My list of heroes grows as often as the books I proudly own, which is not all that often. They have to make such an impact on me, and garner my undying admiration in such an unshakeable way that I can't imagine living each day without being reminded of them in some way.
Thus far, my heroes are Neil Simon, Stephen Sondheim, Quentin Crisp, Noel Coward, Johnny Carson, Jeff Bridges, Aaron Sorkin, Benny Binion, Diamond Jim Brady, Helene Hanff, Joshua Kadison, Mike Royko, Sam Shepard, and, in the fictional realm, Andy Capp, Baloo the bear in The Jungle Book, Murray N. Burns (Jason Robards) in A Thousand Clowns, Judge Harry Stone (Harry Anderson) on Night Court, Lord John Marbury (Roger Rees) on The West Wing, Doc Brown (Christopher Lloyd) in the Back to the Future trilogy, The Dude (Jeff Bridges) in The Big Lebowski (I'm wearing a t-shirt with a drawing of him that has the banner "He Abides"), and Brian Hackett on Wings.
Recently, deciding to branch out from The Memory of Running, one of my favorite novels that features two of my favorite characters in American literature (the overweight Smithy Ide and the wheelchair-bound Norma), I set out to read Ron McLarty's three subsequent novels: Traveler, Art in America, and The Dropper. I finished Traveler yesterday, and to my list of heroes, I add Randall Pound, whose description can only come from McLarty himself. I transcribed every scene featuring Pound so I'll always have it long after I return Traveler to the Whitney Library. All of it follows below. Renee, Jono's girlfriend, is a New York City firefighter, to give context to the bit from page 48:
Pg. 25-27 – “I pulled some beers, mixed a Tom Collins, and blended a frozen margarita. Getting the orders over the reverberation of the front room requires a great deal of concentration. I’ve become a passable lip-reader. I pulled two more McSorley’s, and the sandwich was here. I squirted a glassful of club soda and took it to the end of the bar, where Randall Pound spilled over his usual stool.
“Hey, Jono,” he said quietly.
Randall put a dog-eared paperback down on the bar and sipped an espresso. It’s amazing to see the tiny cup on the edge of his fingers. Randall Pound is a shade over seven feet tall and proudly keeps his weight at 390. His neck is surprisingly long for a man of his great size. A contemplative, almost aesthetic Slavic face sits on top of it, with huge green eyes, long proportional nose, and thick shiny black hair combed tight into a short ponytail. At thirty he carres an agelessness about him. Seven years ago Lambs entered into a frustrating period where bar fights and loud, aggressive customers were becoming a nightly occurrence. After I tried to break up one fight, both the combatants turned on me. The next day, nose flattened, both eyes black, and reeling from a mild concussion, I ran an ad for a bouncer in the Village Voice. A lot of impressive men turned up (and one woman with a black belt in karate). But it was the quiet, dapper Randall Pound who won the job. The interview went like this:
“I’m Jono Riley.”
“I’m Randall Pound.”
“If guys start getting out of line or fighting, what would you do?”
“They won’t.”
“They won’t what?”
“They won’t get out of line or start fighting.”
He always wears a tailored sharkskin suit. He owns seven of them. All metallic blue. He sits on the corner stool like he has every evening, without fail, for the last seven years. At the first sign of a problem, a waitress or a bartender will whisper to the offender and point down to Randall, who will slowly wave and smile. He was right. No one gets out of line. No one fights.
“You’re early.”
“We only did the first act,” I said. Then I added, “Audience walked out.”
Randall nodded thoughtfully. “I enjoyed it, Jono. I thought you rose above the limited material.”
“Thanks.”
“Theater, the printed word, language in the general sense has entered into a decline,” he said quietly. “I attended a seminar at Columbia just last week where Bill Gates’s futurist talked about the inevitability of fine and performing arts being marginalized.” He held up the paperback. It was a copy of Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis. “Tell that to Lewis. Tell it to Hem or Billy Faulkner,” he said.
“Is that the last one?” I asked through a mouthful of tuna.
Randall is a true eccentric. His life plan, as he has explained it to me, is to experience as many varied occupations as possible while devouring the whole of American literature.
“Our Mr. Wrenn is the last of Sinclair’s canon,” he said. “It was his first book. It’s going to be the last one I read to complete it. After Babbitt, that is.”
Randall’s ten-to-four shift at Lambs is the only constant in an inventive and eclectic career that has included truck driving, construction working, hot-dog vending, supermarket stocking, bank telling, box-office managing, flower arranging, copywriting, street sweeping, census taking, and I forget what-all, but it’s still only the tip of the iceberg.
“How come you never tried acting?” I asked.
He looked at me, concentrated and serious. “Because I’m an odd person doesn’t mean I’m mentally challenged.”
I nodded, took some fries and soda. He took a delicate sip of the espresso. I must have been wrinkling my eyebrows or something.
“What?” he asked.
“What, what?”
“You’re pensive. Something’s bothering you, all right.”
“Uh-uh.” I chewed.
“Look, it’s reasonable to feel uneasy. You have chosen a dangerous profession. Peter Brook rather darkly ruminates about the deadly theater in The Empty Space.”
“You read that?”
“I found it unsettling. I thought about you. It made me sad.”
I held up my hand while I finished a bite. “Randall, I like it. It pisses me off a lot, but mostly I like it. Actually, there’s something else on my mind.”
I gave him a brief rundown of Cubby’s letter and some background. When I finished, Randall sighed thoughtfully.
“O’Casey says it correctly,” he said. “ ‘The world is in a terrible state of chassis.’”
Pg. 48 – “A half hour later, I hugged Robert and Jeff, and then Renée and I strolled over to Astor Place and took the Lex uptown to Lambs. I got two coffees, and we went to an alcove behind Randall Pound. He swiveled in his chair, and Renée got tippy-toed to kiss him.
“How was it?” he asked quietly.
“The audience stayed,” I said.
“He was great,” Renée said in her sort of serious way. “He is such a wonderful actor.”
Randall held up his espresso in a silent toast. He sniffed. “You been to a fire?” he asked Renée.
“Yeah, nothing much.”
He sniffed again. “You smell like toasted raisin bread.”
“Yeah?” she said.”
