Author: Matthew Groff

  • Short Story Review: “A Shooting in Rathreedane” by Colin Barrett

    (The short story, “A Shooting in Rathreedane: by Colin Barrett appeared in the December 13th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    This was a good, old school, short story. “A Shooting in Rathreedane” by Colin Barrett even starts off with a good title. A shooting is dramatic; what happens?

    Not making lite of the story, but to sum up – The local police are called when a shooting happens on a remote farm in the Irish countryside. The police and an ambulance arrive at the farm, and then there is the fall out of all of these actions.

    Yet, what really happens is this story is seeing characters unfold. Our protagonist is Sargent Jackie Noonan, a forty-five-year-old police woman, and I liked how Barrett kept dropping these little nuggets of her personality as the story developed. The way she drank her coffee, took notes, talked to other officers. And though the story clearly was meant to stick with her, the other characters who came along were all given depth, and actions that fit accordingly to their characters. I also appreciated that the solving of the shooting wasn’t the point of this story. That the shooting was the starting off point to watch how these characters interacted and dealt with the situation. The story also did a very good job of avoiding cliché traps, that I think lesser writers would have fallen for. The caveat to that statement was I found the run in with the local teenagers predictable, but that is a minor critique.

    And when I said old school before, this story reminded me of the short fiction that was assigned to read in high school, like in a Sherwood Anderson ilk. Not that Anderson ever wrote like this, and I can also say that Anderson is the wrong author to compare Barrett to. (Go with me on this…) It’s the feeling that both authors created characters in rural places that were compelling, and you wanted to know what they are going to do tomorrow because you felt you knew them. As “A Shooting in Rathreedane” concluded, I wanted to know, what is tomorrow going to be like for Sgt. Noonan?

  • Drinking on a Tuesday Night

    Last night, an old friend of mine took me out for dinner and drinks. Turns out it was more drinks than dinner. In the West Village, we sat outside in one of those sidewalk shanties that have a heater in it. We were the only two idiots out there, and I say idiots because it was like 38 degrees last night. But the alternative was that we would have been inside a very tiny restaurant/bar where no one had a mask on, and we both have kids that aren’t vaccinated, so not wanting to take any risks, outside we sat.

    The pretense of this dinner was to get together and talk about The BEATLES: Get Back doc, as we both are rather huge BEATLES fans. But in all honesty, it was just an excuse to hang out with an old friend and catch up. And we talked very loudly in that shanty. So loud that someone yelled at us to shut up at 11pm, and then the restaurant manager came out and politely told us to lower our voices. Then at midnight, she threw our drunk asses out. They were closing, and  we apologized, while my friend tipped a large amount. Hopefully, we’ll be welcomed back.

    I walked my friend back to their apartment building, as they were a bit more drunk than me, and I wanted to make sure they got home safe. Old friends walking down a very quiet street of Federal styled townhomes, being a bit obnoxious, and laughing too much. My friend made it home, and we promised each other to do this again, and soon.

    And then I did something that I hadn’t done in a long time, I just wandered around the West Village. Cutting back and forth on streets, looking at buildings, and blinking Christmas lights in windows. More and more storefronts are closed, and there weren’t many people out, so a high-end ghost town feel was clinging on the neighborhood. And as I made my way to the White Horse Tavern to see if the literary specters were out and howling; but that bar closed at midnight.

    So, I hailed a cab, and told the driver my cross streets in Harlem, which he accepted without complaint. I expected a fast ride up the West Side Highway, but at 14th street he headed up 10th Avenue, and we rolled quickly up the length of Manhattan. From 23rd Street, we ran non-stop, hitting every green light – it felt like a Christmas Miracle, but it could be due to no traffic at 1am. Finally, we were felled by the intersection at 123rd of all places, where our luck ran out, and we were held by a red.

    It has been very hard living in the City for the past two years, pretty much stuck in our neighborhood. Sometimes I forget how much I like it here. A place that can fill you with excited energy one moment, and try to break you down the next. But it is still a place I love living in.

  • Thanks, Uncle Rene

    My uncle died this morning. It was my mom’s brother.

    He was the uncle who encouraged me to read books, write, go into theatre, and move to New York. When I graduated high school, he took me to a book store and told me to pick out whatever I wanted. And then he added other books he felt I should read. He was also the person who suggested that I get a subscription to The New Yorker. You could talk to him about anything because he seemed to know a little about everything.

    I have reached the age when I can now full appreciate the gifts God has given me, and for some reason, God feels compelled to take them all back.

