Enviously on He Sails: Fueling the Writer’s Aspirations

I don’t believe I’ve been to an author reading since moving back to Michigan. While living and studying (and procrastinating) in Iowa, writer appearances often provided my only non-school social interaction. Actually, they were one of the reasons I started this blog, because I was seeing all of these fantastic writers and wanted to share that with those I knew would care. (Unfortunately, after looking through the archives, I believe Fried Rice Thoughts was born after I attended many of those readings.)

But for whatever reason, whether it’s because I just don’t keep track of such things like I used to, I find some excuse not to head downtown (which is surely a sign of onsetting old age), or nothing has raised my literary antennae recently, I haven’t seen a writer I admire read from his or her work, and answer questions from students and followers.

That changed last night when Calvin Trillin was in town, touring to promote his tribute to his late wife, titled About Alice. I’ve been a fan of his writing ever since reading a New Yorker essay about his quest for the perfect New York City bagel (which was intended to lure his daughter back home from California). As soon as I read it, I knew that was the kind of stuff I’d like to create. I like food, I like looking for it, and I like writing. Sign me up.

But it was only in recent years, when I had the chance to devour a bunch of his work while studying nonfiction writing, that I really developed a love for his style, especially the way he’d cast the people in his life as characters for each of his essays and stories. It’s something the best humor writers do, and I noticed that the better pieces I wrote while at Iowa were those in which I similarly cast my friends and family. To a much lesser extent, I often try to present the people in my life as the voices of conscience in opposition to my dopier impulses here in this blog when appropriate.

I usually think it’s best to leave the Literary Adventures to Susannah’s Pub of Knowledge, but About Alice has a particular resonance with me. My mother read a review for it on a flight back home from South Carolina, and very much wanted to read about how someone else was coping with the loss of a spouse. It’s a wisp of a book, so I managed to read the whole thing before giving it to her a few Saturday afternoons ago. But the substance of the writing more than makes up for any lack of volume. It’s a love letter to his wife, which I imagine surprises no one who’s read any of Trillin’s previous work.

“I showed Alice everything I wrote in rough draft – partly because I valued her opinion but partly because I hoped to impress her. If the piece was meant to be funny, the sound of laughter from the next room was a great reward…

“When Alice died, I was going over the galleys of a novel about parking in New York – a subject so silly that I think I would have hesitated to submit the book to a publisher if she hadn’t, somewhat to her surprise, liked it. When the novel was published, the dedication said, ‘I wrote this for Alice. Actually, I wrote everything for Alice.’”

You know, I’m not quite sure who I envy more in that dynamic: the woman whose husband so adored her that he was constantly motivated to impress her with his craft, or the man who found the muse that always fueled his creatitvity. Either way, I think you’d be doing okay. (I suppose as a writer, I’d opt for the muse. But who’s to say you wouldn’t be inspired either way?)

I think I was spoiled by some of those readings in Iowa, because I’d become accustomed to walking up to the author afterwards, handing over a book to sign, and getting to pick their brains regarding whatever secrets to writing ingenuity occurred to me at the time. Unfortunately, the event at Borders was rather tightly controlled. So you want me to write down the personalization on a Post-It for him? I’m handing you the book to hand to him? Do I get to talk to him?

I suppose it’s just as well, because I don’t know what I would’ve said to Trillin, anyway. Actually, I often don’t have much to say, other than to blurt out awkward admiration. Sometimes, however, the author surprises you. I’ll never forget James Ellroy asking me “What’s up, Sayid?” when I handed him my copy of The Big Nowhere. I have no idea why. But I think he was calling everyone that. The smirk on his face said so, at least.

But in this case, what would I have said? The book pretty much says it all. And maybe that’s the point, even if I would’ve loved a good ol’ handshake. Besides, the book kind of felt like the same thing when I carried it in my hand as I walked back to my car.

▪▪ Here’s the New York Times’ review of About Alice.

▪▪ Check out what the Boston Globe thought, as well.

▪▪ And why not see what the Los Angeles Times has to say on the book, too?

▪▪ Finally, the New Yorker has a podcast interview with Trillin available for download.

