Loving Words

I love words. I love what they can do. I love that through a vast collection of them totaling anywhere from 100 to 200 or more pages, I can visit the Supreme Court, I can spend time in New Mexico, I can learn about various rooms in the White House, I can learn about the men who occupied those rooms. I love the comfort and stability words bring, as important to me as how walking through the College of the Canyons campus in my two years every late Friday afternoon helped me maintain my stability in my confusion about what Santa Clarita was, what it all meant, some inkling about what it was supposed to be. I love that through words, I have learned more and more about the history of Las Vegas, my future home city, seeing in my mind those streets that I'll soon drive, discovering what they were long before they were those streets, what was on them, what they replaced over time.

I love how I can sit on the couch for just an afternoon, read an entire novel, and felt that I've been somewhere entirely different, living a life I'll never live myself, but which I want to know. I love how with words I feel a kinship with writers who inspire me, writers that I want to emulate and yet establish my own style, and writers whose books make me want to do the best I can as I set out to write my own. I love that through words, I have learned more about the Airport series than Universal ever offered through its two-disc DVD set in 2004, a set I still proudly own. I love that I've learned so much about Jennings Lang, executive producer on the three sequels, just from reading old articles in family scrapbooks. I know that if it was possible to meet him (he died in 1996), I would have really liked him, since we both push for what we want, and both talk a mile a minute. My co-author can attest to that, after meeting him two weeks ago (more on that in a forthcoming entry).

I love that yesterday, I finished reading Supreme Conflict: The Inside Story of the Struggle for Control of the United States Supreme Court by Jan Crawford Greenburg, and it made me think of the biography I have of retired justice David Hackett Souter by Tinsley E. Yarbrough that I've tried reading many times before, but never made it through. It's not that it's bad (Souter is one of my favorite justices, mainly because of his quiet personal life, which included having to move a new, more expansive home after he found that his family's farmhouse (owned by his late parents) could not structurally support his book collection), but just that it was never the right time to get into it. Reading more about Souter in Supreme Conflict and figuring that those details are in this biography since Greenburg mentions it at the beginning of her notes section in the back, I want to see what else this biography holds for me to learn.

I love that because of words, I'm telling you all this right here. There are so many of them to use, and I chose all these. And after this, I'm going to go back to that Souter biography, probably finish it today, and see what I want to read next. There's so many choices, and I'm never intimidated by that. I love it. All because of words.

Not Writer's Block. More Like Writer's Molasses.

I keep thinking that I should avoid this type of entry, that it seems too self-centered, too egotistical, and by doing it, aren't I writing anyway? It does count, doesn't it?

But then, this is my blog. I can say anything on here. So I say this: I haven't been able to think of anything to write in two days.

I intended to follow up my entry about the Fiesta Henderson with one about Regal Fiesta Henderson 12, continuing my Henderson series, but I haven't felt that urge to as I do with many other things I write about. I realize now that it's because in my mind, I haven't spent enough time in that hallway where all the auditorium entrances are. Just one hallway. I need to see it as clearly in my mind as when I was there and then try writing about it. Because it was an impressive hallway. I need to show it off, but I want to do it properly. Properly to me, anyway, not trying to impress the world with wordy prowess, which sometimes I have, but tonight, I don't feel it.

I think I know the trouble, though. After we got back from Henderson, I tried continuing Everywhere That Mary Went by Lisa Scottoline, hoping I could become interested in it, because I love Scottoline's essays, but despite a legal setting in this first novel, nothing grabbed me. I then grabbed Hail to the Chef, the second novel in Julie Hyzy's White House chef mystery series and devoured it. Give me the White House and the people in it and I will happily read for hours, like I did with that one.

Because of Hail to the Chef, I got a heavy, frantic craving for presidential books and began FDR by Jean Edward Smith, 800+ pages which I obviously can't polish off in one day. It still rests at 105 pages, not out of boredom with it, but because I looked inside one of my box bookshelves and noticed The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth by Alexandra Robbins, about why those students who exist on the fringes of social circles are usually the ones who make great strides in the real world. I'm on page 239 and will probably finish it by the time I go to bed.

