
The land is an odd combination of very flat and very hilly. We stop along the roadside to retrieve some snacks from the trunk and see our first arroyo on the other side of a barbed-wire fence where three cows graze.
We’re not in any hurry. We can do whatever we want. It’s an uncommon feeling, and we like it.
That was my first impression of New Mexico, a state my wife and I have visited many times since. I'm thinking fondly of the Land of Enchantment right now because I just got word from the Blue Mesa Review that I'm one of five finalists in its annual short story contest.
Wish me luck!
It’s cloudy but warm and the landscape looks a lot like California at first, but as we follow the Turquoise Trail into the hills, everything changes. The ground rises, rocky and dotted with sage brush. We round a bend and everything is green. A forest of small trees spreads out before us.
All the while Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble work their magic.
The workplace is all but forgotten.
The land is an odd combination of very flat and very hilly. We stop along the roadside to retrieve some snacks from the trunk and see our first arroyo on the other side of a barbed-wire fence where three cows graze.
We’re not in any hurry. We can do whatever we want. It’s an uncommon feeling, and we like it.
That was my first impression of New Mexico, a state my wife and I have visited many times since. I'm thinking fondly of the Land of Enchantment right now because I just got word from the Blue Mesa Review that I'm one of five finalists in its annual short story contest.
Wish me luck!
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Debate Continues
Another writer I respect (who has not read Eat, Pray, Love) is of the opinion that making a book deal in advance can change your perspective.
Her guess: "What you focus on, what you write down, is not as organic, as intuitive, as just fully experiencing in the moment."
She imagines the writer would have to feel "pressure to make a 'good' or certain kind of book."
Which makes me think of Larry David's reaction when the Seinfeld series was picked up. He was, he has said, terrified. How was he going to come up with a whole season's worth of stories?
Gilbert must have felt the same sort of pressure as she traveled through Italy, India, and Indonesia. Could she really turn her experiences and her reflections into a book anyone would want to read?
Let's face it, though, deadlines and commitments are how an awful lot of writing gets done.
But I suppose the real issue here is that we're talking about a memoir.
"What then is the difference here between memoir and reportage?" Gretchen wonders.
I'd say that Gilbert was in effect reporting on herself. Kind of like writing a travel book with a unique theme and highly personal perspective.
She contrived to bare her soul and, in large part, succeeded.
She may have skipped over some things and shrouded others — either to protect herself or please her readers — but nobody tells the whole truth.
Her guess: "What you focus on, what you write down, is not as organic, as intuitive, as just fully experiencing in the moment."
She imagines the writer would have to feel "pressure to make a 'good' or certain kind of book."
Which makes me think of Larry David's reaction when the Seinfeld series was picked up. He was, he has said, terrified. How was he going to come up with a whole season's worth of stories?
Gilbert must have felt the same sort of pressure as she traveled through Italy, India, and Indonesia. Could she really turn her experiences and her reflections into a book anyone would want to read?
Let's face it, though, deadlines and commitments are how an awful lot of writing gets done.
But I suppose the real issue here is that we're talking about a memoir.
"What then is the difference here between memoir and reportage?" Gretchen wonders.
I'd say that Gilbert was in effect reporting on herself. Kind of like writing a travel book with a unique theme and highly personal perspective.
She contrived to bare her soul and, in large part, succeeded.
She may have skipped over some things and shrouded others — either to protect herself or please her readers — but nobody tells the whole truth.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Anthropology, Physics, and the Memoir
A close friend started reading Eat, Pray, Love — one of the most engaging books I've read in years — and couldn't make it past page 87. His chief complaint: the author had secured a book deal before setting forth on her journey of self-discovery.
"After reading that, everything felt manipulated and controlled and fake. This wasn’t a personal, see-where-the-wind-takes-me journey. This was a planned-out literary event hashed out beforehand in New York," he writes in his highly entertaining blog.
I was stunned.
Every trip I've ever taken has been planned to one degree or another, and yet my experiences have always been unique, spontaneous, and real. Or so it seemed.
Why begrudge Elizabeth Gilbert her book deal? How else was she going to get to Italy, India, and Indonesia?
How did Richard Goodman find the wherewithal to write French Dirt: The Story of a Garden in the South of France? He doesn't say. Great book, though.
The problem with such books, I suppose, is that they are all a bit self-conscious. Of course that's also their greatest strength. Gilbert's strength is that she watches herself and others very closely.
Anthropologists tell us that the mere act of observing changes the thing you're observing. I gather that's even true in particle physics, where particles behave differently when you train a high-speed camera on them. (See What the Bleep!? Down the Rabbit Hole.)
If that's the case, then everything we read or say or observe has to be considered a bit unreal.
Just enjoy it, I say.
"After reading that, everything felt manipulated and controlled and fake. This wasn’t a personal, see-where-the-wind-takes-me journey. This was a planned-out literary event hashed out beforehand in New York," he writes in his highly entertaining blog.
I was stunned.
Every trip I've ever taken has been planned to one degree or another, and yet my experiences have always been unique, spontaneous, and real. Or so it seemed.
Why begrudge Elizabeth Gilbert her book deal? How else was she going to get to Italy, India, and Indonesia?
How did Richard Goodman find the wherewithal to write French Dirt: The Story of a Garden in the South of France? He doesn't say. Great book, though.
