Craft Notes
James Franco edited by the Tyrant
[The Tyrant Giancarlo Ditrapano sent us this and we couldn’t help ourselves. With all due respect to the Esquire fiction camp and the creator. Read both, see what you think? – BB]
I just read the James Franco story in Esquire and thought it was great. There were just a couple of things that needed tweaking in my opinion so I started messing with it. You’ve written a good, funny story, Mr. Franco. But now it’s even better. Remember, it never matters who writes it, it only matters that it gets written. Or something like that. Some good stuff in here though. I’d love to work on something with you for my meager little journal. Email me at ditrapano@nytyrant.com. Let’s talk it out.
N.B. This was done with entirely good intention and I meant no harm, as I never have meant harm. Just having some fun and don’t want anyone to get in trouble or angry over this. Who knows? I may have ruined the thing.
yours truly,
Gian
Driving Lessons for Nothing Zones
[a Giancarlo Ditrapano redux of James Franco’s “Just Before the Black,” published online in Esquire]
Joe and I sit and stare at the wall of the building. We’re in the car. My Grandpa’s. The building’s beige, but the shadows make it shadow-color for now.
Joe smokes with his window down.
There is not much to talk about with Joe. I don’t know what he thinks he is. “If you lived in the olden times, what would you do?” I ask Joe.
Joe has to think about it. He is large, a chub, and his bear body falls all around him and rests on the seat.
“Which olden times?” he asks. He has the voice of a heavy man, he has that gurgle.
“Like, King Arthur, with knights and horses.”
Joe thinks. I can’t hear it, but I imagine rust-worn gears flaking and groaning slowly into motion. I curse myself for that cliche thought. I’d like to say I even smell it, but that would only make things worse. To my knowledge, there is no yellow smoke emanating from his skull from all the thinking he’s doing.
“I’d be the king,” he says.
“You can’t be the king,” I say. “No one is king. That’s like winning the lottery.”
“If I went back, I’d be king. I’d fuck every virgin in the kingdom.”
“You can’t be king, asshole. You can’t even be duke. The fact that you even said that shows you’re not royalty. You’re a peasant. Deal.”
“Whenever people time-travel, they go back and they are friends with the king, or they are the king.”
“There are very few kings, and you certainly wouldn’t be one of them.”
“Fuck you.”
“Joe, you’re an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot way before me.”
“I know,” I say. And I am. I am friends with a slug, and my other friends are pigs and wolves. I never make friends with the nice things of the world. Just all its shit parts.
“If you were king, I’d kill myself,” I say.
Joe sucks his cigarette. He looks at me and the smoke drifts through the gate of his teeth.
“Then you better die, because I’m the king.”
He smiles. He has rotten teeth, thin shingles for chompers, all climbing over each other. He has rows of gray teeth and brown gums. I think, Why don’t you get some braces, brush those things, but I don’t think about that because I’m thinking about something else, or at least getting ready to do something else, or I’m already doing something…
The car is running, is accelerating. I’m driving us right toward the beige shadow-colored-for-now wall, and I can only see and hear Joe for a second, a high-pitched thing that cracks for a second, and for that second I’m with Joe’s voice on a plateau in the black of space, wherever it is that noise cracks like that and decibels live, and then it’s gone because there’s the metal sound so loud and it’s how I had always planned it to be, crunching, and a jerk and the front of my head is filled with the cold hollow sinus pain, the surprise punch in the nose that takes you back to childhood and there’s an immediate link to every other time you ever had your nose hit, by a ball, by a head, by your own knee, and after the surprise it doesn’t go away. I’m still there. The tires behind me are screeching because my foot is still on the gas. The car has gone a ways into the wall but it’s not going any farther. I look over at fat shit, and there’s blood rolling out of a slice in his forehead, some coming out of his mouth. I think that it’s from the head gash until I see one of those teeth is now a black gap. He looks like something awful, but he looks young, like a kid when they lose teeth.
“Why the fuck did you do that, Manuel?”
I laugh and it bubbles out like popcorn, because he looks so fucking absurd, and because my name isn’t even close to Manuel. That’s his brother’s name, his equally stupid older brother’s name.
Joe gives me a vacant look, he’s covered in blood, the blood’s falling down onto his shirt. It’s thick and looks like ketchup randomness, so much messier and more random than I could ever plan. I’m delighted how it turned out, in my own way.
I painted those swirls, because I drove Grandpa’s car into the wall.
