Sean Lovelace is running right now, far. Other times he teaches at Ball State University. HOW SOME PEOPLE LIKE THEIR EGGS is his flash fiction collection by Rose Metal Press. His works have appeared in Crazyhorse, Diagram, Sonora Review, Willow Springs, and so on.
I was watching a small child play indoor soccer and honestly it had its moments but I was feeling that inevitable weight, boredom. I mean the kid was falling down, sort of tumbling, and I just wasn’t feeling that, so I walked about a block in a type of cold, hard rain (like smoke on the sidewalks) and across two streets and into the library. I selected a novel by James Salter. It was one of those old yellowing hardbacks that smell like my grandmother’s hallway where she used to keep a bottom drawer of ‘toys’ for when the kids dropped by. (The toys were a wooden block, a rock, an ancient, battered lunchbox, and one leather shoe.) I love those types of books. And it was about rock climbing and lyrical and plot-driven, as is often the way with Salter and, you know, reading is odd, some odd, inevitable chain—this book leads to this book leads to—and I started thinking about fighter pilots (Salter was one) and way leads to way and I finished Salter’s wonderful little novel and got online and bought Once a Fighter Pilot…by Jerry W. Cook. This was a mistake.
You ever been in a conversation where the person finds out you write (Oh Jesus, here we go…) and they cough up some variation of, “Yeh I’m going to write a book when I get the time.” Hmmm…that sort of gives me mixed feelings. I first think, Fuck off. But that’s just a harsh thing that kicks in. I relax and think, “Go right ahead” in this sort of drawl-type thinking, still a tinge of acid. One time over beers my recently retired dad, a dedicated and experienced organic gardener, said “I should write a book about my life as an organic gardener.” I answered, “Good idea. Bring me the first three pages tomorrow.” He did not. Another response I feel is, “Just because you have material doesn’t mean you have a book.” Or I might think, “When you get the time, why not try brain surgery, too?” I have other responses but I’m rambling and I wanted to get to my point: not everyone should write a book.
I should have known. There were warning signs:
2. OK, you don’t want to read any fucking super “Can creative writing be taught?” posts on here so don’t, just skip this link and start pounding avocado into paste (for the guac dip later), but this one has some interesting points and some decent links. So.
Creative writing is about doing the work of writing, and the experimental innovator benefits from time, support, and guidance.
11. Super exchange between John D’Agata and a fact checker, Jim.
Really, Jim, respectfully, you’re worrying about very stupid shit.
7. Jim Ruland over at Hobart is REALLY cheering for the Giants tonight.
2. What’s your AWP book fair budget? I like to take a big bundle of cash and leave my card behind. I bring the card, and it’s butter my biscuits crazy.
3. How to handicap this Superbowl? Brady plays it cool but you can see in his eyes the wake up daily, the “WTF? I own $8,000 flower pots and can do things with my hair. This kicks ass!” Eli looks like he cuts Brady’s yard, and not well. He walks through life in a daze. Brady gets nightly cunninglingus advice from his Brazilian goddess wife (who could buy him out X 20). “Clockwise, fucker!” “Sorry,” he mumbles again as he rubs the back of his neck and walks out back and throws a football through his walnut fence (lands in neighbor’s spleen-shaped pool). Eli likes Applebees but thinks the Wonton Tacos Chicken are “Too dern spicy.” Brady sometimes eats sushi fried, OK? Eli once wrote a complaint letter to Wal-mart (about some frozen waffles that split in half upon toaster entry) but didn’t send the letter because, in his heart, he loves Wal-mart. Brady did attend the opera in Italy last summer, but he also took two Lorcet and a V&T before settling in his seat. Eli is scared of horses (their heads are way too big!). Brady likes to smell the tips of his own fingers. Who knows?
Tell me the last time you quit a job. That’s a tough thing. You have to look at yourself and suck up and do it. Paint it for me. Then you must look at “that person” when you quit. Tell me how/why. I bet there are “hell yes I quit” and “why did I quit?” and the other thing, the space between the two.
Tell me how you felt. I mean this could be good. I’d like to hear your stories. I will NOT rip them off for my fiction, until I DO.
BONUS: Ever been fired? I was fired twice. Both lovely stories.
There is an actual space between fiction and nonfiction. We, these here folks, should squat it/sit thar/inhabit this space, if anyone. What/Where is that space? I’ve been thinking on it. What u say? I’d like to see more writers in that space.
Here is an opportunity to store your firearms (or umbrelli?) underground. 2012, people.
