Party in the USA

That's Ted Rees' Arthur Rimbaud tattoo. Oh and I think maybe Sarah Wintz's face emerging from Ted's back, I just noticed this. We were at Woolsey Heights for a reading by Alli Warren, David Brazil, David Buuck, Elaine Barry Kahn, and Melissa Mack. I was in a state of absolute exhaustion because I had been running around all day beforehand trying to accumulate housewares for my new room in my new house in Oakland. So I skipped lunch and right when I got to the reading I drank three or four cups of water. Finally, I awoke from the stupor in time to hear Brazil's reading which blew me away. All the readers were magnificent. Elaine and Alli had this casual delivery - even though Elaine said she was very nervous - which I really appreciated it. Melissa was reading from a book she had just published and somewhere in there she was talking about a memorization class. These were inside jokes and I wasn't inside but I didn't mind. Finally, Buuck read and for his last of three pieces he was joined by a soundtrack made by Tom Comitta. David's final line was "stand up" and at the moment we were all supposed to stand up... and we all did and then the music turned on and the lights went out and it turned into what Woolsey Heights almost always (or always) turns into which is a dance party - which I really appreciate because I love dancing and don't get to do it as much as I used to.

Off to another reading of sorts, Poem Talks organized by Sophia Dahlin: At the n/a space, Lindsey Boldt and Dodie Bellamy talked about one of their poems for an hour each and instructed us, the audience, in the poem's creation. This actually took place on the very day I moved and I was typically exhausted. I don't know why I was doing this to myself, but I feel like since I'm off work right now I really want to get in as much poetry as I possibly can. Lindsey had us write for a bit and when we were done we got to share. To my surprise I volunteered to read first. I don't know why I did that. I had written something about Kevin Killian being a basketball player. I think we were supposed to write something a little more internal/visceral, I don't know, I'm a novelist, I couldn't help but want to make a story out of the way Kevin had stretched his hand and I imagined him as a young hot shot basketball player, in the big game, peering to the side at his domineering father. I'm sure I'm recycling a movie here.

Dodie's talk was very interesting to me because in all my time of working with her I have never thought to ask about the process of her book Cunt-Ups. Dodie has a new book coming out from Les Figues Press. It's called Cunt Norton and she utilizes the same technique for it as she used for Cunt-Ups. That book was extremely important to me, or is rather, because it was the first book I read by Dodie prior to starting at CCA. I followed Cunt-Ups in a way for my book. In it, among other things, Dodie smashes these hyper-sexual flourishes into one another, separated by commas, identities shifting, bodies shifting. It's beautiful. If you've read my book, you will see when I'm following Dodie's lead. During her talk I wanted her to talk about someone on some site calling Cunt-Ups "experimental fiction" or something like that, but I guess that's not what we were there for. (Note: blogger says I'm misspelling cunt.) Below is what Google books says are common terms and phrases of Dodie's Cunt-Ups.

And well before all this there was the talk of the town: The East Bay Poetry Summit. I feel like it will be one of those weekends where time separates itself. Or like the question will be asked, Where were you during the Summit? I was only able to go to the reading at Woolsey Heights. It'd be difficult to explain what the scene was like. Past readings at Woolsey have been well attended, crowding the two living rooms with people... when I showed up for the Summit event, the people spilled out of the house, down the stairs, out into the courtyard. It was madness. I remember sitting near Brandon Brown on the steps, listening to the readers over the speakers. The audiences' applause was picked up by the microphone inside and then sent out to us on the outside. I think Brandon was smiling the entire time. True to form the reading ended in a dance party. I kept thinking I do not want this moment to end, I do not want this moment to end. But, eventually, we had to say goodbye, or I did really, and I walked home, thrilled and intoxicated.

It's a little bit difficult to say how I feel after all these readings, as a novelist. Part of me wants to go home and start writing poetry which I can then read for everyone. But that's just not what I do. Maybe I should do it? It would be totally nonsensical for me to even begin however because I'm working on another novel and I really just don't have time to work on other projects. Or actually, I'm working on the new novel, and several other novel-like projects and really just don't have time to do anything else. I suppose the energy which these readings create in me then gets funneled into my writing in other ways. Is it true prose/fiction writers sometimes don't read poetry? If you are reading this now and you write fiction/prose, you should go to a book store and pick up a poetry book, any one, and just start reading. I don't know what you should do if you're poet... I'd say read a novel I guess. Honestly, I might be content to just live with Rimbaud for all time. Like maybe Ted has the right idea.

