Our Time in the Mediteranean

Here's what I liked best ...

• Spaghetti with clams at Ristorante da Donato, around the corner from our hotel in Rome.
• Seeing Trevi Fountain again, the Spanish Steps, and a bit of the Borghese Gardens.
• The rooftop bar of the Albergo del Senato, where we stayed, on the same square as the Pantheon.
• Being able to walk everywhere from there—the Coliseum, the Forum, St. Peter's.
• Ordering iced tea and being asked if I want peach tea, because, yes, in fact, I do.
• Dark chocolate gelato from Giolitti.
• Death by Chocolate at Tre Scalini on the Piazza Navona.
• Coming into Genoa by ship and seeing the city from the water.
• Lying flat on our backs on the ship's helipad late at night, seeing the true brightness of the stars, and understanding how the Milky Way got its name.
• Gnocchi with pesto at Ristorante il Pozzo in Monterosso on the Cinque Terre (part of the coastal region known as Liguria, where pesto was invented).
• Anchoring offshore in Villafranche and taking the little ferry into town.
• The turquoise water in nearby Nice.
• Listening to two Spaniards, probably brothers, play Pachelbel's Canon, with feeling, on violin and bass, in Barcelona.
• Wandering around Palma de Mallorca and buying stamps for post cards we wrote and failed to mail.
• Sa Tuerredda beach on Sardinia after the rain stopped and the sun came out.
• The fact that we could be in Rome one day and Sunnyvale the next.

Far Away

For a number of years now, I've been following the progress of Eye Talk as it has evolved from rock band to something harder to define.

In its current form the group has pared down to its two core members, brothers Alan and Bob Clark. Older brother Alan has always been the driving force behind Eye Talk, writing nearly all of the songs, singing and playing lead guitar, but lately he's been encouraging his bass-playing brother to write more.

As a result, their latest release, Far Away, features five songs from each brother — and represents their most accomplished and compelling work to date.

Here are a few short samples, with each singing lead on his own songs:

• Where do we go from here? (Alan Clark)

• One more chance (Bob Clark)

• Until now (Bob Clark)

• Whole lives before us (Alan Clark)

That last one always get to me.

What Does the Word "Story" Mean to You?

I did an interview recently in The Short Review (which also featured A.J. Kirby's insightful review of my story collection, Precarious).

I tried to keep my answers short because that's my strategy to avoid boring people. It's been my strategy since I was in the first grade, but that's another story.

No, that's not fair. I'll tell you.

A classmate asked me what I got for Christmas and I started with the mundane stuff like new pajamas and socks. The kid turned away before I got to the really cool thing, a slot-car set, probably the best present a boy could get back then.

So, lesson learned.

Back here in the future I was asked, “What does the word 'story' mean to you?”

Good question. I had never been asked that before. Never really thought about, either.

I said, “I guess a story is what we tell ourselves to make sense of our lives. The stories may not be factual but they are as true as we can make them … or as true as we can stand to make them.”

I left it at that because shorter is always better and because I couldn't remember all the stuff I'd heard about memory not being reliable so we fill in the blanks with whatever makes the most sense and over time that becomes part of our so-called memory.

I also meant to imply that we sometimes make up stories to fool ourselves, but you got that, right?

At a party once, someone asked me, "How many of your stories are based on your own life?"

"Three," I said.

I wouldn't say which three.

The truth is I would have a hard time separating fact from fiction in those stories. Did that happen to me or did I make it up? I'm not sure.

“But,” as Ken Kesey wrote, “it's the truth even if it didn't happen."

Behind the Story: "Just Admit It"

"Just Admit It" is another one of my earliest stories. The first draft was written for a creative writing class when I was in college.

To this day, more than 30 years later, I remember the instructor telling me where the story picked up interest for him, which was about a third of the way into what was then called "The Sinner and the Would-Be Savior."

It was a painful but important lesson that helped to shape everything I've written since then.

In the years that followed, I rewrote the story several times, in the first person, third person, first person, third person. I could never seem to make up my mind which would be better.

As I began to gather my stories into a collection, "Just Admit It" was in, then out, then in again after one final round of changes.

In Precarious, the final version of "Just Admit It" is in the first person, but I suppose I could change it in a future edition. I could even go back to the original title, which I still like, even if it is a bit long.

Then again ...

It's a wonder I finished any of these stories.

