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 Thursday, March 20, 2008
The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: (Mostly) Redemptive Song
I had my meeting with my advisor yesterday, the big two hour kind of meeting where we went over my novel with fine-toothed combing mechanism, and I can report, confidently, that I didn't die. The scariest part was sitting in front of her with the manuscript and watching her move around her office (as if she was putting it off!), then finally sitting down, sighing and saying, "Well, um, ok." But, friends, her intentions were neither cold-hearted nor snake-
like. She had good things to say (for the most part). It seems the re-writes I did brought the novel into coherence and upped the tension throughout. She loved certain scenes involving a character I added as sort of an afterthought, and she was able to think about my book in the sort of analytical way that smart people think about things. Okay, yes, she now hates my first chapter, and yes, apparently chapter four isn't exactly "logical by any sense of the word", but overall, not that bad! My favorite part of our two hour meeting involved her asking about whether I did something because of some sort of complicated, subtle symbolism when I think I just did it because I had seen a particularly moving episode of Friday Night
Lights right before I started to write. Other highlights: "You could potentially keep this part if you just made it...hmmm...you made it much, much smarter. And funny." "I'm having difficulty telling the difference between these two characters." "Well, Jay has blond hair." "Yeah, um, that wasn't really what I meant." "This part kind of reads like a bad college guidebook." "Like Barron's?" "No. Like one that didn't get published." "The Princeton Review?" "Stop." So now I have official orders. And strategy. I have to turn in the new ending to the book at the end of next week, all of the vignettes (my book has vignettes!) by the end of the following week and then make all of the changes that we talked about in this meeting before I turn it in to my advisor and reader on April 18. For anyone not keeping track at home, that's eight extra days that I didn't think I was going to have! I can write at least infinity words in eight days, so that has taken some of the pressure off. I now have time to play the Big Cat in several games of Stratego (editorial note: I am VERY good at Stratego. And it's cheating if you surround your flag with bombs) and occasionally shower. Also, March Madness starts today. Everything--for the time being--is coming up Milhouse! Kevin. I assume this will change in the next 36 hours. Onward. I hope your weekend is chillaxed yet intensely fulfilling.Gettin Jiggy,
Wit It
Will Smith
Thursday, March 20, 2008 5:55:43 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00) 
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Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: Game On
Friends, I'm not exactly well. I'm reaching the critical thesis crunch time and I am NOT in good shape. My advisor, having read a second draft of the ms, has informed me that the book needs "serious work" and she needs me to "work very very very hard" for my thesis to "matter", I have an ending that doesn't--on its face-- make any sense, and several of my chapters have the gaunt post- Castle Greyskull Skeletor look: just really the bones, a blue body and some purple makeup. Today is March 18. I need to turn in a copy of my thesis on April 10. I can't do math but that seems like it's at the most three days from now. I am (almost) officially freaking out. So I find this a good time to start the official My Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity portion of my blog. From now until the manuscript is in the hands of whomever controls the graduate student office (or wherever we turn this in... crap, why don't i know this??!) I will be offering a deep, insightful dive into a place no one wants to go: the mind of an MFA student about to turn in and then defend a thesis that he's not entirely confident about to a group of professors also not entirely sold on said student. If that doesn't sound like a non-stop fun rollercoaster or at least Thunder Mountain, then I'm afraid you're probably being logical. Everything else, at this point, seems like it will take too long. Working on anything outside the thesis, going to the gym to wail on
various parts of my body, text messaging, using emoticons or the restroom-- all of these things would take too much time away from my characters, especially the one I've almost entirely based on Ramsey. And while I have no problem doing it to Ramsey, I can't let Ramsey's pseudo character down. I need a creativity IV, some sort of diaper system, and at least three hippies worth of granola if I'm going to make it this three week period without losing myself in the (insanity) music. I assume this will involve whiskey. Anyway, this will be the channel I'm playing on until our April 10th deadline. As we get closer to the TD (thesis drop) day, blogs might get more frequent or deleted by my editor, depending on my coherency. But there will be at least two a week. And some pop culture. And lots and lots of the music of 1998 to guide us home. And for those of you who want nothing to do with the QDTI, fear not-- like most of the relationships on Saved by the Bell-- this portion of my blog will only last three(ish) weeks. I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve. I have a history of taking off my shirt. One (to Three) Week(s),
