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- I don't know. I can only assume.May 25, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Went to Barnes & Noble. Gross. It's Burger King of book stores.May 24, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- A Peek Inside Mermaid In Chelsea Creek - The http://t.co/LaqYa39lz5 http://t.co/JFVX3AJxvR via @The_Rumpus
- You guys, I bought track spikes and they're coming today! So excited.May 24, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Everyone say hello to Whisker-fur Walkins. Dollar Shave Club's hamster-in-residence. http://t.co/T2bJdhtXEI
- I think I pulled my ass playing ping pong at work. Is that possible?
- RT @pen_ev: Watch! "Apply: 2014 Emerging Voices Fellowship" featuring the 2013 Emerging Voices fellows at Tongue and Groove!!... http://t.c…May 23, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- RT @lilliamr: Watch me say a Spanish curse word! And writers, APPLY! http://t.co/S7qEwMdz2uMay 23, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Yo L.A. writers! You should apply for this fellowship: http://t.co/bYZGPGxCSr (watch me squirm & do weird things w/ my hands in this video)May 23, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- I know this shouldn't be funny, but it is. https://t.co/EgnOKLlOyk @arresteddevMay 23, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Elizabeth Taylor applies eye makeup. I can't look away. Thank you @edmoore12 http://t.co/KLKZDPDWeN
- RT @pshares: Did you ever want to read the first @pshares issue from Fall 1971? Download a digital copy right now! http://t.co/qLjtba5H79May 23, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Hey look! Ask and you shall receive: Flavorwire's 50 Records You Need to Own, A Spotify Playlist: http://t.co/Bhg9Rr4gVv THX @flavorwire!
- Hopper drawings http://t.co/CLhoxep4hA
- Blood Ties w/ Billy Crudup, Clive Owen, Marion Cotillard and Mila Kunis. Yes please. http://t.co/Ca4S8nAJ7x
- Hilarious. The Stark Family: http://t.co/IIxKOzhd7U No, Jon. #GoTMay 22, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
- Lydia Davis wins 2013 Man Booker http://t.co/PWPAPIk5yM
- Photoset: nevver: Behind the scenes http://t.co/ykT7mkms3c
- Today is going to be rough. Who goes out drinking until 1AM on a Tuesday?May 22, 13 from web Reply, Retweet, Favorite
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Posts
I’m going to ramble incoherently today.
New York Magazine published this article, The Retro Wife, that tried to make a trend out of a minuscule sample size, that trend being women staying at home as the new feminist choice. The whole thing is pretty ridiculous, and then at the end, there’s…
good:
Make This Awesome ‘33 Ways to Stay Creative’ List a Part of Your Life
- Liz Dwyer posted in Education, Creativity and ListsThis list pops up on the web every few months—the Steampunk group on Facebook is the latest to share. What would happen if most people followed its recommendations instead of just clicking “like”? How would our society change if schools posted these and then operated accordingly? (Caveat for the kids: We’d have to nix “drink coffee”!) Of course the best thing about lists is crossing things off of them, so c’mon, let’s commit to putting some of these suggestions into practice.
»no thanks« by e.e. cummings (+)
shape poem in the form of a funeral urn dedicated to 14 publishers who rejected his book.
In this week’s issue of the magazine, Robin Schwartz photographed Lena Dunham’s dog Lamby for Dunham’s Personal History “A Box of Puppies.” Schwartz, who took her first photograph of an animal at ten years old, told me, “I am an animal person. I cannot survive without animals, this is who I have always been.” Her assistant on the shoot was her thirteen-year-old daughter, Amelia, who is also the subject of Schwartz’s body of work “Amelia’s World,” a magical portrait stretching over eleven years, which pictures Amelia with all types of animals—the largest is an elephant and the smallest is a Cotton-Top Tamarin. Schwartz is a professor of photography at William Paterson University, in New Jersey, and is represented by ClampArt.
Click-through for a selection of images from “Amelia’s World,” accompanied by Amelia’s captions and memories, and followed by a brief Q. & A. with Schwartz: http://nyr.kr/Xq4jkK
- This album on repeat.
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- Relax.
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- Imagining myself in Texas… maybe it’s time for a visit?
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- Love is a curse shoved in a hearse/Love is an open book to a verse of your bad poetry
(No streaming audio available)0 plays - Obsessed w/ Les Damnes by Nous Non Plus right now. Sounds like the soundtrack of a Miyazki film set in France.
(No streaming audio available)0 plays - Love The Walkmen, love their new album, love this track in particular.
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Posts
- Apr 23, 13
I was at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books this past weekend. It's at USC now (I miss the times when it was at UCLA, when the walkways were wide and a person felt like they could breathe, but that's not why I'm writing) this big sprawling festival of writers and publishers and agents and editors and mostly desperate people, cramped into narrow walkways, over grassy hills, is a miasma of individuals hoping to find something or someone that can help them along the path to their dreams.
Anyone who writes, and especially those like me who are aspiring, know that my demographic -- the people who want to become writers -- is a hugely profitable one. People are making money hand-over-fist on the backs of people's greatest hopes in a ways that are exploitive and dirty. And they are successful because writers are a desperate breed of people. Especially aspiring writers, who all seem to be racing for the finish line (this writer included).
Desperation is an impatient beast. It doesn't have time for hard work, time for classes, time to read, time for revisions, but writing and writing well takes so much hard work, so much time. A serious and aspiring writer friend of mine met another, greener writer and said to me, "I just can't listen to her. I've worked too hard...I just can't." And I totally get what she means. I know what it feels like to have your deepest desire thrown around by other less serious, maybe undeserving, people. How dare they call themselves writers? They haven't worked half as hard as I have.
I met a lot of these people at the Festival of Books. People who wanted to know how YOU could help THEM. Do you want a copy of my book? Will you publish my book? I have my book here if you want to buy a copy? I'm self published. I'm published. I'm looking for an agent. I get the desperation, I have it too, I just hide it better.
For myself, and for a lot of aspiring writers, I believe the main problem is that we allow our desperation, our hope, to let us get ahead of ourselves. That's why the sight of so many desperate people, all in one place, can be unnerving. I'm going to say something now which might sound a little like hubris, but comes from knowing the fruits of hard work and determination:
I am not worried about publishing my book. I'm not worried about finding an agent.
I believe that these things will come to me if I do my best to produce good work. If my book is good, if I've done everything I can to make it the best it will be, it will eventually find a home. I know this because every thing I've achieved so far has been won on the back of hard work. I know this because In the years I've dedicated to becoming a writer I've read a lot of books. A lot of bad books. A lot of crap gets published so why can't my crap get published? It will happen in time If I just put in the work, and that is the main thing I wanted to get across. Impatience breeds laziness. Impatience allows you to settle with good enough. Impatience allows you to be taken advantage of by people who are looking to make money off of your desperation. I believe that if someone is willing to put in the hard work, the rewards will follow.
It is easy to get ahead of yourself. Especially when you are so close to the finish line, which is why it is important not to think about the rewards. You have to tap into that thing that makes you want to be a writer, the pleasure and self-satisfaction that comes with putting all of yourself into your work. I've been told time and again by published authors that publishing a book will not change your life. So what you have to hold on to is the thing that made you want to write in the first place. Everything else, in the face of that, is empty, fleeting. The work is what is important. The writing is the best part! The satisfaction of taking the time to make craft something filled with beauty and meaning. You can't skip ahead. You have to take your time. You have to roll around in it, enjoy the journey and the success when it comes, will mean so much more.
A former teacher of mine, Les Plesko, once said he allows himself 15 minutes a day to think about his future greatness, then he gets back to work. It's some of the best advice I've ever received.
