Thank you for sharing your new short story, “Oops I don’t have a title haha,” with the class. I look forward to discussing it in workshop. I read this story as an exploration of the narrator’s excitement and disappointments during a rock-climbing trip with a group of friends, and as a meditation on the drinking games and truncated sexual encounters that followed.
In many ways, this is an improvement over your last piece. Last time, we discussed the difficulties of creating a seven-tiered magical realm with a cast of hundreds in the span of a ten-page short story; limiting yourself this time to five main characters and a more approachable setting has paid off. I have a much clearer sense this time of what’s going on, who is human, and how many suns there are. Well done!
You deploy some vivid imagery in your descriptions of the characters’ expensive camping gear and the drinks they mix. For instance, when you write that “Blake was mixing together Captain Morgan and coke,” I knew exactly what drink was being made. (At least I think I did. Should “coke” be capitalized here? I’m not entirely sure what you all get up to these days. I’m starting to doubt myself.) You’ve also finally tried out some figurative language (hooray!): “It was hot as ass,” “We were tired as hell.” These images could perhaps be pushed a bit farther, but it’s a nice start.Continue Reading
Turkish satircal magazines “Penguen” and “Uykusuz,” courtesy of Arved via Wikimedia Commons
We’ve been told not to use the metro. We’ve lived through warnings during Nevruz, the Kurdish New Year, to not go out due to potential clashes on the streets. The German Consulate and German schools in Istanbul shut down for two days ahead of the weekend due to a threat, and so the streets were nearly empty on Saturday, March 19th, when a bomb exploded on Istiklal Caddesi, the largest shopping street in the whole city, a place where any number of us living in the center of the city are wont to pass through often. This was a whole six days after the bombing in Ankara that killed 37 people at a bus stop on a Sunday evening.
The past few weeks have not been easy on any of us. Though Istanbul has reached a semblance of normal, friends and myself included have noticed that several of our favorite drinking spots, cafes, and eateries around Istiklal are empty in a way that they never are. Immediately after the Istanbul bombing and even now, there’s a perpetual heaviness to our interactions, an exhaustion tempered by a manic energy of feeling that it’s great to see each other alive.
Earlier last week the venerable satire magazine, Penguen, ran a cover that captured just that mood. A depressed-looking older man asks, “How are you?” to a younger, equally downturned man, who answers, “I’m fine, man, how are you?” At the very bottom of the grey-background, the older man replies, “Fantastic.”Continue Reading
What is your writing routine? What does it look like when you sit to write? Any special rituals?
I am so glad you asked. It’s really pretty great. I sit at my computer, and I check Facebook for, like, ten minutes. Okay, haha, twenty minutes. And then I write. Sometimes I outline, sometimes I do research. Once, I bribed myself with M&Ms to get through my edits.
Julia Alvarez keeps a bowl of water on her desk when she writes. Can you tell us about your own writing routine?
Yeah, huh. I’ve been getting this question a lot. I mean, I just… I sit there. And I write. I don’t even listen to music. I mean… Wait, don’t look sad. I’m sorry. Listen, you don’t actually believe that about the water, do you? Next to her computer? Come on! Sorry, wait, I’ll try again. I, um, I’m there at my desk. And I have—wait, this is interesting! I have some postcards on my desk! Of places I like!
Hemingway wrote standing up and claimed to be done by noon and drunk by three. How about your writing routine?
I understand that you want a window into my brain, I get that, or maybe you want some special trick, like something I do before I start writing every day, and if you do that thing too, all your problems will be solved. As if I know what I’m doing. I just… I don’t know what to tell you. A movie of me writing would look like a person sitting at a desk and writing. It’s like, What’s your email routine? You just sit there and answer email, right? Listen, I don’t mean to be cranky, because I’m flattered that you care. I just feel like I’m disappointing you.Continue Reading
I first met Jennine on the dance floor in a barn on a summer night at Breadloaf. Or at least I like to remember it that way. She’s an electric person, both in the flesh and on the page. She says the unexpected, and also the uncomfortable and necessary. She’s equal parts funny and fearless, irreverent and brilliant. Our interview, below:
MMB: I think of you as a writer who addresses the specific impact a place has on the human experience and shaping of self, but in a way that feels fresh and contemporary. In your first collection, How to Leave Hialeah, Charles Baxter praised you for writing a book that starts “with Cuban American neighborhoods and cultures and then sails off into the direction of the great themes: love, familial bonds, aging, and death. And resurrection.”
Your latest novel, Make Your Home Among Strangers, concerns the daughter of two Cuban immigrants, and one who chooses to leave Miami for a more privileged college environment. What do you make of the current dialogue in America on immigration, and how does this fuel your current work, if at all?