For six months I drove around town with that busted car. The front was smashed. I replaced the lights, but they were crooked and looked in different directions, like a glass eye and a real eye. I didn’t care, and they, the cops or anyone, didn’t catch me or pull me over.
I’m driving from work when I pass Joe on the way to the driving range. “Hey, Jack-O’, we doing this thing tonight?” I say. We’re friends again.
“Yeah,” he says. “Hector has the goods.”
Everyone calls Joe Jack-O’ now because he didn’t get a replacement tooth. He liked the hole and kept the hole. And he stopped being mad at me. We’d laugh about me driving into the wall. I smiled when people would bring it up. It was local lore now. I alone knew it was a great failure.
Now me and Jack-O’ are driving down the dark freeway. Me and fat boy, cruising. I think about that missing tooth, and that gap, and how there was never a gap in that place before, and about three dimensions, and how the gap was on the inside of his mouth unless he opened his mouth and how things, shapes, folded in on themselves, and four dimensions, and if time is variable, then how do I vary it, and why do I want to? Everything focuses in on me and I hate it.
“If you were an Egyptian, what would you do?” I ask Joe.
“Don’t start this shit again, Michael.”
“Remember when you called me Manuel?”
“I never called you Manuel, idiot. I would be pharaoh.”
“No, you’re too fat. Pharaohs are skinny,” I say.
“I don’t want to be an Egyptian: pyramids and mummies and shit, and sand, and all that, fuck it, it’s boring, man. I would be an Aztec, or a Mayan, like my peeps, and I’d cut your fucking heart out.”
Joe is Mexican. His eyes, like most Mexicans’ eyes, are beautiful, and his eyelashes are thicker, longer than mine. He has short fat eyebrows and beautiful brown eyes. He has thick hair that flops.
I wish I was Mexican, or Hebrew, I mean Jewish, I mean Israeli, or Mexican Jewish, or Mexican Jewish gay, because it can be so boring being this, being me. Boring being this me. “Maybe we should try it,” I say.
“Michael, I’m serious, don’t do something crazy just because we’re talking about your olden-time things again, just let me the fuck out if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, man, I’m just saying that maybe those Mayans were on to something. Maybe if we take someone’s heart out and sacrifice it, then something special will happen.”
I pull out a long kitchen knife from under the seat, which he sees, but he doesn’t say anything so I put it back. Joe is looking at me like he is trying me out, and I know that he can’t fully get it because he isn’t laughing and he isn’t arguing. He’s staring and staring only.
“Maybe we could take Hector’s heart,” I say.
We are going to see Hector over by the junior college where I go to night school. He lives and sells near there, and we’re supposed to meet him in some parking lot. Hector is not a scary guy, he has a nice-guy face, but he could fuck somebody up quite thoroughly if given the chance.
“Hector would fuck you up,” says Joe. I silently agree.
I love driving down an empty dark freeway, lit up intermittently by the lights at the side of the road, and when I see the lights, I think of all the little worlds out there, all the little animals living in their habitats out there, and how we could pull over and have an adventure at any one of these forgotten pockets of the world, just nothing zones, backwash refuse property in the wake of the great freeways, and I like passing all of them, racing down the freeway, like a tunnel into the night, and racing but still being able to carry on a whole action scene with Joe, and I think it is like life, because I am racing, and time is pushing me forward and it’s not going to stop and I will have a few passengers in the vehicle with me, and it’s either enjoy the scenery together, or listen to some music we both like, and let’s just have at all of it or have at none of it at all.
We smoke with Hector. Hector gets us really fucking high. Finally, he sells us some quality. We smoke out of his mini dragon bong, out in the darker corner of the parking lot. It’s a great spot, you walk up the hill a little ways and there are willows. I think they might be the weeping ones. There is a small stream and brick edifices on the sides of that. There is a faux altar constructed out of stones.
We smoke more. I think about the little dragon that the bong is and I so wish that dragons were real, because it would mean that none of this shit was the end of everything, because even if you were high, this world only let you escape a little bit, it let you escape enough that you knew that there could be something better, but it wouldn’t let you into that place; like standing on the threshold of a place and seeing something so bright and tantalizing and warm, womb warm, in there, but not being able to enter, just feeling the heat a little on your face, and you want to cry and smile, but instead you just stare because you can’t do anything. You can’t step in.
“Hector,” I say. I am lying on the altar thing. Hector is sitting against the base of the willow’s trunk. “Would you rather be the pope or Pablo Escobar?”