So:
Get back to work. - Mar 29, 13
I've been obsessing with this clip every since I stumbled upon the GIF of this scene on my new favorite (albeit strange and perverse) blog. I want to memorize her words, her inflections and tone and perform it as many times as I can whenever possible. She's remarkable.
INTERVIEWER:But are you willing to compromise? Within a relationship?EARTHA:Compromise?What is compromising?Compromising for what?Compromising for what reason?To compromise?For what?To compromise.What is compromise?INTERVIEWER:If a man came into your life, wouldn't you want to compromise?EARTHA:(raises eyebrows)She laughsStupid.She laughs again.A man comes into my life and I have to compromise? (pause) You must think about that one again.An extended laugh, Eartha throws her head back in amusementA man comes into my life and you have to compromise? For what? For what? (pause, demanding) For what? A relationship is a relationship that has to be earned! Not to compromise for. (pause) And I love relationships I think they're fantastically wonderful I think they're great. I think there's nothing in the world more beautiful than falling in love. (pause) But falling in love for the right reasons, falling in love for the right purpose. Falling in love. Falling in love! When you fall in love…what is there to compromise about?INTERVIEWER:Isn't love a union between two people? Or does Eartha, fall in love with herself?EARTHA:I think, if you were to think about it in terms of analyzing... (beat) Yes. I fall in love with myself, and I want someone to share it with me. (beat) I want someone to share me, with me. - Mar 21, 13
They have everything your bones ache for. You want to consume them. You want them to be your friend. Your mother. Your father. Your lover. You want them to see brillance in you, because their approval is the validation of your entire identity as an artist, writer, human being.
You think it'd be something to eventually grow out of. But as an artist, or someone with an artistic pursuit, I find myself falling into idol worship all the damn time. I can fall in love in a sentence. Fuck that, I can fall in love over a word so perfectly chosen it feels like it's grabbing me by the spine.
Then, if you're lucky enough, you get to meet your idols. If you're luckier still, you get to talk to them, take classes with them, learn from them -- the lighthouses of your dreams.
It is a humbling weakness. I want to be confident in my abilities, in my talent, in the results of the hard work I've put into my reading and writing, without needing the affirmation. I'm terrified people will think I'm a hack, a shitty, talentless writer, or worse yet, a dilettante. I don't want them to see the insecure, approval-seeking wannabe hiding behind my ambition. It is a painful reminder of my immaturity as a writer, as a person.
Approval seeking is a big part of that fear and the high you get from it is fleeting. It lasts as long as the moment lasts if not just a moment longer before you're aching for the next fix. More affirmation, more approval, special treatment.
I know enough to understand that gaining approval shouldn't be important. Having something to say is what is important. Putting in the hard work to say it in a way only I could is what is important. But it's still there, sitting in my chest, my pilot light of hope, waiting for you to love me. - Feb 23, 13I looked for inspiration and when I found it, it looked annoyed.“What do you want from me?” Inspiration said.“The usual,” I said. “You know, what everyone wants.”“Everyone wants something different,” Inspiration said.“Okay,” I said. “Give me something sad.”“Something sad? I can do that.”Inspiration changed into the shape of my old dog. She wagged her tail at me the way she used to when I came home from school. I thought of the last time I saw her and felt sick.“That’s too sad,” I said.Inspiration changed back.“You want something happier?”“Happy is boring,” I said. “Give me something different.” Then I had a thought. “Show me what inspires you.”“What inspires me…”Inspiration changed into a scene. A quiet morning, or maybe it was night, one small lamp glowing on a desk, and a person writing in a notebook.I watched the scene for a moment. The person wiped their eyes, drank from a cup, and continued to write.“What is it?” I asked the tableau.“It’s Dedication,” Inspiration said. “It’s Discipline. It’s you.”
- Feb 08, 13
Julius Shulman
I don't think of traffic, or smog, or Hollywood or the vain and vapid people who make the city intolerable at times.I think of the mountains and the desert and the orange trees of the San Gabriel Valley and the way they blossom and fill the night air with a magically sweet smell.
I think of what it must have been like in 1920 when my great grandparents came here from Oklahoma and Indiana. Or what it was like when my Mom moved to El Monte in the late 50's from Minnesota and before that from the Philippines. I imagine my Dad with his chin length hair seeing the Doors play in West Covina, driving around with his windows rolled down blasting rock and roll when it was in it's prime.Me and my friend Bando in Apple Valley That's my Dad second from the right (What a stud),
with my Uncle Richard, Aunt Debby and Uncle Danny at the Grand Canyon.I think of a town of limitless opportunities and unparalleled diversity. I think of home and the people that inspire with their suffering and their success. Los Angeles isn't a town for the soft-palmed and fearful. It's a place that awards the confident and adventurous. The outside world might look at us and see wannabes and coteries but I see hardworking people. People who have to push themselves everyday. - Feb 08, 13Left to right: Kima Jones, Krisserin Canary (Me! Duh),Elle Brooks, Tommy Moore, Lilliam Rivera and Terrence Flynn.Photo by Casey Curry.January 27, 2013 PEN Center USA threw a party to celebrate the 2013 Emerging Voices Fellows. Thank you so much to everyone who came out. For those of you who weren't able to make it--I've pasted the excerpt I read from "The Incredible Gustafson Women," below. Thank you again to everyone for your love and support. It means everything.