JCC: My family bought into the American Dream rhetoric in a pretty hardcore way. I was raised to think of this country as the best one on the planet specifically because it welcomed my family and gave them opportunities for a better life. I mean, my parents named me Jennine after the Miss America runner up the year I was born (though spelled differently, I think)—so it goes that deep for them. As I got older, naturally my own ideas about this country grew more complicated, particularly around the issues of immigration. I think what’s most disappointing for me about our current dialogue is how quickly the conversation dehumanizes the people these policies impact. And I thought about that a lot while writing Make Your Home Among Strangers: I wanted the book show how a larger national conversation impacts one person&mdashhow these policies eventually come to shape who we are and how we move through our communities. And what I thought about the most as I wrote certain scenes—namely the ones about the fictionalized version of Elian Gonzalez—was how little things have changed in the last fifteen years, how we’re still using the same broken system, how very disappointing that is.Continue Reading
I’ve always felt that AWP* could be livened up by a conference-long game of Paintball Assassin. Until that happens, here’s some other stuff to try:
The Book Fair Bartering Game:
Start with free swag. Something cool, like a box of matches with a chapbook cover on it. Find the bored grad student tending another booth. (A booth with better swag, preferably swag that costs something. Like magnets. Magnets always cost more than you’d think.) Trade the matchbox for a magnet, then trade up your magnet for a hat, and so on. There is at least one booth with a bottle of bourbon. You win the game if you get the bottle when it’s still half full.
The Start-Your-Own-VIP-Party Game:
You don’t have to be a VIP. You just have to convince all the VIPs that the real VIP party is in the back room of Potbelly’s. Then you lock them in there and don’t let them out until at least five of them have written you blurbs.
The Intentional Misidentification Game:
Approach any writer who is clearly not Junot Diaz but could maybe, in a dark alley, pass for him, and excitedly shout that you loved Drown. You win the game when someone goes along with it. Bonus points if he signs your nametag as Junot Diaz.Continue Reading
Writer’s Butt is a real and tragic thing. You might be making great progress on that novel, but is your seat getting wider with every word count goal? Is your back so tight that when you stand up your arms are permanently locked in that T-Rex typing position? Time to stretch out and get the blood flowing with these specially designed exercises. (As always, consult your physician before starting any vigorous training regimen.)
Bind together seven copies of literary magazines that rejected you, and impale them on the end of a sharp stick. Now do the same with seven more mags on the other end of the stick. Now it’s time for the free lift! That thing must weigh at least ten pounds.
Sitting in your rolling chair, use your feet to propel yourself away from your computer in disgust. The sudden motion and rush of oxygen might give you a new idea. If it does, tiptoe-crawl your chair back to your desk, because you’re too far away to grab the edge of it with your hands. This uses your abs more than you’d think.
Switch to an old-timey manual typewriter. After a few weeks, your fingers will be strong enough to curl your own ironic handlebar moustache.Continue Reading
Recently, I was reading The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov’s antic retelling of the stories of Faust and Pontius Pilot. The novel follows—in part—the devil and his deranged retinue, including a bipedal cat and a naked woman, as they wreak havoc on Moscow. The edition I own, translated by Diana Burgin and Katherine Tiernan O’Connor, is extensively end-noted, providing historical, political, and cultural background about the 1920s and ’30s in Russia. Still, I could feel myself missing things. Jokes in particular seemed to be flying around overhead. One end note even assured me, “this is a very funny acronym in Russian.”
I asked Marc Lowenthal, a translator of French and the publisher of the excellent Wakefield Press, which is devoted to works in translation, whether humor can make the transition over languages. He told me it can, absolutely. But, he said, “as with anything else—beauty, ideas, emotion—it often can’t be (and shouldn’t be) a seamless transition.”Continue Reading
We’re happy to present the first of a new series–interviews with our guest editors, following the publication of their issues. Below is an introduction by Jessica Treadway, Emerson College professor and author of the forthcoming Lacy Eye (Grand Central, 2015), and a conversation between Editor-in-Chief Ladette Randolph and Percival Everett, guest editor of the Fall 2014 issue.
If you read Percival Everett’s books blind, without any names attached, it would probably take you some time to absorb the fact that a single author was responsible for them all. I knew it was the same author, and it still took me time–his work is that versatile, that eclectic, that impossible (thank goodness) to pin down. It is always exceptionally smart. By turns it can also be laugh-out-loud funny, tender, quiet, rowdy, clever, provocative, and sad. Even in the case of an outlandish premise, it is completely true.Continue Reading
Bouton, motivating corporate types.
Under review: Ball Four: Twentieth Anniversary Edition by Jim Bouton (465 pages, 1990, Wiley Publishing)
A memoir’s publication date usually serves as a finish line. The events within have already taken place well, well in the past; their cathartic release tends to act as a formal and organized end to the events’ influence on the author’s life.
The opposite is true of the life and memoirs of Jim Bouton, big-league pitcher throughout the sixties and into the seventies. The weeks and months that Bouton chronicled in his memoir, Ball Four, were hardly detectable compared to the Richter-scale impact that the release of Ball Four had on Bouton’s life. Decades later, Bouton in his seventies still earns speaking gigs at corporate functions not so much because he lived the life that Ball Four details, but because he wrote about it.
“Oh, I get it. ‘Pete’ is the name of the boy who falls off the log. ‘Repeat’ is the name of the other boy, but when you say his name, you’re also asking me to say the joke again.”
My daughter says this a week after she’s been told the classic “Pete and Repeat” joke. You know this, right?
Joker: “Pete and Repeat sat on a log. Pete fell off. Who was left?”
Joker: “Okay, Pete and Repeat sat on a log…”
For days, my daughter has told this joke to anyone within earshot. Now, for the first time, she actually understands it.
“That is kind of funny,” she says. Continue Reading