Quicksilver Literary Magazine

The first issue of Quicksilver, which I help to edit, is now live. Here’s the link:

http://academics.utep.edu/Default.aspx?tabid=55407

Writers as "Experience Junkies"

A few years ago, a friend of mine characterized writers as "experience junkies." Her point at the time was that writers tend to be self-destructive in pursuing relationships, vices, and other singular interests without giving enough consideration to the consequences of these actions. A writer might start a fist fight or date someone he doesn't particularly like just because these can be interesting ways to pass the time. This is the Jack London and Ernest Hemingway school of writing, and while it may be a cliche, it raises intriguing questions about the need of a writer to see and experience the world in order to be able to write about it.

Although most writers are not "type A" personalities and do not require excessive adrenaline stimulation to be happy, they might follow these self-destructive paths simply for the value of the experience. Writers are not known for being particularly happy, after all, so why shouldn't they at least experience interesting things? The idea is to suffer and take good notes while suffering.

I'm not sure I subscribe to this way of thinking. At any rate, I'm sure I'm not self-destructive in the same way that so many of these famous writers have been. Maybe in some ways I am an "experience junkie," but I'm a junkie who has successfully made the switch to methadone.

Of course, life influences fiction, but fiction also shapes life. As Cary Tennis, one of the more poetically inclined advice columnists, observed: “A novel forces its characters to live through whatever it is. That is the great cruel power of the artist: To force his characters to live through whatever he chooses for them.”

Advice You Can Use

I don't know what made me think of this, but a few years ago, before Katrina, I was visiting New Orleans with a random group of friends and acquaintances. We were drinking beer before lunch one day when this one girl, whom I had just met that day, advised me to pour my beer into a glass before drinking it. This would, she assured me, help to prevent gas and thus enable me to enjoy my beer without gastrointestinal interruption.

A few months later, I found out this same girl was killed after she smashed her car into a tree off the highway.

I guess what I'm saying is this: Be cautious in life, but be cautious about the right things.

By way of disclaimer: I don't mean to trivialize the death of this young woman, who was a lovely enough girl as I remember. This story just came out of nowhere to bug me today, after several years of hiding in the obscurity of passing memory. Anyway, I think of her in a vague way every time I pour a beer into a glass, which is not something I was in the habit of doing before. Maybe it was pretty good advice after all.

Up at 6 a.m. -- here's a poem

Light from Other Rooms

The glow of electric light
fills in the house shadow’s
as you wander from room to room
a walking midnight ghost upon
the floor
drifting through carpeted corridors
of our suburban brickhouse manor
I lie upon the mattress stiff and flat
listening for the noise of the electric light
not the click of the switch
the turning of the light-tide
but another sound, the soft wash
of electric-light particle waves
splashing rhythmically upon the beach
of our own mutual undoing
digging watery trenches in the
vanilla sand until the
flick of the switch when you leave the hall
in cloaking darkness a ghostly
puddle in the hallway from where
the light has fallen down, its energy
drained, its illuminated promise vanishing
into the ordinary gray darkness.

On Turning 40

I turn 40 in January. I'm certainly not as troubled about turning 40 as I was about turning 30, having given up a lot of delusions since then, but I can't say I like it either. Just a few years ago, I was a part of the venerated 18-35 advertising "youth" demographic, the generation everyone wants to cater to or be a part of; in just a few months, I'll be in the legally protected, "over 40" demographic that gets good insurance rates and discounts on root canals. Right now, I'm in the dreaded "in between."

Just for kicks, here's a list of writers who died before or just after turning 40: Flannery O'Connor, Stephen Crane, Jack London, Edgar Allan Poe, and Sylvia Plath. I guess it's not safe to a be a naturalist of a gothicist.

Why can't a story just be a story?

The other day in class, I was giving my students an introduction to the Tennessee Williams's play "Streetcar Named Desire." I started talking about how a streetcar is essentially a conveyance that goes in circles, symbolically implying the journey that goes round and round but never gets anywhere. Naturally, I said, this ties in symbolically with the name of the streetcar ("Desire") and how the desire and passion of these people's lives keeps them on this circular journey that goes through "Cemeteries" and ends at "Elysian Fields."

One of my students interrupted and asked, "But how can you say it means all this when he could have just named the streetcar 'Desire' because that was the name of the streetcar in the neighborhood?"

I should be used to questions like this from students, who always want to know why we have to "read so much" into plays, poems, and stories. But I sort of lost my patience, admittedly without losing my smile, and responded, "Because it's never just what it is. Tennessee Williams is a playwright interested in deeper connections. His work, like all literature, is interesting because it works out of these traditions and is rich with metaphor, symbolism, and allusion. Williams isn't writing journalism, after all."

