Reflect much?

Have you read Mary Karr?  If you’re a CNFer or a poet, you probably have.  As memoirs go, The Liar’s Club seems ubiquitously thought of as a staple of the canon, and with good reason.  I read that one a few years ago and just finished her second memoir, Cherry, recently.  And it was good.  It was so good I am now dying to get my hands on Lit, Karr’s most recent memoir.  So good that when I went to my office to select my next read, everything that I’d been so excited to tear into seemed lame (I did eventually decide on a Jane Smiley novel, and it’s not lame). 

Cherry picks up sort of where Liar’s Club left off, timeline-wise, though in style it’s quite distinct.  Not only does Karr present her adolescent experience in the present tense, but also in the second person.  The book describes a girl’s sexual coming of age, which sounds like something that’s been done; Karr points out that this is not entirely true, that there really aren’t many memoirs out there dealing with teenage sexuality and all the nuances and falsehoods and experiments and fantasizing that go along with it. In an interview over at the Paris Review, Karr says “It may be a problem of language.  When I started Cherry, I realized there were no words to describe an awakening female libido.  Boys have these childlike words like chubby and woody, but the parlance for female genitalia and female desires is too porno.”  So boys tease each other about wet dreams and blue balls, and girls…well, what do girls do? Read more »

Finally, a decent movie from Spokane–The Knights of Badassdom.

I can’t believe Tyrian Lanister (Game of Thrones) is friends with Jason Stackhouse (True Blood), Liam McPoyle (Always Sunny), River Tem (Firefly),  Abed (Community), and Steve Zahn. They summon a demon during a heated bout of live-action role-playing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gTT59NibGw

My two contributor copies of Willow Springs 68 arrived a month or so ago, and even as I admired the cover design, and perused the table of contents, I knew the first place I’d head: A Conversation with Richard Russo.

Almost exactly a year and three months ago, my crack interview team: Laura Ender, Sam Edmonds, and I, sat down at the Davenport Hotel with Richard Russo, armed only with notepad full of questions, the product of several meetings in which we discussed our battle-plan, and maybe too-much knowledge of Russo’s work, a result of each of us reading just about everything he’d ever published.  As a second-year-student at the time, Willow Springs had put me in charge of the interview, and even if Russo hadn’t been one of my literary heroes I would have been nervous as all hell.

I discovered his books in high school, and devoured them greedily, wondering why all novels couldn’t be this insightful, funny, and easy to read.  Realistically, I wanted to write books like his.  Adorably naively, I wanted to marry one of his daughters, (who were about my age) despite being barely able to talk to girls, so I could see him every Christmas in Maine.

I’d been a member of the finely-tuned Jess Walter interview team earlier that year, so I had a sense of how these things worked.  But Editor Sam Ligon led that interview, and he and Jess were good friends.  And this moment, meeting and running an interview with Richard Russo, was the biggest, at least socially, of my budding literary career.  I planning on staying cool, and praying the tape-recorder would keep working the entire time. Read more »

Where did I plant that guerilla garden?

What was the name of those mountains I lived by for six years?

When was my brother in that coma?

I’m sure that by now, you’ve read something about the Google Effect. If not, go on and search it now; after all, this post will still be here in twenty minutes, an hour, a week, a year. It will be here as long as someone keeps paying the hosting fees for thebarking.com, and if you forget what it’s called, you can always google it under the following search terms: bark, memory, memoir, google effect. According to the Google Effect, you don’t really have to remember a thing, since our memories are being stored outside ourselves. Right now, the Science mag article is just talking about our memory of information that really, it’s debatable whether we need to remember it or not: who’s that actor who is going into the University of Houston Ph.D. program in creative writing? What city in Ohio is offering homesteading benefits for residents who mow the lawns of foreclosures?

What does this mean for memoirists? When does “what was the name of that basketball player I went to high school with” become “what was the name of the high school I went to” or “what county did I grow up in?”

Yes, this sounds absurd–barring a significant brain event, how could someone not remember information that is essential to his/her person, like a maternal grandmother’s name? Especially when it’s a security question to log into his/her Sallie Mae student loan accounts? Unless he/she e-mails it somewhere so that Gmail will index their login information under searchable terms? If you think about a lot of those prompts that serve to jog your memory, like drawing a map of the house you grew up in, you might realize that it’s only a matter of time before Google Earth has floor plans of your childhood home. Read more »

maybe the best costumed literary event of the year that (probably) doesn't involve harry potter

if you are in the chicago area today, or have the means to transport yourself there using magic and/or technology, i highly recommend coming out to the 7th annual printers’ ball, taking place this evening from 6-11pm at the ludington building (
1104 s. wabash avenue – one block west of michigan avenue).  it’s free, it’s all ages, and it’s fun for people who like words.

this is a swell event put on by the poetry foundation and columbia college chicago, and it’ll feature more than 200 literary organizations; 2,000 attendees; readings, films, performances, and live music; activities; food and drink; and a whole shitload of free stuff from publishers and magazines such as willow springs, the critically acclaimed journal beloved by all furry woodland creatures (except that unreasonably persnickety scourge of forests the world over, the lemur).

i’ll be there in person, so be sure to stop by and say hello.

I found this in my Amazon wish list.