Hector doesn’t think long.
“Escobar.”
“Pope gets to live in the Vatican, see Michelangelo all the time,” I say.
“Escobar,” says Joe. He is higher than us, I can tell. He hogged more of the weed than Hector and I and he is hunched like a pile of trash against the base of the altar. He hangs forward like a sleeping mule.
“Shut up, Joe,” I say. “We know what you want. You want the knife.”
“What knife?” says Hector.
“This puta wanted to cut out your heart with this knife,” I say and hold up the knife for Hector to see. It reflects a little in the dark. I can see the sky in it.
“I would fucking kill you, homes,” Hector says to Joe. He seems angry, but he’s too tired, too high.
“I didn’t say I wanted to …” says Joe, but he doesn’t finish.
“Fuck you, lardass,” says Hector, and Hector and I laugh, and Joe shifts a little because he’s angry, but he is too lazy to get up, so he just shifts. He’s still looking at the ground when he says,
“No, Hector, this fucker is always asking me stupid questions and trying to kill me. That’s how I lost my tooth.”
“No,” says Hector. “You lost that because you’re too fat for seatbelts.”
We laugh and laugh.
We sit for a while not saying anything. I can feel their thoughts rubbing on mine and corroding me, killing me. Mexican thoughts.
“Hector,” I say.
“Yes,” he says without looking up.
“Would you rather be gay or be a girl?”
He chuckles. Hector can be cool sometimes. Sometimes he even seems wise.
“Neither,” he says.
“Just saying,” I say. “If you had to choose because the genie said so, what would you choose?”
Joe, still looking at the dark dirt, says, “Both still have to suck dick.”
“Exactly,” says Hector. And Joe laughs a little, a chuckling and leaning pile of trash below me.
“Would that be so bad?” I say. “Don’t you ever get jealous of those girls in pornos that get to be on their knees in the middle of all those dicks?”
“Are you fucking serious?” says Hector.
“Don’t,” says Joe. “This faggot is always asking stupid questions and giving stupid answers. Dude is always going weird and faggoty and talking death and talking about sucking dicks. For no reason. I’m about done with it, for tonight at least.”
“No,” says Hector. “This faggot is serious.” He’s looking at me now, I can tell.
“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t you like the idea of an around-the-world blowbang?”
“I like to have a girl suck my dick, but I don’t want to do it,” says Hector.
“Me neither,” says Joe, but he is mumbling.
“Why not?” I say. “What’s the difference?”
“What’s the difference?” says Hector. “Because I am going in, and she is being got inside of.”
“And why is one better? Why does going inside make you better? Aren’t you like on her turf inside her, isn’t she in control of you? Like a mommy with her little baby making him feel good?”
“Because,” says Hector, “some take and some get taken. I take. I do unto others. Why, you like to bottom? That’s cool. You don’t even got to be gay to be a bottom, man. It’s politics. I’ve had my dick sucked by a dude once. Never gave it a thought. I even jerked him his dick for him. We were friends and young and on good molly and it was a great day. So, why the dick on your mind? You upset Joe with it, not sure why, but you did not upset me. You want to suck my dick or something? I bet you’ve never done it. You curious? Hope you like foreskin. I think you’re too ticklish.” Joe walks across the lot to the street. Hector says,”Walk back here and you put your mouth where your mouth is.” I follow him past the altar and the willow. Once we’re out of sight, he lights up a blunt he’s saved, smiles at me like we just pulled one over on Joe. “I would have sucked your dick,” I say.
On the way home Joe and I are driving down the empty freeway. It’s like two-thirty in the morning and we’re still pretty high. I look up, directly at the rows of street lights above us, I see the spectrum of colors turning on top of each other in the core of the street light’s bulbs.
I feel like I’m remembering all this from somewhere, I’m not sure where, everything is hazy, I remember that there is an angel named Michael, and he had a flaming sword, and engraved on the handle were the words angelic scum.
I say to Joe,
“Let’s drive the wrong way down the other side of the freeway.”
Joe is asleep, but he mumbles a, “Wha’?” and I can see the black gap just to the left of the center of his mouth. Better to let him sleep.
“I’m going to go over on that side,” I say. Better to just let him sleep. I think of the olden times, when knights would aim long sturdy lances at each other and you would feel that when it hit you, feel that force of the momentum of the horses’ pumping channeled into the lance, and for a second you might know that you were really alive. Then that feeling passes and you realize you’ve lost the joust and you’re lying on the ground in shame and humiliation and dust. And a little ways down the freeway there is a gap in the center barrier. I turn the radio down. I turn the radio off. I turn the wheel and I cross over.