Barenaked Ladiesps- Oh yeah. We've switched the address of the site on the Interweb. It's now at blog.writersdigest.com/writerslife/ You can still get to it from the old address, but why make it harder on your computer? Please adjust your Internets accordingly.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008 1:26:05 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Tuesday, March 11, 2008
A Television Show That Will Make You a Better Writer (and Make Me Irrationally Emotional)
There will be better and more coherent posts regarding the series finale of the Wire, but I just wanted to offer my final recommendation/plea as a writer. "The Wire"--for those who haven't heard/seen it-- was a show that was on for five seasons on HBO depicting inner-city Baltimore through all the different arms of city life: the drug trade, the city police department, the mayor's office, the unions, the newspaper, the city schools, etc. The series finale was last night. Like my profile on Friendster, it is now retired. And--although I do have a penchant for hyperbole-- I swear to you that I am not being overly dramatic when I say that "The Wire" is and will forever remain the best and most complete form of entertainment I have ever experienced. And that goes for books, movies, television, internet shows starring Michael Cera, AND my roommate performing "Kiss from a Rose" at the Japanese karaoke joint in the Fenway. And I love karaoke. Each season is a chapter in the most complicated and utterly authentic tele-novel ever written. It was created by a former Baltimore Sun reporter and a former Baltimore detective, and the only writers they've brought on to collaborate with are urban crime novelists: George Pelecanos, Richard Price, Dennis Lehane, etc. And they just nail it. All the characters are so well developed, so real feeling, so spot-on with their dialogue, so perfectly placed with their own arcs, and internal conflicts, you can't help but grow despondently attached to them. I cried when my favorite character was killed. Legitimately. And he did (mostly) bad things. I have been watching this show since it first came on, and although I normally take a loserish pride in staking any sort of trendy claim about discovering something, I have told everyone I've ever known to give it a chance. Anyone that will listen to me. I have pitched this show like I had some sort of major investment, like I would somehow benefit financially from its success, like it was written by one of my (financially well off!) siblings. But I don't have any sort of publicity deal. I just appreciate art and think this show is important enough that everyone should watch it. Yes, it has bad language (authentic cop/drug dealer talk!), and violence, and other vices that may offend, but I guarantee that watching this show will improve your ability to see and develop full characters and recognize the greatness that comes with real authenticity in writing. The entire show sounds improvised and ad-libbed, but according to what I've read, hardly any of it deviates at all from the script, which is the true litmus test of real dialogue writing. Even my dad (MY dad!), who won't do anything I ask him and shies away from publicly admitting he helped create me, begrudgingly watched the first season, and ended up secretly watching all the other seasons behind my back because he didn't want to admit I was right. Friends, The Wire is a show for writers. Trust me on this. Rent the first season, watch the 12 episodes, and if you don't like it or at least see what I mean, I will (probably) personally mail you a check for $8.99 in Netflix expenses. OK, so I won't write you a check but you will definitely not be invited to my Annual Wire Anniversary Gala next March (featuring Kim Kardashian!). Ok. Whew. I'm sorry. I'm all choked up. I will now step down off of my soap box, dry my eyes and resume what's left of my regularly scheduled blog entry. I am on deadline again for Boston Magazine, trying to finish up a quick essay piece re: an interesting phenomenon in city social circles. For fear of someone stealing my idea, I will NOT be more specific. My plan of attack is to write several hundred word blocks in stream-of-conscious fashion for two hours straight until I find something that actually sounds clever/accurate and then fashion my entire piece around that insight. FYI: I do NOT recommend this tactic for the GRE writing section. This was really great, friends. Let's do it again Thursday. Also, the songs of 1998 will resume with Thursdays entry, but I was reminded last night that every make out scene from BH 90210 had this song playing in the background, and so it needs to be all over my Internets. You win, Steve Sanders! No, I don't want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart). With you. Wicked Game,
Chris Isaak
Tuesday, March 11, 2008 2:44:15 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Thursday, March 06, 2008
Missed Opportunities, Nostalgia and (More!) Name Dropping