I’ve been reading Major Jackson again. I can’t seem to stay away from him. This time it’s Hoops, his second collection of poetry. Immediately I was struck by the chasm of technique between this book and the first one I’d read, Holding Company, which was the 3rd book he’s published.  I tried to explain to a friend how different these two books were and the only metaphor I could come up with was of a baser nature. I told her that Hoops was like the Missionary position and Holding Company was like Reverse Cowgirl.

Her reaction wasn’t what I expected. She started extrapolating all kinds different ideas about virginity and Christianity and internal struggles in relationships and trying to relate them to Jackson’s poetry.  I hadn’t taken into account the missionary position’s position as the the baby step into the world of sex. Or that it’s often seen as a position of power for men over women. I saw her point but I meant something much simpler. (Here is the point when my grandmother/mother/family should probably stop reading. And for those of you who don’t know these two positions, you should do a Google search to educate yourself. I’m going to assume from here on out, we’re all on the same page.)   Read more »

I hadn’t seen any trailers for Midnight in Paris when I sat down in the movie theater yesterday; all I knew was that I usually like Woody Allen movies, and of the names I recognized, I generally like the cast. Kathy Bates alone is a reason for me to see a film, but add Adrien Brody, Marion Cotillard, and Rachel McAdams and how could I say no? (Watch season one of Slings & Arrows and you’ll know why I love Rachel McAdams.) Also, interesting films rarely come to my town’s one and only movie theater, so I figured I should jump at my rare chance. As it turned out, it was exactly the movie I wanted to see.

I’m sure many writers have dreamed of stepping into Paris in the 1920s–I know I have. Recently, while hiking with my husband, we talked about what time and place we would live in if we had the choice. He would be a park ranger in the fifties, in Yellowstone, at the height of the forest service. I had a hard time choosing, but Paris in the ’20s was at the top of my list. It’s also at the top of Gil Pender’s list–our leading man in Midnight in Paris, and through some strange circumstances, he actually gets to go back in time, where Gertrude Stein (Bates) and Ernest Hemingway help bolster his confidence in his writing. Read more »

My home office. Hijuelos and Lamb could work here.

The Chicago Tribune recently featured five writers talking about where they write, what their routine is, the equipment they use, and why their writing space is ideal. Oscar Hijuelos and Wally Lamb both mention the importance of proximity to water. Lamb also talks about the importance of “good-luck tchotchkes” and jumping jacks. Jodi Picoult also needs water, but the kind that comes in a bottle. Tayari Jones only uses yellow legal pads with “really sharp pencils,” but understands the importance of being adaptable. Elin Hilderbrand rides her bike to the beach to write during the summer and uses a friend’s library during the colder months.

In preparation for some future newspaper article taking in interest in my setting and routine, here are my answers to what the five writers described:

Setting: My home office is an awesome writing space, but works best for revisions. I tend to get sidetracked by email and social media when I’m there, so when I’m cranking out first drafts I prefer to sit on the couch in the living room or in a coffee house somewhere. That way I can just pound out the words and worry about research and fact-checking later.

Routine: An ideal writing day is basically just getting in some hours of solid prose. I’m a binge writer and do much better with long open-ended periods of writing. If I know I only have an hour or two to write, I end up just messing around and doing a lot of “research” (i.e. email, random Google searches, and Facebook).

Equipment: Always on the computer. I might outline a piece using long-hand, but I rarely use pen and paper for anything else.

Why the space is ideal: The office is ideal because it’s my space. Nobody else comes there so I can leave a project in the middle and make the space as messy as I’d like. When we first moved in together, my husband (then boyfriend) and I shared a desk. I hated the extra time it took to pull all my stuff out and put it away again. We then graduated to sharing an office, but separate desks. Now we actually have separate offices, which feels very luxurious.

Where and how do you like to work?

So I’m sitting in a Tuscan-style cafebar called Papa Joe’s, in an armchair directly across from my undergrad poetry TA. She’s twenty-something and pretty, with pink hair, glasses, facial piercings and a tattooed décolletage. It’s the middle of winter semester, junior-year, and we’re having a conference to discuss my upcoming portfolio. She slurps from an oversized latte, frowns at one of my visual pieces. “Why’d you place this line break here?”

I look down at it. “Dunno. Guess it sort of struck me, why?”

“You have to know,” she says. “Thesis defense, they’ll ask you. See… ” She sits back, goes on for a few about form and intent, and I listen. She’s very good, and I get the need for candor. I actually prefer writing fiction, but even though I haven’t told her my career plans I think she knows I’m not just here for the course credit. We put it aside, move on to a villanelle piece I wrote. It’s about my time in Iraq, a piece of which I happen to be very proud. First thing she asks me is: “So what are you putting on the line with this piece?” Read more »

Look, poems are everywhere and I want in on the fun, okay?

I’m not quite sure how to say this any other way, so I’m just going to come straight out with it.

I have a confession to make.

I’ve been writing poetry.

(Pause for gasps from the audience and the fainting of delicate women.)

I’m aware that a lot of people write poetry and this activity, which while certainly frowned upon in some circles, is not generally considered scandalous. But the thing is, I’m not supposed to be writing poetry. I’m supposed to be writing fiction.

Here at EWU, I am pursuing my MFA in creative writing in the fiction concentration. Most of the classes I take are fiction classes. The books I read are fiction books. The thesis I will write will be a collection of short fiction. And, just like every MFA fictioner before me, when I completed my first year in June, I promised myself that I would spend my summer break writing A METRIC FUCK-TON OF FICTION.

Read more »