The problem with such books, I suppose, is that they are all a bit self-conscious. Of course that's also their greatest strength. Gilbert's strength is that she watches herself and others very closely.
Anthropologists tell us that the mere act of observing changes the thing you're observing. I gather that's even true in particle physics, where particles behave differently when you train a high-speed camera on them. (See What the Bleep!? Down the Rabbit Hole.)
If that's the case, then everything we read or say or observe has to be considered a bit unreal.
Just enjoy it, I say.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Truth
My friend's father prefers non-fiction books.
"You know why?" he said to me. "Because they're true."
I let it go.
I happen to prefer fiction. You know why? Because, in some ways at least, it's truer.
Writers of both fiction and non-fiction use a lot of the same narrative techniques and have to make a lot of the same choices as they craft their stories — what to leave in, what to leave out; where to start, where to stop — so that in the end the difference between a novel and, say, a memoir can be a little hazy.
One of my favorite memoirs, James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, was famously exposed as, well ... fiction. Turns out Frey had exaggerated everything that happened to him. And I could understand why. It made a better story. His defense: It was still true on an emotional level.
I can buy that. But he should have called the book what it was: a novel.
On the other hand, even the best biographies and histories and accounts of current events aren't really true. Why? Because writers have to make choices. They can't include everything, but everything they leave out makes the story a little less true.
Everything they add changes the truth of what they've already written.
Novelists make the same choices, of course, but they have more freedom. They aren't hampered by an inability to get all the facts. They can make them up. Yet the best fiction ends up being as true-to-life as the best non-fiction. More so in many cases.
"You know why?" he said to me. "Because they're true."
I let it go.
I happen to prefer fiction. You know why? Because, in some ways at least, it's truer.
Writers of both fiction and non-fiction use a lot of the same narrative techniques and have to make a lot of the same choices as they craft their stories — what to leave in, what to leave out; where to start, where to stop — so that in the end the difference between a novel and, say, a memoir can be a little hazy.
One of my favorite memoirs, James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, was famously exposed as, well ... fiction. Turns out Frey had exaggerated everything that happened to him. And I could understand why. It made a better story. His defense: It was still true on an emotional level.
I can buy that. But he should have called the book what it was: a novel.
On the other hand, even the best biographies and histories and accounts of current events aren't really true. Why? Because writers have to make choices. They can't include everything, but everything they leave out makes the story a little less true.
Everything they add changes the truth of what they've already written.
Novelists make the same choices, of course, but they have more freedom. They aren't hampered by an inability to get all the facts. They can make them up. Yet the best fiction ends up being as true-to-life as the best non-fiction. More so in many cases.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Hip Mamma
My little sister has done it again.
(Okay, she's really my sister-in-law, but I think of her as the younger sister I never had.)
What she's done is publish another essay. This one in Hip Mama, "a magazine bursting with political commentary and ribald tales from the front lines of motherhood."
What I like about her latest creation, "Clear Blue (but not so) Easy," is that it's written with style and courage.
It's very personal and very real.
Check it out.
(Okay, she's really my sister-in-law, but I think of her as the younger sister I never had.)
What she's done is publish another essay. This one in Hip Mama, "a magazine bursting with political commentary and ribald tales from the front lines of motherhood."
What I like about her latest creation, "Clear Blue (but not so) Easy," is that it's written with style and courage.
It's very personal and very real.
Check it out.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Best Ones
Here are my choices for the best of 2007 ...
Best song I never would have heard if not for the iPod ads: "1234," by Feist.
Best song I never would have heard if not for the TV show John from Cincinnati: "Johnny Appleseed," by Joe Strummer.
Best continuation of a brilliant career: Magic, by Bruce Springsteen.
Best movie I haven't seen yet: Juno.
Quirky comedy that deserved better: The Darjeeling Limited.
Breakout paperback sensation: Eat, Pray, Love.
Evocative book title: Like You'd Understand, Anyway.
Best essay by a much admired family member: "Testing: One, Two, Three?"
Best blog: Chimichangas at Sunset.
Cutest dog ever: Bodie.
Best new TV series: John from Cincinnati.
Best magazine article: Fast Company's November cover story: "This Mechanic Can Get You 100 MPG (Why Can't Detroit?)."
Best novel I've read in the past year: The Lay of the Land, by Richard Ford.
Best road trip: Along the coast to Santa Barbara.
Woman of the year (this year and every year): Joanne Riske.
Best song I never would have heard if not for the iPod ads: "1234," by Feist.
Best song I never would have heard if not for the TV show John from Cincinnati: "Johnny Appleseed," by Joe Strummer.
Best continuation of a brilliant career: Magic, by Bruce Springsteen.
Best movie I haven't seen yet: Juno.
Quirky comedy that deserved better: The Darjeeling Limited.
Breakout paperback sensation: Eat, Pray, Love.
Evocative book title: Like You'd Understand, Anyway.
Best essay by a much admired family member: "Testing: One, Two, Three?"
Best blog: Chimichangas at Sunset.
Cutest dog ever: Bodie.
Best new TV series: John from Cincinnati.
Best magazine article: Fast Company's November cover story: "This Mechanic Can Get You 100 MPG (Why Can't Detroit?)."
Best novel I've read in the past year: The Lay of the Land, by Richard Ford.
Best road trip: Along the coast to Santa Barbara.
Woman of the year (this year and every year): Joanne Riske.
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