Pg. 224 – “We crossed the street and headed down to the Biltmore Bar, where there was a phone next to the men’s room. I punched in my calling card and my 917 service code. I had two messages. The first one was Randall Pound’s soft voice.
“Hey, Jono. I finally finished all of the Sinclair Lewis canon. Just now closed Our Mr. Wrenn and wanted to tell somebody. I’m on to Fitzgerald now. Making progress. Say hey to Renée. I’m on my stool and we miss you at Lambs.”
Pg. 259 – Chapter 36 – “Everything I wanted to keep after thirty years in New York City filled about half of the small van I had rented. Discards of my life flowed over cardboard boxes and plastic bags piled high in front of my old East Eighty-ninth Street walk-up.
I slid into the passenger side. “It’s like I was never here.”
Randall Pound nodded behind the steering wheel. “You were here, Jono. Things are things. They’re not important. Remember what Mrs. Joad said when the preacher asked her why they had brought everything they owned to California?”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I don’t know.’”
We took Eighty-sixth Street over to the West Side. The apartment was in a brownstone on West Eighty-seventh between Columbus and Central Park. It had taken the two of us all day long and ten trips, the van bulging, to get Renée’s things up from Chelsea and a half hour for mine. I handed Randall a Coke. It became miniature in his enormous hands. I took one, and we drank in silence, our eyes swinging around the sunny room.
“It’s a big thing. Moving,” he finally said. “It’s like death and it’s like birth.”
I laughed.
“No, really, Jono. Any way you look at it, it’s something new. It’s an adventure. Sandburg, in a lot of his work, points out the essential insignificance of people. In the long term, I mean. These are the kinds of things that put the lie to that. You and Renée moving in, I mean.”
I dropped Randall off at his place and returned the van to a garage on West Twenty-third across the street from Pier 63."
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts
Monday, December 3, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
A Random Assortment of My Life
There's been nothing going on to merit a full entry on its own, at least not until later Friday or Saturday, because on Friday morning, my co-author on my book about the making of the Airport movies has invited me along to the media opening of Lex Luthor: Drop of Doom, a 400-foot freefall ride clamped to both sides of the Superman: Escape from Krypton tower at Six Flags Magic Mountain. Ever since leaving San Diego and his job at a magazine there, and moving back to Venice, he's reconnected with publications he's worked for, and that includes an amusement park magazine that assigned him to write a profile of this new ride. He has a comp media pass for this that can get him and one other person in, and that's me. He has the ulterior motive of us finally meeting face to face and being able to talk more about the book than we have in past weeks since he's been busy with other writing assignments and working with a '70s actress on her memoirs. Plus, he may still have the Lang family scrapbooks that he's keeping safe for actress/singer Monica Lewis while she moves to a new house. She was married to Universal film executive Jennings Lang who was the executive-in-charge on Airport (he watched the dailies and made sure everything was going ok, but with a producer like Ross Hunter, he had nothing to be concerned about), and then produced the sequels. Lang died in 1996, and according to my co-author, the scrapbooks potentially contain a lot of information that only I might be looking for. He's already pulled out what he wants for the book, but wants me to have a look as well. He goes for an overall view. I want to go in deep. We're a perfect match in that way, also because of his connection to the Lang family, having worked with Lewis on her memoir, which was published in May of last year.
So I get free admission into Magic Mountain, and it's going to be my Third Farewell Tour. I want to go to all the spots I've liked, including Pistachio Park, and maybe, just maybe, up the Sky Tower to the now unfortunately empty floor, freed of all its historical artifacts, which were the one thing that distinguished Magic Mountain from the rest of the Santa Clarita Valley, that acknowledgement of its history. However, it has the benefit of being set apart from the rest of the valley by its location to the extent that you don't feel like you're in Santa Clarita. But that history was still important.
Nevertheless, this is the perfect opportunity to say goodbye to Magic Mountain, to silently give my thanks for the many times it sustained me, helped me keep my sanity in this valley. Plus, I've never been to any media event like this, so why not have a totally different experience at Magic Mountain than what I usually had?
- Next item on my list in Notepad of things to write about is my latest DVD reviews, or at least my DVD reviews since May 31. I can't believe it's been that long since I've posted anything about them. I liked my reviews of seasons 3 and 4 of That '70s Show, and I finally sorted out my feelings about Tyler Perry in my review of his Good Deeds. He would be better if he doesn't push so hard, and there's one scene in Good Deeds that shows a potentially great future for him as a filmmaker. So here's the many I've done since my review of Episodes:
Zero Bridge
Law & Order: Criminal Intent: The Seventh Year
Love is On the Air
Trial & Retribution: Set 5
That '70s Show: Season Three
That '70s Show: Season Four
Miss Minoes
Margaret
Designing Women: The Final Season
PTown Diaries
Tyler Perry's Good Deeds
The Fairy
Father Dowling Mysteries: The Second Season
- In my reading of all the issues of The Henderson Press, I'm on Vol. 3, No. 3, January 19-25, 2012, I'm happy to say that I can amend my opinion of the weekly newspaper. Editor Carla J. Zvonec has finally stepped back from writing every single article in order to actually manage the paper, and not only are her editorials well-written, but finally the Henderson Press has focus and passion for the area again. There are outstanding reporters in Buford Davis, Guy Dawson, and Brian Sodoma, and the level of silly writing that used to plague these pages has dropped dramatically. Unlike Don Logay at his worst, these reporters realize that the paper is about the city, not about them. I liked Logay for his passion for Lake Las Vegas, but I hated how he was so obviously marketing it instead of just reporting it. The writing is much sharper and the profiles of various people in business and businesses themselves do more than just point out that they're there. These reporters are finally finding out that there's a lot of interesting stories in these businesses.
After Mom and Dad came back from Las Vegas and gave me all the publications I wanted to read (including that week's issue of Las Vegas Weekly, a few issues of Las Vegas Seven, and Friday's edition of the Review-Journal), I found the latest edition of the Henderson Press and was very happy. Henderson won't be my home, but I know I'll visit often and I'm confident of always being well-informed because of the Henderson Press. They've finally reached a zenith from which I hope they never come down.
