Category: Art

  • A Little Fish in a Little Pond

    I was getting ready to work on the blog this morning, and I had been thinking that I was going to write about either Tottenham beating Frankfurt, or buying shoes for my kid’s Halloween costume, and then I saw the WORDPRESS.COM ad come up for monetizing my blog. Hell, who doesn’t like making money, right? And who out there wouldn’t like making money from the thing they like to do most; for me that’s writing about my observations that are neither revolutionary nor revelatory, but might slightly be funny. I went down the rabbit hole of having ads on my blog, and the bottom line is that if I want to see any substantial money to, let’s say, pay my family’s phone bill, then I would need thousands of people to visit my site a month. Currently, the most views I have every received on my site for a single month was 228. Though my numbers have been growing almost every month for the past year, I am a long way off from having views that would generate an income.

    The other fact that must be shared is that I am not working very hard to make this blog successful. You reap what you sow? Sure, I guess that’s true. I put forth a minimum effort, as I don’t think about design or social media, and I’m very terrible about following other blogs, and commenting on them. These are all the things you are “supposed to do” to make a blog successful, and for the life of me, I suck at it.

    What I really want to do is just write, and I do that. And this is the result.

    And you know, there is a reason why I don’t tell people about this blog, or the writing that I am doing, because when I tell them that I have a blog, and I’m writing stories, some of them will immediately start telling all the things I should do the be successful at it. I know that these friends are doing this because they care about me, and want to support me to be successful at what I am doing. Yet, when this happens, it leaves me feeling annoyed because it’s like they didn’t listen to the part of why I am doing this.

    I’m doing this because I like to do it, and I want to share it, and I’m not too concerned with how many people I share it with. I’m not saying that I’m not looking for validation, as there is a little bit of vanity in me for I do check my numbers daily. (There is something nice about seeing my four to six regular readers like a post. That does make me happy.) No matter how many people read this blog today, it will not affect my resolve to write one tomorrow.

    But I will add this, as I do think about it often if not daily; My Grandma Groff used to say that in life you need at least these three things – 1. A reason to get up in the morning. 2. You gotta have a goal. 3. A little spending money doesn’t hurt. I’m not sure if this blog, or my writing in general is fulfilling those three points, but I do feel that they are intertwined. I like getting up in the morning, and I have a goal, but it’s just that “spending money” point seems to be lacking.

    The point here people – I currently won’t be putting ads on my site.

    (So… Hey Ya! Now that you have made it this far, if you would be so kind, please take a moment to give a like, or a share, throw a comment at me, or follow this blog. Because, you know, I am a little vain.)

  • Personal Review: “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami

    I first heard of Haruki Murakami somewhere in 1995 or 1996, when I read a translated short story of his in The New Yorker. I’m pretty sure it was “The Zoo Attack,” and I think it was all tied into the article about the upcoming publication of his novel, “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.” The short story made enough of an impression on me that I went to the local bookstore, and found a copy of his short story collection, “The Elephant Vanishes.” I mean I read it almost 25 years ago, but I remember that the collection was great; funny, surreal, and feeling very honest. Murakami does a great job on creating these fantastical stories where the characters reactions to this unreal situations land true and authentic. (Other surreal short story writers could learn a great deal from this man.) He is a great talent, truly a world talent.

    And there was one novel of his that for a long time, you couldn’t get in English; “Norwegian Wood.” Being a huge Beatles fan, the title of the novel always stuck with me, clearly, because it’s one of their more famous songs. Published in 1987, this was the novel that made Haruki Murakami a famous author and household name in Japan. Whenever anything was written about him, “Norwegian Wood” was always mentioned as his best novel. Sadly, being that there wasn’t an English translation until 2000 of the novel, in the late 90’s, it fell off my radar as a novel I had to read. Every now and then, I would see the title show up on reading lists of writers, and friends, and I would think, I need to read that book.