Photo by Casey Curry. An excerpt from my novel-on-progress, The Incredible Gustafson Women:"BOOBS!"Saying the word seemed to form their mouth into the very shape the boob was intended for--pursed, ready to suckle."BOOBS!" They said again, pointing.The three boys, Buddy, Matthew and Ronald, had been her friends since as long as she could remember playing in the fields, but age had brought something between them, it brought Margaret's breasts.Margaret Gustafson descended from a long line of Danish women, whose colossal bosoms were made to nurse the strongest of Viking men. At 12, what Margaret had developed were only a wink of what was to come, but on seeing the sprouting of those little buds, her mother drove her down to the store and bought her the itchiest, scratchiest bra they had to offer. It was white, cotton with stitched-cups, that fit tight around her chest and pushed what little Margaret had up towards her neck. The edges, trimmed with lace, left red outlines on her chest and underarms. It was a torture device, created to punish the wearer. Margaret was convinced that if Eve had known that this would have been a consequence of the fall of man, she would have changed her mind."What do they feel like?" One of the boys asked."They feel like normal," Margaret said. She was sick of her anatomy being the topic of conversation. She wanted to talk about baseball or hidden treasure, but Margaret's developing chest was too new, too exciting. She'd taken to removing her bra and sticking it in the back pocket of her jeans before she went out to play, but its absence only made her breasts more noticeable. They stood up like toothpicks propped underneath her shirt.Margaret hated the idea that she was turning into something different from the only friends she'd ever had. She didn't want to be like Maude and Mary, her older sisters who were obsessed with boys and bleaching their mustaches. She wanted to be out in the world--running, playing, dancing, and most definitely not growing boobs."I want to cut them off!" She wailed to her mother, after a particularly embarrassing day."They're just interested because it's different. They'll give up caring soon enough," her mother said.The next day the boys were sitting in their usual spot playing cards, in the remains of the old burnt-out barn at the end of Margaret's road. The cards were Matthew's; lifted from a secret box his older brother kept under his bed. They had pictures of naked women, their top halves twisted to show pink nipples, joyfully erect.Margaret had seen the cards before, and before they never harbored much interest, but now she couldn't help but to look and compare."This one's got huge titties. Look!" said Matthew.He turned to the next card."She's my favorite," said Buddy, pointing."Why are her nipples brown?" Margaret said."What color are your nips, Margaret?" asked Buddy."None of your damn business," Margaret said. "I don't know why you guys care so much. They're just boobs. Your mom has them.""Not like these she don't," said Matthew."If it's not such a big deal, why don't you let us see 'em?" said Ronald."It's not a big deal!" said Margaret. She didn't want them to think she cared. She didn't want them to think she was different."Can we touch them?" said Matthew."If I let you, just once, will you leave me alone?"They unanimously agreed that they would.So in the dark, cold, burnt-out barn, Margaret Gustafson took off her top; she turned to face the three boys, her childhood friends, bare-chested.Buddy was the first one to reach out. He put his hand under her right breast and lifted it up."They're smaller than I thought," he said."They're still growing!" she said."They’ll get bigger,” Matthew said. “Have you seen Mrs. Gustafson?” He reached out and poked at her nipple, pushing it down into her chest."Careful!" she said."Why is one bigger than the other?" Ronald said. He reached out and pinched her left nipple, while Buddy, whose hand hadn't moved from below her right breast, began to slap it lightly back and forth."Look! Her nips are getting hard!" Buddy said.She didn't think that it would have bothered her to have other people touch her there, because until that day they had existed separate from Margaret. They were not a part of her, they just happened to be attached to her, like a tick or a barnacle. A parasite growing larger and larger each day, sucking a little bit more pride away from our girl. But now that they were under attack by the careless hands of these boys, she finally felt that they did belonged to her. The shock of nerves and pumping blood vessels exploded all the way down to her stomach, and she didn't like how it made her feel.It was a hard pinch from Ronald that finally turned the switch. Margaret reeled back and punched him hard, right in the face, her fist drawing blood from his split cheek. A transference of pain, of hurt.Margaret ran. She ran out of that barn all the way back to her house, her two hands cupped over her chest to protect herself. She was able to escape upstairs to her room without anyone seeing her, and once alone, she took the opportunity to look in the mirror. She imagined she was going to see bruises or marks where the boys had touched her, but there was no sign left behind.She felt them. They were sore, and she wondered if it was from the fondling or because they were growing that they hurt; that she hurt. She put on her bra, and her shirt, and she was sad--sad that, despite wanting to run and play and dance and be a kid, her body had decided it was time to grow up. - Dec 29, 12
I loved Christmas growing up. The music, the tree, the presents. It was the time of year I got to cuddle up in warm flannel pajamas, and chase my brothers around the house.
Christmas is magical for children, and as you get older, year-by-year, the magic slowly fades away. Christmas becomes a chore.
As an adult I still want the magical Christmas that I had as a child, but unless you have children of your own there is no real way to reenact what you experienced growing up. Then there are other people who never had magical Christmases, or maybe they had too few. This time of year looms heavy in their heart because they know not to expect anything. Maybe they never celebrated Christmas, and going to school after the holidays meant having to explain that you didn't get any presents, that you didn't get the newest toy or backpack or lunch pail.
Then there are those, like my Mother-in-law, who don't get to have Christmas with their family. And others who are experiencing their first Christmas since losing someone important in their lives. There is a reason that the holiday season brings with it so much pain and sadness -- the memories of our childhood Christmas that haunt us.
Maybe its the fact that I'm unemployed, and I was unable to participate as enthusiastically in the buying and giving this year. Maybe its the fact that I'm seeing the unhappiness of the people around me, or feeling it myself. Maybe its because I've grown up and realized that these holidays are a little too manufactured, a little too forced, but Christmas has lost its magic for me.
I saw a video from Jay Smooth that really echoed how I feel about the holidays, and the pressure and stress it can put on people, and I've come to realize that it isn't healthy building up the expectations of a holiday.This year's Christmas tree.
And at the same time I saw my friend Nanette share her daily elf on a shelf pictures, and I know that it is something that her daughter will remember her entire life.
So it's a conundrum. Do you give your children the magical Christmas you had growing up, knowing that there is a large chance of them having seasonal depression as an adult? Or do you try to communicate a more realistic version of the holidays? I think that is the key--finding a way to show them while they are young, that not everyone gets to have a happy holiday. Maybe through volunteering, or donating. I can tell you right now it is not through the exorbitant buying of crappy toys and games.
It's not our parent's faults that they wanted to give us a good holiday. I will always cherish those Christmases past. But maybe it's time to reevaluate how we celebrate these holidays, and find a way forward that doesn't include buying into the industry built around mass consumption and black Fridays and malls being open 24 hours. Because after it is all over Christmas is just a dead tree disposed unceremoniously on the sidewalk, and nothing about us changes except the balance in our bank accounts.
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After reading through the above a couple times I realize how depressing all this sounds. I would like to say that I had a good Christmas, despite everything I said above. I was able to buy thoughtful, inexpensive gifts for my loved-ones. I wrote 43 Christmas cards to friends and family all over the country. I'm extremely grateful, and I guess, I just wanted to acknowledge the same way Jay did that there are others who experience sadness and pain on the holiday season. I wanted to acknowledge them and say it's okay to have a shitty holiday, and that you're not alone. - Dec 24, 12More thoughts on unemployment.When you're a child you can't wait to grow up. You want to be able to do whatever you want without your parents correcting or controlling you. But what children don't understand about being an adult and making your own decisions is that liberty means you have to find your own way without a safety net. As an adult, reprimands and punishments no longer come in the form of time outs and groundings--they come as traffic violations, DUIs, pregnancies, illness, jail and death. Uplifting, right?So in order to protect yourself from life's injustices you get a job. You compromise. You do something that isn't important to you so that you can collect a paycheck, pay rent, buy things. And if feels like you live your day-to-day as an investment in your future. You invest your money for retirement. You plan your children's lives in order to give them a successful life. You live to benefit other people. You live for another time.I've been in such a hurry for so long--sprinting towards my goals wanting more money, more accomplishments, more of everything. I'm finally coming to realize that the wanting has brought me to a place of dissatisfaction. If I'm always looking ahead to what I don't have, I'm not looking around to appreciate what I do have.I have a luxury that many others who are without work do not--I have savings, and a husband with an income that provides us with enough for now. I'm collecting unemployment which also helps. So I'm not going to compromise on my next job. While interviewing I'm going make sure that the company is the right fit for me instead of only thinking about selling myself to them. I'm not worried about finding a job, I know it will come.So my goal for the remainder of my unemployment, and really something I hope to do going forward is to slow down. I want to take time to do things mindfully, and to let the passion and eagerness and ambition that sparks white-hot inside me settle into a slow, sustaining burn. I'm going to take the time that I so willing shucked away as a child right now. I believe it will make me a better writer. And my hope is that it will also make me a happier person.
- Nov 16, 12
You wake up at 10:30 or 11 or even 12 and you feel guilty about it. You have a cup of coffee and you look at job postings but there is nothing new from yesterday. You check your email, you check Facebook, you try and IM friends with jobs and get impatient when they don't respond promptly cause they have actual "work" to do. You tell your friends you are bored and they tell you they are jealous and you feel guilty for bothering them at work. You sit down and re-read what you wrote yesterday and you hate it, but you try not to get discouraged. You read "The Savage Detectives" by Roberto Bolano and pretend you can tell why people think he's a genius. You read "The Savage Detectives" by Robert Bolano so you can impress people by saying you're reading Roberto Bolano. Most of your friends have no idea who Roberto Bolano is so it's just a waste of time.