Also: When you take ibuprofen, what do you take, 2-4 tablets? Or more (barbaric yawp goes the duodenum)? Just pondering.
I do enjoy book as artifact. Funky front matter. Sudorific spine. A peplum on the paper edge, etc. This is something small presses do well. Mythical book as bible. As postcards. As a head shaped box (or a box shaped head?). Sometimes I hold these books, re-hold them, turn them, smell them (like beer, the odor of books simultaneously contains similarities and unique variances), bend them, watch them, pause during my reading and judge, question, critique (sometimes a book gets too cute in its design; this is about words), admire. I really do like when a book is a thing. Ok, let me hit this Magic Hat.
Here is a video of me talking about some of the stories and images I really enjoyed from Get in if You Want to Live. (I am pretty inebriated, so you may not be able to fully understand me. I do slur [though I never once feel compelled to fucking punch someone, now do I?])
Whoa, Magic Hat! I didn’t expect fruity. What is this flavor? A little lavender and pumpkin pie, a smidgen of doughnut, or is that musk? A hint of buttered popcorn vanilla peppermint cheese pizza roasting meat cinnamon buns strawberry parsley green apple rose Oriental spice baby powder chocolate pink grapefruit cranberry. Just a hint. Interesting. Let me try another one. That first bottle reminded me of the time I went horse-dancing in Mexico. (The riders are usually drunk, the horses are always beautiful, the music is deafeningly loud. All four legs move in time to the beat.)
11. Lucy Corin goes:
So when people call books bad for being masturbatory what they are saying I think is that they hate the culture/community/ personality type they associate with where that creative product comes from. They don’t want to hang out with those people, or those people make them feel bad about themselves or the world in a ‘what has become of us’ sort of way. Because if you LIKE someone, you probably LIKE watching them masturbate, after all.
2. Turgenev Hunter’s Sketches online. Oh hell yes. Grab me some black bread and vodka and I’m holing up like an elevator.
2. Sci fi Aimee Bender story online, you Star Cheeks.
3. And Stanley Fish goes,
The essence of all this is contained in an aphorism I formulated in 1964 as I watched my colleagues at Berkeley turn from abasing themselves before deans and boards of trustees to abasing themselves before students. Here is the aphorism: Academics like to eat shit, and in a pinch they don’t care whose shit they eat. Of course, had I known enough at the time, I could have saved myself the trouble and simply quoted Freud. For the masochist, Freud explains, “it is the suffering itself that matters; whether the sentence is cast by a loved one or by an indifferent person is of no importance … but the true masochist always holds out his cheek whenever he sees a chance of receiving a blow.” Whatever else they are, academics are resourceful, and when they set their minds to it, there are no limits to the varieties of pain they can inflict on one another and on themselves.
14. Word is AWP registration is sold out. 9300 registrants! First thought: Damn, that’s a lot of colorful skinny eyeglasses. Latte, anyone? OMG aging writer with a ponytail. (Let it go, Sean! Only if you let go your scarf matching your Converse sneakers.) Next thought: Time to put Book Fair pass on eBay.
2. Let’s gossip. Sinead lasted 16 days and that’s pretty good because if your man is on an iPad during the ceremonies you are fucked. (Then again he stalked her online to set up the matrimonies, so…) He’s a drug counselor (dork alert) and they of course went and got some crack and weed for the wedding night shenanigans. Sinead had to leave, OK? She said she was “living in a coffin.” (Actually, marriage is not a coffin, per say, but rather another walled habitat, an institution.) A few years ago a company in Massachusetts would sell you a “living coffin.” Here’s the deal: You buy your coffin but keep it in the house, like in the living room (groan at the pun, sorry). They even had shelves for books and a wine rack. The lid of the coffin was hinged to the back so you could push it up against the wall. Once you die, the lid could be attached with maple pins before burial. You sit there in your room staring at your own coffin daily and you are sure to finally recognize the macabre miracle of your daily existence as one of the living beings today on this planet. I think.
1. You have two days to enter the Frank Hinton/ xTx chapbook contest. I Vouch for it.
11. “Barefoot on the Pulpit” is a mighty fine poem for you today.
4. Here is a little pick-me-up. Dickens finds his baby daughter dead and must now write his wife about the situation (she is away). He does so, in this letter, but he fudges the truth a bit, in a very caring (maybe?) way, to prepare his wife for a situation, a concept naturally impossible, this preparation. But he tries.
7. In the UK, if you harass a badger and are caught in the act, your name will be added to the United Kingdom National DNA Database. I shit you not. For life, man! So don’t do that. Don’t harass badgers.
