Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Be Wary of the 10th of February


For fear of reprisals, I will say only that some Anonymous people have watched a little too much V for Vendetta. Granted Scientology seems like a cult created by a bad science fiction writer, but it's a cult with a lot of money and lots of lawyers. So as much as Anonymous excites the geeky warrior in me, I'm going to have to refrain from writing about my support of such nonsense. But what geeky goodness it really is.



Oops. I went and embedded that in my blog. First let me apologize to Scientologists everywhere. That's not good enough, you say? You want to take me where? I don't know what a Testing Center is, but I don't want to go there. Okay, okay. I give. Derek stole your signs in London. They're in the flat behind the bookcase. I had nothing to do with it.

Long live the resistance.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

On Being Anal about AWP Prep


So Wednesday, I’ll be in New York for the 2008 AWP (The Association of Writers and Writing Programs—I know what you’re thinking: why isn’t it AWWP?) conference, or as Heather likes to call this year: Bonnaroo for writers. It actually sold out. 7,000 emotionally scarred people who lack the skills to talk to one another converging on one place. Lots of brand-name writers will be there this year, probably because they can walk out of their Manhattan lofts and right into the hotel.

With three or so days to go, I’m finally thinking about the program. Heather (as per #3) informs me that she’s had her schedule planned for days with her first and second choice of sessions in case they fill up. She’s also penciled in time for off site activities like dinner out and a trip to MoMA. Derek calls and I try to make fun of Heather’s anal tendencies until he informs me that he’s already got his days mapped out, too.

So I'm going through the program with a highlighter. Circle, circle.

An Erotic Stanza

So I’m working on THE NOVEL, and I decided that I was tired of coming up with the words and that it would be much easier to steal them from someone else. But that would be wrong, I thought. I tried desperately to kill my superego but only rendered it quiet with the compromise that I would find something the character could quote to another character. And then, I remembered the Limerick book. I had until the Limerick book thought that limericks were light entertainment except for The man from Nantucket, which I never knew the rest of but guessed that it had to end in fuck it. Now I know that they are a dirty, dirty art form, and I love them for it. Anyway here’s a limerick from the Limerick book for your reading pleasure:

There was a young fellow named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
He said, "I admit
I'm a bit of a shit,
But think of the money I save!"
Ha, ha. See the reason that's funny is that most people wouldn't have intercourse with another person who is deceased, regardless the discount.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Your Etiquette Advice from Some Old Books I Found


I am an incorrigible bibliophile and collect virtually any book, but I have a special soft spot for antiquated books on etiquette or self-help. I find them to be lost resources to combat the barbarism of today’s impolite world.

Today’s advice is from:

Household Discoveries and Mrs. Curtis’s Cook Book 1909 (The Success Company)

Under Toilet Preparations for Men

Eyebrows and Eyelashes.—In general the less attention paid to these features the better The practice of attempting to deepen the color of the eyes by darkening the lids or lashes is a dangerous one…. Clipping the eyelashes is, on the whole, a dangerous practice, as it tends to thicken them and cause them to become stiff like bristles.

Beware the eyebrow and eyelash maintenance. This has been your etiquette advice from some old books I found.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

A Few Thoughts on Cloverfield


So if you haven’t seen Cloverfield—you know, that movie that didn’t have a title and then people gave it one so the filmmakers just stuck to that one—and you want to see it at some later date, don’t read this.

Still reading? Yes? No? I’ll give you a minute. I saw the Abrams flick last Friday. It was afternoon with a moderate crowd. At the end, a guy behind me, stood and shouted, “What the fuck was that! Did any of you enjoy that? What the fuck?” Several snickers but no serious responses later, we left. My response was more post-traumatic stress syndrome and motion sickness (I was dehydrated, hungry, and had work-related depression), but I’m more interested in the What-the-fuck Guy’s response than mine.

I wonder if the problem is point of view. POV.

Before I get to that, I can see Cloverfield’s DNA better than I got to see the monster. Pitch meeting:

“It’s Godzilla meets Blair Witch Project meets Spielberg’s War of the Worlds. Also, I’m J. J. Abrams.”

“Sold.”

Once upon a time, I saw Blair Witch in a crowded theater that ended in people yelling obscenities at the screen. Like the Witch, Cloverfield embeds you in a handheld camera POV, a point of view that is more personal, intimate, and limited than the objective classic Hollywood POV. Limited to only what the characters can film, some of the audience can feel claustrophobic. And some filmmakers feel this also means you can’t know more than the characters and that the less they know the more realistic the experience.