Tags: esquire, giancarlo ditrapano, James Franco
i feel as though james franco had some profound ideas made stupid by his style, and gian served the role of excavationist to reveal a real gem. i’m rather astonished by the before and after pictures. this has made my mind do a double-take. i’m stupid with words so i’ll just say, i am taken aback by this, not just the outcome but the mechanics of the process made so visible.
i feel as though james franco had some profound ideas made stupid by his style, and gian served the role of excavationist to reveal a real gem. i’m rather astonished by the before and after pictures. this has made my mind do a double-take. i’m stupid with words so i’ll just say, i am taken aback by this, not just the outcome but the mechanics of the process made so visible.
Thumbs up.
Now for the love of Christ … fix Topher’s story in Prairie Schooner.
Thumbs up.
Now for the love of Christ … fix Topher’s story in Prairie Schooner.
Topher? What did I miss?
Topher? What did I miss?
topher writes unassailable-domestic-realism, somehow unaffiliated with any feeling of being mfa or phd-ish.
topher writes unassailable-domestic-realism, somehow unaffiliated with any feeling of being mfa or phd-ish.
what is a topher
what is a topher
i liked this (still don’t care for the story) but the exercise was interesting. kind of think a fun thing would be if all the editors here or who read here could do this to like one ‘famous’ story every once and while. or not famous, but sort of famous. would be neat to watch. and to judge, i guess, too.
i liked this (still don’t care for the story) but the exercise was interesting. kind of think a fun thing would be if all the editors here or who read here could do this to like one ‘famous’ story every once and while. or not famous, but sort of famous. would be neat to watch. and to judge, i guess, too.
My favorite revision:
“Joe thinks. I can’t hear it, but I imagine rust-worn gears flaking and groaning slowly into motion. I curse myself for that cliche thought. I’d like to say I even smell it, but that would only make things worse. To my knowledge, there is no yellow smoke emanating from his skull from all the thinking he’s doing.”
And nice job on the ending. I would have changed it / its meaning. You rescued it.
My favorite revision:
“Joe thinks. I can’t hear it, but I imagine rust-worn gears flaking and groaning slowly into motion. I curse myself for that cliche thought. I’d like to say I even smell it, but that would only make things worse. To my knowledge, there is no yellow smoke emanating from his skull from all the thinking he’s doing.”
And nice job on the ending. I would have changed it / its meaning. You rescued it.
Good job on this.
FYI it was published in the print magazine, not just online.
Good job on this.
FYI it was published in the print magazine, not just online.
lmao
lmao
Yes, it is better. It now sucks as opposed to being why everyone at any beach will be reading novels, not SS collections.
(That’s actually a different conversation. Why aren’t SS collections pushed more?
So Cue and Dough, I say.
Yes, it is better. It now sucks as opposed to being why everyone at any beach will be reading novels, not SS collections.
(That’s actually a different conversation. Why aren’t SS collections pushed more?
So Cue and Dough, I say.
I’m in the dark too. Is the internet on collective first-name terms with him?
I’m in the dark too. Is the internet on collective first-name terms with him?
Hmmm…but isn’t the whole to make ideas brilliant through style? Otherwise, why even bother writing fiction?
Hmmm…but isn’t the whole to make ideas brilliant through style? Otherwise, why even bother writing fiction?
i don’t know that that’s fair. maybe i’m misunderstanding you, though, sean. are you saying that the edit sucks? & that the original has now achieved suckiness instead of worse? i actually liked the story OK the first time around (i have serious problems with the limitations of first person present, either way–it’s a boring and insanely limiting point of view) but think Gian’s edits do good work toward making this story punchy and more exciting. not surprisingly, this is some editing magic. anyway, whatever. i’ll read james franco’s collection when it comes out. i’m actually looking forward to it.
i think you raise a good question, re: why collection aren’t pushed more.
also: who is Topher?
i don’t know that that’s fair. maybe i’m misunderstanding you, though, sean. are you saying that the edit sucks? & that the original has now achieved suckiness instead of worse? i actually liked the story OK the first time around (i have serious problems with the limitations of first person present, either way–it’s a boring and insanely limiting point of view) but think Gian’s edits do good work toward making this story punchy and more exciting. not surprisingly, this is some editing magic. anyway, whatever. i’ll read james franco’s collection when it comes out. i’m actually looking forward to it.
i think you raise a good question, re: why collection aren’t pushed more.
also: who is Topher?