- Today, in honor of Independence Day, Turner Classic Movies showed 1776, one of my favorite musicals. As I watched yet again the business and arguments of the Second Continental Congress, I came up with an idea that could either be a biography if I can find enough information, or certainly a novel. So much has been written about John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and others in that Congress, but there's been very little written about one of those figures. A novel set around that debate on independence from this man's perspective could be interesting. I know that the debate probably wasn't what it looked like in 1776 (For example, Richard Henry Lee said to John Hancock that he had to decline a spot on the committee to draft a Declaration of Independence because he was asked to serve as governor of Virginia. In reality, his wife was ill), but it would still be something to see it all from this one perspective I want to pursue. I've gotta start writing some of these novels so I can keep my list manageable.
- Around where we're going to live in Las Vegas, there's nine Wienerschnitzels, five Sonics, a Walmart, a Vons supermarket, a 7-11, a Smith's supermarket, the Whitney library branch, and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few other things. Everything's accessible, and it's far back enough from the Strip to feel separate from it yet make you want to go as often as you can.
1776 is the only movie I've watched in full in a while. I'm favoring books more and more now and sticking to it. In the past three days alone, I've read five books, including The Age of Miracles by Karen Walker Thompson and Zombie Spaceship Wasteland by Patton Oswalt. When will Patton Oswalt write another book? He's got another career in this if he wants it and I want more from him. Also, read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Don't even ask "What? Why?!". Just do it. It may very well be the best book of this year and many previous years, even though it was published this year.
So I get free admission into Magic Mountain, and it's going to be my Third Farewell Tour. I want to go to all the spots I've liked, including Pistachio Park, and maybe, just maybe, up the Sky Tower to the now unfortunately empty floor, freed of all its historical artifacts, which were the one thing that distinguished Magic Mountain from the rest of the Santa Clarita Valley, that acknowledgement of its history. However, it has the benefit of being set apart from the rest of the valley by its location to the extent that you don't feel like you're in Santa Clarita. But that history was still important.
Nevertheless, this is the perfect opportunity to say goodbye to Magic Mountain, to silently give my thanks for the many times it sustained me, helped me keep my sanity in this valley. Plus, I've never been to any media event like this, so why not have a totally different experience at Magic Mountain than what I usually had?
- Next item on my list in Notepad of things to write about is my latest DVD reviews, or at least my DVD reviews since May 31. I can't believe it's been that long since I've posted anything about them. I liked my reviews of seasons 3 and 4 of That '70s Show, and I finally sorted out my feelings about Tyler Perry in my review of his Good Deeds. He would be better if he doesn't push so hard, and there's one scene in Good Deeds that shows a potentially great future for him as a filmmaker. So here's the many I've done since my review of Episodes:
Zero Bridge
Law & Order: Criminal Intent: The Seventh Year
Love is On the Air
Trial & Retribution: Set 5
That '70s Show: Season Three
That '70s Show: Season Four
Miss Minoes
Margaret
Designing Women: The Final Season
PTown Diaries
Tyler Perry's Good Deeds
The Fairy
Father Dowling Mysteries: The Second Season
- In my reading of all the issues of The Henderson Press, I'm on Vol. 3, No. 3, January 19-25, 2012, I'm happy to say that I can amend my opinion of the weekly newspaper. Editor Carla J. Zvonec has finally stepped back from writing every single article in order to actually manage the paper, and not only are her editorials well-written, but finally the Henderson Press has focus and passion for the area again. There are outstanding reporters in Buford Davis, Guy Dawson, and Brian Sodoma, and the level of silly writing that used to plague these pages has dropped dramatically. Unlike Don Logay at his worst, these reporters realize that the paper is about the city, not about them. I liked Logay for his passion for Lake Las Vegas, but I hated how he was so obviously marketing it instead of just reporting it. The writing is much sharper and the profiles of various people in business and businesses themselves do more than just point out that they're there. These reporters are finally finding out that there's a lot of interesting stories in these businesses.
After Mom and Dad came back from Las Vegas and gave me all the publications I wanted to read (including that week's issue of Las Vegas Weekly, a few issues of Las Vegas Seven, and Friday's edition of the Review-Journal), I found the latest edition of the Henderson Press and was very happy. Henderson won't be my home, but I know I'll visit often and I'm confident of always being well-informed because of the Henderson Press. They've finally reached a zenith from which I hope they never come down.
- Today, in honor of Independence Day, Turner Classic Movies showed 1776, one of my favorite musicals. As I watched yet again the business and arguments of the Second Continental Congress, I came up with an idea that could either be a biography if I can find enough information, or certainly a novel. So much has been written about John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and others in that Congress, but there's been very little written about one of those figures. A novel set around that debate on independence from this man's perspective could be interesting. I know that the debate probably wasn't what it looked like in 1776 (For example, Richard Henry Lee said to John Hancock that he had to decline a spot on the committee to draft a Declaration of Independence because he was asked to serve as governor of Virginia. In reality, his wife was ill), but it would still be something to see it all from this one perspective I want to pursue. I've gotta start writing some of these novels so I can keep my list manageable.
- Around where we're going to live in Las Vegas, there's nine Wienerschnitzels, five Sonics, a Walmart, a Vons supermarket, a 7-11, a Smith's supermarket, the Whitney library branch, and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few other things. Everything's accessible, and it's far back enough from the Strip to feel separate from it yet make you want to go as often as you can.
