David’s life becomes increasingly weird as he wanders his now unfamiliar home, struggling to tease out the details of his past life and whether his wife is dead with what little is left of his fractured mind. The book is a series of short, disjointed, and unchronological chapters. The story can seem labyrinthine at times, but the narrative arc acts as a clever reflection of David’s own developing mental illness. Gradually, as with any good detective novel, the pieces come together. What would have seemed gimmicky in the hands of a less skilled writer becomes a cunning whodunit with Gray (Museum of the Weird) at the reins. This is an innovative debut novel featuring a most unreliable (and compelling) narrator.
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I’m going to pretend like I didn’t find a lot in common with Charlize Theron’s acerbic, depressed, Diet Coke-chugging Mavis Gary in Young Adult. Instead, from here on out, I’m going to try to have a lot in common with Mavis Beacon, because that lady knows how to TYPE.
THANKS
I have a writing partner now, which is kind of like having an actual partner except you never fight and he doesn’t ask why you’re whispering about home row in your sleep. I also bought a tiny space heater. It makes my tiny closet office more bearable. It’s humming away happily now.
LIT-RIT-CHURR
- Renee Zambo interviewed me for Necessary Fiction. You can find our conversation and a glowing picture of Kathy Fish here.
- Also, please find a sweet review of Museum of the Weird over at I Read Odd Books.
- Just starting to put together tour dates for THREATS next year. Boston (Booksmith!), NYC (Happy Ending!), Iowa (Prairie Lights!) and more. Really excited to get on the road.
- My piece “Fifty Ways to Eat Your Lover” is in McSweeney’s 39.
Check out the THREATS video Angeline Gragasin, Susan Yi, A Louis Plasek and I made out and about in Hollywood for No Perch!
I am happy to announce that my third book, a novel, is forthcoming from Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Working title: THREATS. Publication date: Spring 2012. Details: Editor is Emily Bell at FSG, agent is Claudia Ballard at William Morris Endeavor. I started writing the book in November 2009 or so and am currently deep in edits. I am excited to make it a thing.The Enter key on my keyboard snapped off again. Too many short paragraphs. I am fingering its nub until a replacement arrives. All I want for Christmas is a functional Enter key.
Excitement this morning when the cat threw up what looked to be a small green squid. Everyone was embarrassed.
Trips upcoming to Tucson, Ann Arbor, Chicago. A new year is almost here. I want to invent a hot cocoa that can be sipped by ghosts.
Check out the preview article about this week’s Indie Lit Roadshow weekend in today’s Statesman. Also, listen to yesterday’s KOOP radio interview about the show with David Moses Fruchter, plus bonus readings by Mary Miller, Mike Graupmann, and myself, right here:
I am in New Mexico to see my friend Michael, who made me tea and drove me around the northern portion of the state and listened to my extended imitation of a predatory bird.
BE HERE NOW
We drove on a small road out of town to a museum created by a man named Ross Ward who painted signs for carnivals and meanwhile carved thousands of wooden people and animals and created his own small carnival, which became a large carnival, larger than any of the carnivals he ever painted signs for, and is today housed behind long glass displays in 22 rooms of a house in northern New Mexico.
"I did all this while you were watching TV"
Further north we stopped at a ranch because Michael said it had art in it, and we walked around until a man came out and told us his name was Ken, and that he remembered trying to have a conversation with Ross Ward while the latter painted curls of perfect paint across a 50-foot mural. I offered Ken some tomatoes. After that, Michael and I drove north past where Georgia O’Keefe looked at a glow out her window each morning. We drove until we reached a series of springs, where we soaked in mud and mineral pools and our skins came out different.
I am the stone & the man & the bracelet & the bone
That was our big trip. Otherwise it’s been writing and working and eating green chile, which I’m told is known for its powers, and holding dinner parties and mashing sweet potatoes and working out at the gym again finally and driving up and down old Route 66 with the windows down and realizing that love is so simple to produce, you might as well give it away gladly.
Aaron and I just got back to Tucson. We logged over 2k miles on the car. My spine turned into a rod full of dough. Now I am going to attempt a recap so I can look back on it fondly when I start forgetting tomorrow, and so you can understand why I have been bad at returning emails.
DAY 1 Aaron and I learned that “or similar” means we get a Hyundai Accent and we drove into the desert. I asked him if he has ever seen rain. We listened to a woman say “Obamacare” on talk radio and drove over the pass into California and across the dunes and into San Diego. It is so beautiful in San Diego. You’re required by local law to say “it is beautiful here” three times an hour. We met up with Jim Ruland and his wife Nuvia, Lindsay showed up from the airport looking fresh, Adam Novy arrived and photographed the waitress, and we kicked off the tour with over 100 in attendance at Vermin on the Mount. We ate late-night lobster tacos and woke up to fruit and yogurt and coffee, at which point I realized I was in California.
