In the music world, there's a certain fondness for the one-hit-wonder, the band that produces a single shining moment and then vanishes forever. In truth they've probably kept going for several years, slaving away in dead-end clubs, but as far as the public are concerned they were only creators of music for that one 3 minute period.

It got me thinking about writers, and poets in particular, because their words are often so easy to remember, and the one-hit-wonder effect. A poet might work their whole life but only be remembered for one fistful of words. Like Robert Service, whose poem "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" hung around his neck for his whole life like an albatross:


A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.
When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house
...


I remember reading how he ended up sick to death of that poem. But there's no doubt it etched his name into history.

Here's another shooting star. Cats by AJS Tessimond. His work is hard to get hold of now, out of print mostly. But through this little poem he's contributed one of the most memorable and lovely images in poetry.


Cats

Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.

They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.


Here's to having a moment of glory. No matter how small.

Apologies to auraesque for stomping all over her Friday.

It's been a while, but it's time once again to turn our attentions to those more published than ourselves.

This week, as you may have noticed, the recent Nobel Prize winner, Doris Lessing, was asked her opinion on various things and one of her startling revelations was that she felt that the events of 9/11 were "not that terrible" when one "goes back over the history of the IRA" and compares the two.

It's hard to agree with her on this issue, even just when comparing cold facts: deaths from IRA actions were 1800, of which some 600 were "civilians", over a 30 year period starting in 1969; deaths from the 9/11 events were 2,974, all "civilians", in one day. Comparing a long term conflict with a single atrocity is meaningless, and yet she makes the comparison. Whatever conclusions you care to draw, whatever your opinion on the events of 9/11 or the way they've been used as justification for subsequent military and political actions, it's hard to see how anyone could arrive at the conclusion that 9/11 was "not that terrible".

If the guy working behind the bar had said these things, you'd probably just raise your eyebrows and ignore him. After a few beers you might take issue with him. After a hit of PCP you might grab him by the hair and smash his face to a bloody pulp against the bar and set fire to his house... but I digress. The point is, opinions of writers are taken seriously, regardless of their experience or lack of it in a particular field. They are taken seriously by the media, and as a consequence by the public.

Why is this? Why, of all the professions, are writers given a platform? Famous doctors may come on TV shows to be asked about medical matters, famous engineers to be asked about falling bridges or flawed buildings, but bring on an author and suddenly they are experts in all matters political, social, psychological, philosophical. Perhaps it is because we expect our wisdom to be couched in rich and elaborate language, language with big words and solid structures. Writers are good with words, they can form impressive sentences and dress up any opinion in the language of intellect and expertise, so why not ask them? Whatever answer you get, it's sure to sound like the right answer, isn't it?

Should the opinions of writers be taken any more seriously than anyone else's? If so why?

You have to admire the chutzpah, the swagger, the confidence, of a writer who fires off a first novel written in the monstrously in-your-face second person, present-tense mode. And make it work so beautifully, too - drawing every sweaty drop from that twitchy, claustrophobic narrative. I'm talking about Jay McInerney's 1984 debut Bright Lights, Big City.

I have to be honest and admit that I have never read any of his other books, but this one grabbed me from the first paragraph and never let go.

What do you think of this unusual mode, does it draw you in, or push you away?

( Excerpt )

I'd like to talk to you a little bit about Raymond Carver. I don't want to lecture you. I'm not going to try and place him in his literary context - I have no idea. Nor talk about the many writers he has influenced - what of it? Instead I'm going to tell you that I first picked up his collected short stories in the mid-eighties and was immediately struck by his very personal and identifiable style. He spawned the term "Carveresque" after all. I'm not sure if it's a "love-it or hate-it", but it's certainly an addictively succinct voice.

In the excerpt I've included below, you can see a lot of key facets of the Carver style I think. It's all about simplicity, and coolness. Coolness as in detachment, matter-of-fact delivery, and a general lack of any emotional "push" from the author. The language seems to be chosen deliberately to avoid eliciting a direct emotional response. That is, he just states what is happening, very simply and without adornment, and leaves it entirely to the reader to form their emotional reaction.

The short sentences state a fact, or report a detail, but the use of adverbs and adjectives is very sparing. Things just are, and the author refrains from telling us what he thinks about these things, or try to give them depth beyond the fact of their existence.