Behind the Story: "What She Said"

This was my breakthrough. That's what I thought when I wrote it. But it didn't become my breakthrough for another decade.

When I wrote "What She Said," I was working for a city magazine in San Francisco and the executive editor wanted to publish it. Her boss, as it turned out, did not.

Aaargh!

So I sent the story around to eight or nine other places. They all said no.

I gave up.

A decade later (give or take a couple years) I took another look at the story. It was lean and sharp and fast. I liked it. With a few small changes I sent it to the Beloit Fiction Journal. The editor at the time, Shawn Gillen, said yes.

Soon I had a work of fiction in print for the first time.

Behind the Story: "Don't Stop Now"

I started this one when I was still in high school. In the years that followed, it grew into a short novel and kept getting longer.

I'd be embarrassed to have anyone read the full manuscript now, so it remains hidden away. But I'm glad I didn't simply burn it.

At some point I remembered that a friend said he really liked the chapter at the lake. So I took another look. It had potential.

The result is "Don't Stop Now" (first published in Hobart and now part of my story collection, Precarious).

I think of it as the Reader's Digest version of that first failed novel — a 342-page manuscript condensed to just 6 pages.

Behind the Story: "Sleeping with Smiley"

If you'll indulge me, I thought I might share the story behind some of the stories in my collection.

The first story, "Sleeping with Smiley," began its life as a screenplay, and I chose the setting and the sport for their cinematic possibilities.

Later "Smiley" turned into a novel, back into a screenplay, then a novel again, and finally a short story, which is how I like it best.

Here's a little glimpse of the screenplay:

FADE IN:

EXT. ROGUE RIVER — EARLY MORNING

All we see is the surface of the water, blue and calm, as the credits flash on and off the screen. Occasionally we hear the CRY of a seagull and see its shadow pass over the water. A fishing trawler CHUGGING out to sea can also be faintly heard.

As the last credit disappears there’s a brief silence, and then we see it: the narrow, pointed bow of a rowing shell glides into view, followed by the oars — two of them, close up, on the same side of the boat. They catch the water, not in unison but one slightly behind the other, and the boat lurches a bit.

The camera PULLS BACK and we stay with the boat as it moves along the river. The two scullers, the morning sun behind them now, are seen only in silhouette at first. The one nearer the bow is tall and lean; the other is several inches shorter but more muscular.

NARRATOR

I remember the river and the way it looked at dawn,
the feel of my oars catching the water in time with
Curt’s. The muscles don’t forget. Though twelve years
have passed, I can feel the strain even now in my legs
and lower back, in my shoulders and in my arms. It
was that summer between the end of high school and
the start of something else. Curt and I were best friends.

THE DOCK NEARBY

Standing on the edge is a massive man, bald except for a short white fringe. His name is WARREN ALT and he is dressed more like a gym teacher than the wealthy easterner he is.

ALT

(hands cupped around mouth)

Now, give me a power twenty!

THE TWO SCULLERS

are seen from over their shoulders. They really start pulling now, putting their backs into it, but their strokes don’t quite match.

The tall sculler notices the difference and shortens his stroke. Now the angle of his oars matches that of his shorter partner, and they start to glide, swiftly and smoothly, for the first time.

RESERVE ANGLE

We see the scullers faces as they continue to row in almost perfect synchronization. Setting the pace is 18-year-old CURT HUTTON, the shorter, more muscular one. When his face is not contorted with the strain of all-out rowing, he is exceptionally handsome.

Behind him is DEAN STOCKTON, who is also 18 and whose mature voice provides our narration. Although the muscles on his less-than-handsome face are slack, the pain still shows through.

ON THE DOCK

Mr. Alt paces slowly, following the boys’ progress. He stops, folds his arms, and nod appreciatively, but says nothing.

THE SHELL

continues to gain speed, and as it does, the expressions on the boys’ faces begin to change. We see a series of quick cuts — the bow cutting through the river ... the splash of the oars as they catch the glassy water and pull ... the boys’ seats sliding in the shell as they bend and straighten their knees — interspersed with close-ups of the boys as their eyes brighten, and smiles appear and grow on their faces.

When they finish the 20 power strokes, it’s as if they have crossed a finish line. Their oars come up and the shell continues to glide.

FAVORING CURT

as he looks over his shoulder at Dean and lets out a whoop.

DEAN'S VOICE

Rowing in harmony was an experience we would never
be able to describe. But then we wouldn’t really need to.
Not to each other.