Yeah, who is Topher?
Also, this edit is great, but at the same time, and indictment on Franco (IMO).
*the whole point
Yeah, who is Topher?
Also, this edit is great, but at the same time, and indictment on Franco (IMO).
*the whole point
*an indictment.
typos…grr.
*an indictment.
typos…grr.
DAVE E IS THERE TOO MUCH EMBARRASSMENT TO SAY “TOPHER GRACE”? BUT ZZZZIPP DOESN’T KNOW IF HE ACTUALLY PUBLISHES STORIES OR NOT BECAUSE THAT INFORMATION IS NOT IN GOOGLE TOP TEN
DAVE E IS THERE TOO MUCH EMBARRASSMENT TO SAY “TOPHER GRACE”? BUT ZZZZIPP DOESN’T KNOW IF HE ACTUALLY PUBLISHES STORIES OR NOT BECAUSE THAT INFORMATION IS NOT IN GOOGLE TOP TEN
The big publishers aren’t looking for short story collections right now because novels easily outsell them. The small presses are the only ones serious about the short story. Sad, really.
Dammit, who the hell is Topher?
The big publishers aren’t looking for short story collections right now because novels easily outsell them. The small presses are the only ones serious about the short story. Sad, really.
Dammit, who the hell is Topher?
The edit is fine. It made yet another realist story in this view go from bad to what we expected. The edit improved the piece. Look, this is only one reader who has read ten zillion my uncle’s car stories speaking. I’m sure ti clicks for others, so no worries.
The story wasn’t going to work with me, period. The edit did make it better, no argument there.
The edit is fine. It made yet another realist story in this view go from bad to what we expected. The edit improved the piece. Look, this is only one reader who has read ten zillion my uncle’s car stories speaking. I’m sure ti clicks for others, so no worries.
The story wasn’t going to work with me, period. The edit did make it better, no argument there.
I agree, Sean. I feel like I’ve read this story a million times already.
I agree, Sean. I feel like I’ve read this story a million times already.
uh, i think the connection david was making is franco and chris’topher grace both being in a spiderman movie. as for on first name terms with him, he’s the only guy who goes by topher, so sure. nobody knows that guy? i mean, i had to look up lady gaga when that post happened.
i have no idea if topher publishes stories. we can hope.
uh, i think the connection david was making is franco and chris’topher grace both being in a spiderman movie. as for on first name terms with him, he’s the only guy who goes by topher, so sure. nobody knows that guy? i mean, i had to look up lady gaga when that post happened.
i have no idea if topher publishes stories. we can hope.
cuz at some point ‘content’ needs to take over from the ‘style”s core-less sheen, otherwise, your tale will rot from within, you know, metaphorically.
cuz at some point ‘content’ needs to take over from the ‘style”s core-less sheen, otherwise, your tale will rot from within, you know, metaphorically.
yep, me too sean. gian’s got it reading much better. but still, it feels like a formula to me: wreck thing in beginning, crossing over at end; the violence all nicely set up, the knife waiting there to be a knife; the perfectly mirrored conversations. filled in well and all. it’s really competent.
yep, me too sean. gian’s got it reading much better. but still, it feels like a formula to me: wreck thing in beginning, crossing over at end; the violence all nicely set up, the knife waiting there to be a knife; the perfectly mirrored conversations. filled in well and all. it’s really competent.
ohmygod james franco is so hot
ohmygod james franco is so hot
What style did you see in the first version?
Aren’t we saying the same thing?
What style did you see in the first version?
Aren’t we saying the same thing?
Or, is “style” code now for maximalist work?
At his best, Carver was a superb stylist.
Or, is “style” code now for maximalist work?