I wonder at how angry the What-the-fuck Guy got over what I expect is not knowing, not knowing enough about the monster—primarily, where did it come from? I wonder at his anger at so silly a desire to know and at the creator’s choice not to tell. In Night of the Living Dead, Romero simply had the characters watch a news program that interviewed government and military officials who basically said that because of our space exploration = zombies. That’s all it took, and I feel certain What-the-fuck Guy could’ve been placated with a simple news break (of which the characters saw plenty) that said they saw a meteor hit near the Statue of Liberty. Presto! Silly putty Godzilla-esque alien monster. I’ve read (but did not catch myself) that a satellite fell in the last scene of the movie—which was actually before the “present” action of the film and disturbed the monster that was hibernating on the bottom of the sea.

Now, I could comment on the silly 9/11 verses nuclear age themes of this modern NYC Godzilla. But why, why must the monsters and the witches be explained away?

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Other People’s Writerly Advice Tip #1


Speaking of Strunk and White, they make a great starting point for a regular feature: Other People’s Writerly Advice. The Elements of Style was, of course, the result of E. B. White revising and adding to a book by his professor William Strunk, Jr. It’s very short (my edition has 105 pages). Here is a piece of advice that I find particularly pertinent:

9. Do not affect a breezy manner

The volume of writing is enormous, these days, and much of it has a sort of windiness about it, almost as though the author were in a state of euphoria. "Spontaneous me," sang Whitman, and, in his innocence, let loose the hordes of uninspired scribblers who would one day confuse spontaneity with genius.

The breezy style is often the work of an egocentric, the person who imagines that everything that comes to mind is of general interest and that uninhibited prose creates high spirits and carries the day. Open any alumni magazine, turn to the class notes, and you are quite likely to encounter old Spontaneous Me at work — an aging collegian who writes something like this:

Well, guys, here I am again dishing the dirt about your disorderly classmates, after pa$$ing a weekend in the Big Apple trying to catch the Columbia hoops tilt and then a cab-ride from hell through the West Side casbah. And speaking of news, howzabout tossing a few primo items this way?

This is an extreme example, but the same wind blows, at lesser velocities, across vast expanses of journalistic prose. The author in this case has managed in two sentences to commit most of the unpardonable sins: he obviously has nothing to say, he is showing off and directing the attention of the reader to himself, he is using slang with neither provocation nor ingenuity, he adopts a patronizing air by throwing in the word primo, he is humorless (though full of fun), dull, and empty. He has not done his work. Compare his opening remarks with the following — a plunge directly into the news:

Clyde Crawford, who stroked the varsity shell in 1958, is swinging an oar again after a lapse of forty years. Clyde resigned last spring as executive sales manager of the Indiana Flotex Company and is now a gondolier in Venice.

This, although conventional, is compact, informative, unpretentious. The writer has dug up an item of news and presented it in a straightforward manner. What the first writer tried to accomplish by cutting rhetorical capers and by breeziness, the second writer managed to achieve by good reporting, by keeping a tight rein on his material, and by staying out of the act.

Is there a breeze in here? I fear Strunk & White might not like my blog.

Introducing...Heather


So I’ve mentioned my girlfriend Heather, but I haven’t blogged at length about her. And as she’s sitting serenely across from me at the coffee shop believing that I am diligently working away on THE NOVEL, I feel the urge to riff on her. She is not a constant reader of the blog, so I think I can get away with this for a few days at least. But I'm not suicidal—thus, the close-up pic instead of a picture that would make her make my life unspeakably uncomfortable. Doesn’t she have pretty eyes? Aside from her eye color, here are a few things you should know about her:

  1. She’s a poet. I try not to hold this against her. Though I have published some poetry (a whole chapbook even), I would self-identify as a fiction writer. As such, I find we get along splendidly having common interests, but not too common. She loves those words, and I love those characters. To learn more, go to your local library or read this essay about poet/fiction writer couples.
  2. She’s younger than I am. Which has caused me much consternation. Both in terms of the age gap (she doesn’t remember The Electric Company!) and in that I am living the cliché. But love can’t help love. I dated the cougars in my youth. I dated and dated but just couldn’t relax in a relationship until her.
  3. She is type A. She is proud of this. To an extent. She stopped ironing her jeans after I kept making fun of her, for example.
  4. She randomly makes cute noises.
  5. She does a spot-on imitation of Louis Armstrong.
  6. We just had an extended conversation on three points from Strunk & White.
  7. She is a sterling person all the way around who you should get to know (I know sappy, sappy). And there’s more, but frankly that’s none of your business.
  8. Also, I need to wrap this up because she’s giving me suspicious looks…