Wired for writing

As I’ve written before, author readings are one of the best things about Iowa City. Last night, George Pelecanos appeared at Prairie Lights Bookstore to promote his latest novel, Drama City. Pelecanos might be the best crime writer going right now. My frame of reference is smaller than it should be (I’ve only read two of his novels), but what I admire most about Pelecanos’s work is its seeming authenticity. His dialogue, characters, settings all feel real on the page; nothing seems contrived or created. And judging from what Pelecanos said last night during his question-and-answer session, that is no accident.

I only caught the last half of the reading because of a night class, but it was worth the sprint across campus (okay, I don’t sprint – but I was walking very fast). Not only do I enjoy Pelecanos as a novelist, but he also writes for one of my favorite TV shows, HBO’s The Wire. And much to my surprise, many people in the audience admired Pelecanos for the same reason. I couldn’t believe how many questions he was asked about his TV work. Whenever an author appears at a bookstore or on campus, there seems to be an unwritten rule that the discussion shouldn’t touch on TV or film work. Maybe that’s the influence of the Writers Workshop; we’re here to write and talk about literature. Talking about scripts and adaptations – not to mention using cinematic techniques in our prose – is virtually frowned upon.

But Pelecanos was more than willing to talk about writing for The Wire, saying he probably wouldn’t have written Drama City without the experience. His TV work has also allowed him access – such as riding with the Washington D.C. police – that he never would’ve received before. And he apparently isn’t beholden to writing programs such as the Writers Workshop. One of the funnier moments of the evening was his sheepish admission that he’d never taken a writing class. “This is probably the one city in the country where I shouldn’t say that,” he chuckled. When asked what he thought of writing programs, Pelecanos artfully dodged the question and said he liked WordPerfect and Microsoft Word.

And I think that’s consistent with Pelecanos’s work – just create the characters, tell the story, delve into what’s really going on, and above all, make it as real as possible. The process of writing and learning how to tell a story is important, of course, but eventually it comes down to sitting your ass down in front of that computer or notepad and pounding out what you want to say. I think that’s something most aspiring writers need to hear regularly.

Paradise for writing nerds

One of my favorite things about living in Iowa City is the number of authors who visit to promote their books and read their work. In my two years here, I’ve been able to meet some of my favorite writers, including Jonathan Lethem, Dave Eggers, Jeffrey Eugenides, James Ellroy, and Denis Johnson. I know if I lived in a big city, I could probably see all of these writers, and probably many more. But in a rather small, midwestern college town, this seems particularly special.

The Writers’ Workshop at the University of Iowa brings in a lot of writers, many of whom studied in the program. (It’s the reason I moved here too. I’d love to come back someday and revel in my glory.) Whenever a graduate comes back to read from a novel he or she was very likely working on while studying here, it’s an exciting moment. Well, at least for us writers.

Last night at Prairie Lights bookstore, Curtis Sittenfeld read from her debut novel, Prep. (Rather than try to describe the novel – of which I’ve only read 10 pages – here’s a description from her website. Okay, it’s about a girl who leaves Indiana to attend prep school in Massachusetts.) Sittenfeld’s a writer I’ve admired for some time, due to her essays in Salon, the Washington Post, and the New York Times. (I wrote an entry about a hilarious essay she wrote for the Times Book Review almost two months ago. Go on, search those archives; I won’t mind.) Prep is currently #11 on the Times Best-Seller List, and it’s been in stores for just over a month. Not bad.

The reading was also part of the “Live from Prairie Lights” series on radio station WSUI, which means Sittenfeld had the pleasure of being interviewed by the bizarre Julie Englander, who asked insightful questions such as what was it like having a name that many perceive as a man’s name. Englander also asked Sittenfeld to compare the prep school experience to public school. But since Sittenfeld attended prep school, not public school, she really couldn’t answer the question. One would think Englander might’ve realized that before asking. But I digress…

Sittenfeld apparently made a lot of friends during her time in Iowa City because I was standing in line behind every single one of them while waiting to get my book signed. Considering everyone else was getting a hug and a 5-10 minute reunion, I was a little disappointed when I only received an autograph. But I got to tell her that she should make her agent shop around a collection of her nonfiction work. She seemed to think I’d be the only one who’d read it, but I doubt it. (Sittenfeld was either too modest to tell me that most of those articles and essays are on her website or she’d forgotten about it.)

How often do you get to chat with someone whose work you really admire? On nights like this, I don’t regret moving to Iowa City at all.