out of place (feb. 18)
I was recently interviewed for the next edition of the Novel and Short Story Writer's Market. One of the questions was about the relationship between travel and writing.
I think writers have a great deal to gain from travel; it's a natural partnership. When we travel to a new country, especially one where we don't speak the language, our senses are sharper, our mind on edge. A traveler is an observer--and observation, of course, is the natural province of the writer. I also find that, when I travel, I'm hyper-aware of the people around me--their actions, their mannerisms. I think the writer sometimes needs some degree of discomfort in order to get to his or her best work.
the exercise
Think back to a time, preferably while traveling, when you felt out of place. Write about that displacement, using sensory details to convey your discomfort to the reader. A great movie to see while thinking about this exercise is Sophia Coppola's Lost in Translation.
*************************************************************************
stage fright (feb. 12)
Cold in Bowling Green today. I'm giving my reading tonight. The readings here are held in a wonderful little chapel on campus. A strange feeling, to be standing in front of the pulpit, the audience seated neatly on little white pews. I read here once before, in 2001, and when I realized I'd be reading in a chapel I quickly changed my reading selection. This time I'm prepared, and will not be reading anything too racy. It's more an issue of self-censorship borne of old fashioned Baptist fears, as the powers that be are, to their credit, open to pretty much anything. I hear the poetry reading last week by Jeffrey McDaniel was pretty wild. The students I talked with really enjoyed it; he'll be a hard act to follow! I'm considering bringing in a ukelele to spice things up.
Also...I just received the good news that Dream of the Blue Room is one of five nominees for the Bay Area Book Reviewers Association/Northern California Book Awards.
The other nominess in the novel category are:
Old School, by Tobias Wolff
And Now You Can Go, by Vendela Vida
Daughter's Keeper, by Ayelet Waldman
L'Affaire, by Diane Johnson
the exercise:
Write about your most memorable experience with stage fright.
************************************************************************
lost in translation (feb. 3)
The German title for my novel, to be released by Nymphenburger in March, is Das Boothaus unten am Fluss--which translates, I am told, to The Boathouse Down by the River. The English title is Dream of the Blue Room, a play on the classic work of Chinese literature, Dream of the Red Chamber, by Tsao Hsueh-Chin. As you can see, there's really no similarity between my title and the new title chosen by the German translator. I don't mind, since I can't read German anyway. But such a wide leap in translation was surprising. It occurs to me that perhaps, in German, Blue Room is a bit pornographic--certainly, in English the phrase does have its erotic implications--most notably in the play The Blue Room by David Hare, adapted from Arthur Scnitzler's La Ronde.
the exercise
Have a glass of wine, a piece of chocolate, or whatever you need to steel yourself for the task ahead...and write a sex scene. If you already have a story or novel-in-progress, this is a good time to explore one of the characters by putting him/her in a new situation. Forget about the old erotic scenes you've already read/seen: make yours new by adding details one does not usually associate with sex. Remember, a sex scene can be many things: sad, awkward, uncomfortable, funny. If you have trouble getting started with this, you might think back to one of your own unsuccessful erotic moments (let's face it, we've all had them!). Without telling us what the characters are feeling, try to make us feel their emotions through use of strong sensory details.
Lest you think you must go it alone, sex maven Susie Bright has written a book for the erotically challenged, How to Write a Dirty Story.
*************************************************************************
the bottom line (feb. 1)
The New York Times last week reported on the final closing of The Bottom Line, a beloved New York City nightclub that had been bringing great acts to the city for thirty years. The battle to save The Bottom Line had gone on for some time; in the end, the club just couldn't pay out on tens of thousands of dollars in overdue lease.
I remember seeing Stevie Forbert there several years ago, 98 or 99. What struck me about The Bottom Line was the intimacy of the space. It was a relatively small space, filled with long picnic tables. The club only admitted the number of people for whom they had seating--no more than 400, I believe. Kevin and I sat just a couple of feet from the stage, eating bar food and drinking beer out of frosty mugs. It was the perfect venue in which to see Steve Forbert, the Mississippi-born rocker who has gone far but whose voice still resonates with a Mississippi twang.
It was the first time I ever saw Steve Forbert in concert, and probably the most magical. New York City is an exciting place to live, but it can also be a brutal place to live. Steve Forbert at The Botttom Line was exactly the kind of medicine I needed at that time in my life. If you've never heard this guy, you should really give him a listen. A great album to start with is Mission of the Crossroad Palms (1995), which contains my favorite Forbert song, "Oh, to Be Back with You," a haunting story of love lost. The album also has a taste of Forbert in his more rocking mood, with "Real Live Love."
The last time Kevin and I saw Forbert in concert was in San Francisco a few years back, at a little church in Noe Valley. This was even more intimate than the Bottom Line gig, and what a strange and lovely thing it was, to be sitting in these church pews, our knees bumping against the song hymnals arranged so neatly in their wooden racks, listening to Steve Forbert. Kevin and I were living at this beautiful old apartment in the Castro, and we weren't yet married. It was one of those cold, foggy San Francisco nights, a white sky swirling over the hills and pastel houses, and as we walked to the chapel to hear Stevie do his thing, I knew I should hold on to this; I knew I should remember this moment.
the exercise
Write about something that is gone. It may be a place, a person, an object, or it may simply be a time. Jonathan Richman has a great little song in which he pines for the old corner store.
************************************************************************
