Tag: #Writers

  • Artist Books

    Over Winter Break, our little family went to the Museum of Modern Art here in Manhattan. Part of the reason to go was to kill an afternoon, but also the kid really is loving her art class at school. They were studying Picasso before the break, and she remembered that MoMA has several of his very famous paintings, and was excited about seeing them. For the wife, she hadn’t been out in the City in a while, you know, to actually enjoy this place – so she was hip on going. Me; I love going to museums – any museum: historical, art, kid, whimsical, yarn, whatever…

    So, up on the top floor, MoMA is holding a retrospective on Edward Ruscha. I was vaguely aware of his work, especially the gas station stuff, but I didn’t know a whole lot about the guy. Let me say this, if you are available, you should go check it out. His work covers several different mediums, and is a very interesting digestion of Post War America, and the growing of Pax Americana.

    Out of all his works, the one I was most drawn to were his artist’s books, the first being “Twentysix Gasoline Stations.” There was something to the simplicity of the work in the book, and the efficacy of the design on the whole. Ruscha went on do many other artists books, all keeping with the same design theme. What these books reminded me of was two things; gallery books my uncle would make, and other artist’s sketchbooks.

    I am aware that Ruscha’s artist books were not sketchbooks, but a complete work unto itself, but I have been to other artist’s shows were they make a single sketchbook into a work. Some of the most interesting I have seen, sadly I have forgotten names, were books that had cut out pictures from magazines and newspapers, or were a combination of text ant drawings/paintings.

    And then there are the gallery books that my uncle used to make. He was a painter/artist who spent time in New York in the late 50’s and 60’s and then relocated to Houston. When he had a show in a gallery, books would be printed for the event, but my uncle took extra time making these limited-edition books individual and unique. Some of the books he would personally swipe paint across the cover, and I think one he would rip the corner off of the first page, to make each book feel “used.”

    And for the past week, in the back of my head, I have this “artist book” idea-thing kicking around in my head. Not sure what to do with it. About six months ago I started farting around with the idea of making a limited run “zine” that would feature crayon drawings and poems with my kid, but that never materialized. (I think my daughter was never on board with the idea.) But I like the idea that writers should adopt artists books as part of their medium to work with. This would be more than a chapbook, as it would incorporate more visuals and play with format and style. For a writer not only works with words, but also the form that books can take, right?

    I’m going to play around with this some more. Even though I might just be describing chapbooks…

  • Knowing When to Give Up

    Lot of stuff happened this weekend; Nor’easter, sledding, digging out the car, and teaching the kid how to play UNO. Big weekend.

    Personally, the big one for me is that I came to the decision that a novel that I have been working on, on and off, for about five years, just isn’t going to work. It’s time to put it to bed, send it on its way, give it a its Viking Funeral, and so on and so forth.

    I had some big ideas about tackling male fragility and toxicity, white privilege, the social impact of a value-based economy, forgiveness, and being anonymous in a rapidly connected world. There was a lot going on there, and that might just be the problem. I liked many of the elements that I developed, including the subplot with a hermit in the woods around Phoenicia, NY, but… maybe it was never going to work.

    I really like the first chapter, and when I was thinking about it this weekend, that’s when the idea hit me that maybe the first chapter should just be a short story, and leave it at that. But to leave it at that, I need to go and do some work on it.

    I have started to feel like I don’t have enough time for all the things in life I want to do. I might not have as much time as I think. And because of that, how much time do I want to spend on things that aren’t working?

    I now see in my life that I hung around in situations that weren’t working because I was afraid of quitting. There were relationships, work situations, and even creative projects that I hung around in, even though I had that feeling in my gut that it wasn’t working, but my pride said I wasn’t allowed to quit.

    So, the novel is dead. Long Live the Novel.

  • Feeling Off Today (Unedited)

    The day feels off. In fact, it felt a little off right before I went to bed.  Then in the middle of the night, the kid woke me up, which was right after midnight, so it was like the day did in fact start with an issue. I think the kid needed to blow her nose. That was the problem I was tasked with solving. Which I did, and then put her back to sleep.