You think about going to a cafe to write but that would include having to buy something to drink or eat. Buying anything makes you feel guilty because your bank account doesn't refresh the way it used to every month. Instead you stay home and eat sandwiches and cheese and you don't eat salad because you are lazy. You feel guilty about not eating salad. You want to exercise but before you exercise you have to get some writing done. So you sit down at your computer and surf through three dates of back-dated posts on On No They Didn't. You feel guilty for wasting time. You open up your writing file and start writing and you write a couple pages and it's all shit.
You have a notification on Facebook. You check the notification. One of your friends is sent you an offer for Southwest airlines. You open the job postings again and you apply to at least three. You find one job posting at a company you really like but they won't even look at your resume because you don't have enough experience. You are in a weird in-between world of over and under qualified. You check your email, Obama is asking for $37 dollars. You delete the email. You feel guilty for deleting the email until you get another one in five minutes. You delete that one, too.
You pet your dog and wonder if she is as bored as you are. You think of taking her to the dog park but you're supposed to be writing so you don't. You laugh when you think back to the times you were in a job you hated, and all you wanted was to quit to stay at home and write. You think about your story again. You love your story but you aren't writing it well. Your thoughts aren't translating down to the page. You're writing a bunch of nonsense and you know you'll eventually edit it all out anyway.
You think about going somewhere, but then you think about how much gas that trip would take and you stay home. You wait for a reasonable time to turn on the TV. You made a rule that you aren't allowed to watch TV until the late afternoon. You turn on the TV at 4pm and wait for your husband to come home. You watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of New York and yesterday's episode of Sons of Anarchy. You knit while you watch these shows. Your husband comes home at seven and you have already spent three hours in front of the television. You are almost done with a really ugly orange scarf. You spend the entire rest of the evening in front of the television. You will stay up until 2AM reading "The Savage Detectives" by Roberto Bolano because despite having no idea where the story is going you can't put it down. You decide there might actually be something to this book. You fall asleep. You will do the same thing tomorrow. You will feel guilty about it. - Sep 13, 12You asked me a question—whether or not I thought I was better off today than four years ago. I’ve thought about it, and I am finally ready to respond.
I was born three years into President Reagan’s first term of office, so I’m not as familiar with the folksy charm that made him into the Republican God he is today—what I do know of Reagan is “trickle-down” economics. We learned about it in high school. In college I learned that this economic theory didn’t work—and as a UCLA student I saw the evidence of its failings in every homeless veteran wandering outside the gates of the Veteran Center and sleeping in the streets of Westwood.Four years ago I was hired to work at an Internet start up in Santa Monica. I remember seeing 170 open positions under the Online/New Media category on MediaBistro when I began my job search, where just a year before that number had hovered around 290 (as I write the number has grown to 484). The opportunities were few and the good opportunities—the kind that grow your career and not make you want to give up on the world, renounce all worldly possessions, fall of the grid and live on a commune—were far fewer. This was before LinkedIn became the ultimate source for jobs in the tech industry. The success of LinkedIn—a social network created for the purpose of professional networking—should in itself be an indicator of job growth. I found my new job after some searching, but I found it. This was in July of 2008.Since then I have had a successful career. My salary has increased 23 percent since 2008, and the startup where I worked went public. I received stocks as part of my yearly reviews and was lucky enough to leave that company with some extra money. My 401K is doing well, I’ve invested it in alternative energy and it continues to grow. I bought a new car, a motorcycle, a new TV. I’m not saying these things to brag, it is shameful consumerism, but I’m saying this because four years ago, I was not able to afford any of these luxuries.I know that I am extremely lucky. I was able to go to college at a good school, a public university, and my parents are helping me pay for it. I am grateful that I can afford to pay my student loan, which at $40,000 with 7.75% interest costs me $350/month. I am lucky to live in Los Angeles where the job market is large and diverse. I am also young, which means I was able to take the low-paying entry-level jobs with technical requirements that older individuals with more experience would not be considered for, or afford to take. I say this knowing that both of my parents were unemployed for a large period of time during the last four years. My father has since gotten a new job, and my mother is enjoying early retirement—although she complains that her social security checks are small, “33 years of work and this is what it amounts to?” I say this with a brother in Las Vegas who lost his construction job and with another brother who is working as a Real Estate broker in Southern California and doing really well. I know I am also lucky to be married. My husband came to the states when he was 19 because opportunities in Bulgaria are ever shrinking. He came close to being penniless and now has a successful career, and is taking classes at community college so he can go to a 4-year school and study computer science. Last year he became a citizen of the United States and this will be the first time he votes in an election.Life is easier for us than it is for most people.So in terms of my career and my income things are indeed better for me than they were four years ago. But there are things that still seem completely out of reach, like owning a home. I don’t know how my husband and I will ever be able to save for a down payment, but we’re trying. We also want to have children someday soon—and the question, “Can we afford it?” is something we have to consider.I want to close by telling you why I was frustrated with this question in the first place. Asking whether or not people are better off than they were four years ago, is the same thing as saying the economic crisis could have been solved in four years. I studied English Literature in college and openly admit I am not an economist, but I know that repairing and rebuilding economies of scale takes time. People say that anything worth doing takes time. I want to publish a book someday—writing a book, and writing a decently good book takes time. A lot of time. It takes writers years—sometimes decades to write a book, but these are the books that are loved and revered for generations after the author’s passing. Creating a good marriage takes time. Raising a responsible child takes a lot of time and hard work. Fixing a debt crisis that was created not just in the Bush administration, but with the deregulation of banks and the crash of the derivatives market, is going to take time. Asking me if I’m better off than I was four years ago is an appeal to the impatient, impulsive child inside of me that screams, “I want it now!” You are assuming that America is made up of Veruca Salts. I don’t believe that to be true.I know that there are people who responded to that same question with screams of NO! People who are pulling their hair out, desperate people who can’t feed their families; people that just want to work. So when you ask that question you are also playing on their fears and their will to survive. You ask that question and then propose tax plans that would only make them poorer and you richer. You tell them you are going to reform welfare when you know it’s going to make it harder for people—people like them who are not lazy, and are not freeloading, who want jobs just as badly as they do—to get help. What you are doing, sirs, is playing of the fears and prejudices of the people to gain power, and there’s a word for what that makes you—a demagogue.I think the question you should be asking, which is the question that Fareed Zakaria brought up last week is—Would I be better off in four years if Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan are in office? I have to say I don’t know much about the specific details of the policies you are proposing—we, the American people are still waiting for you to tell us—but I do know that giving the richest 1% a tax cut isn’t going to help. I know that my reproductive rights would be in jeopardy. I know the people I love won’t be able to marry because it doesn’t fit in within your religious beliefs. I’m worried what will happen when you make it easier for people to buy guns. I wonder if my children will be able to afford to go to college. I fear what would happen if I got cancer—how I would afford radiation and chemotherapy. If your party was in office, I couldn’t.I think you didn’t ask this question because you know what the answer would be.So now I’m asking you—do you think we’ll be better off four years from now if you are in office? Take a moment to think about it. If the honest answer is no then I hope you will reconsider some of your policies. If it is yes, then I guess we’ll have to see if the American people agree.I hope you ask me again. Ask me. Not the white, Christian, neoconservative audience in Tampa bay, Florida. Ask me, or my mother, or my brothers, or my friends who live in St. Louis and are going to business school. Ask my friend Brandon who is veteran, or my grandfather who is a retired teacher. Ask people who aren’t planning on voting for you and then listen. And when you listen if you can’t find compassion or empathy, then I don’t know what that says about the future of the leadership of the Republican Party. Because I know Republicans, I have family members who are registered and vote republican—they’re not bad people. They’re just like everyone else, and whether you’re a Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, white, black, brown, yellow, gay, straight, transgendered, young, old, rich, poor, homeless, disabled, employed, jobless, insured, uninsured and mentally ill, we are all trying to do the best with what they have. We are all Americans, even if we don’t vote for you. We all hope for a better future. This is why President Obama’s message is so powerful. We all need hope.Yours sincerely,Krisserin Canary - Aug 30, 12She tiptoed through the snow, watched it float around her, down to the grit of the New York City sidewalk, under her shoes. She'd been walking, marching, teetering on the balls of her feet all night and into the morning since Simon gave her the address at the party.Are you sure? He asked, pressing the card into her palm. I’m sure, she said. She squeezed the thick card stock into a ball, hoping the pointy corners would hurt her—drive the ache to one fixed point of pain.It had been six months since she learned Maria was alive and living in New York. Six months of looking for her on every street corner and in every cafe window. She wasn’t going to wait a minute longer.What would happen once she got there? Would Maria welcome her inside? Pour her a cup of cocoa? Would she allow the hot tears building up in her throat to roll down her cheeks or would she swallow them?She wanted her to see the person she’d become. She wanted to say, "Look at me, Mom. I did it without you."