    Then back in April, when I took the kid with me down to The Strand to go book hunting, I found a huge stack of paperback copies of “Norwegian Wood” sitting on a cart that I am sure had yet to be shelved. Looking at the cover, I thought it’s time for me to read it. And when September rolled around, I finally got around to it.

    I liked the novel, but I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be. I had read that this book was a “normal” and “straight-forward” story, and not at all in the surreal vein of his earlier stories, and that was very true. It was a memory story, and used that formula. Toru, the narrator, is on a flight and he hears the song, “Norwegian Wood” as the plane is taxing to the gate in Hamburg, Germany. This song causes him to remember the time in his life where he had just started college, and first fell in love. Thus sets in motion the story, and Toru tells us that though he hasn’t thought of these events in years, the memories come back to him in vivid detail. It was a little caveat trick that Murakami used to give agency as to why the narrator is so detailed in his memories, and also to signal to us that what we are about to hear from the narrator is the truth.

    The setting is 1969 Tokyo, and all the cultural changes that come with it. I liked learning that the upheavals that hit universities in the US and France during this period, also hit Japan as well, but Toru seems to exist just adjacent of all of this turmoil. It is a lonely life this very normal young man lives; living in a dorm, going to class, working a part-time job. Soon he reconnects with the Naoko, who had been the girlfriend of his best friend, Kizuki, in high school. We learn that Kizuki had committed suicide their senior year, and this tragic loss still hangs over both of their lives. Though they come together, they both handle the death in different ways, and with different compounding struggles.

    The novel is more complicated, and there is a theme of loyalty, duty, and commitment as well. But also, the desire to go into the world and experience and discover. I can see why the “coming of age” moniker would get thrown on this story, but I feel that is more used for marketing that an actual description of what the novel is. The characters didn’t feel like they were coming into their own, but discovering how the death of a loved one can change the prism of their world, and viewpoint; some felt guilt, some felt relief, some had a rebirth.

    But as I write all of this, and I just finished reading it yesterday, I have this feeling in the back of my head that I need more time with the novel kicking around in my head. Let it marinate, and see where it takes me. Though it wasn’t as profound as I thought it would be, it hasn’t shaken my opinion of Haruki Murakami’s talent or status as an author.

    (And, since you are still here. Please be kind, and give a like, a share, a comment, or follow this blog. It drives the traffic engine that keeps the whole world running.)

  • Stopping the Publishing Monopolies, and Bookstores

    First of all, you should read “American Literature Loses Out to Consolidation,” by Richard Howorth which was published in The New York Times today.

    That having been said, my favorite bookstore to go to is the Stand down on 12th Street. I’ve started taking the kid there, and I feel like I’m completing one of those “All My Life’s a Circle” moments where I was taken to bookstores as a kid, and I now do that for my kid. One of the biggest reasons I love going to the Stand is that it smells like a bookstore; it smells like stacks and stacks of books. And now, slowly, no matter where I travel to, I have started seeing little bookshops again. In little downtowns, or strip malls, bookstores – new and used – are becoming present again.

    I worked, for a very short time, for an independent publisher right out of college, and I tip my hat to people to run small publishing houses; you only do it because you love it, not because you want to become rich. At those houses, everything seems like it’s on the verge of failing, people outside of the business treat you like your crazy, and there is no good business model other than being bought out by one of the “big houses” one day. But, I must add, some of the smartest people I have ever met work in small publishing.

    And these small publishers are where almost all authors get started. They are the farm leagues of the publishing world, and they are vital to the ecosystem, especially when it comes to giving new voices, subjects, and people an opportunity. The more the big house become centralized, the more likely they take up the shelf space at all level of bookstores, forcing out the little guys, and thus killing off anything new from being discovered.

    Keep this in mind when you bookshop. Look to see who is publishing that book you are looking at. Every dollar truly helps the little guy.