    And since then, it’s really been off.

    I got back to sleep but never really fell into a deep sleep; I was always aware that I was just barely asleep.

    So, this morning has felt off. And I have felt frustrated.

    I rewrote my cover letter for submitting, but I haven’t been able to shake the nagging voice which keeps telling me that this is a big waste of time, and nothing will come of it.

    And as I was researching literary, again the thought of failure keep coming at me. That, again this is a futile exercise. That I don’t know enough. That I don’t belong. That That That…

    It’s exhausting constantly fighting with myself.

    I know being tired doesn’t help, but I think I need to admit that I am a little afraid too. I’m afraid to fail. I’m also afraid to be laughed at. I’m afraid too because I have nowhere to hide. In theatre, I had a character or a puppet to hide behind. With my stories, it’s all me, and that’s putting the fear in me. I feel exposed.

    But, I don’t like feeling worthless either. Not having a goal, something to work towards, is a pretty awful feeling as well.

    Gotta push through it.

  • Yes, I am Procrastinating

    I am having the day of getting nothing done, while at the same time, getting stuff done. I have sat on the couch for the last forty minutes, and really haven’t done anything but look up obscure stuff, and get totally sucked into Buzzfeed listicles.

    Yet, I can say that I have meal planed for the week, gone grocery shopping, and read a short story. I also put the kid’s school schedule for the rest of the year in my calendar, and started looking up summer camp options, though I don’t think we can afford a sleepaway camp this year.

    But I am tempered by the things that I want to get done today, like finish the edits on my story. I also need to get started on a cover letter for submitting the story. I am a little nervous to do that because the only “professional” writing credits I have number two, and they were twenty-five years ago.

    So, I guess I am procrastinating a touch.

    Which is true, because I thought awhile about how Yogi Berra argued his whole life that he tagged Jackie Robinson out on that stealing home play.

    Not that has anything to do with anything… but did you ever think about that advice everyone is given how you should do what makes you happy, and that should be your career. What if what makes you happy has no value in society?

    Also, my dog smells like corn nuts.

    Okay, seriously, I’m going to go to work now.

    But first, I am going to where a tweed sportscoat.

  • Go to Work

    When I was in high school, I had a Humanities teacher tell me a story about Edward Hopper. Later in Hopper’s life he gave an interview, and the reporter asked if Hopper enjoyed the process of creating his work? To which Hopper answered; No, because it’s hard work. Hopper got kind’a cranky later in his life, but I liked how honest his response was. Sometimes hard work isn’t fun, and also, being creative isn’t a joy either. I am very glad that Dr. Tripp told me that story, as it has stuck with me for twenty-eight years.

    This also reminds me of the debate I would get into while in college studying theatre. There were two camps of thought in class; the planners and the improvers. You had to fit into one of them. If you were planning out things, then you weren’t in the moment, but if you were improving all the time, no one could plan on what you would do next which really pissed off the technicians and designers. And round and round it went. I found improvers to be selfish, they were people who didn’t want to be told what to do. But planners lacked a spontaneity in their work.

    The truth, I found out in the real world, is that you have to be a little of both.  

    Oh, I was a planner, in case anyone one was wondering.

    But it is about each person figuring out what their process is. Such as, the other night the wife and I were asking each other about our day, and I told her I was feeling frustrated that I haven’t been able to work in the way I feel I need. What this boils down to is that I’m not allowing myself dedicated time to work. I can journal, and I can blog, but I keep placing fiction last, and with the least dedicated time for it.

    And I have I mentioned that I’m not the best husband. I work at it, but I’m still not the best.

    What my wife suggested was that maybe I should try what our friend, who is a published writer, does which is write at the library. This is probably the third or fourth time my wife has suggested this to me in the past year in a half, and this time, it sunk in. She went on to say that I should schedule the time at the library, and then build the rest of my day around that.

    I did get very lucky in landing my wife.

    What she suggested doesn’t sound like fun, it’s work. And I think that’s what I need. I have to plan my creative time. I have to go to work.