    But my uncle was a priest, so I bet he’d tell me to go easy on God.

    Because no one really leaves you if you love them.

    And I know he loved me.

  • I Wrote a Blog Today

    Not very inspired.

    I have been trying to think of a subject to write about, and I just couldn’t come up with something that would inspire me. Often, I can come up with an idea while walking the kid to school, but not this morning. We were running late, and had to rush, so we didn’t really get a chance to have one of those cute father/daughter conversations.

    I thought that while doing laundry something would strike me, but not really. I just folded laundry and watched First Take.

    I planned for dinner, which will be a sheet-pan meal from the NYTimes Cooking Page. I’m going to add a side of rice, and make a butter lemon sauce to round out the whole thing.

    The only thing of note, when it comes to the blog, is that some people came by today and read my short story review of “Detective Dog” by Gish Jen. In fact, more people read it today than when I originally posted it. I wonder if it was Gish Jen?

    I think this post is falling into the category of “keeping up the quota.” I made the rule that I need to post one blog a day, Monday through Friday. So, no matter what, I have to put something up. Clearly, this isn’t one that will make the book.

    Oh, did I mention that one day all of these blog will be published in a book. Well, not all of them. Just a select few, like a greatest hits. But then, several years later, a book will be published that will contain all of the blogs, and that will be more like a collector’s edition, unabridged version. Now, thinking about it, yes, I guess this blog will eventually be published, so I guess, this one does make the book.

    If you made it this far I the blog, then I congratulate you. That shows a level of dedication to a very half-baked concept that I am making up on the fly, to justify my existence, and to also give myself a feeling of accomplishment.

    I’ll do better tomorrow.

  • What Defines Us

    Some people are great at coming up with a tagline for themselves, or a witty one liner that can define who they are. I love Roxane Gay’s Twitter Profile which says, “I want a tiny baby elephant. You clap, I clap back.” Man, that shit is awesome. I feel like I now know that she is funny, and don’t fuck with her.

    In the marketing world, there is the 15 second “elevator pitch,” which I always felt I sucked at. I was never able to concisely say to someone what I was all about, so they could feel comfortable and understand who I was. I felt like I was more like a tv show; you needed to get about three episodes in before I started to get good and become worth your time.

    I say all of this because last night I looked at my Twitter profile, specifically my tagline; “Theater, Pictures, and Words… Just Not In That Order.” I mean, it’s always been a placeholder until I came up with something better… because it sucks, you know.

    But what really stuck in my craw and bothered me most was the first word, “Theatre.”

    I haven’t done a show in three years. Does that word even apply to me anymore? Also, I haven’t perused any theatre work in two years. I’m not sure that word defines me.

    Now, if my puppetry friends and colleagues were to call me up and ask me to help out on a show, I would be there is a heartbeat. Yet, I can fully admit that I would be there for them, because they are my friends, and I believe in their talent and creativity.

    I think the passion for theatre has gone out of me. For twenty years, it was that thig that burned in me, that I thought about, and wanted to experience, and know about and discover new ideas about, and meet people who are trying new things in theatre. I don’t feel that now.

    When I hear about friends in shows, I do want to go out and see them, and support them. Or I see that the show that they are working on is opening, or started rehearsal, or is casting, or whatever; I am excited for them. But, I don’t feel the desire to do that career anymore.

    In fact, when I think about a theatre career, I feel like I have broken up with it. Like, “It’s not you, theatre. It’s me.”

    To be honest, this isn’t the first time I have felt like this. I was crazy passionate about theatre from like 15 to about 20. I was a high school theatre nerd, and when I first went away to college. I wrote plays, and acted, and directed, and was way too dramatic for my own good. And then one day, when I was at the University of North Texas, I just didn’t want to do it anymore, so I dropped out of school. In the meantime, I wrote, I worked shitty jobs, tried my hand as a sort of a roadie for a friend’s band, I explored playing drums in a band, and really just farted around with my friends.

    And then one of my friends went back to college, and joined the theatre department. I made friends with his theatre friends, by drinking at the same bar. Then one day while drinking with the theatre people, they told me they had a class project and were one actor short. “You used to act; can you help us out?” they asked. And I did. And it was so much fun.

    And I went back to school, and became a theatre major again. I had a really great time, and made some amazing friends. And I moved to New York City to have a theatre career, and married my wife, and had a kid. And here I am.

    So, I don’t know. Maybe this is a phase. Maybe this feeling is my new reality. Maybe looking back at it all, theatre still does define who I am.

    I do need to come up with a better tagline, though.