At his best, Carver was a superb stylist.
he was on that 90s-00s show
he was on that 90s-00s show
I dunno. At the risk of being the odd one out (even odder than Sean), I’m gonna say I am not feeling this story at all, Esquire or Tyrant versions, the latter of which seems less an edit than a rewrite. As collaboration, it’s fine and such an exercise can be fun, I know, but the story is still weak (content AND language), and there are still many weak lines (unredeemable to begin with, probably): “He is large, a chub, and his bear body falls all around him and rests on the seat… He has the voice of a heavy man, he has that gurgle.” — This is put-on, affect, trying too hard, no better than the original: “He is large, and his weight spreads from his belly across the seat, like it was a plastic sack full of liquid, rolling in layers upon itself… a boar’s grunt, a deep thing, from the thick part of his throat.” Same problems, arguably more so b/c the first simile is just bad and the last part is straight wannabe. Then there’s the whole “shadows make it shadow-color…” Please. Show me contemporary fiction w/ imagination, at least an attempt. This is third grade AFFECT. Boring. Lazy. Overdone. Need I go on? I won’t. I’m done. Apologies if my critique offends anyone. I’ve just had it with this “style” of writing. I shouldn’t have written this, probably, but I did, so here ya go.
I dunno. At the risk of being the odd one out (even odder than Sean), I’m gonna say I am not feeling this story at all, Esquire or Tyrant versions, the latter of which seems less an edit than a rewrite. As collaboration, it’s fine and such an exercise can be fun, I know, but the story is still weak (content AND language), and there are still many weak lines (unredeemable to begin with, probably): “He is large, a chub, and his bear body falls all around him and rests on the seat… He has the voice of a heavy man, he has that gurgle.” — This is put-on, affect, trying too hard, no better than the original: “He is large, and his weight spreads from his belly across the seat, like it was a plastic sack full of liquid, rolling in layers upon itself… a boar’s grunt, a deep thing, from the thick part of his throat.” Same problems, arguably more so b/c the first simile is just bad and the last part is straight wannabe. Then there’s the whole “shadows make it shadow-color…” Please. Show me contemporary fiction w/ imagination, at least an attempt. This is third grade AFFECT. Boring. Lazy. Overdone. Need I go on? I won’t. I’m done. Apologies if my critique offends anyone. I’ve just had it with this “style” of writing. I shouldn’t have written this, probably, but I did, so here ya go.
You aren’t wrong at all, man. This was just some messing around. With a name like that, why you so shy? Go on and give it to me good.
You aren’t wrong at all, man. This was just some messing around. With a name like that, why you so shy? Go on and give it to me good.
“It was pinned at quarter-thigh where the denim fringe of her Daisy Dukes peeked out like tendrils.”
But, is this yours? Just curious.
“It was pinned at quarter-thigh where the denim fringe of her Daisy Dukes peeked out like tendrils.”
But, is this yours? Just curious.
Topher’s that 70’s show guy. David Eggers also has a brother named Topher though. The only Tophers I’ve ever heard of. Wait. I know three. If my name was as beautiful as Christopher and people called me something that might as well be Gopher, I’d nip it in the bud. You’d have to be violent, maybe hit someone, to make sure everyone knew were not comfortable with it. Growing up in West Virginia with Gian (Geon) as a name was also not the easiest thing. My black friends loved it.
I might erase that shit above if I could. I’m drunk and what am I saying? I’m sorry, Jesus. Forgive me, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, for making me gay.
Topher’s that 70’s show guy. David Eggers also has a brother named Topher though. The only Tophers I’ve ever heard of. Wait. I know three. If my name was as beautiful as Christopher and people called me something that might as well be Gopher, I’d nip it in the bud. You’d have to be violent, maybe hit someone, to make sure everyone knew were not comfortable with it. Growing up in West Virginia with Gian (Geon) as a name was also not the easiest thing. My black friends loved it.
I might erase that shit above if I could. I’m drunk and what am I saying? I’m sorry, Jesus. Forgive me, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus, for making me gay.
It’s all alright, West Virginia Gianni. I thought I might be turning, too, when I saw that photo of Franco w/ the bear. Not really, but um, I dunno. Is it idiotic of me to say that I doubt a guy can look like that and still write, er, well? A female writer friend once told me she thinks a lot of female colleagues are hot, but the guys… not so much. And yeah, uh… not *my* Daisy Dukes, but my lines, yep. Not unfun, I hope. Thanks for letting me vent on that story. I feel better now. You?
It’s all alright, West Virginia Gianni. I thought I might be turning, too, when I saw that photo of Franco w/ the bear. Not really, but um, I dunno. Is it idiotic of me to say that I doubt a guy can look like that and still write, er, well? A female writer friend once told me she thinks a lot of female colleagues are hot, but the guys… not so much. And yeah, uh… not *my* Daisy Dukes, but my lines, yep. Not unfun, I hope. Thanks for letting me vent on that story. I feel better now. You?