- Aug 16, 12Hello? Are you there? Can you hear me? It’s hard to tell with this screen separating us. The only way I can communicate with you is by tapping my fingers on this strange plank with small-lettered buttons, or on an even smaller screen using my thumbs. In the future humans will be known as a species that communicated using only their hands.I’m sure you’re busy. You have a job, things to do, but I’m wondering if you have a second for me. I have something I want to tell you.No? You’re too busy reading Dlisted? You have a meeting? You’re bidding on something on eBay? That’s okay, I’ll wait.…Hey! Do you have time for me now?Can we talk about the important things? What do you mean what important things, the important things. Let’s talk about politics. You’re not political? What does that mean? I don’t want to get sanctimonious on you but it’s important, you know? You have to know what’s going on. You can’t just condemn your right-wing cousin in Arizona and not be a little concerned about where he is getting his information, or what other less sane people will do with it.Have you seen the news? There was another shooting. No, not Aurora, I’m talking about Texas A&M. I know it’s tragic and I know your father believes in the 2nd amendment, but do you know the statistics show having a gun in the home is more likely to be used in a homicide, suicide, or unintentional shooting than to be used in self-defense? Do you really think you need to be able to have semi-automatic weapons to protect yourself? Does your Dad think he’s some sort of cowboy? He’s going to have a shoot-out at the O-K Corral?I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that about your Dad. Sure we can talk about something else. Did you see the new Batman movie? Every time I’ve gone to see a movie in the past month I’ve had a moment of panic where I think someone is going to come into the theater and start shooting people. I’m being serious. I think about what I would do if it happened. You know what I’d do? I’d climb on top of my husband and pretend to be dead. I’d try to hide under the seats. If I ran, I’d run in zigzags to make it harder for the gunman to shoot me. All of this would be for naught if he had a semi-automatic rifle, though. He could just spray the crowd and we’d all be dead. I think, if something happens to Boyan I want to die too. I wouldn't want to live without him.I know. I’m sorry I’m back to that but I can’t help myself. I don’t understand why we can’t talk about this without you getting mad at me. Preachy? You think I’m preachy? I care. It’s important. I care. If that means I’m preachy I guess that’s what I am. I guess I am trying to convert you. You’re my friend and I know you’re smart and I just want you to care. This election is too important not to care.You plan on voting for Romney? Why? I don’t understand. You know by voting for Romney you’re voting against your own best interests, right? You do? Okay.Then I guess I don’t know what to say.Judgmental? I don't want you think I'm judging you. I don't know, maybe I am. I'm sorry. Yea, we can talk about something else.It has been really hot recently. Climate change, you know.You gotta go? Alright. Are we still on for this weekend? You can't come? That's okay. Another time. We'll talk soon. I hope it's about something important.
- Jul 22, 12
Tin House ended a week ago today. I miss being in lecture, I miss the excitement of hearing new truths about writing, about your friends, and about yourself. I want to keep the dream alive so I thought I'd write a small, not very well-digested recap, and outline some of my favorite things from the workshop, along with a few choice jewels of advice from the faculty.
I was rejected in 2009. It's a bit shame-making, admitting this past failure, but a writer's success, much like any artist endeavor, is defined by those who can triumph over rejection. I tell you about this rejection, because I want you to know how much it meant to me to be accepted this time; also to let friends who applied and were previously rejected (from anything!) know that success is possible with perseverance.
I labored over my submission, and when I was finally accepted I felt like I had won something. A prize that was bestowed on me not because of luck or chance but because of my hard work. It was, and still is, an incredible feeling. Tin House always seemed like some far off dream, something that only "real" writers get to experience. I went in with high expectations and they were met and surpassed beyond anything I could have dreamt or imagined.Aimee at her reading.
I was incredibly lucky to have the opportunity to study with Aimee Bender, who is by far the most generous and kind teacher, brilliant and talented writer, I've ever encountered. I read her novel, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, before Tin House and loved it. Since leaving I begun reading her short story collection, The Girl in the Flammable Skirt, which is filled with magic and sex and humanity and whimsy. I aspire to see the world the way she does.* * *One of many cocktail receptions.
It can be overwhelming. You look around and there are 200+ people, all of them like you, laboring over a blank page or hovering in front of a blank screen. They all aspire to write something honest and true and profound. Being in the Tin House bubble means that you look around and know the most interesting detail of everyone's lives. Everyone you meet is like YOU. They struggle with the same things you do, have dedicated their lives to the same pursuit.
I felt equal parts of accomplished, inspired and intimidated. You can't sit through one lecture or workshop without hearing people say names like John Cheever, Raymond Carver, and Alice Munro, names of people I know I should've known, and will soon know intimately (I promise). You quickly realize there isn't enough time to read everything: the Tin House reading list is debilitatingly long.
You listen to Pulitzer prize winner Paul Harding explain "The Jewels of the Cabots," like he fucking wrote it; learn about narration from the wickedly funny and honest Steve Almond, listen to Robert Bosworth tell a loving loving recollection of how he met his wife Antonya Nelson (and the story of his brother) which almost makes (or does make) you cry, all while teaching us the 12 steps to alternative characterization (Tonal dissonance!). You listen to Tony Doerr's brilliant talk on story structure (Freytag can suck it basically) and you realize there is so much you don't know. So much you didn't even think to know and you feel humbled. But it's okay, because then you sit in Aimee Bender's lecture on "Useless Rules" and realize that there is a liberating freedom in writing. Writing ultimate celebrates the individual, the unique voice. Suddenly things start to feel better.
Aimee talked about this scale, which reminded me of the last post I wrote on "The Writing Disease."
She said that most writer's go through bouts on either side of this scale, but the healthiest, most productive place to be is slightly left of center. Open and receptive to feedback, but willing to take a risk, to trust your voice and try something new.
D.A. Powell's lecture on short poetry was particularly incredible. I could listen to that man recite his poetry for hours, but that is another story. Finally, I would be remiss if I did not mention Mama Allison (Dorothy Allison that is) and her talk on reading as performance. I do believe she brought the house down. Her talk is an experience I won't soon forget, and her advice on reading and listening to your work is something that will become part of my process from here on out.
Here are a few of the best snippets from these lectures that I'd like to share with you:
Aimee Bender from our workshop:
- Where the language feels alive is where the story is. Follow the fire.
- Senses are the way humans experience the world.