Is that a good enough answer? Maybe not. It is frustrating, when you love literature, to answer these types of questions from people who believe a story should just be enjoyed and quickly forgotten. But good stories, stories with staying power, usually do more than provide simple diversion or voyeuristic thrill.

Tennessee Williams is not known for his subtle symbolism, which is why he's a good choice for young readers just beginning to learn the value of analysis and close reading. If the streetcar isn't supposed to mean something besides just being a streetcar, why does Williams focus on it so much? Why does it keep coming up in the dialogue? ("Haven't you ridden on that streetcar?") Why not just have Blanche arrive in a taxi cab with no name at all?

Fiction and Truth

Writers are inspired by real life, of course, including people they've known and the tragedies and triumphs they have witnessed. People sometimes accuse fiction writers of relying too heavily on reality, in the mistaken belief that they ought to be inventing everything out of thin air if they want to call their work fiction. But writers don't present "reality" without alteration. They turn things around and mix things up -- so that people who never met in real life are suddenly lovers, and events that took place years apart are suddenly on the same day. Ironically, in distoring and rearranging reality, they hope to achieve truth. Writing is the "reimagining" of reality.

Diary of a Madman

Ozzy Osbourne titled one of his albums "Diary of Madman," I think. But isn't every diary that of a madman, really? What else but madness would compel someone to record his innermost thoughts and fears, in the hopes that anyone else would care? Isn't writing fiction in essence an act of madness, the inexplicable and hopeless urge to make sense of life, to force the past into a kind of neat pattern that is aesthestically and artistically pleasing? To believe you can impose such order on chaos is a mild madness surely, but to think anyone would care is sheer insanity.

Home Movies

The other day, I was reading a book about writing fiction, and the author suggested that writers who don't face their fears aren't really accomplishing what they need to as writers. They aren't going all the way, so to speak.

At first, I couldn't think of what it is I fear. I fear so many and so few things at the same time.
Later that night, while attempting to organize some boxes at my house, I recognized one of my fears, packed away safely in that spare room: my fear of the past. For almost 8 years now, I have paid for a small storage room just across the block from my house. It has been filled with miscellaneous bits of camping equipment and boxes of tax records, photos, home movies, and other junk not worth the cost of storage. It occurred to me tonight, as I was going through some of this stuff, that instead of storage, I was really paying for the convenience of not having to look at or otherwise deal with these memories. Just looking at the labels of the video tapes (home movies) filled me with a sense of dread and self-loathing regrets.

As I sorted through these boxes, I came very close to throwing away most of the home movies without watching them, because I figured that would be both painful and unproductive. What is the good of home movies anyway, unless the whole family stays together and they can be enjoyed nostalgically? Inevitably, someone will end up appearing on screen who has either died or disappeared for good.

Something about one of the video compilations caught my eye, though, so I decided to plug it into the VCR and see what I would be throwing away. As I watched the forgotten home movies spin like colorful and distant memories on the TV screen, I realized what the fiction-writing expert meant about facing your fears. Rather than simply feeling depressed or miserable while watching these images, I felt deep stirrings within, coupled with a renewed desire to write. On the TV screen I watched strange pictures of rooms in houses I no longer own, filled with furniture and other belongings that have long since disappeared. There were amazingly beautiful mountain vistas in Alaska, and some stunning images of my sister Wendy at age 20 or so – that film alone is worth saving the video for.

The videos were much higher quality than I expected, but more importantly, the settings and people gave rise to many ideas for writing, unexplored settings and situations that I had been avoiding (and missing out on) by neglecting my past. I must admit I've been in a funk since watching these videos, but I think it's a "good" funk, a sign of being alive and attached to my own life.

PS. For those of you paying attention, my blog on myspace will now duplicate what is posted here.

Gone Hollywood

I have finished with the latest version of my screenplay, titled The Moon Illusion. I say the "latest version," because when it comes to screenplays, additional revision is always possible. The story concerns a NASA psychologist who falls for the woman he hires to take care of his troubled daughter. Naturally, it's set in the Clear Lake area, and although it is primarily a romantic comedy, it has some darker elements related to the main character dealing with the death of his wife.

I have no big illusions about selling the screenplay, although I intend to give it my best shot. I would be happy if an independent company took interest, and I am resigned to the possibility that any production company will maim my script beyond recognition. That's just the way it goes sometimes. I would just love to see my characters on screen.

This is the longest fictional piece I've written, since I mostly focus on short fiction, and it was an amazing experience to live with the characters for so long. I finally understand what many writers mean when they talk about characters coming to life and taking the story in new directions. I would not go so far as to pretend the writer is not in control, but it is a very mysterious process and an almost mystical event when your characters seem to "take over" and the story ends up going in directions you hadn't planned.