1776 is the only movie I've watched in full in a while. I'm favoring books more and more now and sticking to it. In the past three days alone, I've read five books, including The Age of Miracles by Karen Walker Thompson and Zombie Spaceship Wasteland by Patton Oswalt. When will Patton Oswalt write another book? He's got another career in this if he wants it and I want more from him. Also, read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Don't even ask "What? Why?!". Just do it. It may very well be the best book of this year and many previous years, even though it was published this year.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
More DVD Reviews
I've figured out how to write my main character in my somewhat art-driven novel, why he's so devoted to his art, what he hopes to continue to accomplish by it. I'm not sure yet why he's going to do what's presented to him, but I'll map it out soon. When I'm not working on this novel or my other books, I'm still keeping myself limber by writing DVD reviews, and I see that I haven't posted links to new DVD reviews since April 29. There have been a lot since Car 54, Where Are You?: The Complete Second Season. Out of this new batch, I'm most proud of my review of Raw Faith. 95 Miles to Go comes in second:
Carlos Mencia: New Territory
The Big C: The Complete Second Season
Tom and Jerry: Around the World
Raw Faith
Happiness Is... Peanuts: Team Snoopy
Young Goethe in Love
95 Miles to Go
Hazel: The Complete Third Season
Carlos Mencia: New Territory
The Big C: The Complete Second Season
Tom and Jerry: Around the World
Raw Faith
Happiness Is... Peanuts: Team Snoopy
Young Goethe in Love
95 Miles to Go
Hazel: The Complete Third Season
Sunday, April 22, 2012
"Piece by Piece, Only Way to Make a Work of Art..." - Stephen Sondheim
I don't presume to know how my novel will turn out, so I don't embrace that "work of art" part of the lyric by Stephen Sondheim (one of my heroes) entirely, but I fully embrace the meaning. That is the only way to do it. Today, I got a little more insight into my main character, who starts off my novel, specifically his childhood, which is most important, since his father divorced his mother when he was very young. I'm not yet sure why, but I know that's part of what makes him who he is. He didn't know why his father left, but he sensed that he had to step up and help out as best he can, young as he was. He feels like responsibility always weighs heavily on him, but accepts it at the start of this novel because that's all he knows.
Then at Target in Golden Valley--part of yet another long Sunday of errands that I don't mind so much now because I need to look around at the world to gather material for this novel--I found a journal that I'm going to use to keep track of my novel, with character details, places, possible lines for my characters, idle thoughts relating to all of it, and more.
It's a hardcover journal, and the front is a cluster of houses, one with a clock embedded in the triangular roof, and the front house has only the upstairs as a possible residence. Downstairs is a bakery with a "Bakery" sign hanging in front of a window that has a long loaf of bread, and baguettes and french breads in three baskets, and rolls next to that loaf of bread. A long two-seater bicycle sits in front of the shop. Next to, and slightly behind, the bakery is a three-tiered water fountain with dots of sky-blue water shooting out the top. The back cover is a lone blue house, tall, thin, with a red door at its left.
It's such a comfortable scene, and when I saw it, I knew I was going to buy it because it makes me think a lot about where I'm going to put my two main characters. They're going to travel, one ahead of the other, but I'm not sure yet of the route. It won't be by plane. This will be a road trip, but different because each one is solo.
On the inside cover of the journal is three tall houses side by side with the left-side house a dark blue, the middle house with the clock a somber orange, and the right-side house an aqua color. Above the right-side house, slightly diagonal is the sun. Below all three houses is the word "hello" in cursive. It's appropriate since I've only just begun working on and writing this novel five days ago. On the first page after the inside cover are three blank lines, and that two-seater bicycle (which I've just learned from Wikipedia is called a "tandem bicycle") a few inches below it. On those three blank lines, one beneath the other, all equal length, I wrote, "For a journey with two of the most interesting characters I will know."
After finding the journal, I went to the book section, and in the main aisle where the latest books are, I saw a woman in a white dress that had a fruit pattern all over. I don't know yet if my main female character would wear a dress, but I think she would wear a pattern like that. I've also found out that she loves doing paper art, but I'm not sure if she's an origami type. And in Walmart Supercenter after Target, finding copies of the Summer 2012 issue of Flea Market Style, I remembered that I bought a copy at Pavilions out of curiosity, and felt a spark at Walmart from looking at that issue. This is her lifestyle. She loves flea markets. She loves to buy disparate items and fit them into her own kind of pattern. She's not unique for the sake of being unique. She's always been this way. Fearless, but missing something.
It has been a really good day because of all of this. Later I'll flip through Flea Market Style and see if anything in it is part of her life. I want to go back to developing him as well, but it's her turn now.
Then at Target in Golden Valley--part of yet another long Sunday of errands that I don't mind so much now because I need to look around at the world to gather material for this novel--I found a journal that I'm going to use to keep track of my novel, with character details, places, possible lines for my characters, idle thoughts relating to all of it, and more.
It's a hardcover journal, and the front is a cluster of houses, one with a clock embedded in the triangular roof, and the front house has only the upstairs as a possible residence. Downstairs is a bakery with a "Bakery" sign hanging in front of a window that has a long loaf of bread, and baguettes and french breads in three baskets, and rolls next to that loaf of bread. A long two-seater bicycle sits in front of the shop. Next to, and slightly behind, the bakery is a three-tiered water fountain with dots of sky-blue water shooting out the top. The back cover is a lone blue house, tall, thin, with a red door at its left.
It's such a comfortable scene, and when I saw it, I knew I was going to buy it because it makes me think a lot about where I'm going to put my two main characters. They're going to travel, one ahead of the other, but I'm not sure yet of the route. It won't be by plane. This will be a road trip, but different because each one is solo.
On the inside cover of the journal is three tall houses side by side with the left-side house a dark blue, the middle house with the clock a somber orange, and the right-side house an aqua color. Above the right-side house, slightly diagonal is the sun. Below all three houses is the word "hello" in cursive. It's appropriate since I've only just begun working on and writing this novel five days ago. On the first page after the inside cover are three blank lines, and that two-seater bicycle (which I've just learned from Wikipedia is called a "tandem bicycle") a few inches below it. On those three blank lines, one beneath the other, all equal length, I wrote, "For a journey with two of the most interesting characters I will know."
After finding the journal, I went to the book section, and in the main aisle where the latest books are, I saw a woman in a white dress that had a fruit pattern all over. I don't know yet if my main female character would wear a dress, but I think she would wear a pattern like that. I've also found out that she loves doing paper art, but I'm not sure if she's an origami type. And in Walmart Supercenter after Target, finding copies of the Summer 2012 issue of Flea Market Style, I remembered that I bought a copy at Pavilions out of curiosity, and felt a spark at Walmart from looking at that issue. This is her lifestyle. She loves flea markets. She loves to buy disparate items and fit them into her own kind of pattern. She's not unique for the sake of being unique. She's always been this way. Fearless, but missing something.