 

On Two Readings and Five Writers

That's me after I shaved one half of my head. It had been growing out so long. I had this reading with Dodie Bellamy and Francesca Lisette coming up at Woolsey Heights (thanks to Andrew Kenower for inviting me!) and for whatever reason, if I don't feel like I look my best, I won't be my best, and so forth. It just leads to me feeling insecure. Dodie had promised me that the audience would be receptive to my work so I don't know why I would be so nervous. I guess, it's because never before any reading had I felt everyone in the audience would be a better writer/reader than me. That must sound silly. This would be my audience so I wanted to impress them. Any sign of me being a fraud and they would sense it immediately. Maybe I should think about why I don't have a certain confidence in myself when I'm in a room of people whom I feel are my peers. I remember a discussion B and I had where, this was my impression at least, she just wanted me to shout into the phone, "Because I'm the best!" Of course, maybe it's not about me being the best. Naturally, I am not trying to be better than the audience or my fellow readers - about Francesca and Dodie's readings in a minute. I just want to be among the many who people like and appreciate. Is it embarrassing to admit to such an ambition? I don't know. Anti-capitalist feelings pull me one direction and tell me to eschew popularity and capital and all of that. Why am I writing, really, if all I want is to be loved? Isn't writing to be loved a perfectly good reason to write? I think Rachel Hyman from Banango Lit posed this question on her Facebook and I tried to answer it sincerely.

There is a feeling in me that I began to write stories to receive the attention. I remember in pre-school or perhaps early elementary signing up to read a story in front of the class. My memory now tells me I was doing it because I wanted everyone to like me. This goes to all kinds of questions about why we write and so on. What is writings purpose? Sorry, I can hear people yawning and saying, Oh god! after that question. I guess I stopped asking that question when I was in undergrad. I don't think writing needs a purpose. I will show my philosophical leanings here and say nothing has a purpose. Everything just is or becomes.

In any case, when I gave my reading with Dodie and Francesca, I was extremely nervous. I had chosen the end of the first part of my book - the part that is contemporary. It's all about sex and death and the main characters d/evolving into their chosen wild nature. It's my favorite part of the story and I'm really happy when I read it. I also pulled out a chunk of the second part of the book - the part about Catherine of Siena. I had never read anything from this story and I figured a receptive audience would be willing to go with me to 14th-century Italy. The best comment after I read was, "It's like Twilight, but good."

Francesca Lisette read after me. She's from England, and I'm not afraid to admit, I'm a sucker for accents. Isn't everybody? It's so easy to listen to someone who does not sound like you. It may mean something else to about being infatuated with imperial power but... Francesca's reading was hyper and relevant. She created these humorous moments for us and everyone laughed and then sped along to another image. I loved it. If I had had some money at the time I would have bought one of her books she had with her.

Then Dodie read. I think this was my favorite reading of Dodie's. Perhaps only because she was reading absolutely new work. Since I'm such a fan of hers I'm always pretty familiar with what's happening, but this time she was reading from her new book about (among other things) cults. I had heard her speak about the book but never any actual prose. So I was anticipating this for a while. As I watched her read, I realized that Dodie is pretty much a rockstar. She is such a master at delivering her writing. I found myself tearing up a bit because I was lucky enough to be her student. I wondered how many readings Dodie has given and how long it took for her to become so good at it? Maybe this is embedded into Dodie's writing but her readings feel as if she is merely speaking to you one on one, telling the most interesting and wild story - sometimes about herself - and at times you're laughing and at others you're flowing in the rhythm of her images. Because Dodie just published a book about a recent romantic relationship, I'm sure everyone has a good idea of what character "Dodie's" life has been like. But for this new book, Dodie the author is going back to a completely different time and for me it's enlightening to hear one of your favorite authors open up about other times in their life.

