I read this story by you back when I was a juvenile probation officer, about a year before I went to grad school. I remembered the story for a long time, but for some reason I always thought it was in The Gettysburg Review. I'm not sure why. Did you ever even publish a story in The Gettysburg Review?
Since then, I've read a number of stories by you. In case you didn't realize it, your name is fairly peculiar, at least where I'm from, and whenever I see it in some journal's table of contents, I read what you've written. You haven't let me down yet.
And then, a few days ago, I was at one of the chain bookstores around here and saw the latest issue of The Paris Review. Your name was either on the cover or it was, as I've been so excited to see it so many times before, in the table of contents. I sat down on the bench in the store and read your story, and then I flipped to the contributor's notes, to see what else you've been up to, what I might have missed, when I saw this.
Man, I know I'm a little late getting to the news, but the good thing about it is that your book is going to be coming out soon. Very soon.
I can't wait.
Huge congrats,
Chad
7.27.2008
Fishing with D.--Again
I've told these types of stories before...but Wednesday, I took D. to my parents' lake cabin for the afternoon.
He fished from the shore for a while, and then, after I'd read and relaxed for a bit, I took him out on my parents' fancy-pants paddle boat, so I could do some fishing, too.
Before we took off, though, I put on a little sunscreen. Usually, I only like to wear sunscreen when I'm wearing a swimming suit. I don't like getting it on my clothes. That afternoon, though, I decided to put some sunscreen on my arms, on my face, and on my ears. I realized that I should put some on my legs, but I couldn't make myself do it. I didn't want the sunscreen rubbing up against my shorts.
Just this morning, for the first time, the sunburn on my knees has stopped hurting. For a while, my knees were almost plum-colored.
And in case you were wondering: We caught next to zero fish. D. snagged a few babies, but there was nothing at all on our lines worth taking home.
He fished from the shore for a while, and then, after I'd read and relaxed for a bit, I took him out on my parents' fancy-pants paddle boat, so I could do some fishing, too.
Before we took off, though, I put on a little sunscreen. Usually, I only like to wear sunscreen when I'm wearing a swimming suit. I don't like getting it on my clothes. That afternoon, though, I decided to put some sunscreen on my arms, on my face, and on my ears. I realized that I should put some on my legs, but I couldn't make myself do it. I didn't want the sunscreen rubbing up against my shorts.
Just this morning, for the first time, the sunburn on my knees has stopped hurting. For a while, my knees were almost plum-colored.
And in case you were wondering: We caught next to zero fish. D. snagged a few babies, but there was nothing at all on our lines worth taking home.
The Dark Knight--Update
I caught the three o'clock show last Friday, and I liked it.
My expectations were, obviously, pretty high, and it didn't quite live up to them, but still, it was very good.
My primary complaint: I thought it was going to be a little bit darker than it was, and I wanted it to be. I wanted to see some blood. I wanted to see the Joker and the Batman as just a little more human, in a gritty way.
Maybe that's what I'll have to look forward to in the next one. I certainly hope so.
My expectations were, obviously, pretty high, and it didn't quite live up to them, but still, it was very good.
My primary complaint: I thought it was going to be a little bit darker than it was, and I wanted it to be. I wanted to see some blood. I wanted to see the Joker and the Batman as just a little more human, in a gritty way.
Maybe that's what I'll have to look forward to in the next one. I certainly hope so.
Voyeur
This local story reminded me of something small, trivial, but, I suppose, worth sharing.
When I was between the ages of ten and fourteen, my bedroom looked out on the parking lot of a church across the street. Almost always parked in that parking lot: Two school buses, painted pale blue and decorated with smiley faces and crosses.
I had a habit when I was a kid (and still do, I suppose) of getting up and walking through the darkened house as if it were a new place, and I was exploring it. Back then, on several occasions, I saw a man sucking on a garden hose that had been dipped into the gas tank of one of the buses. He would siphon the fuel, and once he got it going, he would stick the garden hose directly into his own car's gas tank until he filled it up. Once or twice, I even caught him in that pivotal moment where his mouth filled with fuel and he had to spit it out.