- Avoid details that are just, "following the shoe leather." Neutral details that are not filtered through a narrative voice.
Paul Harding from his lecture on "The Jewels of the Cabots":
- The best story embodies it's own characters.
- Stories dictate their own meaning; give instructions on how they should be read.
Christopher Beha from his lecture on Sentences:
- Style is a way of looking at the world.
Matthew Zapruder from his lecture "Useful Poetry":
- The stakes are too high to have one word mean something other than what they usually do. How important can what the poet say be -- if they are willing to disguise it?
- Avoid the pressure of the real.
Wells Tower from his lecture on the Grotesque:
- Using the grotesque to show the darkest parts of humanity without begging for sympathy.
- Investigations of the ordinary must be handled as an investigation of the grotesque which must be handled as an investigation of the mundane.
D.A. Powell from his lecture on short poetry:
- Compression - when a thought that would be ruined by dwelling on it is made graceful by a light and rapid touch.- Compression is the first grace of style.- Time does the editing for you. It gets ride of the loose parts.- Trim away the unhealthy parts to make the tree healthier.- Each word must earn its space.- People like to know they are in a story, that there is a narrator on duty to guide them through.- The reader knows nothing at word one.- Readers want to know where they are and what is important.- I want to know enough to feel what is being shown.- Effective first person narrators are aware they are telling a story.
- Keep reader abreast of the important details.- (Told by Elissa Schappel, repeated by Steve Almond) The flatest character in the novel is usually the writer, acting as a merged narrator.Steve Almond on Narration. Robert Boswell from his lecture on Alternative Characterizations:- What the characters say reveal who they are. In plays, the actors speak to conceal themselves. Give a character something to say that people do not usually say.- Forced choice questions: where the character is given two options and neither is preferable.- Say the hardest thing about your character.Dorothy Allison from her lecture on reading as performance:
- Read your work out loud. Record it, and listen to the story. You will hear where it's lagging, where the grammar errors are.
- Performance (and writing) is about risk. Tremendous emotional risk.
- Performance is the perfecting of text.If any of my Tin House friends have other jewels they gathered from lecture or panels please feel free to share.* * *
The workshops and lectures and readings were incredible, but my favorite part of Tin House was the people I met. Talented people whose names I hope to find printed somewhere, sometime soon. People who I hope to call "friend" for a lifetime.
It is easy to be intimidated by the talented people you meet, especially the faculty, at Tin House. But as my good friend Ron Maclean, author of Night Bus, told me, writing is at least a 10 year apprenticeship. Writing well takes time. The amazing faculty are like individuals who have reached a higher level of nirvana. It's something I feel everyone can inspire to, if they believe they are able. Tin House gave me faith in hard work and perseverance, and it gave me faith in myself.
I will carry the lessons I learned in my heart, until next year.
Tin House resources:
About the workshop
Reading list on Good Reads
Literary Journals and Daily Reads
The Rumpus (subscribe to the daily rumpus)
The Millions
Byliner - Jun 20, 12
The definition of our illness, or its chief symptom, seems to be related to bi-polar disorder:
Bipolar disorder or bipolar affective disorder, historically known as manic-depressive disorder, is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a category of mood disorders defined by the presence of one or more episodes of abnormally elevated energy levels, cognition, and mood with or without one or more depressive episodes. - Wikipedia
We allow ourselves to be consumed by self-doubt. We build a fortress of self hate so high that our only rescue is the opposite in extreme. Ebullient, childish, adoration of our literary genius.
Do any other professions punish their aspirants so cruelly? Are all artists prone to waves of self hate and delusion of grandeur? Maybe so.
Are these symptoms by-products of the writing disease or the fundamental cause?
I believe if I did not at time think myself brilliant, I may never suppose anything I write worthy enough to put to paper. You have to love your words enough to achieve a temporary blindness of judgment. You must fight away the demons of self-doubt, those slinky, seething creatures whom you befriend in your self-pity rise up to meet you, nay, tear you down in moments of artistic longing. They whisper all the nasty things you've ever told yourself, every painful and seemingly truthful fault that, in a moment of despair, you let foolishly pass your lips. They wait for you to reach the exctasy of inspiration to attack, and their assaults become violent the more you open yourself to the possibility of their being true.
But there is a way to defeat them.
Look all your faults. Know them well. Accept them and move on. In doing that you have defeated them. Self-doubt is the scariest, most dangerous adversary you will ever face. It is a poison made of your weakest moments, your darkest fears. If you can see your faults and say, "Yes, but I go on," you have allowed yourself the opportunity to fail, to be imperfect, and try again. Once you've defeated them you will be able to recognize any foe you meet along the path of your journey -- because in their faces you will find the familiar gleam of your own fear, and you will be able to say, "Yes, but I go on," and nothing will stop you.
Writing is a profession of imperfection. We are not pointe-perfect ballerinas, you can not pitch a no-hitter in the literary world. Our endeavors will always strive for perfection and fall short. There will always be a better word, a more perfect phrase, a more syntactically-sound sentence. Perfect prose is the product of robots. Writers are flesh and blood. Writers are human.
This humble scribe believes that it is how you break the rules that defines your voice. It is in your failings as a writer that you become a distinct light in the fog. The closer you get to perfection the higher your mastery; of course. But true mastery is knowing the rules well-enough to break them.
A writer who has learned to manage their disease is the one who can navigate the balance between striving to be technically proficient and being true to themselves. There are no rules when it comes to voice. If it feels right to you, if in your gut you have found the way to express what you are trying to say, than you are right. Authenticity above all things.
The writing community is a vicious one. Like most people with a disease, we hate the reflection of our faults in others. Don't listen to critics who don't have your best interests in mind. Jealousy is an ugly thing. Find a support circle (writing group, class, workshop) and while receiving feedback listen to the words that sound most true. Listen to what is useful and forget the rest. Don't let fear of what other people say hold you back.
In my younger more insecure days I convinced myself I wasn't a writer. I thought, "How can I call myself a writer if I'm not published?" I believed I couldn't be a writer until someone elsetold me I was writer. I was preventing myself from doing what I loved, because of the fear of what other people would think.
It was a self-fulfilling prophesy. I wasn't a writer. I allowed my own self-doubt to paralyze me from doing the one thing fundamental to all writers; Writing!
All you have to do to be a writer, is write. All you have to do to write well is practice. All you have to do to be the best possible writer you can be is to allow yourself to fail, to learn from those failures and still say, "Yes, but I go on."
Be kinder to yourself. Accept your weaknesses, explore them, endeavor to improve. You have to recognize the symptoms of your disease so you can manage them. It's the only way to live with the writing disease. There is no cure. - Jul 01, 11
I remember when I first heard about him, or read about him rather in Blackbook Magazine. Then I saw an ad for his new album on Grooveshark. Then I heard his name on KCRW on my way to work in the morning. Kind of frightening how well targeted marketing works.
I downloaded the album and liked a few singles, Domino, Living Dangerously, When the River, and when I found out he was playing a small gig at the El Rey I thought, why the hell not?
Naively, I went into the show thinking it would be a small affair, but he has an incredibly passionate following. A gaggle of 18-year-old girls and soft, overly-sensitive guys all lined up to hear Sondre and sing along to tracks old and new. After two unique, enthusiastic, and at times painful opening acts Sondre came on stage. It didn't take long to realize his appeal. When you listen to his music you hear the harmony, the honest and haunting voice. But in person it's a totally different story. He has a way on stage, a self-assured sexiness that is both obnoxious and intoxicating. He smiled seductively into the dark theater after playing his opening number, Private Caller, and said, "That's what I'm talking about," or something equally brash. The way he shook his hair, as if he'd studied old reels of John and Paul, makes you think he's been trained. The smarmy back and forth between his band mates made him seem arrogant, but his keen sense of humor made it almost forgivable. I don't want you to think he's all swagger and no substance. He's a talented lyricist, and an even better musician. He has incredible timing, and composition that extends my previous Beatles comparison.