Hey guys and gals, help me out. I need your opinions. I have a new book coming out and the final decision on the cover is between this:
And this:
a poem written by a bear by Tao Lin.
Bear Costume by Steven Miller, with bonus baby carrot.
From “Obliterating Animal Carcasses with Explosives,” a pamphlet issued by the Technology and Development Program of the U.S. Forest Service.
There are times when it is important to remove or obliterate an animal carcass from locations such as recreation areas where a carcass might attract bears, at a popular picnic area where the public might object, or along the sides of roads or trails. Explosives have successfully been used by qualified blasters to partially or totally obliterate large animal carcasses (horses, mules, moose, etc.). It is important to consider location, time of year, and size of the carcass when selecting the quantity and type of explosive to accomplish the obliteration task. The following instructions pertain to partial obliteration (dispersion) for a horse that weighs about 1,100 pounds. In this first example, urgency is not a factor-perhaps the public is not expected to visit the area for a few days, or perhaps bears will not be attracted to the carcass. In any case, in this example, dispersion is acceptable. Place three pounds of explosives under the carcass in four locations. The carcass can then be rolled onto the explosives if necessary. Place one pound of explosives in two locations on each leg. Use detonator cord to tie the explosives’ charges together. Horseshoes should be removed to minimize dangerous flying debris. In situations where total animal obliteration is necessary, it is advisable to double the amount of explosives used in the first example. Total obliteration might be preferred in situations where the public is expected in the area the next day, or where bears are particularly prolific. Carcasses that have been dispersed will generally be totally gone within a few days. Carcasses that have been obliterated will generally not show any trace of existence the next day.
The Bear (Jim Harrison)
When my propane ran out
when I was gone and the food
thawed in the freezer I grieved
over the five pounds of melted squid,
but then a big gaunt bear arrived
and feasted on the garbage, a few tentacles
left in the grass, purplish white worms.
O bear, now that you’ve tasted the ocean
I hope your dreamlife contains the whales
I’ve seen, that the one in the Humboldt current
basking on the surface who seemed to watch
the seabirds wheeling around her head.
Dumb fact guy
Brings 6 of beer has one left and takes it home with him guy
Has to phone girlfriend every four minutes guy
Guy who brings cheap jug of wine guy
Guy who gets pet drunk guy
Guy who turns everything into a bet guy
Doesn’t really want to go then dominates all conversations guy
Brings cheap 6 pack and you see him all night drinking Heinekens and Guinness guy
Let’s go out back and get high guy
Bum a smoke guy
Is this an open bar? guy
Way too old for this scene guy
Guy who just whips out his junk guy
Guy with hot, bored wife guy
Steal the silverware guy
Check the weather on phone and tell us the weather guy
Carries a gun to the party guy
Guy with guitar guy
Constantly gets laid guy
Profoundly depressed over break-up mopey guy
“When I was in Spain…” guy
2. What you want is reliable quality. Like a Glock. The new Diagram is up. I enjoyed Scott McFarland’s “Teenagers with Glocks,” a take/homage on We Real Cool, a poem Gwendolyn Brooks grew to detest, to not want to read, to not want as her “one hit.” But come on, Gwen. Most poets have zero hits.
1. Rather than trimming their sails, a number of independent booksellers are taking a page from Amazon by producing titles themselves.
3. NANO fiction winter sale all that.
12. How to tie the 5 best fishing knots:
5. I see maybe (emphasize maybe) 2 films a year, as in going to actual movies. I saw Dragon Tattoo thingy. I did not leave depressed. Plot (and this is a plot heavy film) pretty much held together. Acting was passable by today’s standards (Rooney Mara very strong). Cinematography didn’t utilize the setting as it could/should have, but it wasn’t weak or distracting/jarring. So then I stumbled on Nordic Noir. Why would Nordic Noir be so literate/popular? Because:
Norway remains, in most people’s consciousnesses, the most imposing of the Nordic countries, with the ancient legacy of the Vikings still casting a shadow over the country (and foreign perceptions of it).
Many of us do seem to be having an Ingmar Bergman moment right now. We love to slouch on our IKEA sofas watching the characters in “Mad Men” as they ruminate on the loneliness and impotence of their lives while staring silently off into darkened rooms filled with Danish modern furniture.
Three factors underpin the success of Nordic crime fiction: language, heroes and setting.
OK
6. The biggest obstacle to me publishing Wild Grass was finding the courage to self-publish. So many people told me it was a bad idea, but deep down I knew it was what I wanted to do.