I never once thought of calling the cops.
It was kind of a beautiful thing to watch, in the dark, as the man was lit only by the parking lot's flood lamps. He went about his business in a way that was almost poetic in its simplicity, and I liked being on my side of the window, where I could fumble around in the darkness and watch it all go down.
When I was between the ages of ten and fourteen, my bedroom looked out on the parking lot of a church across the street. Almost always parked in that parking lot: Two school buses, painted pale blue and decorated with smiley faces and crosses.
I had a habit when I was a kid (and still do, I suppose) of getting up and walking through the darkened house as if it were a new place, and I was exploring it. Back then, on several occasions, I saw a man sucking on a garden hose that had been dipped into the gas tank of one of the buses. He would siphon the fuel, and once he got it going, he would stick the garden hose directly into his own car's gas tank until he filled it up. Once or twice, I even caught him in that pivotal moment where his mouth filled with fuel and he had to spit it out.
I never once thought of calling the cops.
It was kind of a beautiful thing to watch, in the dark, as the man was lit only by the parking lot's flood lamps. He went about his business in a way that was almost poetic in its simplicity, and I liked being on my side of the window, where I could fumble around in the darkness and watch it all go down.
7.17.2008
Update
I drank a latte at ten p.m. so that I would be sure to make it through the film, and then I left for the theater at about 11: 30.
Earlier tonight, I thought about buying tickets online, but then I realized that if the theater was going to be sold out, or even close to it, I would rather just go and see the movie tomorrow. Maybe I've been spoiled growing up in small towns, but I can't stand crowded movie theaters.
When I arrived at Kerasotes, the parking lot was as full as I've ever seen it. I didn't think much of it until I parked my truck and headed for the entrance, when I saw that there was no one waiting in line to get in.
As soon as I walked in the door, I heard the cashier tell the people in front of me that The Dark Knight was sold out. I quickly turned around and headed for my truck, though I wish now that I would have stuck around to scope the place out, see what all was going down.
Looks like I'm going to have to go to a matinee tomorrow.
* * *
Since I haven't been around this place much: This summer has been one of the most productive I've ever had. I've written a longish story, two essays (for a specific purpose; more on that when the information becomes more relevant), five short-shorts, and tomorrow, I should wrap up a second longish story that's going to clock in, I think, at around 8000 words. I've also written about 3000 words already on the next story I'm going to write.
And I've started working out a little, and eating better.
Maybe that whole shaving-my-head thing ended up paying off, gave me just the kind of fresh start I needed.
* * *
After I missed out on the movie tonight, I decided to stop off at a bar to have a drink or two, hoping that the alcohol would counteract the espresso I had earlier. When I got home, I wrote the following little micro fiction based on a conversation I overheard at the bar:
Tunisia
He asks her how long it is now until she takes that trip.
Two weeks, she says. And one day.
Her feet bounce in their flip-flops. They curl and flex.
She is sitting on a brick step outside the bar. A beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
For the past few days, she has been asking herself, Why Tunisia? She doesn't know thing one about the place.
Looks like you're going to have a good time, he says. A great time.
She wonders: What language do they speak in Tunisia?
What color is the natives' skin?
Where do they fly off to when they want to just get away from things, when they want to wake up and find themselves in an entirely different world?
Earlier tonight, I thought about buying tickets online, but then I realized that if the theater was going to be sold out, or even close to it, I would rather just go and see the movie tomorrow. Maybe I've been spoiled growing up in small towns, but I can't stand crowded movie theaters.
When I arrived at Kerasotes, the parking lot was as full as I've ever seen it. I didn't think much of it until I parked my truck and headed for the entrance, when I saw that there was no one waiting in line to get in.
As soon as I walked in the door, I heard the cashier tell the people in front of me that The Dark Knight was sold out. I quickly turned around and headed for my truck, though I wish now that I would have stuck around to scope the place out, see what all was going down.