It has been a really good day because of all of this. Later I'll flip through Flea Market Style and see if anything in it is part of her life. I want to go back to developing him as well, but it's her turn now.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Just A-Wanderin'
Facing all the books I want to read that are in stacks in my room, I decided that I will not be on the computer if I absolutely do not need to be, and I have stuck to that for the past week. Because of that, I was able to write two DVD reviews yesterday instead of one:
I, Claudius: 35th Anniversary Edition
The Getting of Wisdom
The Getting of Wisdom was posted this morning. The only DVD I have right now to review is the new Titanic miniseries by Julian Fellowes, lately famous for Downton Abbey, which I've not seen yet, though inevitably I will, just not as quickly as others seem to have flocked to it. I know class distinctions were commonplace in that time period, but I'm never fond of people looking down on others. Of course, I could be completely wrong about Downton Abbey in that respect, but still I'll wait. With the books I have going, including my own, as well as the few things I watch on TV such as Jeopardy!, The Big Bang Theory, and occasional episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, it might be nicer to watch Downton Abbey after we've moved to Henderson. Something to check out of my new local library, whichever one it might be, on a weekend.
I originally Tivo'd the Titanic miniseries, but when I learned that it was available for review (though in a Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack that only has the audio commentary for the first episode on the DVD, which is fine with me because it's less to do), I grabbed it because now I won't have to fast-forward through commercials! I get it all right away.
My decision not to spend so much time on the computer came at just the right moment. The Garden of Happy Endings by Barbara O'Neal was released on Tuesday, and I received my copy today, along with The Presidents Club: Inside the World's Most Exclusive Fraternity by Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy. My love of O'Neal's The Secret of Everything, which continues to motivate my intent to travel throughout New Mexico in the years to come, spurs me on to read The Garden of Happy Endings at first, and then I'll read The Presidents Club not only to learn of the relationships between sitting presidents and former presidents (such as Truman and Hoover, which starts off the book), but as research of my own since one of the presidential history books I want to write involves former presidents, though not how Gibbs and Duffy have done it. That they've hit upon this topic shows that I need to get moving on my own because someone else is bound to think of my idea soon enough. I want to write this particular book.
Last night, I wrote what may be the beginning of my novel about the artist with an unusual interest. I'm still not sure what this artist wants, what the reason would be to write this novel. I'm not giving up, though, because I want to follow this guy, to learn about his approach to art, what he gets out of it, what he hopes his art will do for others. I don't see him as the sort who thrives in big cities, who wants their art in as many galleries as possible. He's passionate about what he does, but he's not in constant pursuit of glory. That's all I know so far. I would like to include a few of my favorite places in Southern California as a thank you for helping me keep my sanity during these eight years. I'm not sure if these will be direct tributes or pieces of the places included in other places this guy goes to. I do know that I don't want to use Las Vegas for this novel. First, I'll be spending my time after I arrive exploring every single inch of that valley and ransacking the Nevada history sections. Second, I want to write a book about a certain aspect of Las Vegas history, and would rather keep the novel separate. And third, as I've found out living in the Santa Clarita Valley, it's more of a challenge to create if there's nothing inspiring around you. However, this guy finds inspiration often because he looks where most don't, even if there's nothing remarkable around him. This novel should be about him, not always the city that surrounds him.
Even as I spend less time on the computer and more time reading, I want to listen to more chill music, more than I hear on the XM Radio in our house. I want to listen to more Schubert, more Gershwin, and I want to explore bluegrass music. I've always been curious about it, I've heard a bit on The Bluegrass Mix, but it's not enough. I want to learn its history, the pioneers of it, what it had back then that it retains today and what's different today. I think it stems from the soundtrack I heard waiting in line at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World all those years, and, of course, O Brother Where Art Thou?. I know bluegrass music is more than just that revival, and I want to know. That would involve spending more time on the computer in order to learn. Well then, I'll just keep a book with me if I have nothing to do on the computer and just want to listen.
Once I figure out where I want to go with this novel, then there's all the music I want again. It may even inform my writing.
For now, I've got nothing else to do on here, and The Garden of Happy Endings is sitting on the dining room table. That's not where it should be. I've got reading to do!
I, Claudius: 35th Anniversary Edition
The Getting of Wisdom
The Getting of Wisdom was posted this morning. The only DVD I have right now to review is the new Titanic miniseries by Julian Fellowes, lately famous for Downton Abbey, which I've not seen yet, though inevitably I will, just not as quickly as others seem to have flocked to it. I know class distinctions were commonplace in that time period, but I'm never fond of people looking down on others. Of course, I could be completely wrong about Downton Abbey in that respect, but still I'll wait. With the books I have going, including my own, as well as the few things I watch on TV such as Jeopardy!, The Big Bang Theory, and occasional episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, it might be nicer to watch Downton Abbey after we've moved to Henderson. Something to check out of my new local library, whichever one it might be, on a weekend.
I originally Tivo'd the Titanic miniseries, but when I learned that it was available for review (though in a Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack that only has the audio commentary for the first episode on the DVD, which is fine with me because it's less to do), I grabbed it because now I won't have to fast-forward through commercials! I get it all right away.
My decision not to spend so much time on the computer came at just the right moment. The Garden of Happy Endings by Barbara O'Neal was released on Tuesday, and I received my copy today, along with The Presidents Club: Inside the World's Most Exclusive Fraternity by Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy. My love of O'Neal's The Secret of Everything, which continues to motivate my intent to travel throughout New Mexico in the years to come, spurs me on to read The Garden of Happy Endings at first, and then I'll read The Presidents Club not only to learn of the relationships between sitting presidents and former presidents (such as Truman and Hoover, which starts off the book), but as research of my own since one of the presidential history books I want to write involves former presidents, though not how Gibbs and Duffy have done it. That they've hit upon this topic shows that I need to get moving on my own because someone else is bound to think of my idea soon enough. I want to write this particular book.
Last night, I wrote what may be the beginning of my novel about the artist with an unusual interest. I'm still not sure what this artist wants, what the reason would be to write this novel. I'm not giving up, though, because I want to follow this guy, to learn about his approach to art, what he gets out of it, what he hopes his art will do for others. I don't see him as the sort who thrives in big cities, who wants their art in as many galleries as possible. He's passionate about what he does, but he's not in constant pursuit of glory. That's all I know so far. I would like to include a few of my favorite places in Southern California as a thank you for helping me keep my sanity during these eight years. I'm not sure if these will be direct tributes or pieces of the places included in other places this guy goes to. I do know that I don't want to use Las Vegas for this novel. First, I'll be spending my time after I arrive exploring every single inch of that valley and ransacking the Nevada history sections. Second, I want to write a book about a certain aspect of Las Vegas history, and would rather keep the novel separate. And third, as I've found out living in the Santa Clarita Valley, it's more of a challenge to create if there's nothing inspiring around you. However, this guy finds inspiration often because he looks where most don't, even if there's nothing remarkable around him. This novel should be about him, not always the city that surrounds him.