From Nuvia with love
DAY 2 cinnamon sprinkled in my coffee. We hit traffic on the way into Costa Mesa, where we got to spend much less time than I would have liked with my old friend Josh and his lady Brianna. Got in a shower and a little TV. I cut some threats into cards and arranged the cards. Lindsay and I did our makeup together and drank mai tais out of coffee cups. We got our Oaxacan food on at Guelaguetza with Jim and Nuvia, who helped us order the proper mole. LA traffic happened. We read at Vermin on the Mount at The Mountain Bar in Chinatown. Aaron read his suspenders story and Lindsay read the one about the baby what says “honey.” Lindsay and I got pensive and then we went to a bar with J Ryan Stradal and Sal Plascencia and friends. J Ryan took us home and gave us soft places to sleep under the Hollywood sign.
New friend
DAY 3 I found out that I like taking pictures of Lindsay right after she wakes up. J Ryan made coffee and we had pleasant talks on books and shows. After breakfast with Mike Alber and his wife Julie, we took the coastal highway and watched the fog burn off and played Girl Scout games. I drove the switchbacks and felt distinctly that we had entered a loop. At one point, we drove onto the beach on accident. We ended up in Santa Cruz, meeting my girl Sarah Faulkner and her man James just as they put burgers on the grill. Lindsay fell in love with their malamute, Demo. They got married on the beach. It was good to have a day without reading and we spent our evening absorbing the scenery and putting on pajamas and talking books.
Demo ate the flowers
DAY 4 we took Demo to a lighthouse and walked up the beach, then caravaned it into Lafayette. Sarah joined the party and we swam in the pool at her sister’s house before putting ourselves back together and heading into town for the reading. We had dinner with Jimmy Chen and Reynard Seifert and friends, then headed to the reading. Instead of introducing ourselves we picked out songs to introduce us, and Aaron read in a Lucha Libre mask and Lindsay read Meat From A Meat Man and I read the threats. We had a secret flask to avoid San Francisco’s bar prices. It was the day Prop 8 was overturned. We danced and found a guitar smashed in the street.
Fruit snack
DAY 5 we all woke up rich in Lafayette. Lindsay had to go home and the rest of us ate Eggos and laid out by the pool. Sarah and I talked about memorable recipes we have made since we saw each other last. Aaron developed his first of two sunburns. We ordered a pizza and forgot we were on a book tour. Started to understand the intricacies of “California Gurls.” We took the train into town and read with Lauren Becker, Greg Gerke, Andrea Kneeland, and Adam Novy. Stephen Elliott and Ethel Rohan were in attendance, among others, and I felt heartened and hug life. We continued a trend of late-night Mexican food and caught the last train home. I put my most beautiful face on Sarah’s lap. We got to Lafayette and ate candy.
The Accent rests
DAY 6 We said good-bye to Sarah and made the Sacramento drive. I snipped up our faux-polaroids to send out in the post and we met up with Elijah Jenkins to talk strategy and shoot guns before heading out for nachos and Chimay. Deena Drewis arrived in a striped dress, wearing a pendant featuring a bird absconding with a glass drop. I’m not sure if you have heard of and/or met any California girls, but I wish we could all be them. The night continued, with a reading that involved me standing on a chair to attempt to scream over some business networkers who had been double-booked at the venue. We gave up on the bar, but it was nobody’s fault, and really, best nachos of my life. Aaron and I left Sacramento at about midnight and made it to Reno at two in the morning. I curled up with the guts of a disassembled keyboard.
Sacramento girl
DAY 7 started with Eggs Benedict with Gabe Urza. We drove to his dad’s place and ate grapes. I drove south and met with my money words bosses for a lovely lunch while Gabe and Aaron embarked on a multi-hour float down a river. Our arms got twisted into experiencing delicious Basque cuisine in the shadow of the Harrah’s: vegetable soup, beef stew, bread, cheese, lamb chops dotted with crunchy garlic, bottles and bottles of wine. I amended my opinion of Reno. Jeremy said if he never saw a Chevrolet again he would be happy. We played blackjack for eight hours and learned how to do craps the hard way.
Clean plate club
DAY 8 we learned that Ken Baumann, a writer friend of ours who is also on a television show, was having his 21st birthday party in North Hollywood. Since our other option was to take the lonely road through Vegas, we opted to take the 395 between Yosemite and Death Valley, which ended up being the kind of stunningly beautiful drive you can only take in for so many hours before you have to start ignoring it or else you end up stopping and living there and going to the gas station in your bare feet and pajamas to pick up a suitcase of beer. The drive went fast and we picked up some jerky for the birthday boy. J Ryan welcomed us into his home again and bought us supper and gave us scotch mixed with ginger beer and talked about how it’s important for children to see their parents emotionally invested in a thing. At the party, we met new and old friends, I heard about Houston architecture and amended my opinion of Houston. Nick Antosca kindly offered us a spontaneous home so we didn’t have to sleep in the car.