This is great Gian. Shouldn’t there be a journal of re-edited stories that were already published? Why not take an old Oates (not Hall’s partner) or the Nabokov the NYer keeps pumping out. A friend plopped Roethke’s The Far Field into one of those word crunching computer programs years ago, cutting out 50% and the editor of the Northwest Review told him was a much better poem than the originial.
It seems most stories need more and more cutting–this could be a service to people. We could remake literature.
This is great Gian. Shouldn’t there be a journal of re-edited stories that were already published? Why not take an old Oates (not Hall’s partner) or the Nabokov the NYer keeps pumping out. A friend plopped Roethke’s The Far Field into one of those word crunching computer programs years ago, cutting out 50% and the editor of the Northwest Review told him was a much better poem than the originial.
It seems most stories need more and more cutting–this could be a service to people. We could remake literature.
[…] New York Tyrant takes some time out of his busy day to edit James Franco. […]
That’s great idea, Greg. But it would require a team of nimble editors, I think, and I wonder if “fair use” would fly in terms of copyright issues. In the least it would be fun, and for writer/editors, it seems like a beneficial exercise.
That’s great idea, Greg. But it would require a team of nimble editors, I think, and I wonder if “fair use” would fly in terms of copyright issues. In the least it would be fun, and for writer/editors, it seems like a beneficial exercise.
Great edit. Enjoyed the Tyrant version.
Great edit. Enjoyed the Tyrant version.
re: style in 1st version
can’t say i saw much of anything, well, anything other than a voice learning to find itself.
and what i think you interpreted as offence on my part (re: ‘content’) came from my reading of your use of the world “style” as a reference to the class style/substance divide. so, actually, we were saying different things at different versions of what the other person had said. so, yeah.
re: “style”
heh. in my book, “maximalist” is code for “requires significant editing.”
re: style in 1st version
can’t say i saw much of anything, well, anything other than a voice learning to find itself.
and what i think you interpreted as offence on my part (re: ‘content’) came from my reading of your use of the world “style” as a reference to the class style/substance divide. so, actually, we were saying different things at different versions of what the other person had said. so, yeah.
re: “style”
heh. in my book, “maximalist” is code for “requires significant editing.”
Much.
Much.
You wrote that “eventually content has to take over from style’s core-less sheen.” This doesn’t make much sense at all, because in order for the content to “take over” effectively, the style has to have some sort of “core” to begin with, otherwise, how is the content “taking over”?
You wrote that “eventually content has to take over from style’s core-less sheen.” This doesn’t make much sense at all, because in order for the content to “take over” effectively, the style has to have some sort of “core” to begin with, otherwise, how is the content “taking over”?
re: how is the content “taking over”?
by giving a Reader Reason to continue reading.
this is going to sound ridiculous, but if this “sheen” is as i described it: “core-less,” what automatically makes the “core” of a “style” “core-less”?
re: how is the content “taking over”?
by giving a Reader Reason to continue reading.
this is going to sound ridiculous, but if this “sheen” is as i described it: “core-less,” what automatically makes the “core” of a “style” “core-less”?
I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve never considered good style mere “sheen,” nor have I ever considered fiction “content” possible without sentences.
I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve never considered good style mere “sheen,” nor have I ever considered fiction “content” possible without sentences.
the only point that i feel like i’ve actually been making: good writing (and literature) requires a healthy balance of its usefulness as a means of cultural arbitration (its “content” or “substance”) along with its ability to dazzle the eye in an entertaining and engaging way (its “style”).
and since i don’t see this ending any time soon… let me put it another way:
Charlie Sheen may have a Substance problem, but that doesn’t mean such a “dependency” won’t have a positive impact on the Style he presents to the public.
/it’s hard to fight back the urge to constantly be pulling somebody’s legerdemain out from under them…
the only point that i feel like i’ve actually been making: good writing (and literature) requires a healthy balance of its usefulness as a means of cultural arbitration (its “content” or “substance”) along with its ability to dazzle the eye in an entertaining and engaging way (its “style”).
and since i don’t see this ending any time soon… let me put it another way:
Charlie Sheen may have a Substance problem, but that doesn’t mean such a “dependency” won’t have a positive impact on the Style he presents to the public.
/it’s hard to fight back the urge to constantly be pulling somebody’s legerdemain out from under them…
Here on Mars we love NY Tyrant. When’s the next issue due out?
Here on Mars we love NY Tyrant. When’s the next issue due out?