Even as I spend less time on the computer and more time reading, I want to listen to more chill music, more than I hear on the XM Radio in our house. I want to listen to more Schubert, more Gershwin, and I want to explore bluegrass music. I've always been curious about it, I've heard a bit on The Bluegrass Mix, but it's not enough. I want to learn its history, the pioneers of it, what it had back then that it retains today and what's different today. I think it stems from the soundtrack I heard waiting in line at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World all those years, and, of course, O Brother Where Art Thou?. I know bluegrass music is more than just that revival, and I want to know. That would involve spending more time on the computer in order to learn. Well then, I'll just keep a book with me if I have nothing to do on the computer and just want to listen.
Once I figure out where I want to go with this novel, then there's all the music I want again. It may even inform my writing.
For now, I've got nothing else to do on here, and The Garden of Happy Endings is sitting on the dining room table. That's not where it should be. I've got reading to do!
Monday, April 16, 2012
I Found the Novel I Want to Write
I still want to write that modern-day adaptation of a classic novel that I still haven't read yet, the road trip novel I've mentioned before. It lets me indulge in pinball, learning more about the machines themselves, the work that went into them, and especially the themes of the machines themselves. But then, I haven't read that classic novel yet. Perhaps I'm not ready for that one.
I still want to write that time travel novel I've been thinking about. I am excited about reading all those time travel novels to see how time travel has been done before, but Star Trek novels interest me more right now. I'll file it away for now and come back to it hopefully not too far from now.
Tonight, I found the novel I really want to write. It involves an artist with what I think is an unusual interest. He draws inspiration from what we simply pass by every day, not thinking anything of it. I don't know what he wants, what would be the reason for this novel, but it can only be a novel. Maybe I'd find someone like this, and if I do, I'd interview them as research, as inspiration. But it's fictional. And I know that it can't be a play. Only a novel.
I'm really excited about this. I've planned out the other two novels and I'm sure I'll eventually plan out this one, but I'm just going along with whoever this character is. I only thought of this character yesterday, and tonight, I figured out that he uses his interest for his art. It came to me while I was rolling the garbage and recycling bins to the curb, and I had points of reference right in front of me.
I don't want this to be a novel about an artist seeking a grant or more fame. There's something else to this, though I'm not sure what it is yet. I'll probably know soon. I'm just going along with it.
I feel more for this character than I do for the two characters in my time travel novel, and a bit more than the narrator in my pinball novel. This should be my first novel.
I still want to write that time travel novel I've been thinking about. I am excited about reading all those time travel novels to see how time travel has been done before, but Star Trek novels interest me more right now. I'll file it away for now and come back to it hopefully not too far from now.
Tonight, I found the novel I really want to write. It involves an artist with what I think is an unusual interest. He draws inspiration from what we simply pass by every day, not thinking anything of it. I don't know what he wants, what would be the reason for this novel, but it can only be a novel. Maybe I'd find someone like this, and if I do, I'd interview them as research, as inspiration. But it's fictional. And I know that it can't be a play. Only a novel.
I'm really excited about this. I've planned out the other two novels and I'm sure I'll eventually plan out this one, but I'm just going along with whoever this character is. I only thought of this character yesterday, and tonight, I figured out that he uses his interest for his art. It came to me while I was rolling the garbage and recycling bins to the curb, and I had points of reference right in front of me.
I don't want this to be a novel about an artist seeking a grant or more fame. There's something else to this, though I'm not sure what it is yet. I'll probably know soon. I'm just going along with it.
I feel more for this character than I do for the two characters in my time travel novel, and a bit more than the narrator in my pinball novel. This should be my first novel.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
My Lights at Night
I've been thinking a lot about the novel I want to write, to the extent that I paced the dark living room at 2 this morning, talking to myself, trying to figure out why one of my two main characters wants so badly what he wants. In that half a chapter I didn't even know I wrote, I have what he was like in high school with his passion. The other main character, the narrator of this novel, saw him in action in high school, watching in awe how he didn't seem to be there. It's like he was one with what he loved. It may be the reason why the narrator decides to join him on this vast road trip. It's something he can't see himself, but he wants to understand it. In idle moments, the narrator has occasionally thought about this guy, and here is this chance to see firsthand perhaps why he is what he is.
Vague, I know, but I'm still working out countless details. Last night, before the pacing, before talking myself through different scenarios, I looked up the website of a mall here in Southern California that I want to use for my novel. Before a certain restaurant closed in the town where this mall is located, we used to go to that restaurant and then to the mall. That mall retained the heavy historical feeling of that area, like the ghosts of the past were always there, and I loved that because the mall was honest. There are few frills to it. There were no outlandish decorations to try to attract people (perhaps during Christmas, but I've not been there then, and from what I know of this mall, I think they'd do a few things for the holiday, but not everything), no gigantic signs pointing to this side of the mall and that side of the mall, no enticements beyond what the stores sometimes offer in sales. There's also a pizza place/arcade/amusement center in that mall that replaced the whole downstairs area, which included a uniform store. Strange as it is for these two men to be going there without any kids with them, the obsessed main character has his reason and he thinks it might be in the arcade there.
Whenever Mom, Dad, Meridith and I went to that mall, it was always either in the late afternoon or in the evening, after it got dark. That's when I want these two to be there. The restaurant I mentioned has been closed for a while now, but I'm thinking of setting this novel in a time when it's still open, or keeping it open anyway, which reminds me that I should get its old address from Yelp.
Before thinking more about this novel that's been in mind for two years, I never realized how much an author puts him or herself into a novel. Obsessions, curiosities, past pain, favorite things, it can all be there unless the author decides to write a different novel entirely. But even then, even in another genre, you still find pieces of the author because what they've written has obviously interested them enough to spend a few years with it alone.
It also got me thinking about why nighttime is my favorite part of the day. I don't need a lot of night. I just need enough before I go to bed. But in thinking about that restaurant and that mall, I thought about them at night, seeing the streetlights, the lights in the parking lot of that mall, the lights inside the restaurant seen from the outside, how brighter they are at night.