Then there's my research for Mayday! Mayday!: The Making of the Airport Movies, which hasn't yet progressed much beyond me receiving in the mail photocopies of the documents I requested be photocopied at the Margaret Herrick Library. One of these documents was a call sheet from The Concorde: Airport '79, detailing what sets were being used on stage 12 at Universal that day, the actors required on set, the times they were expected in makeup and then on set, ready for the day, which, on Tuesday, January 30, 1979, began at 9 a.m. Looking at this one sheet, the treasure out of all the pages I requested, I'm thinking of seeking permission to use this as one of the photos in my book. It ties right into what I intend my book to be, and people, especially those who know these movies and who are into movie production or aviation, should see these.

To continue the research, I should dig into the stacks of books I have for it. But I haven't done that either because my rhythm's off in two ways: One, that trip to Henderson interrupted my work for good reason, and I haven't gotten back into a routine that helps me do as much as possible each for my book, and two, I have to deluge myself with books, and I've spent more time online this week than reading. And not even for any useful purpose such as finding contact information for those actors I want to interview for my book. Just wandering in and out of book-related sites I've bookmarked, reading Disney park message boards, watching the pilot of Smash (As masterful a pilot as The West Wing was, and this could very well be my new West Wing), and ordering a few books I want to read.

The obvious solution here is less time online (save for when I want to write an entry here), more time reading, more time with my research (How else will this book be written?), and probably not being so hard on myself just because I have writer's molasses. I don't like it, but it does happen. I'm betting that going out tomorrow evening to pick up more groceries will help, since I haven't been out all this week (No campus supervisor at La Mesa needed a substitute). This valley isn't ideal living, but different air and scenery ought to help, even though it's eight-year-old scenery. Getting my favorite lemon yogurt ought to trip something in my mind, spark new inspiration, and certainly the atmosphere of a Friday evening ought to help too, the universe feeling like it's aligned.

But first, less time on this computer, starting now.

Can I Write Books Like This Forever?

I couldn't be lazy when What If They Lived? was handed to me, when I was given a general deadline for when my half of the book had to be completed and sent to Phil by e-mail so he could put it in the manuscript. As soon as I agreed to it, the research began. Every single day was given over to getting as much information I could about the actors I was writing about, but expediting it so I could give equal close attention to the writing, which was most important with it being my first book.

Today, I began research for my second book, centered on aspects of 1930s Hollywood. It took me weeks to get to this point. Not for time spent figuring out what books to read for this, what other resources I need to be sure I have all the information I need, but for sheer laziness. I'd think about starting the research over one weekend, and that weekend would pass because there were other books I wanted to read more. It's not that I don't want to write this book; I really do because it fits right into all the time I spent as a teenager reading every movie book I could find, thick biographies about directors (Directors are my favorite Hollywood personalities to read about), tours through the histories of the various studios back in the 1930s, and the odd biography of an actor. I loved looking at behind-the-scenes photos in these books, and I was always staggered by the long shelves of movie books at the Main branch of the Broward County Library system in downtown Fort Lauderdale on those occasional visits. I wanted to either take all those books home, or live in that library for a few weeks to eat up everything in sight on those shelves.

Perhaps the laziness was well-deserved. After all, I had been at work on What If They Lived? up to about a month and a half before its publication date, checking the proofs, making sure that what had been blessedly rewritten by Phil (because I severely overwrote a few introductions out of sheer nervousness over this being my first book) hewed to how I wanted it to read, and making sure that all of it read well besides. What If They Lived? was released in March, and at the time I was thinking that maybe I should start researching for my second book, it was mid-to-late October, getting comfortably into late October. So nearly 7 months had elapsed in between.

But I also have a personal goal: I want to be published again by the time I turn 30. That means I have a cushion of a few months right now before my 28th birthday on March 21, and then two years left after that. No more time to waste.

I began with The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West, which I remembered checking out once from the Valencia library, and I ordered it alongside other books that popped out at me, including one about the creation of Universal Pictures, another about all of the movie studios back in the 1930s, and a biography of Louis B. Mayer by Scott Eyman. There are others besides these, but they'll remain others.

The Day of the Locust was useful for the atmosphere I'm seeking for my book, getting the feeling down pat of these studios hard at work with their various assembly lines, as movies were made back then. I got many paragraphs of that, as the main character, Tod, weaves through a few productions filming on the lot. It matches what I'm hoping I can do in my own work.