I don't remember if my reading was before or after Kevin and Rob's. Rob Halpern was my first creative writing teacher at UCSC - that's him to the left. I've only seen him a few times since that first quarter, but we've emailed quite a few times. I got to the reading a little late. All the seats were taken. Rob was standing up. I think Kevin was standing too. Rob said, And there's Jason. Then the audience turned and looked at me. I sat on the ground close to the wall. Rob read first from Music For Porn. I had heard about this book for a while but I think it just recently was published. I think what I love most about Rob's reading is the sound of his voice. The cadence of his words, obviously his images, his earnestness. I've always found his voice and his writing to have a particular type of weight to which I aspire. The interesting thing is it's been nearly 12 years since I first met Rob and he still looks the same to me. I don't know how much different I look but I know the student I was then does not resemble me now. I scratch my head now thinking how Rob could have recognized some small hope in the awful stories I wrote for him. Maybe he just saw the philosophical issues I was grappling with and then knew to offer me some help. Who knows. If I read my own stories now as a teacher, I probably would be embarrassed for the student.

Then came Kevin - he's there to the left standing, Dodie right in front of him. Like Dodie, Kevin reads as if he is speaking to you one on one. Or at least that is how I hear it. He appears so relaxed, his storytelling feels direct and somewhat classic. His new book Spreadeagle seems complicated however, if only because he had to break from the reading to explain a character or something. This wasn't a problem at all for me because I love when the curtain is drawn away from the book and the author fills us in. I'm having this image come to me now of Kevin as Willy Wonka. Not the Johnny Depp version - though I love that version too. There's Kevin leading us into his vast factory and stopping in all the different rooms to explain the alien machinery and the little men who keep it all running.

Spring Beats

I'm listening to my lastfm library right now. I will write each song that comes on while I prepare this blog post. Right now, Best Coast's "Happy". On March 30th I read with my fellow graduating writers at our Word. World. celebration. My family came from out of town. B was there. Two of my closest friends showed up. Three of my other closest friends showed up right when I was wrapping up my reading. I tried to dress like a priest for my reading because I thought my story was like a sermon. Before the reading began I ran into my dad and his girlfriend. I was really out of it and nervous but glad to see them. I flashed back to this memory of my dad coming out of his room (our room) at our Cottage Way house. I was about 9 or 10. He was getting dressed to go out dancing or something. He came out into the living room and threw his arms out and said, "Do I look sharp?" He smelled nice and he looked really cool, I remember thinking. So now every time I dress nice I think of my dad then and I either say "do I look sharp?" or I think it in my head. When I ran into my dad before the reading I wanted to ask him if I looked sharp, but I was so nervous and out of it, I forgot. B was also down the hall and I didn't want to keep her waiting for me. I don't know why I worried about that. My dad sat me down and pulled out a gift: a powered messenger bag with all sorts of bells and whistles that only recently have I figured out how to use. My dad's voice became sort of solemn and serious. He said he was giving me the bag as a way to say congratulations for graduating (though I haven't actually graduated yet) and just to say 'good job'. I flashed back to another time when I was a sophomore in high school. It was in the fall, at the cross country section championships. It was raining. (Ride's "Leave Them All Behind") My dad and I stood beneath a hallway near the race course. He pulled out a white envelope and inside there was a small necklace with a gold medallion of some saint, I forget now, and a letter my dad had written. It said something like he was really proud of me and that the medal belonged to my (deceased) grandpa. Then my dad pinned the medal to my running shorts and said that when I ran my grandpa would be with me. I ended up winning that race and the sophomore championship. I'm pretty sure this is the only race I've won.

All of us readers sat in a row off to the side of the audience so I got to stare at my family and friends as they listened to the other readers. When I took the stage I was still very nervous. The lights were very bright; I could only see the very far left side of the audience which was only 3 or 4 people... all former peers incidentally. But, that was good I could see them because I felt like I was speaking to my friends, though because of my story I mostly had to read from my pages. I read my story in a way that I've never read before and I think it was much different than the other readers. I didn't know at the time if the audience would pick up on this or not, or if it was just something I sensed. This particular story cannot be read so much as performed. After I was finished I talked to Kevin Killian (one of the teachers here that I haven't worked with yet... or ever will since the year is over, but maybe some day) about the performative aspect of my reading. He liked all the hand motions I made and even suggested I turn it into a type of dance. We were speaking mostly in jest, I think. Kevin brought over Dodie (Bellamy) and we all shared a laugh about the little dance Kevin and I made up for my story. It seemed that most people liked my reading and they really enjoyed the hand motions that I made while reading. (Cut Copy's "Where I'm Going") Some people thought what I was doing was funny and some thought it was serious. Thankfully, B knew that I am mostly always serious and earnest in my writing and understood, later, my frustration that people laughed while I read - though I guess I have to admit I did throw in some 'funny' parts. On the other hand, people laughed at parts which I don't think are funny. The biggest surprise was that here I thought I was explaining this extremely complicated concept and I was really worried people would not understand me, but it seemed as if people did understand what I was reading and that made me feel good because part of the project of this story is to be understood, what it means to understand others, to be understood by others. And then all of the sudden, here I was, after the reading, and it turns out I made sense to people! In classes, a few days after the reading, classmates even reference some of the language from my story in class - like I had introduced this whole new way of talking about things. Obviously, I didn't, but it feels good when people talk about what you have written, especially when they don't have to or aren't forced to by the workshop environment. (Jonsi's "Animal Arithmetic" - my favorite song of 2010)