I don't think I could have my characters living entirely at night, but I do want those moments where they're looking at the lights around them at night, thinking about something, thinking about this search that they're on.
When we lived in the apartment in Valencia, when I walked Tigger at night, I always took him to the edge of sidewalk next to one of the apartment buildings that faced the closed and locked maintenance shed, where the golf cart was kept in the garage there, the one that the women in the sales office would use to take prospective renters around the property to empty apartments. I stared at this maintenance shed, with the same mindset I have whenever walking through a Walmart or Target or strip mall or outlet mall or outdoor shopping center: I wondered who the electrician was who installed the light above the maintenance shed's office door. I wonder who installed the hoses that allow people to wash their cars inside two separate stalls next to the maintenance office. I thought about how amazing it was to me that this maintenance shed, and those two car wash stalls just sit here, totally still, while the rest of Santa Clarita and Los Angeles rush about, doing whatever they must because this seems to be the only time to do it. I think I went to that particular spot at night because it felt like the calmest place in the universe, the zen-like center of the whirlwind.
My lights at night do include the Las Vegas Strip, but to a lesser degree. It's only part of my life in Vegas and Henderson. On our most recent trip to Henderson in January, I remember us driving through Victorville at night, and at the far end of one side of the road, where you could see buildings lit up, there were trees in front of all that and it seemed like fairies were flitting about, or just a deluge of fireflies. To me, there's a kind of magic in the night because during the day, everything is exposed. You can see the roads, you can see the houses, you can see where you put your garbage and recycling bins for pickup. But at night, you can imagine that the roads lead to new lands hitherto undiscovered in your state, perhaps those of a different dimension that's only accessible by making a specific wrong turn.
It's why I only keep the light on in the kitchen that's above the sink when it's my night to wash the dinner dishes, and I keep the blinds open. When it's dark enough that you can see all the house lights on the mountainside above us, I look below that, past the rail top iron fence that's at the back end of the pool, down to a neighborhood below us where there's one bright white light on, attached to a garage. I of course think about the electrician who installed it, where their job has taken them now, if they're even still an electrician. But I also think about the darkness in that neighborhood, of the trees so still, of the flowers sitting there, of there being some adventure out there in the darkness, something to see that you can't know in the daytime. It's there.
I don't think I'd have my characters roaming the darkness all the time, but I do want to put in there those memories of nighttime being so fascinating to me. It's that mall, and also that motel we stayed at in Alabama when we moved from South Florida to Southern California in August 2003. It's that maintenance shed in Valencia, and it's those late Friday afternoons at College of the Canyons after my once-a-week cinema class ended. It's so much I'd want to include in whatever night scenes I produce for this novel, and what I can't, lest it be overkill. But it's all about seeing what I can use, what would be good for the story I want to tell. That's why I talk to myself at 2 in the morning, and why I sometimes act out my characters, getting to know them and understanding what they want. It's my adult playground.
Vague, I know, but I'm still working out countless details. Last night, before the pacing, before talking myself through different scenarios, I looked up the website of a mall here in Southern California that I want to use for my novel. Before a certain restaurant closed in the town where this mall is located, we used to go to that restaurant and then to the mall. That mall retained the heavy historical feeling of that area, like the ghosts of the past were always there, and I loved that because the mall was honest. There are few frills to it. There were no outlandish decorations to try to attract people (perhaps during Christmas, but I've not been there then, and from what I know of this mall, I think they'd do a few things for the holiday, but not everything), no gigantic signs pointing to this side of the mall and that side of the mall, no enticements beyond what the stores sometimes offer in sales. There's also a pizza place/arcade/amusement center in that mall that replaced the whole downstairs area, which included a uniform store. Strange as it is for these two men to be going there without any kids with them, the obsessed main character has his reason and he thinks it might be in the arcade there.
Whenever Mom, Dad, Meridith and I went to that mall, it was always either in the late afternoon or in the evening, after it got dark. That's when I want these two to be there. The restaurant I mentioned has been closed for a while now, but I'm thinking of setting this novel in a time when it's still open, or keeping it open anyway, which reminds me that I should get its old address from Yelp.
Before thinking more about this novel that's been in mind for two years, I never realized how much an author puts him or herself into a novel. Obsessions, curiosities, past pain, favorite things, it can all be there unless the author decides to write a different novel entirely. But even then, even in another genre, you still find pieces of the author because what they've written has obviously interested them enough to spend a few years with it alone.
It also got me thinking about why nighttime is my favorite part of the day. I don't need a lot of night. I just need enough before I go to bed. But in thinking about that restaurant and that mall, I thought about them at night, seeing the streetlights, the lights in the parking lot of that mall, the lights inside the restaurant seen from the outside, how brighter they are at night.
I don't think I could have my characters living entirely at night, but I do want those moments where they're looking at the lights around them at night, thinking about something, thinking about this search that they're on.
When we lived in the apartment in Valencia, when I walked Tigger at night, I always took him to the edge of sidewalk next to one of the apartment buildings that faced the closed and locked maintenance shed, where the golf cart was kept in the garage there, the one that the women in the sales office would use to take prospective renters around the property to empty apartments. I stared at this maintenance shed, with the same mindset I have whenever walking through a Walmart or Target or strip mall or outlet mall or outdoor shopping center: I wondered who the electrician was who installed the light above the maintenance shed's office door. I wonder who installed the hoses that allow people to wash their cars inside two separate stalls next to the maintenance office. I thought about how amazing it was to me that this maintenance shed, and those two car wash stalls just sit here, totally still, while the rest of Santa Clarita and Los Angeles rush about, doing whatever they must because this seems to be the only time to do it. I think I went to that particular spot at night because it felt like the calmest place in the universe, the zen-like center of the whirlwind.
My lights at night do include the Las Vegas Strip, but to a lesser degree. It's only part of my life in Vegas and Henderson. On our most recent trip to Henderson in January, I remember us driving through Victorville at night, and at the far end of one side of the road, where you could see buildings lit up, there were trees in front of all that and it seemed like fairies were flitting about, or just a deluge of fireflies. To me, there's a kind of magic in the night because during the day, everything is exposed. You can see the roads, you can see the houses, you can see where you put your garbage and recycling bins for pickup. But at night, you can imagine that the roads lead to new lands hitherto undiscovered in your state, perhaps those of a different dimension that's only accessible by making a specific wrong turn.