I finished that earlier this evening, and am now reading The Gross by Peter Bart, which would seem to be an unusual choice considering that I'm focusing on the 1930s, but it gives me a structure to study. The way Bart wrote this book, flitting about from movie to movie in each chapter, is possibly how I want to write mine. Also, I get solid background on the workings of the industry circa late 1997 to 1998, and can contrast that to the industry in the 1930s as I read those books. I know the basics, I know the styles of each studio back in the 1930s, but it gives me more to mull over as I figure out where I'm going with this book.

Most importantly, I feel comfortable with this. I did a lot of research for What If They Lived?, that deadline gradually getting closer, and I was snippy to my parents and sister at times, but without that experience, I wouldn't be here, having learned what research entails, how to go about it, what works for me as I work. I'm not as nervous now. What If They Lived? is out in the world, and all I can do for myself and hopefully for my future writing career is just to keep reading, and just keep writing and see what sticks, and most importantly, write what I'm passionate about, which is why I have four books in mind after I finish this one.

I don't have a publisher for this one, so that will be a challenge, but one I'm ready for because the challenge the first time was writing a book, especially writing 10 pages and more compared to the mere sometimes-1,500 words I wrote for each Film Threat review. Screen It helped a lot with that too, making me write more than I was accustomed to, and I appreciate that I was pushed like that. It had to happen some time.

And I love not having a deadline of sorts, at least not a publisher's deadline. Of course I say that because two years and a handful of months feels like a lot of time to me. There's still an immense amount of work to be done, though. I'm enjoying it, so that's a start, especially the opportunity to read these books, to not have to write one word until I'm certain that I have everything I need, every source, every record, every piece that will be fitted into this book. This will also be the first time I'll make an outline. I didn't have to for What If They Lived?, because I was told what each essay had to contain.

I hated outlines in school because it never felt like they led to anything useful. I didn't need them for study aids, because I could understand whatever historical period we were studying without "A" being this, and "A-1" talking about this, and "B" referencing this, and, ugh, it just felt like bureaucracy inside a classroom. This time, the outline will lead somewhere, to more of what I'm happiest doing in my life. Plus, I feel so relaxed, so excited to see what these books contain for me to use for my own (with proper credit in a bibliography, of course, and credit after quotes when necessary). All I need soon enough is a full-time job that lets me keep doing all this. If I can read and write steadily for the rest of my life, then I've lived my life well.

Where are You, Admired Writer?

Where are you, John Rowell, the author of the gay short-story collection, "The Music of Your Life"? I grew so attached to your book after checking it out twice from my local library a few years ago, I bought it from Amazon, and I had hoped that with all that time passing, you would have set up at least a blog to keep the world apprised of any writing projects that may lead to seeing your name on a book cover again. All I have to go on is the interview you did for Barnes & Noble at the time of your book's release, and your own book recommendations, which I'm still using. Not that I mind basking often in the radiance of your personality throughout those stories, but I want something new. I want more of that personality, that elegance of voice, and that assured style. Come on, man, where are you? Perhaps you think keeping a blog is too vain, but you do have fans. Well, at least me. That's one I know of.

Speaking of fans, where are the others who like "Subways are for Sleeping" by Edmund G. Love? It's a multi-story chronicle of the homeless living ingeniously on the streets, the fire escapes, the flophouses, and the subways of New York City, and though Love has a straightforward writing style, his observations are fascinating. Not that I need a community to appreciate more the people profiled in this book, but I'm just curious. It's like whenever I watch "My Dinner with Andre"; I always wonder how many people in the world might be watching it at the same time.

I'll get to those "scraps of literacy" soon enough. It's just been one of those down weeks, and so was the week before this one. It stems from whenever I set out to write a movie review for Film Threat, that feeling of intimidation in writing for such a prestigious site, one that looks out for all indie filmmakers who want their work noticed somewhere. And it should be us, since the name has long been synonymous with giving independent filmmakers due attention, starting with the magazine years ago.

I always hope for the kind of review that comes from something in a film, some hook that lets the entire review spill forth without having to do any "real writing," that is, thinking hard about what to say. Plus I've become perhaps a bit too obsessive over making sure that the writing reads well, which isn't such a bad thing, but it started with my editor's observation that I use too many commas and not enough periods. I'm mindful of that now, but I fear reading over a piece too much, even after letting it sit for about a day, worried that any perceived freshness will be sucked right out of it. I don't know. Maybe it is that, maybe it isn't. Maybe I just need to write more and in turn, be less cautious and more fearless. Being cautious is good, but not so much that it threatens to choke off your creativity. I'll get it together again soon.