Comfort and Control
I’m in England, folks. I had hoped that I would have more time to blog while traveling, but guess what: traveling itself takes up all the time.
This trip has been a whirlwind of cities and towns in the UK and in France, with no more than two nights spent in each place. In just two weeks, we (my brother Sherwin and I) have traced a meandering clockwise route around Scotland, with a quick drop down to France, and then continuing around England back up to Manchester, where we started. We have been couch-surfing, dropping in on strangers in each place and sleeping wherever they have space for us, wearing the same clothes for more days in a row than we normally would, and being, for much of the time, rained upon. It has been a lot of fun, and I wouldn’t trade these experiences, but I have not been comfortable for more than a handful of moments on the trip.
We were in Fort William, Scotland a week ago, and staying with a Polish fellow named Piotr. Piotr was a very talkative guy, and within the first half-hour of staying with him, we had somehow already gotten into a existential conversation about comfort. I don’t remember how it started, but I can remember Piotr asking “what is comfort?” Now, Piotr was talking about physical comfort, referring to the constant rain, and the circumstances of sleeping on couches. There was more to it than that – I wish I could remember, but I know he was speaking of the merits of discomfort, how it keeps a person from stagnancy, and perhaps how it is a useful character-building tool. What I do remember is when he asked that question, I immediately thought to myself that comfort is control. This is because at the time, and for most of my time in Europe, I have felt acutely my lack of control. It’s almost physical, like I’ve gone out wearing sneakers but no socks, and it all feels very wrong.
Back home, I am the most in control I have ever been in my whole life. I have lived alone for two years, I’ve recently been single for the longest I have been in quite a few years, I’m out of school but feel empowered by my degrees, and of the two jobs I had, I quit the one where I felt more like an underling, and now I only work at a place where I feel respected enough to work on my own. Most importantly, I have had more money in the last year or so than I had before. I am by no means rolling in it, but I am not literally living paycheck-to-paycheck like I did in college. It sort of startled me the first time I realized that it had become my routine to collect two, sometimes three checks before depositing them, because I didn’t need to use that money.
All that has changed in Europe, and I am very uncomfortable. I am not in control of where I live – instead I live in a new place every two days, and none of this stuff is my stuff. This is perfectly okay, and even exciting, but even this lack of constancy would get tiring after a while. And as I’m staying with strangers and my brother, I am certainly no longer living alone.
Romantically I am still single, but I am constantly with my brother, a person I know better than almost anyone else, but I have never spent this much time interacting with him with very little pause. It’s like being in a relationship. I don’t think we have been outside of each other’s company for more than a half hour the entire trip. And I rather like being alone.
Lastly, and most importantly, I don’t have a job and I barely have money. Through circumstances that would be boring to elaborate on, my money has been accessible during the trip while Sherwin’s has mostly not, so not only am I spending lots of money and not earning any, I am spending two people’s worth of money. (Don’t worry, Sherwin’s money will be accessible when we get home, so it is a temporary situation (is what I keep telling myself).)
This lack of control is exhausting, and I keep feeling myself panic a little. I am learning about myself though. I thought it was important for me to be in control, and it is, but an addendum to that is it is important for me to be in control when it’s possible. I realized this in France when we had some vague instructions as to where we would find our ride from Paris to Angers. My friend Laurene had arranged the ride for us, and while we knew where and when we would meet the driver, we didn’t know how we would recognize him. I told Sherwin I was fine with this scenario, and I was happy to go to bed and just go to the train station in question in the morning. Basically, we’d see what happened, and if it didn’t work out, I said I “wasn’t worried.” Sherwin gave me a nervous look and said he didn’t believe me.
Now, I’m afraid that I have not been the best traveling companion for Sherwin, because I have become stressed out easily when we’ve missed a bus here or there, or been unable to find where we are on a map, or when I fully realized our money situation, so I can understand why he didn’t believe me, but it was true that I wasn’t worried, because I knew the situation was out of my hands. I had sent a text to Laurene asking her how we would recognize the guy, and she hadn’t responded. I knew she had to work early and it was late, so I didn’t want to call her. In my estimation we had done everything we could do. Also, I believe there was a degree of trust involved – I felt sure that Laurene had set us up with a ride that would work out (and it did).
In contrast, most of the times I have been uncomfortable on this trip, I’ve felt I could have been in better control. When we missed the bus, it was essentially our fault. I felt we should always have been able to find ourselves on a map with enough squinting, so it was frustrating when we couldn’t (the times when we didn’t have a map, I was actually less worried about it, so maybe I should just stop bringing a map when I travel). And we certainly could have more carefully assessed our funds before embarking. Money is a big factor, and if I had run out of money for reasons beyond my control, I think I would have been okay. Sure, I would have been a little stressed out, especially if I were in Paris where I don’t speak the language, but I actually find it calming to say to myself, “Emily, there’s nothing you can do about it, so you just have to wait and see what happens.”
As much as I am looking forward to going back to my little kingdom where I’m in charge of everything, I thing being uncomfortable has done me some good. I am curious to do an experiment: I wonder how I would fare alone in a country whose language I didn’t speak, not knowing anyone, and not having a map. I don’t think I would do well without money, but if I ever try it out, I’d like to try to limit myself, bring emergency money but try not to spend it. It would probably be rather freeing in some ways. On the other hand, though I agree with Piotr that stagnancy can be a problem, I quite enjoy my life, and I’m pretty good at keeping it from becoming stagnant while still keeping a degree of comfort and control.