Earlier today, M Kitchell (a writer who posts on HTMLGiant often) posted a question about Marie Calloway's new story "Jeremy Lin". So I read the new story and actually enjoyed it more than "Adrien Brody"... though it essentially isn't a "story" so much as a blog post. I thought, this is just a blog post, then I thought about how my mentor here, Dodie, her latest book came from a blog, and everything Dodie was trying to do with "blogging" and being female (I'm grossly over-simplifying Dodie's aims, but please forgive me!). I thought, maybe I shouldn't deride Calloway for publishing a blog post because then that would just be like discriminating against Dodie's book, which I absolutely love. Maybe, then, I'm just being biased and since Calloway is younger than me, and more popular, and hangs out with Tao Lin, and gives readings in New York, and isn't Dodie, I just don't like her. But, then, Calloway, in her new story, doesn't even seem to be aware of what she's doing or how she's doing it, and it all seems so contrived (in a bad way). So I guess I don't know. I like Calloway's new story more than the previous, but still don't understand, again still, why everyone's talking about her writing. This all comes, also, from being part of the 'intellectual n+1-loving' writers who find value in discovering good/bad writing... which apparently Tao Lin hates or dislikes... (Health's "USA Boys"), but Calloway, I'm assuming, doesn't mind. Whatever.

So, now, my thesis has been turned in, and I meet in early May with my committee and then they will tell me if I earned my MFA or not. Barring some anti-miracle, they will say I earned it. (Mirrors' "Lights and Offering") Then, what? The book becomes a book and not a thesis or something else. My other mentor Miranda Mellis challenged me to write a cover letter which I will then, conceivably, send out to agents or houses. When Miranda issued the challenge we talked about what my book is about and it was very enlightening to me. Also, it was the first time I expressed to someone other than B what I was really aiming at in the writing, at least in any cohesive way. I will have to explain it again when I meet with my committee. It was great to hear from Miranda that what I thought I had done was not the complete opposite of what she understood about my book. (El Guincho's "Lycra Mistral")

B took the picture above in my room. (I Break Horses' "Winter Beats")

Exhaustion Report

I haven't posted in over 3 months because I've been working diligently on my MFA thesis. At CCA we turn in our theses to a 3 member faculty committee and then we meet with that committee 2 times to discuss our projects. I've met once so far with my committee (Dodie Bellamy, Donna de la Perriere, Shanthi Sekaran) and it went wonderfully. I had been extremely nervous prior to the meeting but once we all sat down my nervousness went away, and Dodie, Donna, and Shanthi all had really helpful suggestions, and even boosted my confidence. Later, I met one-on-one with Dodie and she took me to dinner, and even though the restaurant had some sort of gas stove malfunction, the dinner was tasty and of course, Dodie offered invaluable comments on my writing.

Since I'm winding down my time as a graduate student at CCA I thought I would express some sense of how lucky I feel to have met the teachers and peers who have made my last 2 years amazingly productive. Just today I met with my mentor Miranda Mellis. We had coffee at Mission Pie. Had I already eaten lunch I might have ordered banana cream pie for dessert! But just a mocha was good. I had never heard of Miranda before coming to CCA; I had never heard of Dodie either, but now I can't imagine my time here without them. I don't think I would have developed how I have had I not been lucky enough to take their classes and be their "mentee". And even better they actually enjoy working with me! What a love letter this is turning out to be. But, it's not just Dodie and Miranda. I've met some really great peers and collaborators. I feel certain some of these people will remain in my life for some time. I feel certain I will work and write with these people in the future. Naturally, some people I will never see again and that's probably not a bad thing.