I've also started marketing my short horror-comedy script, titled "Electric Chainsaw Slaughterhouse," even though I had planned to make that one on my own. I decided I was juggling too many writing projects and graduate studies to really focus on making a decent short video film, and I know enough about the process to know it's a lot of work with not much payoff. I'd be glad to let someone else make it, though, using my script.

For now, more coffee and on with new writing projects.

What I've Learned

I assigned this as an exercise in my creative writing class. It's based on the Esquire Magazine feature. My colleague got a published poem out of this exercise.

Here's my list:

1. The less money you make, the more likely it is you'll have to spend a lot of time justifying your salary.
2. Smoke all you want; just don't pretend it's not bad for you.
3. I am not ashamed to drink light beer. Most beer snobs remind me of Dungeons and Dragons players anyway.
4. Anybody who complains that people are only interested in looks should not be too interested in looks.
5. Almost everybody feels inadequate in some way.
6. Computers don't make writing easier; they make rewriting easier.
7. Watching the local TV news never helped anyone.
8. Beer and ice cream go well together.
9. The serial comma is a wonderful thing.
10. People are generally unsympathetic to the pain of divorced men. When a woman gets divorced, people ask her, "What did he do?" When a men gets divorced, people ask him, "What did you do?"
11. Every man should own a convertible at least once.
12. You can cause a lot of misery by trying not to hurt people.
13. Most of what we really learn we learn on our own. The best teachers don't pour knowledge into our heads; they help us to see that learning is possible and how best to learn.
14. There is no work like getting behind a shovel and digging.
15. Everybody is manipulative is some way. Some are just better at it than others.
16. The only real unconditional love is a parent's love for child.
17. A lot of people don't listen so much as wait for an opportunity to talk.
18. Young people think they know more than anyone else. And they're right.
19. I don't like people and peole don't like me, so it work out OK -- except when I need a ride to the airport.
20. We won't find answers by exploring space. The answers are already here.

In My Dreams

Many of us boast special powers in our dreams. We can fly, or run fast, or swim underwater for long periods. We may have the ability to fight, to see into the future, or to play the guitar without having learned how.

I have a special power in my dreams. In my dreams I am communicative. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I can bare my soul without fear of embarassment or humiliation. I can express emotion without fear of rejection. I can love without fear of loss.

Many writers have suggested a connection between dreaming and writing. Dreams are a form of subconsious storytelling, and they may also inspire writers with ideas or interesting dialogue. For me, the connection runs even more deeply. Dreaming is writing because it gives voice to my thoughts and allows me to be who I really want to be. I look forward to dreaming just as I look forward to those times when I am truly lost in my writing. It is a kind of semi-conscious awareness in which thoughts are permitted to flow freely and without interpretation or editing. Maybe dreaming is a kind of rough draft for life. We try things out, and then when we're awake, we begin the tedious process of revision.

Why Writing Matters

Sometimes, when I was younger, people at parties would ask me, "Why are you so quiet?" Usually they would ask this ask this in a very loud voice, as if quietness somehow disturbed or annoyed them. There must be something wrong with you, their query seemed to suggest, if you were not as loud as they were.

Of course, I watned to respond, "Why are you so loud?" And I still believe that it's wiser, to paraphrase Mark Twain, to be suspected to be a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. People who talk very little often, when they do talk, have something worthwhile to say.

I'm not suggesting I'm all that wise. What I do know is that writing in particular has given me a voice, given me the opportunity to speak out and be heard in the noisy crowd of the ongoing party we call the human race. As the youngest in my family for many years, I was often given the opportunity to speak up much. I turned inward and became known for being "imaginative" and "able to entertain myself." Back then, I focused my imagination on created towns of little wooden people and Matchbox cars. Now, or at least when I'm "in the zone," I find that outlet in writing.

The voice is real, especially if one chooses to seek publication, which is probably not as hard as it's made out to be. Many people write, but how many actually take the chance of sending material out to be read and rejected? Taking that chance just might get you somewhere, and you also might learn something. Whereas I made have had a hard time being heard in my own family, and later in my own house, I was able to be heard (or read) by thousands when I published my first piece in the newspaper.

It's a mysterious thing to be read by hundreds or thousands of people you've never met. It's also an important part of the writing process, in that it completes the circle of communication. True, you can write poems and stories for yourself and find this very rewarding. But writing is meant to be read, and what the reader brings to the equation is equally mysterious. In some ways, the writer never really experiences what he has written, because he is not the true reader. The reader completes the artistic process, and adds his or her own perceptions, biases, and imagination. This is what makes writing so different from, say, filmmaking or visual art. The writer or poet works with words, but he also works with the abstractions and ideas these words represent.

Writing gives voice to those thoughts and ideas. Writing gives voice to the quiet.