It's why I only keep the light on in the kitchen that's above the sink when it's my night to wash the dinner dishes, and I keep the blinds open. When it's dark enough that you can see all the house lights on the mountainside above us, I look below that, past the rail top iron fence that's at the back end of the pool, down to a neighborhood below us where there's one bright white light on, attached to a garage. I of course think about the electrician who installed it, where their job has taken them now, if they're even still an electrician. But I also think about the darkness in that neighborhood, of the trees so still, of the flowers sitting there, of there being some adventure out there in the darkness, something to see that you can't know in the daytime. It's there.
I don't think I'd have my characters roaming the darkness all the time, but I do want to put in there those memories of nighttime being so fascinating to me. It's that mall, and also that motel we stayed at in Alabama when we moved from South Florida to Southern California in August 2003. It's that maintenance shed in Valencia, and it's those late Friday afternoons at College of the Canyons after my once-a-week cinema class ended. It's so much I'd want to include in whatever night scenes I produce for this novel, and what I can't, lest it be overkill. But it's all about seeing what I can use, what would be good for the story I want to tell. That's why I talk to myself at 2 in the morning, and why I sometimes act out my characters, getting to know them and understanding what they want. It's my adult playground.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Where Did That Come From?!
At Pavilions, I got the battered fish I've been waiting all week for (Fairly decent, but the crust at the edges was too hard), and while Meridith and I ticked a few tasks off her Pavilions list, I found in the cart a Las Vegas travel guide published by the Los Angeles Times. I flipped through it, finding ads for the Stratosphere, Carrot Top, Menopause: The Musical, and an ad for Phantom of the Opera, announcing "Final Months - Performances End September 2, 2012".
On the third to last page, there was a brief article about the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue, with photos of pinball machines and players framing it. The final three paragraphs nearly made my heart stop.
For two years now, I've had an idea for a novel that partly involves pinball, that's also a modern-day adaptation of a classic novel. The twist is that I haven't read that novel yet. I will, but what I know of it so far made me think about setting it in the United States today. I think that will only be made stronger when I actually read the novel.
The last three paragraphs in that article presented to me clearly what motivates my main character, why he's doing what he's doing. I'd been having trouble thinking of the "why" in the few times that I considered this novel, and this revelation makes me much more excited to work on this. I brought the travel guide home, especially for that article.
After dinner, I opened up the Word file for my novel and received a major shock: I wrote half a chapter, and I didn't even know I wrote it! I don't even know when I wrote it. It had to have been before I finished writing my share of What If They Lived? Maybe I had done it to let off some stress from working on that book.
The two pages, 1,287 words, read well enough, but it obviously needs a lot of work and certainly more words. I read it three times, and found that it captures the atmosphere I want. After I read those three paragraphs in that travel guide, I also was thinking about who these two characters would be, why they are the way they are, not knowing that here it was for me, already planned out.
It's a first-person narrative, from the perspective of the unwitting sidekick to the main character. I'm going to stick with that because I think if I wrote it from the perspective of the main character, it would be crazier than a reader could stand. What's the truth? What's not? The sidekick, incredulous as he becomes, at least remains clear-eyed about the journey taken.
But then, it could all change. I'm not sure yet. I'm still learning about who these two guys are. The only thing I'm sure of is that my working title is not going to be the actual title. Too obvious twice over. There's nothing in either word that would make someone want to pick up my novel to see what it's about.
The other day, I finished reading On Gratitude, which has interviews with celebrities about gratitude and what their favorite things are in their lives, and their working methods, especially those of the writers interviewed. Danielle Steel was one of the interviews, and she says she works on three to five books at a time. I can't get there yet. After we move to Henderson and I get settled, I want to work on two writing projects concurrently, but that's probably as far as I'll go. I'm going to read the source material for this novel, though, and get to know my characters more, because I want this one to work. I feel like this one could be something good.
On the third to last page, there was a brief article about the Pinball Hall of Fame on East Tropicana Avenue, with photos of pinball machines and players framing it. The final three paragraphs nearly made my heart stop.
For two years now, I've had an idea for a novel that partly involves pinball, that's also a modern-day adaptation of a classic novel. The twist is that I haven't read that novel yet. I will, but what I know of it so far made me think about setting it in the United States today. I think that will only be made stronger when I actually read the novel.
The last three paragraphs in that article presented to me clearly what motivates my main character, why he's doing what he's doing. I'd been having trouble thinking of the "why" in the few times that I considered this novel, and this revelation makes me much more excited to work on this. I brought the travel guide home, especially for that article.
After dinner, I opened up the Word file for my novel and received a major shock: I wrote half a chapter, and I didn't even know I wrote it! I don't even know when I wrote it. It had to have been before I finished writing my share of What If They Lived? Maybe I had done it to let off some stress from working on that book.
The two pages, 1,287 words, read well enough, but it obviously needs a lot of work and certainly more words. I read it three times, and found that it captures the atmosphere I want. After I read those three paragraphs in that travel guide, I also was thinking about who these two characters would be, why they are the way they are, not knowing that here it was for me, already planned out.
It's a first-person narrative, from the perspective of the unwitting sidekick to the main character. I'm going to stick with that because I think if I wrote it from the perspective of the main character, it would be crazier than a reader could stand. What's the truth? What's not? The sidekick, incredulous as he becomes, at least remains clear-eyed about the journey taken.
But then, it could all change. I'm not sure yet. I'm still learning about who these two guys are. The only thing I'm sure of is that my working title is not going to be the actual title. Too obvious twice over. There's nothing in either word that would make someone want to pick up my novel to see what it's about.
The other day, I finished reading On Gratitude, which has interviews with celebrities about gratitude and what their favorite things are in their lives, and their working methods, especially those of the writers interviewed. Danielle Steel was one of the interviews, and she says she works on three to five books at a time. I can't get there yet. After we move to Henderson and I get settled, I want to work on two writing projects concurrently, but that's probably as far as I'll go. I'm going to read the source material for this novel, though, and get to know my characters more, because I want this one to work. I feel like this one could be something good.
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