Looks like I'm going to have to go to a matinee tomorrow.
* * *
Since I haven't been around this place much: This summer has been one of the most productive I've ever had. I've written a longish story, two essays (for a specific purpose; more on that when the information becomes more relevant), five short-shorts, and tomorrow, I should wrap up a second longish story that's going to clock in, I think, at around 8000 words. I've also written about 3000 words already on the next story I'm going to write.
And I've started working out a little, and eating better.
Maybe that whole shaving-my-head thing ended up paying off, gave me just the kind of fresh start I needed.
* * *
After I missed out on the movie tonight, I decided to stop off at a bar to have a drink or two, hoping that the alcohol would counteract the espresso I had earlier. When I got home, I wrote the following little micro fiction based on a conversation I overheard at the bar:
Tunisia
He asks her how long it is now until she takes that trip.
Two weeks, she says. And one day.
Her feet bounce in their flip-flops. They curl and flex.
She is sitting on a brick step outside the bar. A beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
For the past few days, she has been asking herself, Why Tunisia? She doesn't know thing one about the place.
Looks like you're going to have a good time, he says. A great time.
She wonders: What language do they speak in Tunisia?
What color is the natives' skin?
Where do they fly off to when they want to just get away from things, when they want to wake up and find themselves in an entirely different world?
Dilemma
I can't decide whether I should go to the midnight opening of The Dark Knight--and be that kind of dork--or to the first matinee they have showing tomorrow afternoon--and be that particular kind of dork.
Really, I'm not sure I'd be able to stay awake for the midnight show. I'm getting old. It might be fun, though, to see who all gets dressed up, or arrives via Batmobile, whatever.
Regardless...I don't think I've ever looked forward this much to a movie. Maybe when I was nine, and I went to see Back to the Future for the second time, because I loved it so much the first time. But I think my excitement this time around is a little more thorough. A little purer. I was just over at the movie's website, and the background music alone was giving me chills.
I think I'm going to have to go tonight.
7.02.2008
Links
Last week, the always excellent Five Chapters serialized Pia Z. Ehrhardt's "Closer, Still."
This week, they're running Ron Rash's "The Gatsons."
* * *
The Comics Reporter recently posted an interview with Lynda Barry, whose What It Is I read a few days ago.
I pretty much loved this book. It's part memoir, part creativity theory, and part workbook, all by way of stunning collages and text. And the above interview does quite a bit to further illuminate the ideas Barry gets down in the book.
I'm thinking I may use this book in an undergrad fiction workshop some time. It would be a cool change of pace.
* * *
And speaking of teaching...
I spent most of May talking about narrative journalism in my Beginning Nonfiction course, and I have to say, I've come to really love the genre.
Last week, Esquire posted online a story from their September 2007 issue: "Tonight on Dateline This Man Will Die" by Luke Dittrich. I began reading it mostly out of curiosity but became totally swept up in the narrative spun by Dittrich. I taught narrative journalism using The Best American Crime Reporting 2007, and I'm betting this article winds up in next year's edition.
This week, they're running Ron Rash's "The Gatsons."
* * *
The Comics Reporter recently posted an interview with Lynda Barry, whose What It Is I read a few days ago.
I pretty much loved this book. It's part memoir, part creativity theory, and part workbook, all by way of stunning collages and text. And the above interview does quite a bit to further illuminate the ideas Barry gets down in the book.
I'm thinking I may use this book in an undergrad fiction workshop some time. It would be a cool change of pace.
* * *
And speaking of teaching...
I spent most of May talking about narrative journalism in my Beginning Nonfiction course, and I have to say, I've come to really love the genre.
Last week, Esquire posted online a story from their September 2007 issue: "Tonight on Dateline This Man Will Die" by Luke Dittrich. I began reading it mostly out of curiosity but became totally swept up in the narrative spun by Dittrich. I taught narrative journalism using The Best American Crime Reporting 2007, and I'm betting this article winds up in next year's edition.
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