Check out as well the dialogue attribution. The "he said, she said" clauses around the dialogue. Whereas people often aim to leave these out as much as possible, or to vary them all over the place to add colour, Carver quite deliberately sticks to very regimental "he said, she said, he said" giving the effect of reading a legal document or a police report.

I think the sparsity of the description gives every detail added weight and impact, so Carver uses these to throw light around the piece like a stage director. See:

     "How about the TV?" the boy said.
     "Twenty-five."
     "Would you take fifteen?" the girl said.
     "Fifteen's okay. I could take fifteen," the man said.
     The girl looked at the boy.
     "You kids, you'll want a drink," the man said.


"The girl looked at the boy..." tells you everything.

Okay enough prattling. Here is an excerpt from Why Don't You Dance?. In this story a man is putting all the contents of his house out front, ostensibly to sell them. At the beginning of the story we see him take the stuff out and then arranging it just as it was inside the house, even plugging in the appliances. While he is out getting a few groceries, a girl and boy drive by, notice the "sale" and stop to look around.

( Why Don't You Dance? )

Over to you. Carver? Do you love him or hate him? And why?

prosetry or prose-poetry is a difficult, perhaps unimaginable, concept. ¿is it prose holding to the tenets of poetry? prose with a spine of artifice and concinnity? poetry unraveled into a bumbling paragraph? that "other" category where we stow work we don't understand?

personally, i don't know. i've tried it off and on and can never tell if my work is simply prose with a surfeit of metaphor and device or if it truly achieves prosetry. the problem is, it has no real definition. in theory, we could label books like, To the Lighthouse, The Unnamable or Finnegan's Wake as prose-poetry, but most critics would disagree. however, Rimbaud wrote tome-length poems which are happily embraced in this genre

suffice it to say, i've got no fricking clue. so, write a few, see how they taste. here are some contemporary examples and one of my personal favorites

( Eating the Birds )
( A love of music )
( The Pleasures of the Door )

Nyarlathotep by H.P. Lovecraft

i picked up Lampblack and ash by Simone Muench at a local meet 'n' greet. she is an English Professor at a local Catholic College, editor of ACM, has been published in a few notable mags (Poetry, Indiana Review, The Paris Review etc.) and is winner of the 2004 Kathrun A. Morton Prize in Poetry. all that being said, i'm not sure if i rock on her stuff. ¿what do y'all think?

( Why Women don't Wear Silk Aprons )
( I'm Like You, My Dear )
( Tom Waits, I Hate You-- )

a thousand bridges to the rear and still more to fear, let's rest a spell to read and tell

continuing in the vein of poets which I like (with the addendum that i do requests) i'm going to share some Richard Brautigan today. yes, many people cite him as an irreverent hack, a naive hippy, an overexposed pompadour - but no matter what you say, you have to respect a man who wrote an entire novel with a primary thrust being how to spell 'mayonnaise'

( Richard Brautigan )

¡and like a shot, out of the West, Thursday Published Piece Pounces!

every Thursday i'll post some words, thoughts and pieces by artists who have managed to survive the gantlet that is the world of Publication. feel free to offer insight, discussion, rebukes, reprieves or advice. and, don't keep who you'd like to see private, i do requests willingly

i wanted to start things out with a few treasured, never tarnished, loves of my poetic life. in the end, i'm a dirty romantic and can't help but admire artists who bring poetry back to its roots - namely, anywhich way to entice the love of your life into swooning with desire

( Pablo Neruda )

Fairy tales are meant for the younger set, nowadays, but can anyone really dismiss a first love?

The following is an excerpt from a story of Emma Donoghue's collection, Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins. Each story is a retelling of a classic fairy tale, all told by a long line of women who transcend time and generation to form bonds and communicate to one another. Now, the series may be categorized for "young adults", but there are many rifts on grown-up themes and the stories themselves are far too interesting to pass up.

Have you ever re-imagined an old tale into something new?

( The Tale of the Cottage )

With apologies to anyone who has already read this book. It's becoming a popular book as of late. If you have read it, I would be curious to know what you thought. If I can convince you to read it, the same would apply.

You are about to read the first chapter of my vote for the best novel of 2005. Written by Elliot Perlman, Seven Types of Ambiguity topped the best-of lists of many notable literature critics and for good reason. It is a novel about a kidnapping, but to say that this book is about a kidnapping is like saying that Don Quixote is about windmills, that Fahrenheit 451 is about firemen, or that the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is about rafting.