In keeping up with my theme of the week of reading something then writing about it, the New York Times (I still read the Times!) just published an article about an upcoming piece in Esquire (I also read Esquire!) entitled "Esquire Publishes a Diary That Isn't" that details how Esquire assigned a writer to write a first-person fictionalized account of Heath Ledger's last days. Because Ledger just died, Times cites the move as controversial but David Granger, the Esquire editor, defends the piece as just what Esquire does: “It’s an earnest effort,” he said, adding that the magazine has tried to tackle fiction using a nonfiction playbook before. “We’ve been trying to assign fiction,” he said, “to make it topical, relevant. To go to writers with a headline or an idea.”From what I know of the magazine, this is a path they've been riding down in a very real way for more than a year and, I think, is cool and promising for young fiction writers that like Esquire's style. I enjoy magazines that are willing to push boundaries (as long as they clearly label their efforts) and yes, I love Esquire. I might not always love everything they put in there, but I enjoy the creative efforts put forth. All I'm saying is that if Esquire wanted to casually date me, I would consider it. But telling you this is, of course, just an excuse to mention something about Esquire that is relevant to my own life. (If you're keeping track at home, I've now said the word Esquire 9 times in two paragraphs. Eat that, Lit Classes!) Several months ago, I spoke to (name drop!) Tom Chiarella, the Esquire fiction editor, when I was writing a profile of the writer James Boice, whose fiction first appeared in the pages of Esquire and closely resembled a fictional account of the Kobe Bryant rape accusations from several years ago, and he reiterated this push for relevant "urgent" fiction. Chiarella seems like one of those great editors who knows a lot about writing, life, and clever things to claim on your tax returns, but lacks the monstrous ego that you normally associate with people in those positions of power. We talked for over an hour about the magazine and good fiction and he'd also stated that they were looking for fresh, new voices for fiction and asked if there was anyone up in Boston that he should be checking out. Of course, I recognized this as my "chance", this fluid, seminal moment of connection when a spot opens up and you have a window of opportunity to both show and tell, and that later on in life, after I was demanding 20 K for guest speaking fees and had my own live-in hairdresser/masseuse, I would look back on this moment with a bit of nostalgia as I was getting my sideburns evened out, but, alas, it was not to be so. My only short story-- something about dating a reality star while living in Zurich and pretending to be a travel writer-- needs at least eleven more drafts to be acceptable. So I said I would think about it, asked him if he liked Sam Lipsyte, and then we hung up. Then I think I (internally) cried at my explicit dropping of the ball and proceeded to eat several blueberry Ego Waffles with (NON) low calorie Mrs. Buttersworth AND real butter. Obviously, I'm totally over it. Anyway, I don't really remember what we were talking about. I'm overcome with emotions. Enjoy your weekend. I'm now going to wallow in self-pity until tomorrow night when I wallow in guacamole at my favorite Mexican restaurant. I will never stop loving the songs of 1998. All for,
You
Sister Hazel
Thursday, March 06, 2008 8:53:47 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Tuesday, March 04, 2008
On Virtual Breaks, Internal Monologues, and Reggie Bush
There is an article today in the NYT (fyi: I read the Times!) called "I Need a Virtual Break. No, really" in which the author discusses how he forcefully worked some peace and quiet away from all methods of communication into his routine and how it benefited his life. This rang true to me because I have serious issues letting go of my communication devices (literally. I fall asleep most nights clutching my cell phone with my computer on in my bed). This is not healthy. I've been on the other side of the technology coin. When I was finding myself (and other things) in Eastern Europe, I did not have a cell phone for 100 days. I wrote longhand in a journal-thing. I read 16 books. I even used phonebooths! I remember discussing these feelings of internal and external solitude with the Big Cat: BC: Remember cell phones? KA: What? BC: Cell phones? Remember them? KA: Yeah. BC: They were pretty convenient. KA: I know. We'd spent so much time with ourselves and without the use of modern technology that we were starting to get nostalgic about it. On some levels, this was great. Internal reflection, peace of mind, and not having to ignore ubiquitous ":-(" messages from my father, once my younger brother taught him how to use the texting feature, were all hella (NorCal shout out!) positives. But then we rented a computer in Prague. And all bets were off. We attacked the Internets like hungry dogs, each trying to wake up earlier to first get a piece of the world wide web action. The computer became a new, new thing to fight about, and our complete cold-turkey experience without it had done little to quell the internal feelings that us Web 2.0 humans feel: Namely, who has been friending me on Facebook?!?! So I guess my point is this: as writers, we spend so much time with technology in one way or another (just by the act of sitting at our computer) that--for us, perhaps more than most-- actively cutting yourself off from that sort of thing is a hard, hard task. But writers especially need their time away from technology, away from the fast paced world of the 'Net, and within themselves. It helps us make connections, it helps us figure out what we're trying to do, and--most importantly-- it doesn't give us an excuse to go on thesuperficial.com and look at pictures of Kim Kardashian grinding with Reggie Bush. Explain away your own technology-induced or fearing habits in the Comments section (located below!). I hope your weekend was well above-average. Deja Vu,
(Uptown Baby)
Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz
Tuesday, March 04, 2008 8:08:00 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Thursday, February 28, 2008
On Re-Reading, Re-Writing And Arithmetic