    (Say! If you happen to find that this blog are some knees of bees, be a pal and give it a like, a comment or a share! You’d be doing this Daddy-o a true solid!)

  • Personal Review: second place – a novel, by Rachel Cusk

    I’m getting back into the swing of reading. Like all things in life, if you want to good at something, you have to make it a habit. Make time for it, work at it, do it even when you don’t want to. I’m getting back into reading shape. I read Ezra Klein’s essay “I Didn’t Want It  to Be True, but the Medium Really Is the Message,” and I agree with him that the internet, and especially my smartphone, has dampen my ability to focus and read a book. Hence why I feel like I have to work at reading.

    At the start of the Summer, I took the kid to The Strand, so we could load up on books while on vacation. Though I didn’t go there looking for it, I came across Rachel Cusk’s newest novel – second place. I became a big fan of Cusk’s writing several years ago when I read her Outline trilogy, which left me feeling inspired to write again. So, when I see anything new by her, I gobble it up.

    The story of second place is straightforward; the narrator, M, invites a painter, L, to stay at her and her husband’s guesthouse during Covid. L isn’t a particularly warm or friendly person, and his interactions with M, M’s husband and daughter end up acting as a catalyst for change and introspection.

    What I enjoyed about the novel, which I find true for Cusk’s writing, is that there is such a wonderful serene sense of just pondering life; asking questions of oneself, and looking for answers and discoveries. Her writing is almost stream of consciences, but without all the pretension that can come with that style. The narrator, M, takes in life, and remembers things and stories, and she also describes her feelings about the development of her relationship with her husband and daughter. M is doing what I do with my life, and I hope other people do as well, which is I think about the people and events that have transpired, and how it all has affected us. Not in a narcissistic way, but more is a sense of awe, gratitude even, for the ability to have a life with people we care about, and a tiny bit of resignation and loss for the people that aren’t there anymore.

    (Say! If you are a person who finds these words which I have strung together entertaining, please take a moment to like, comment or share this blog. You’re high school English teacher will thank you!)

  • I Finished “Breakfast of Champions”

    When I first read Vonnegut’s “Breakfast of Champions or Goodbye Blue Monday” I think I was nineteen or twenty. I was eating up just about everything the guy wrote. I remember loving the book so much that I tried to push it off on just about anyone who would listen. My best friend latched on to the book just like I did, and we still will state that “BoC” is our favorite Vonnegut novel.

    I read the book only once, or, at least I have no memory of reading it a second time. I say this because I recently re-read “BoC”, as I am going through all the books that I feel influenced me to want to become a writer. What I remember about the book is that it played with structure, and storytelling. I remember Vonnegut putting himself in his own book, and I thought that was such an interesting choice as I felt that part of the reason for the book was Kurt dealing with his own mental issues and his anxiety over having these issues, just like his mother had.

    Having just reread the book, I had totally forgotten have much the novel deals with racism. I mean, I remembered that some of the characters said some racist shit, but when I was reading the book again, I see that Vonnegut was full force attacking the image of Heartland Midwestern good honest Americans, by saying that these people were just as racist and bigoted as the people in “down south.” It felt like a contempt, a deep contempt for the people that Vonnegut grew up with in Indiana, and America on a whole. There were some things that were very dated from the early 70’s, but Vonnegut’s take on embedded racism, still felt very current. The novel is a dark satire, and at some points felt very nihilistic, yet Kurt’s writing still was hilarious and fast paced.

    And then I started to wonder why I had forgotten about all of the racism? Why had that not resonated, and stuck with me? I know that I am getting older, and the last time I read the book was 25 years ago, so I’m not surprised that I don’t remember all the details. But, if you asked me a month ago what “BoC” was a bout, I would have told you mental health, and I would have been very confident in that answer. I don’t think I would have actively tried to forget that the book was about racism, yet I did forget about it.

    There really isn’t an answer here, just an observation on myself. Just a reading machine who is trying to be a thinking machine.