The novel is divided into seven sections, each section narrated by a different character. As you get to know the characters in the novel, you will begin to think that you know is speaking when a section begins. In most cases, you will be wrong. And to me, that is what is most impressive about this work: there are seven narrators and Perlman has a distinct voice for each.

I am also quite enamored with the breadth of knowledge Perlman seems to have. He goes into great detail about, among other things, stockbroking, prostitution, literary critique, postmodernism, poetry, motivational work camps, psychiatry, legal procedure, multiple sclerosis, and counting cards at Blackjack in casinos. I didn't make that one last one up. Seriously, if we all read this book a few times, and then took a road trip to Vegas, we could all be very, very rich.

Perlman gets started right away with the ambiguous narrator shenanigans in the first chapter. Who is speaking? Who are they speaking to? What are they speaking about? As stated earlier, any guessing will be undoubtedly proven wrong in the second chapter.

I admire this work, and this writer greatly, and cannot recommend this novel highly enough.

( Seven Types of Ambiguity by Elliot Perlman, Chapter One )

"You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade."

So begins Italo Calvino's most famous novel, If On A Winter's Night A Traveler.

( Read more... )

I just found out I was down for this today, lucky I checked my inbox.
So, I have chosen a poem by A.B "Banjo" Paterson, I enjoy his poetry, he was an Australian and lived a while ago (1864-1941). He is well known over here but I'm not so sure about abroad...
Since it's short I decided it was not worth putting behind a cut...if I have done anything wrong yell at me and I will take note not to do so next time :)  Enjoy.

Inspired by the birds here in downtown Oakland, at Lake Merritt, I take a daily walk like Jack London and John Muir. This weekend, I wondered to myself: "Why aren't there any cranes?" Plenty of pigeons, ducks, heron live on the lake; but I don't see any cranes. Often I spot snowy white egrets. Regal as white swans, the egrets have longer, thinner necks. Canadian Geese are in town. Suddenly, I realize that I don't even know how to identify a crane. What does a crane look like? Could I pick out a crane in a water fowl line-up?

Have you ever spotted a Crane? Or noticed what birds, plants, trees, or mountain ranges surround you?

Has a moment in nature ever inspired you to write?

( Excerpt )

I have been lately obsessed with Tony Hoagland, and to prepare myself for the AWP conference I bought all of his books-- and this poem just strikes me as amazing and well-done. I think it works not only for it's honesty and imagery, but the theme of cherishing those we love is not something most writers can find tangible words for. I love the simple idea that while the abstract idea is there, Hoagland manages to give enough concrete to make the reader feel truly "Lucky".

( Read more... )

Where else could you find a prince, a vampire, a thief, an artist that can bring his creations to life, a gladiator turned crime-lord, a lovable storyteller, a pub owner, a shape-shifter, a necromancer who's lovers turn up dead, a demon, a terrorist, and a myriad of other characters that are all primary characters?

Edited by Robert Asprin and Lynn Abbey, Thieves World began as a single fantasy anthology that rapidly evolved into an epic story of one backwater city's inhabitants as they fight through angry Gods, plagues, invasion, and civil war.

Thieves World is a series of books that are a collection of short stories. The difference is, all of the contributors (over 25 different writers) of those stories can interact their characters with other characters. They can expand on a supporting character's bit piece, join and break alliances, they can even kill the other writer's characters off, though not in an easy fashion.

There are 12 books in the original series, with reissues now coming out with a few extras added in. There is also a new generation of books (without Robert Asprin) with 3 in the series so far. And finally there are graphic novels based on the city of Sanctuary, inked by Tim Sale (Myth Adventures) and edited by Laurie Sutton (DC and Marvel/Epic).

( Example from Thieves' World, Book 9 )

I think it would be an interesting challenge on here to take a character from another writer's past prompt response, and have it interact with your own. Of course, asking permission first... :)

There are any number of great reasons to despise Canadian Literature (CanLit). Examples: its false nostalgia for an obscenely idyllic rusticism unknown to the 85% of the population that reside in large cities; limited conflict with low emotional stakes and complacent protagonists; smug prose suited only to authorially pretentious readings at an awards ceremony with the Governor General.

Now, not all Canadian authors deal with typical Canlit topics, such as the movement from rural to urban environments. Indeed, not all even write what I would call Canlit. Andrew Pyper, however, in his short story If you Lived Here you'd be Home by Now, treats precisely this experience of rustic urbanization, and I am curious as to whether you think he does it well.