I love you Gian, love Tyrant, hell love Christ and racehorses and cigarettes and NYC and prostitutes etc. But this story is a loss in my eyes. I lost interest. It doesn’t have it.
I love you Gian, love Tyrant, hell love Christ and racehorses and cigarettes and NYC and prostitutes etc. But this story is a loss in my eyes. I lost interest. It doesn’t have it.
and by a long fucking shot.
and by a long fucking shot.
…but it’s better with the edits. Of course it is. Hell of an editor, and he wouldn’t have taken it in the first place. Esquire. Jeesh. Lish. Who is picking this stuff for Esquire now?
…but it’s better with the edits. Of course it is. Hell of an editor, and he wouldn’t have taken it in the first place. Esquire. Jeesh. Lish. Who is picking this stuff for Esquire now?
Dear Anchovies,”It’s better with the edits.” Thank you. It was not “great” before my edits, and it ain’t “great” after. Just better. Baby steps. I feel like doing it again. Any recommendations?
Dear Anchovies,”It’s better with the edits.” Thank you. It was not “great” before my edits, and it ain’t “great” after. Just better. Baby steps. I feel like doing it again. Any recommendations?
I just thought of something! Why don’t one of you try to edit the original into something better than mine? Good luck with beating my title though. Shit is tight.
I just thought of something! Why don’t one of you try to edit the original into something better than mine? Good luck with beating my title though. Shit is tight.
You know, we have been hearing off and on about this Franco being a writer for a while now. He was supposed to be in the “plumbing” class (and should have) but didn’t, as he had to do a movie or something. We will keep on eye on him, see if he has what it takes.
All I can say, Giancarlo is one ballsy motherfucker. He should be fiction editor for Esquire! I have personally seen the man take pieces I thought were never going to work, and turn them into GOLD.
And Anchovies, I don’t know who you are, but word. I agree.
You know, we have been hearing off and on about this Franco being a writer for a while now. He was supposed to be in the “plumbing” class (and should have) but didn’t, as he had to do a movie or something. We will keep on eye on him, see if he has what it takes.
All I can say, Giancarlo is one ballsy motherfucker. He should be fiction editor for Esquire! I have personally seen the man take pieces I thought were never going to work, and turn them into GOLD.
And Anchovies, I don’t know who you are, but word. I agree.
I can’t believe I missed that joke.
I can’t believe I missed that joke.
What I don’t get is… Why did Franco write this? I don’t mean that in the sense of “it doesn’t deserve to be written.” I mean why, specifically, Franco? Presumably his life as an actor and cultural figure has lead to some pretty interesting experiences/perspectives.
It’s just shocking to me that someone with such a different lifestyle than most MFA students would put out such a “standard” story.
What I don’t get is… Why did Franco write this? I don’t mean that in the sense of “it doesn’t deserve to be written.” I mean why, specifically, Franco? Presumably his life as an actor and cultural figure has lead to some pretty interesting experiences/perspectives.
It’s just shocking to me that someone with such a different lifestyle than most MFA students would put out such a “standard” story.
I wonder that as well, Graham. The world he lives in just MUST have tons of better weirder shit to draw from, you know? But who knows, maybe it doesn’t.
I wonder that as well, Graham. The world he lives in just MUST have tons of better weirder shit to draw from, you know? But who knows, maybe it doesn’t.
ha ha, thanks for the save alan…you are right
i was lamely referring to topher grace (i’ve watched spidey 3 with my son way too much)….don’t think the toph is producing much fiction these days though
ha ha, thanks for the save alan…you are right
i was lamely referring to topher grace (i’ve watched spidey 3 with my son way too much)….don’t think the toph is producing much fiction these days though
damn i go into the hospital for emergency spinal surgery and miss out on all the hoopla my topher joke caused. of course.
damn i go into the hospital for emergency spinal surgery and miss out on all the hoopla my topher joke caused. of course.
[…] James Franco edited by the New York Tyrant. […]
[…] Persino James Franco ha pubblicato un racconto su Esquire (opportunamente editato da HTML Giant qui). Capisco la tendenza editoriale di pubblicare volti noti in altri campi, quasi sempre disgraziata, […]
Hmm… I like this good job.
Hmm… I like this good job.
Super late to the party, but I thought the part about Joe’s appearance smacked of trying *way* to hard to be politcally correct. Some people’s eyes can accurately be described as the color of shit. I have a Hispanic family and a lot of inbred distant cousins; not all of them can be said to have beautiful eyes. There was no need to sanitize that passage.