7. Look, a Caitlin Horrocks story at the Paris Review. Read this.
8. Need a resolution? I suggest never leave “the house without a gun, a knife and a flashlight” Indeed. Lives saved. Or you could just tip properly.
9. Oliver Stone (yes, him) talking about writing in a way maybe we haven’t seen so much? You should probably go ahead and watch this (and the first part). Audience questions, sometimes conflict, a nuanced and, well, interesting Q & A. Be sure to check out the SPAZ “little boy” at 5 minute mark. Wow.
10. How about Amelia Gray rocking the LA Times? She has a ‘face to watch.’ I agree since her face is highly watchable and her prose is highly readable. Gray is actually my current most-given-book-to-promising-students book I give. And it always works. She rocks them. She is the “gateway drug” to better reading, me thinks.
1. Is it worth the money?
2. I feel guilty if I’m not reading at least three times a week because of all the money. Very tough to read everything you need to read. It’s depressing, like Christopher Hitchens dying or Schopenhauer or some of the things he said.
3. Schopenhauer:
Buying books would be a good thing if one could also buy the time to read them in: but as a rule the purchase of books is mistaken for the appropriation of their contents.
4. The digital New Yorker keeps writing about Christopher Hitchens out of respect but you can tell the writing is a little guarded, still bitter about Hitchens Left-2-Right turn and his steadfast support for the War in Iraq.
5. Shouldn’t I be adding links? If you are going to talk about something digital, please add links, you miserable cur.
6. Will Blake Butler do one of those “Look at all these fucking books I read” list this year? That list always makes me angry and unsure of myself. Then I think, “Well shit, he has insomnia, maybe he’s reading a lot at night?”
7. I’m surprised no one has talked about James Franco yet. He hires his professors into Hollywood jobs. He maybe got a professor fired because of a D grade? I don’t know.
8. If you have any fucking sense, you’ll want to read Christopher Hitchens on James Joyce.
A century later, the literary world will celebrate the hundredth “Bloomsday,” in honor of the very first time the great James Joyce received a handjob from a woman who was not a prostitute.
Why? Because a student handed me the book and suggested I read it? No. Students routinely want me to read books and they are usually this one, or Neil Gaiman and I’m not reading any fucking Neil Gaiman. I’m an adult. I read it because so many of my students are writing Sci Fi lately. From a genre trickle to categorical gusher. Could be my doing this semester. I instructed them to write a QUEST. I think some of their brains went quest=genre, though I showed them many, many quests that were just like two dudes trying to get to Hollywood or the latest Jennifer Aniston Must-Get-A-Man flick or just some guy swimming away into cognitive dissonance or a newlywed couple needing to rob McDonald’s but no/no/no they go genre, fantasy or Sci Fi. That’s OK. I mean we had no zombies. (Best zombie film to show students about genre irrelevant—characters matter.) I could be like some in academia (and literary publishing) and say no to genre. OR…I could admit many literary works are indeed gestures of genre…OR I could/should meet the students half way and feel a need to increase my knowledge base on Sci Fi, admit I haven’t read Sci Fi in many years (is Vonnegut Sci Fi?) and so feel a pedagogical necessity to read something and Dune is on all the lists and I know Sting is in the movie version (though I’ve never seen it and have no plans to) and so here we go into the box, the hour glass, the sand.