The following: Good CanLit or TrashCan Lit?

( Andrew Pyper, If you Lived Here, you'd be Home by Now )

OK, the book I’ve picked here is called “The Plot Against America,” by Philip Roth. It’s an autobiography, the story of his childhood. But it’s also an alternate history. In this history, Charles Lindberg, the famous aviator (and fanatical isolationist, here) beat Roosevelt to the White House in 1940, after having blamed the Jews for pushing America towards a war with Nazi Germany. He then negotiated a memorandum of understanding with Hitler, and things get worse from there. In Philip’s immediate family, there is a collaborator (his aunt, whose proudest moment is when she gets to dance with Von Ribbentrop at a formal reception at the White House), a fifth columnist (his brother Sandy), a cousin (Alvin) who heads to Canada to sign up to fight Hitler, and his quiet, beleaguered parents, who knuckle down the best they can and pray for the world to come to its senses.

This excerpt comes after his father (Herman) has been ‘offered’ the chance by his employer to take part in a government scheme that would move the little family to Kentucky, far away from their community and friends. It is clear that the aim is to split up Jewish communities. In an act of defiance, Herman has quit his job, and gone to work for his brother (Uncle Monty), carrying crates of fruit and vegetables in the market.

( The second time the FBI entered our lives, it was my father who was under surveillance. )


OK, questions:
Can you tell where and when this piece is set (without reading my introduction)? How?
What do you think of his writing style? Is it easy to read, and if so, why? (or if not, why not?)

Exercise/s:
Write a poem or short story, retelling part of your life story in an alternate history (for bonus points, don't involve Nazis or the American Civil War)

This excerpt is an example of a story within a story. It's told from Uncle Monty's viewpoint. Tell it from the point of view of the FBI man, or Longy Zwillman.

Posting Schedule

We haven't had a Thursday Published Writing Post since October, but that's about to change. I'm opening this feature up to anyone and everyone who wants to do it! This way, everyone will get to share and talk about their favorite authors, poets and pieces. Feel free to post a prose excerpt, poem, book review, and/or author feature on your day. Discussion of the posts is encouraged but remember to be civil—even if something isn't your cup of tea, remember to keep tact in mind so you'll come off as respectful and not insulting. One of the strengths of write_away is our aesthetic diversity.

Sign up in the comments on this post; the list will be posted here. First come, first serve. Repeaters will be shuffled down to the bottom of the list on the site so that newer folk will get their chance to have a say. A couple days before your day, a moderator will remind you by replying to your comment here; if there's no response and no post by the endabouts of Thursday, the moderators reserve the right to fill in for you.

Addendum: Doing a Thursday Feature in no way ties into critiques or feedback or the lack thereof.

Hello darlings, thank you for your patience. Thursday published writing is back and this one is fantastic. Enjoy Francesca Bell's Narrow Openings from Rattle issue 22, also online at:

http://www.rattle.com/rattle22/22index.html

I found these two both in the same issue of Pool: A journal of poetry and thought it might be neat to put them side-by-side since they are so different yet have a major theme in common. So, here are

( Little Sadness by Jeffrey McDaniel and What is a Fugue by G.C. Waldrep )

A little something from the online "experimental poetry" journal zafusy, give it a read and then check out the others -- you'll either love them or hate them. Either way, ask yourself why.

http://www.zafusy.com/five.htm

I really like this one, hope you do too.

From the online journal "Stickman Review":

http://www.stickmanreview.com/V4N1/contents/cronin1.html

Welcome to "Thursday on Friday," your published writing post a day late. Still I think many of you will enjoy this one.

This week is Joshua Marie Wilkinson's "The Trick Was to Disappear"

Normally I would cut/paste here, but the formatting is not working out in my LJ, better to go directly to the link:

http://www.failedpromise.org/3-Wilkinson.htm

Check out Greg Ames' "The Snowing Lonliness of Buffalo" at the current issue of Fail Better:

http://www.failbetter.com/2005-2/AmesSnowing.htm

I am also interested in getting your favorite links for online lit mags that publish short fiction. One of the reasons you get so much poetry is that I hate the thought of only putting up a paragraph of a story and teasing you with it. Whenever possible I would like to provide you with the whole slice so that you can see how the piece develops. The more sources I have, the wider net I can cast. Thanks for your help on this.