Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Telling Fiction
Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney fame is the lecturer before my workshop class tonight, so I’m definitely going to get there early to make sure I get a spot. She’ll be talking about writing, music and culture. I love how they just stuck this little gem in there for our colloquium.
I go to at least one lecture a week, but this week I’m also dying to hear the readings from The Apocalypse Reader, which includes a piece from Shelley Jackson. I’ve made a fuss about Miss Jackson (if you’re nasty) before, but not everyone knows of my affection for all things apocalicious (from a sociological and historical point of view, not that of a believer). I had started one piece that approached it from a certain angle last fall. It’s still a work in progress. My ideas remain firm… just had to step away. It started to inspire another piece, about David Duchovny (from the point of view of a believer). And then also a third, about Amelia Earhart’s opinion and philosophy of the end of the world. That might be as close as I get to a good exercise in fiction.
Writing for pleasure, like reading for pleasure, is taking a bit of a hiatus. It’s funny to me that now I separate things I do “for money” from that which is “my work” while before my work was for money and what I called my work went much farther (further?) than that. Now I take pleasure in finding work for money even when I rather not do it, helping for the sake of helping, and in general having long and lovely conversations with folks, so much more often than my previous Head Down in front of the Computer While Writing or Coding has ever allowed.
This past weekend I went to the fun, touching and dramatic wedding of my friend (and former workshop teacher) Rebecca. It was held at a ranch where we were able to take the place over to do whatever we felt like: ride horses, eat, be merry and get married. I met so many wonderful people, including writers and rock stars. The air was what I’d describe as warm, comfortable and generous, for the way everyone shared stories, ideas and general adorableness. It wasn’t just the endless food that left me feeling very happy and oddly nurtured. I think it was one of those rare times when I fall in love with everything at least little bit.
With a lingering sense of optimism in the face of busy normal New York lives, I hope to keep the friends I made. I know that after vacations we tell ourselves fictions, just like we do at New Years. I tell myself at least a little fiction every day, and sometimes it’s the wilder story that comes true, not the mundane. These are the ideas you have to keep in your head for a while, the words you try to say with a mouthfull of marbles. You master the mouthful, spit out the rest, and let the story flesh itself out.
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