Walking away from the show I was equal parts of annoyed and excited. His music is brilliant, but his sex appeal is infuriating. I think that sums it up.
And from his new album: - Dec 17, 10
I love old books, and was so delighted to learn about abebooks while visiting Professor Braunmuller at UCLA a couple years back.
Just recieved this $3 copy of Boris Pasternak's Selected Poems. It's in great condition and has a lovely message written on the inside.
Click to enlarge
Click to enlarge
The message reads:
30/5/60
Biddy,
With my fondest love and the happiest of memories.
Dick - Dec 08, 10
Now what did I do with my bedazzler?
Bebaroque Lourdes Black Tights - Dec 06, 10
Ria Charisse Opal Ring because every libra needs an opal. It's not a birth stone it's a birth right.
Elizabeth Knight Wishbone Pendant so you can wear your hopes close to your heart.Carlos Montanaro Travel Clock Necklace for the time traveler in all of us.
Finn Gatsby Ring, just because. - Nov 30, 10
Anna Sui's Silk-tulle sequin-embellished dress is the perfect flapper party dress.
And Roberto Cavalli's Leopard-print silk-georgette dress is the Joan Holloway dress of my dreams. - Sep 28, 10
A beautiful show. The clothes might feel like a mix of hospital and Cuban cigar shop chic, but the set and the music are magical. I feel like I'm sitting at a cafe in Barcelona, watching Matisse's bathers walk up and down the boulevard in the heat of the late afternoon and into the night.
The shoes are pretty incredible too.
There were more, but finding photos of all the ones I love was very hard. - Sep 27, 10
An excerpt from Beatice and Virgil by Yann Martel. So good I had to read it twice.
(Virgil and Beatrice are sitting at the foot of the tree.They are looking out blankly.Silence.)
VIRGIL: What I'd give for a pear.
BEATRICE: A pear?
VIRGIL: Yes. A ripe and juicy one.
(Pause.)
BEATRICE: I've never had a pear.
VIRGIL: What?
BEATRICE: In fact, I don't think I've ever set eyes on one.
VIRGIL: How is that possible? It's a common fruit.
BEATRICE: My parents were always eating apples and carrots. I
guess they didn't like pears.
VIRGIL: But pears are so good! I bet you there's a pear tree right around here. (He looks about.)
BEATRICE: Describe a pear for me. What is a pear like?
VIRGIL: (settling back) I can try. Let's see . . . To start with, a pear has an unusual shape. It's round and fat on the bottom, but tapered on top.
BEATRICE: Like a gourd.
VIRGIL: A gourd ? You know gourds but you don't know pears? How odd the things we know and don't. At any rate, no, a pear is smaller than an average gourd, and its shape is more pleasing to the eye. A pear becomes tapered in a symmetrical way, its upper half sitting straight and centred atop its lower half. Can you see what I mean?
BEATRICE: I think so.
VIRGIL: Let's start with the bottom half. Can you imagine a fruit that is round and fat?
BEATRICE: Like an apple?
VIRGIL: Not quite. If you look at an apple with your mind's eye, you will notice that the girth of the apple is at its widest either in the middle of the fruit or in the top third, isn't that so?
BEATRICE: You're right. A pear is not like this?
VIRGIL: No. You must imagine an apple that is at its widest in the bottom third.
BEATRICE: I can see it.
VIRGIL: But we must not push the comparison too far. The bottom of a pear is not like an apple's.
BEATRICE: No?
VIRGIL: No. Most apples sit on their buttocks, so to speak, on a circular ridge or on four or five points that keep them from falling over. Past the buttocks, a little ways up, there's what would be the anus of the fruit if the fruit were a beast.
BEATRICE: I see precisely what you mean.
VIRGIL: Well, a pear is not like that. A pear has no buttocks. Its bottom is round.
BEATRICE: So how does it stay up?
VIRGIL: It doesn't. A pear either dangles from a tree or lies on its side.
BEATRICE: As clumsy as an egg.
VIRGIL: There's something else about the bottom of a pear: most pears do not have those vertical grooves that some apples have. Most pears have smooth, round, even bottoms.
BEATRICE: How enchanting.
VIRGIL: It certainly is. Now let us move north past our fruity equator.
BEATRICE: I'm following you.
VIRGIL: There comes this tapering I was telling you about.
BEATRICE: I can't quite see it. Does the fruit come to a point? Is it shaped like a cone?
VIRGIL: No. Imagine the tip of a banana.
BEATRICE: Which tip?
VIRGIL: The end tip, the one you hold in your hand when you're eating one.
BEATRICE: What kind of banana? There are hundreds of varieties.
VIRGIL: Are there?
BEATRICE: Yes. Some are as small as fat fingers, others are real clubs. And their shapes vary too, as do their taste.
VIRGIL: I mean the regular, yellow ones that taste really good.
BEATRICE: The common banana, M. sapientum. You probably have the Gros Michel variety in mind.
VIRGIL: I'm impressed.
BEATRICE: I know bananas.
VIRGIL: Better than a monkey. Take the end tip of a common banana, then, and place it on top of an apple, taking into account the differences between apples and pears that I've just described.
BEATRICE: An interesting graft.
VIRGIL: Now make the lines smoother, gentler. Let the banana flare out in a friendly way as it merges into the apple. Can you see it?
BEATRICE: I believe I can.
VIRGIL: One last detail. At the very top of this apple-banana composite, add a surprisingly tough stalk, a real tree trunk of a stalk. There, you have an approximation of a pear.
BEATRICE: A pear sounds like a beautiful fruit.
VIRGIL: It is. In colour, commonly, a pear is yellow with black spots.
BEATRICE: Like a banana again.
VIRGIL: No, not at all. A pear isn't yellow in so bright, lustreless and opaque a way. It's a paler, translucent yellow, moving towards beige, but not creamy, more watery, approaching the visual texture of a watercolour wash. And the spots are sometimes brown.
BEATRICE: How are the spots distributed?
VIRGIL: Not like the spots on a leopard. It's more a matter of areas of shadowing than of real spots, depending on the degree of maturity of the pear. By the way, a ripe pear bruises easily, so it must be handled with care.
BEATRICE: Of course.
VIRGIL: Now the skin. It's a peculiar skin, the pear's, hard to describe. We were speaking of apples and bananas.
BEATRICE: Yes.
VIRGIL: They have smooth, slippery skins.
BEATRICE: They do.
VIRGIL: A pear does not have so smooth or slippery a skin.
BEATRICE: Really?
VIRGIL: It is so. A pear has a rougher skin.
BEATRICE: Like an avocado's?
VIRGIL: No. But since you mention avocados, a pear is somewhat shaped like an avocado, although the bottom of a pear is usually plumper.
BEATRICE: Fascinating.
VIRGIL: And a pear becomes thinner in its top half in a more pronounced way than an avocado does. Nonetheless, the two fruits are more or less similar in form.
BEATRICE: I see the shape clearly.
VIRGIL: But you cannot compare their skins! An avocado's skin is as warty as a toad's. An avocado looks like a vegetable with leprosy. The pear is characterized by a thin roughness, delicate and interesting to the touch. If you could magnify it a hundred times, do you know what it would sound like, the sound of fingertips running over the skin of a dry pear?