So I wonder what will we all do when we graduate. Right now I don't know. Certainly, there is no doubt that I will continue writing with the hopes of being published. I think just two years ago there could have been some doubt about that. I wasn't a committed writer. Now, I am. Wouldn't it be great to make living doing it? Or teaching it? Or somehow being involved in the publishing process? Do my peers feel the same? I haven't asked them so I don't know. Do some leave graduate school with an MFA and then never publish anything for the rest of their lives? Is that possible?

While I was on BART this afternoon, I imagined a scene. A fellow passenger would ask me what I did, and I would respond, "I'm a writer." I imagined society's response to that. Or its many responses. How does the rest of the world view what we do? I'm assuming there are no 'non-writers' who read my blog so they might not be able to tell me. Is there some statistic on what people think of writers? And not just economics. Judging how writers are paid, I can guess what people think of them. But, there should be a more emotional view too. Shouldn't there?

I would like to create something beautiful and good. I think I can do that by writing.

A few years ago I read the unabridged edition of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. The last 200-300 pages were exquisitely difficult. The emotional power of the story made it impossible not to cry. I loved the characters and their struggle. I don't think I've ever been so involved in a story. I look to those final pages as the prime example of what I want to do not only for others but for myself. I would like to have that feeling again. Even if I have to create it. I would like to create something beautiful and good. This seems like the ideal outcome.

Happy Birthday to me in New York

The humidity and weight of air was somewhat unexpected as I exited my plane to New York. I took a taxi into Brooklyn, disrobing into just my t-shirt and jeans in the backseat - which I found somewhat romantic. I met Berit at her apartment by 11 at night. I was sweating and tired but happy to see her. We ate tacos for dinner at Papacito's which is just around the corner from her apartment. For my birthday, Berit arranged for us to go to this spa called Spa Castle - those are the bracelets (in the picture) they gave us so that we could drink pina coladas and strawberry daiquiris. Spa Castle was way out in Queens. It was quite an adventure getting there, including a stop in a very strange Korean shopping center. Later in the week, Berit and I met with friends at a karaoke bar. The only explanation I had for the behavior of the other patrons of this karaoke bar was that Mercury was in retrograde. However, Berit and I later discovered that Mercury is no longer in retrograde so nothing explains the other patrons' behavior. They were or are just naturally aggro people. Berit and I had a Woody Allen dvd marathon which included Thai delivery. We sat in a gondola at a bar called Diamond; I couldn't find the horseshoes, but that didn't matter.

One thing I keep coming back to in my descriptions of being in New York is how good the food is here. I'm lucky because Berit loves food and already knows where the best places are. Or I'm just lucky that Berit and I share somewhat similar tastes in food (mac n cheese, veggie burgers, thai etc). Whichever way it is there are some insanely tasty things to eat in Brooklyn. For example, one night after Berit and I saw Woody Allen's new movie Midnight in Paris, we waited in line for maybe an hour to get into Grimaldi's Pizza. It was well worth the wait. We ordered a half carafe of wine and a large pizza with olives and ricotta cheese. To think of it now makes my taste buds go wild. Another day Berit and I met near Prospect Park for ice cream from Uncle Luigi's. It was a dreamy walk back to the subway.

On the plane ride to New York, I started and finished Dodie Bellamy's Academonia (there's a link to Dodie's blog to the right). I'm surprised to feel that I liked this collection more than what I've read previously (Cunt-Ups, The Letters of Mina Harker, REAL). Mina Harker has become a sort of cornerstone for my own writing, and I owe a lot to Cunt-Ups for freeing my prose in ways that had it not my current book would not be possible. I like the way that Dodie can bring anything and everything into her writing. Though she does it with care and I never feel as if she's trying to impress me. It's not as if Dodie is just piling in tons and tons of cultural references, but editing enough into the writing that a sense of honesty is created without her saying she's telling a true story - which at the moment she would say that it would become false. I've only read Academonia once but I know that I will enjoy going back to it to pull through things I might have missed.

On the plane ride to San Francisco, I finished Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking - a few years ago Berit recommended it. Reading about death is never fun, but it usually affects me in a positive way. Though it's sad to read about the tragedy of another person, it is triumphant feeling when that person is Joan Didion and can get to the transcendence over our feelings and fears of death. I've only read Play It As It Lays and Where I Was From, and now The Year of Magical Thinking. I should have a better grasp on Didion's style, but I don't. I know that there is something specific she is doing in her prose, but I haven't figured it out. Whatever it is, it affects me.