Things seemed so easy. Just zip through the ending that I'd already mapped out, nail a few scenes, drop some exclamation points, throw in some gratuitous nudity and I'd be finished. Or finished with this draft until my advisor skewered it (in a constructive way!) at least. But it turns out that life isn't always the easy road that they make it out to be on the first season of Lost. So instead of just plodding forward happily, I started to re-read my book from the beginning. And then I started to freak out. It seems, not enough was happening to my characters. Sh*t needed to go down in a much more intense and forceful manner. People needed to be put in awkward positions. Choices needed to be made. Adverbs toned down. Exclamation points undropped. In lieu of completely losing my mind, I decided to semi-rationally read through the book again with a pen and a pad and take note of the places that needed some more conflict, where things needed to be ramped up, toned down, or excused from existing. This took an entire day, but it had the end result of making me much more confident about the state of my book (almost readable!) while staving off any desire to self-medicate. And now I feel the need to do those things before I turn in this draft. Which might take a few more days. Yes, this could make my advisor curse the day that I forced her to sign an exclusive advisor for life contract, but at least she didn't actually prick her finger and stamp the contract with blood, like I'd asked. And if this draft is better, then my next draft will be better, which means I will have to spend less time on the back end making the excuses that i'm trying to make right now, which will no doubt improve relations with the PR firm hired to promote my work. And that, friends, is how you publish a book!!! Class dismissed. Kidding. On to more general topics: (several of) the people have spoken and it's generally agreed that I am lazy and need to step up my blog game. With that said, I will now be posting at least twice a week, usually Mondays and Thursdays. At least one of these posts per week will be of choice quality. The other will be, like, pretty good. Enjoy the remnants of the week and the weekend. My friend Frank is coming into town, utilizing his spring break from law school in balmy Virginia to spend some time in the winter wonderland of Boston. Obviously, he didn't think this through. And PS- I'm planning on milking the songs of 1998 for all they're worth. Pretty Fly,
(For A White Guy)
The Offspring
Thursday, February 28, 2008 6:21:30 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Monday, February 25, 2008
The SoCal Exile Journal Day 4: Technically Over
I'm not good at saying goodbye. Although to be fair I probably don't know anyone who would say that their talents lie primarily in goodbyes, I just mean I dislike leaving things. Especially pretty things with good sushi. And so it was for NorCal. On my second day in the windy city of...hills and brotherly lights (?) my friend was kind of enough to show me (albeit by car, but whatever, it was raining hard) the Golden Gate Bridge (it's so red!), a French restaurant in Presidio with choice onion soup, that crooked street on the hill that's chock full of bricks and a close part of Marin County (with the brunch place on the water?). Mostly because my plane was delayed. But my point is: San Francisco is absolutely gorgeous, the people were handsomely dressed, and I was able to visit the Original Swensen's for Caramel Turtle ice cream after several sake bombs. That's like infinity wins. But duty and my father called, and so I had to return to San Diego and then back to Boston to resume the rigors of journalism and pay my roommate his rent check. And so I'm back in my beloved Beantown living again amongst kilometers of snow and the pained looks of people who haven't been to the Original Swensens. And since I like to reflect, I would say that this was a very productive exile. The trip afforded me the opportunity to entirely re-create the middle of my book, I was able to enjoy not less than two a-ha! moments, I hashed out an intense outline of the end, and--on the plane--I was able to sort out three vignettes that I'd previously had little-to-no-idea how to deal with before my computer died and I started watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium sans volume. Of course, I could've done more work and spent less time cavorting and gallivanting, but I like to think that my brain was processing and making connections during the down time. Right? Right? Totally. The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: After sampling my Clif Bar brand Mojo Bar (mountain mix flavor): "Your fancy-pants energy bars are too crunchy." Thank you for staying tuned during my brief respite on the Left Bank. Without your love, support, and offers to tri-habitate, I can honestly say I would've done much, much less. We will now return to our regularly scheduled program of blog entries. But since I kind of dig writing more frequently, I'll try and do this sort of thing more often. And as a reminder, you guys/girls have a say in the matter. This is America, man. So if you're interested in seeing more of a type of entry, or quiz or anything, feel free (as always) to speak on it in the Comments or send me a (handwritten!) note via snail mail. I'm now off to make snarky (but well-timed!) comments to myself while watching the Oscars. Why am I kind of nervous to see the hippies tomorrow? Inter,
galactic
Beastie Boys
Monday, February 25, 2008 1:25:38 AM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Friday, February 22, 2008
The SoCal Exile Journal Day 3: NorCal?