BEATRICE: What?
VIRGIL: It would sound like the diamond of a record player entering a groove. That same dancing crackle, like the burning of the driest, lightest kindling.
BEATRICE: A pear is surely the finest fruit in the world!
VIRGIL: It is, it is! That's the skin of a pear for you.
BEATRICE: Can one eat it?
VIRGIL: Of course. We're not talking here of the waxy, thuggish skin of an orange. The skin of a pear is soft and yielding when ripe.
BEATRICE: And what does a pear taste like?
VIRGIL: Wait. You must smell it first. A ripe pear breathes a fragrance that is watery and subtle, its power lying in the lightness of its impression upon the olfactory sense. Can you imagine the smell of nutmeg or cinnamon?
BEATRICE: I can.
VIRGIL: The smell of a ripe pear has the same effect on the mind as these aromatic spices. The mind is arrested, spellbound, and a thousand and one memories and associations are thrown up as the mind burrows deep to understand the allure of this beguiling smell — which it never comes to understand, by the way.
BEATRICE: But how does it taste? I can't wait any longer.
VIRGIL: A ripe pear overflows with sweet juiciness.
BEATRICE: Oh, that sounds good.
VIRGIL: Slice a pear and you will find that its flesh is incandescent white. It glows with inner light. Those who carry a knife and a pear are never afraid of the dark.
BEATRICE: I must have one.
VIRGIL: The texture of a pear, its consistency, is yet another difficult matter to put into words. Some pears are a little crunchy.
BEATRICE: Like an apple?
VIRGIL: No, not at all like an apple! An apple resists being eaten. An apple is not eaten, it is conquered. The crunchiness of a pear is far more appealing. It is giving and fragile. To eat a pear is akin to . . . kissing.
BEATRICE: Oh, my. It sounds so good.
VIRGIL: The flesh of a pear can be slightly gritty. And yet it melts in the mouth.
BEATRICE: Is such a thing possible?
VIRGIL: With every pear. And that is only the look, the feel, the smell, the texture. I have not even told you of the taste.
BEATRICE: My God!
VIRGIL: The taste of a good pear is such that when you eat one, when your teeth sink into the bliss of one, it becomes a wholly engrossing activity. You want to do nothing else but eat your pear. You would rather sit than stand. You would rather be alone than in company. You would rather have silence than music. All your senses but taste fall inactive. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing—or only as it helps you to appreciate the divine taste of your pear.
BEATRICE: But what does it actually taste like?
VIRGIL: A pear tastes like, it tastes like . . . (He struggles. He gives up with a shrug.) I don't know. I can't put it into words. A pear tastes like itself.
BEATRICE: (sadly) I wish you had a pear.
VIRGIL: And if I had one, I would give it to you.
(Silence.)
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Info
- Senior Manager, CRM & Email Marketing at Dollar Shave ClubOnline Media | Greater Los Angeles Area, USSummary
Product manager, content strategist, social marketer, data enthusiast and creative writer.
Experience- May 2013 - PresentSenior Manager, CRM & Email Marketing / Dollar Shave Club
- Jan 2013 - Apr 2013Social Media Manager / Conception.
- May 2012 - Sept 2012Social Media Manager / UCLA Marketing & Special Events
Managed UCLA's main social channels including Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Foursquare, Pinterest and flickr. Within my first month at UCLA I increased engagement on Facebook posts 162%. Post impressions increased 176%.
Created and executed Social Media strategy for UCLA Commencement events, including live-tweeting the College of Letters and Sciences ceremony. Tweets during commencement activities received 1.7MM impressions, up from standard 200K monthly impressions.
Created and implemented "BruinForLife" campaign--the highest performing Social marketing campaign on UCLA's Facebook page. Worked with campus partners--UCLA Athletics, Events and Transportation and Volunteer Center to strategize social marketing for major campus events.
- Feb 2012 - May 2012Product Manager - eHow.com / Demand Media
Site maintenance for comScore top 20 property that delivers helpful how-to advice to over 57MM unique visitors per month. Worked with a talented team of developers, designers and engineers to implement new programs and monetization models on the eHow article page. Participated in performance, A/B testing and was the lead product manager for eNewsletter and B2C blog strategy.
- Aug 2010 - May 2012Product Manager - typeF.com / Demand Media
Lead product manager for typeF.com responsible for product design and strategy. Developed site concept and pitched to Tyra Banks and Bankable Inc.
Lead team of talented and passionate engineers, designers and SEO specialists to launch and maintain the site. Created Beauty School, Daily Look, Content personalization web apps. Worked with Treemo labs to launch typeF Beauty School iPad and iPhone application.
- Apr 2010 - Oct 2010Content Manager - LIVESTRONG.COM / Demand Media
Managed strategy for homepage and newsletter programming, programming for social media outlets such as facebook and twitter, and content syndication through Yahoo! Shine, Huffington Post and Active.
Managed all content production for LIVESTRONG.COM. Worked with Demand Studios to guide content creation through their freelance network. Scripting and production for "Health Matters" show with Chief Medical Advisor Dr. Leslie Saxon. Drove content priorities through collaboration with the Product Development team to create engaging tools and content services on the site. Worked with PR to manage expert talent and content production for ongoing media outreach.
Created Demand Media Internship program that fosters an educational environment focused on giving students a well-rounded understanding of new media and online publishing.
- Jul 2008 - Apr 2010Content Editor - LIVESTRONG.COM / Demand Media
Manage publication schedule for LIVESTRONG.COM. Grew weekly newsletter subscription from an initial 200K to 1MIL from June 2008 to Nov 2009. Worked with marketing and PR departments to create content-oriented promotions including the Diet Face Off, which engaged the LIVESTRONG.COM community and drove organic search traffic to the site. My main goals were to drive traffic to the site, and increase user engagement by producing relevant and topical content.
- Sept 2007 - Jul 2008Web Editor / Newegg Inc.
Content Manager for Employee Intranet Portal. Assist and plan look and feel as well as usability of the intranet with web developers. Manage staff of editors and writers to create weekly articles. Designed, developed and distribute weekly newsletter to 1700+ employees. Event planning and promotion.
Writing subject lines and promotional copy for commercial newsletter.
- Dec 2006 - Sept 2007Associate Editor / iMedia Communications Inc.
Managed content for Social Media and Creative Sections. Worked with a group of industry professionals for reviews of creative media. Recruit contributors and shepherded articles from pitch to completion. Assisted in creating weekly web analytics reports. Uploading data into content management system.
- Jun 2006 - Oct 2006Editorial Intern / HarperCollins/ReganBooks
Editing and Writing Fact sheets for book jackets and catalogs. Assisting Managing Editor with collating materials for seasonal book launches.
- Mar 2006 - Jun 2006Intern / MTV Networks/LOGO Original Programming
General office assistance, filing, internet research. Pre-screening submitted materials i.e. reading scripts, pitches, reviewing pilots etc. Writing coverage for submitted materials for V.P. of Production
- Nov 2004 - Feb 2006Managing Editor/Politics and Culture Editor / Saturday Night Magazine
As Managing Editor I was responsible for helping the editor-in-chief and publisher with the monthly layout of the magazine, shaping the tone of each issue as well as hiring/managing interns and writers. I created and distributed our weekly newsletter and coordinated with the sales team for ticket and event promotions. Worked with advertisers to plan events for brand promotion and magazine publicity, and was personally responsible for writing and recruiting articles for the Politics and Culture section.
Education-
2008 - 2012UCLA Extension
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2002 - 2006University of California, Los Angeles
Additional Information-
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