Three things we know: 1. You can show all the patriotic commercials in the world, but Anheuser Busch is still a company owned by Belgium. 2. Women die when they get near August Anheuser Busch IV. 3. Budweiser is Ok to drink. Not great. Not absolutely bad. (Fuck off, beer snobs, we know how much you blar this beer and, honestly, it’s a little ridiculous.) But OK, an OK beer, in certain situations…
[Matchup #24 in Tournament of Bookshit]
Facebook-Based Political ‘Activism’
Active is a funny word. Also the word, Like. You know Flannery O’Connor never asked a damn person to be a Christian, she just wrote these badass stories where all the phonies got their fucking heads blown off and their families slaughtered and then maybe some “Agent of Grace” would go and seduce a fat ass and steal their fake leg. That’s the way to do it. Seems to me you got a mirror problem. Or you spent sixth grade with an eye-blinking tic. (They called you Blinky.) Or photos of your own head or your severe-or-doughy offspring’s head all J.C. Penny glossy on the beige-ass walls. I bet your palms smell hot and funky. You’re white. Tuck in your shirt and have one of those little cases on your belt for the cellphone and a little ripple, a little soft, soft, soft fish-belly over the top of the waist of the jeans. Keep four pill bottles in a neat, black case stuffed in a Nike shoe, in the crisper drawer of your refrigerator. But what do I know? Nothing, except that to ask if I’m happy every day is a goddamn insult to the other 98% wondering why the light bulb keeps flickering off…Hey Slaw-Cheeks, Facebook groups, Pages and Events are as helpful for your enemies as they are for you. Only James Bond villains tell everyone their plans, and see what happens? Sharks, de-railed trains, suffocated by octopi, shot by Bond/shot by Bond/shot by Bond, oh my. Or: I keep getting this vision of sweaty you in the Toys “R” Us parking lot masturbating to a conjured image of a yellow cats, smiling yellow cats running circles along a Go-Cart track in Rhode Island…You don’t tip bartenders for shit, do you? That nagging feeling, it’s your head rolling about a black cart rumbling and clanking iron-wheeled down a dark road, to the dump, all of this an honest image of the shadowworld, your soul, a knobby goat (most likely pulled the cart—that’s called honest work, you Enormous Fuck) gnawing at your eye socket, then to the elbow, the pale, calloused index finger of your Liking. You hose. You greasy hose. READ MORE >
1. That time travel/forum flash you saw once; it hit you like lobbed Pringles. You wondered where it was, something.
At 18:06:59, BigChill wrote:
Take it easy on the kid, SilverFox316; everybody kills Hitler on their first trip. I did. It always gets fixed within a few minutes, what’s the harm?
3. Yo, fantasy novel pitch: You ford the dawn. You have a ring and/or sword (naturally–all Fantasy is oddly derivative of Tolkien). You put the ring/sword down (finally). I unwrap you an Interesting Sandwich. Here it is: These Iraq photos were taken through Humvee windows and military-issue night vision goggles. Sort of green/glow/combustible clap/badass. Do eyeball:
2. Shopping? Well, think on this: I suggest a Scientific (wow, it’s scientific!) Talking Meat Thermometer. (It only speaks English, Spanish, German, French, and Danish. That’s sketchy.)
4. Largest collection of fish posters I’ve seen since noon-thirty.
5. Wonderful, wonderful essay by Jim Harrison, for those that worship wine.
I have long since publicly admitted that I seek spirituality through food and wine. In France, Italy, and Spain, I seem more drawn to markets and cafés than to churches and museums. Too many portraits of bleeding Jesus and his lachrymose Momma make me thirsty. The Lord himself said on the cross, “I thirst” and since our world itself has become a ubiquitous and prolonged crucifixion it is altogether logical that we are thirsty.
14. Does anyone here write by hand? I’d like to hear you talk about that, why, why it’s necessary to you, why brain to hand to actual felt page is a preferred—and essential—difference than tap, tap, tap, glowing, white pretty pixel monitor fat, white face. Tote me some knowledge.
1. This flash by Shellie Zacharia is one of the best I’ve read in a goodly while.
14. For you glazed and sootstreaked aspiring MFA/MA folks, Cathy Day writes some do’s and don’ts concerning the Statement of Purpose. Good stuff here, and made me realize (I read grad apps) most applications are very similar–they DO a lot of these DONT’S.
2. Hey, all you Slaw-Cheeks, you know what: The brouhaha over Markham’s wholesale cribbing of other writers’ work is an instructive reminder of how rarely ‘original writing’ actually is.
3. Have you experienced “Fire Island Sideshow” by Jon Cotner and Claire Hamilton?
- In Fair Harbor we hear a Yorkie growling frantically. Gary always holds Brutus’ leash because last summer Brutus was almost killed by the high tide. This gets difficult around New York City, where law requires that human beings walk dogs. But Gary won’t let people near Brutus.
4. Dude writes stories that are Facebook updates.
5. I know, why don’t we all comment about what we are thankful for?! Really? Me neither. Fuck off.
1. This audio interview (The Lit Show) with Martone is sort of great. It sprawls about and then, at the half hour, writers and teachers Rachel Yoder, Dylan Nice, and Zachary Tyler Vickers join the conversation. A lot of glow here on regional writing, teaching writing, experimental writing, etc. Worth a listen.
2. Christopher Grimes goes:
Like life itself, writing and reading can be really boring. Reading boring writing, writing boring stuff.
14. This is not a bible verse. This is that amazing hangover essay from a while back in the The New Yorker:
3. Philip Hunt on creativity.
4. You can get a wine-speckled bar napkin signed by Peyton Manning for 10 dollars.
I like this guy’s jacket, notch and lapel.