Did you know that San Francisco has hills? I mean, I've watched a significant portion of the fifth season of Full House so I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, but apparently I had not. The hills of SF, not unlike the hit MTV television series of the same name, are sudden, difficult to traverse and filled with beautiful people that want to hook up. But we're not here to discuss the topography of major NorCal cities (Are we?). We're here to talk about my writing progress. And progress it was, friends. To the tune of a major shake up in the middle of the book. After having sorted out something yesterday that made my book readable, I had only to connect the other literary dots in order to put the middle to sleep and get my end on. I also was able to utilize something (name drop!!) Tom Perrotta said to me when I interviewed him last year as we both ate Cuban sandwiches: "Just skip the boring parts." This is sound advice for me because I have a hard time not keeping everything in these very linear blocks that go from one scene to what would be the next logical place. So say my main character was in the mall shopping at Forever 21 for a coral sequined halter top (for his lady friend!). The next logical scene (in my mind) would be him driving back from the mall with said halter top and possibly a new vanilla Frosty from Wendy's. But that's pointless. No one needs to see him driving. It doesn't push the plot forward, it doesn't develop his character, and even though he probably would've had clever things to say about his vanilla Frosty, you can't build a book relying solely on cleverness, well timed bon mots and boring parts. This is something I've only recently learned. The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: "I'm not driving you to the airport." I'm currently sitting at a Starbucks on Stanford's campus waiting for my friend to get out of his business school class so he can buy me some Stanford Men's Distressed Print Sweatpants (Size Large) and I need to get some writing done so I'm going to disengage myself from the Internets. But I feel really good about where we are in our relationship. Good talk. Doo Wop,
(That Thing)
Lauryn Hill
Friday, February 22, 2008 11:01:33 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Thursday, February 21, 2008
The SoCal Exile Journal: Day 2: A Hint of Glory
Yesterday, during dinner with my father, I had a breakthrough. "Holy (swear word)," I said, during one of our long stretches of silence. "That's how I should do it!" "Are you drunk," my father asked me (I wasn't!), but I chose to abstain from comment as I'd already excused myself and headed back to my room where I spent the next three hours sorting out several scenes I'd been thinking about all week. I finally figured out how I wanted to end a crucial middle chapter scene (important semi-secret revealed in dialogue!), and that ending coincides nicely with this vignette I have to write (the book is told in two parts). I know all of this is vague and sounds semi-made up, but I swear--by the moon and the stars and the sky-- the connections developed post-dinner yesterday have rendered my book almost readable. So that was a positive. Because the rest of the day was utterly horrible. It rained here, which my dad thinks I had something to do with ("Do you think it's a coincidence that it's rained twice since you've been here and once before that in the past month?" "Yes." "Well...I don't."), and my writing was largely devoid of nouns and clauses. I did drink seven waters, though. The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: During an introduction: "This is my son." (Pause) "He's a writer." (Long Pause) "Of sorts." Anyway, I will be taking a side trip up to San Francisco for the next few days--a city I've never actually been to, but tell everyone that I love--to see some friends. Now I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure that at least one of the Internets works up there, so we can continue our conversation while I'm (insert touristy San Francisco activity here). And fear not: the hits from 1998 keep coming. Because when everything feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive. Right? Iris,
Goo Goo Dolls.
Thursday, February 21, 2008 8:26:52 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The SoCal Exile Daily Journal: Day 1
Words are complicated. Back in the old days, I used to know if I'd accomplished something by my word count. I'd say: I'm going to write 2000 words today and then I'm going to eat a club sandwich and have several Arnold Palmers. And I'd know that I was being productive, because the 2000 words were there, sitting tangibly on my (very expensive) computer screen. This made it easier to enjoy my club sandwich. But the re-write isn't all charging club sandwiches and Arnold Palmers to your father and asking if you can borrow his car for several hours to "run errands" by the outlets in Carlsbad. The word counts go up and down in an unpredictable fashion. Yesterday I deleted 46 pages of crap and rewrote 18. I have now connected the entire middle of my book to the end so that it no longer seems like I spent the middle chapters writing a (hilarious?) short story about the mall that had nothing to do with the rest of my work. But like the temperatures in my home state, my word count is low. I need to get over this, friends, and it starts by ignoring the word count. And maybe writing more? My Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: "So when you finished that jar of pickles did it even cross your mind 'hey maybe I should go the store and replace them'?" Today I am attempting to clean up those middle chapters I just re- wrote and plow through the back end of the book, editing with a passion and fury unseen in SoCal. I will keep you so up in the loop that you'll feel like you are writing this book and I'm just sitting in the hot tub text messaging emoticons. I'm also going to need to get some pickles. Let's do this again tomorrow. Oh, also: Song sign offs this week are exclusively coming from the year 1998. Mostly because that was a great year for network television. ( Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place, we hardly knew ye) Truly, Madly,
Deeply
Savage Garden
Wednesday, February 20, 2008 5:46:33 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)
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