Everyone has a web presence
DAY 9 was the last long drive, we aspired to make it to Phoenix but pushed it on into Tucson. I destroyed a tumbleweed and gunned it past a dust storm. The scenery changed from one kind of desert to another. Now I’m in Tucson, listening to the dog sigh and my parents talk. I feel a connection with California that I haven’t felt since I was watching it from the inside of a Greyhound. We have one more reading, the one that inspired the whole trip, on the 11th in Tucson, and then home.
someone found this page searching for "rob lowe in tight jeans"
Reading up on some Hindu mythology today. A wise man suggested I start with children’s versions of the stories and move my way up, which ended up being a pretty good plan; I still had to have references open to figure out what different words meant. I read the first two books of the Ramayana here and then I tried to send a friendship band to Shiva but he said I had to be logged in to do that.
Andrea Burk sent me a beautiful watercolor of a mosquito with the idea I would write something on or around it but I can’t bear to ruin it. I do have something to put on there but I can’t do it in pen. Maybe I’ll try writing in pencil with a kind of airy script that a mosquito might use if a mosquito wrote cursive writing. I got so nervous about writing on the mosquito page last night that I covered a bookmark with puffy paint.
Read Sasha’s Vicarious MFA posts on his blog if you wonder what it would be like to get an MFA, or if you have an MFA and wonder what it’s like for somebody else to get an MFA.
Still reading Rikki Ducornet and starting to become convinced that this is the best book I have read in the past three years. I’ve started reading even slower to savor it. Also, still reading DIAGRAM contest winners. I feel like one comma should be a semicolon, and one block of text should be full-aligned instead of left-justified because it looks like it has line breaks right now. I’m saying these stories are really that good. Excellence.
Time to stop putting off housework…or is it?
Great talks today over at the GIANT on the subject of Ulysses and if anyone would have the stones to print it today. I found myself arguing one thing I believe very strongly, and one thing I’ve just started thinking about.
I believe very strongly that if a book approaching or exceeding the quality of Ulysses existed, and the author of that book was trying to get it published, it would be published somewhere. This is an optimistic and perhaps a romantic idea, but actually with the way credit cards work these days, it might even be easier for a small-press publisher who believed in the work to make it happen, albeit at great potential for personal and financial ruin, but who here is in this for the money.
I simply don’t think such a book exists, currently, and the reason for that is a theory I’ve just started thinking about. In this theory, the type of young, curious minds that often end up writing fiction and poetry are suckers for the sating wall of information that is the Internet. Today alone, I viewed pages on:
Twin Peaks
The Ming Dynasty
David Foster Wallace
Shakespeare and Company
The Postman (film)
List of films considered the worst
Judy Garland
The Wizard of Oz
Films considered the greatest ever
Lists of film topics
History of film
The Magic Mountain
Double-deck elevator
The Illinois
2008 Mumbai attacks
Oberoi Trident
Placebo button
Chupacabra
Blue Man Group
Mao Zedong
L’esprit de l’escalier
Milgram experiment
John Heffron
James T. Kirk
York University
Charles Manson
Barrow Gang
Zzyzx, Caifornia
That’s not quite half of the Wikipedia searches alone, and I prefer primary sources. I’m not saying I’m a sponge for high knowledge or some manner of genius. I’m feckless and easily distracted. Take away my internet access and it’s not like I’d write the thousand-page answer to Ulysses; I just wouldn’t be able tell you where Bonnie and Clyde are buried. I wonder if I did not have the Internet to satisfy my mildest curiosity about William Shatner’s middle name versus James T. Kirk’s middle name, perhaps I would be working on the first draft of a book that would briefly illuminate some dark corner of the human scene.
I’m obviously projecting. Most likely, this is my problem, not everyone’s problem. And the Internet has perhaps done much more to increase my visibility and the visibility of others than it has to hurt us. Perhaps I even owe the Internet.
Pay up
Hey, speaking of Internet, I intend to do some armchair fist-shaking at some armchair activists: copying and pasting a line of text into your Facebook status is not only quite literally the least you can do, but potentially weakens your general stance, because you are contributing to a meme, which puts your words in the same category as drinking the kool-aid or show me the birth certificate. If you live in America and you support something, throw money at it. That goes for the lot of you.
They’re buried in Dallas. In two different cemeteries.
It’s good to be home. I came home and cleaned my kitchen and got a new phone to replace the one I busted on a wall in Boston. At home I found ten roses and a lot of work. I read a book and excavated my pores.
Items and events:
Lots of Hobart doings in the mighty Northwest. I’m looking forward to catching Aaron read with Mary Miller and Kevin Canty in Portland. I’ll report on my own readings out there shortly. Some good stuff also happening in Chicago and L.A. for Hobart.
There’s a killer on the loose in Austin. Barton Springs is supposed to close for repairs. A Houston woman stole a rental car from an Avis and disappeared.
I’ve been talking large about Molly Springfield’s Translation for a minute but I finally found it online so you can actually look at it. On first glance it looks like photocopies of Proust, but look closer and you will find that they are each drawn with graphite and it took two years to do. The very process conjures up feelings of the sublime.
See the short story “Valentine” by Stacy Muszynski if you’re curious about how to write deftly in voice. Writing from a child’s POV is like writing about dreams; not everything should be apparent. While you were reading this paragraph that story just snuck into your house.