Something Special About Underground
I have never been a big fan of being elite (although statements like this are a good sign I’m gonna name-drop in this post). I’ve never much cared what is on trend or not, the way some people want to follow every style or, as sometimes seems more likely, try to go against, or be ahead of every style. I like what I like, and if you like it too, cool. If you don’t, that’s all right, although after a beer and a half I might try to explain to you why I’m right and you should really give [awesome thing] another try. That’s why this post is for Anna Oxygen; even though I truly don’t think that being less well-known makes you cooler, when it comes down to it there is something really special about underground music.
For example, I really like Norman Rockwell. Really, I think he’s the shit – sometimes I have his paintings as my computer background, especially Breaking Home Ties, which reminds me of childhood. But I also really dig The Aiyana Sphere (hello, what’s not to like(and don’t be afraid to click through those NSFW warnings folks, it’ll be okay, I promise)) and I have a bunch of her art in my house. I don’t really think I’m any cooler for liking Rockwell or Aiyana. I mean, I think I promote Aiyana more, because she’s my friend, but when it comes down to just me and my laptop (which is often what it comes down to), I could probably click though about the same number of paintings for either one. Okay, maybe this isn’t a fair comparison because of the whole friendship thing. Another example:
One of my favorite poems is “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. Especially when this guy reads it (watch the whole thing, totally worth it). Oh, you’ve heard of it too? But I really dig Beth Ann Fennelly’s “Once I Did Kiss Her Wetly On the Mouth” too. And, like, no one seems to have heard of it. I think with visual arts and with verbal arts, because they are, in most cases, objects rather than events, they take on a stagnancy, no matter how awesome they are. Actually, maybe this even makes them more awesome: no matter how many or how few people have read a poem or seen a painting, it remains as it was when only the artist had seen it. This is not the case for performance arts. Because a performance, though it may be scripted and the script repeated, is a singular event, and the audience, whether it consists of a crowded stadium or a single goldfish, contributes its own energy to the work of art. An audience too small is depressing, and an audience that is too big distances the performer(s) in another way. But when an audience meets that balance of small in number, but big in energy, the performance becomes nearly perfect. If the audience is excited in just the right way, the experience can never be replicated. NOT EVEN WITH A REPLICA.
Seriously, though. Here’s what I do have to say about underground music. It is, on the one hand, unfortunate in how ephemeral and unreachable it seems most of the time – unless you’re right there when it happens, you’re a million miles away. And there are plenty of crap shows that crap people want to brag about because they were poorly attended and that band is never gonna play again, so they know that you will be jealous if they pretend it was awesome. But there are those rare instances – for example my birthday last year (bragging here, but for good reason) when JetFighter got back together for a minute and rocked Mayo Street Arts - where you are at the right place when the right thing is happening, and it’s so good that it can never be recreated – you can’t accurately describe it to your friends, pictures or recordings come out blurry or dark or ultimately unimpressive. All you have is your memory and the knowledge that your memory is slowly contorting.
Now, music-wise, I am just as indiscriminate as with the other arts; I totally dig on famous, main-stream folks, but I also love those secret gems that I’ve found accidentally and then find out that no one else knows. I currently own tickets to see Elvis Costello, Gogol Bordello, and Fiona Apple. Still bragging – it’s gonna be an awesome spring, and I’m psyched. It’s pretty rare that I go to big shows, so all these tickets are something of an anomaly. But when I listen to music at home, I proudly listen to Stevie Wonder after Best Friends Forever, after… well, you get the point. Tonight I wanted to hear some Anna Oxygen. She’s one of the first artists I’ve seen live, at least in the first 10 or so, and also one of the best shows I’ve seen. It was a super intimate venue at Vassar – I was there to see Mirah, but first I had to sit through three other acts I’d never heard of: Janet Pants Dance Theater, Anna Oxygen, and The Blow. This was 2003 – Mirah and The Blow have gotten a lot bigger since (and remain favorites of mine), Janet Pants is performance art, not music, so no one should be surprised not to have heard of her (sorry Janet), but I am continually surprised at the lack of Anna love. I thought I’d find at least one fun video of her on youtube, doing her thing, but just like pictures of Big Foot, this is all I got:
At first I was disappointed – this is not the sort of video that I can share with my friends. It looks like one of the lamest shows ever, and it also looks a lot like the time I saw Anna, which I happen to know was one of the best shows ever. But then I realized that live Anna Oxygen fits into that weird category of things too good to be experienced second-hand, and therefore anyone who attempts to do so will be rewarded only with a video too awkward to actually show other humans (that’s live Anna – her studio albums are slightly (but only slightly) less awesome than live Anna, so they are able to be fully enjoyed from the comfort of your home, and this girl totally recommends you do so).
Light Revisions
So, four months ago, as the last step before completing my thesis for my masters at Stonecoast, I was lucky enough to have Sarah Braunstein read over my novel, Darling, and give me her expert advice on revising it. I took careful notes, she took careful notes, then when I got home I read over both sets of notes, combined them, and typed them onto my computer. I felt confident that these revisions, once finished, would put my novel into the totally publishable, as well as awesome, category. And what have I done since then? Nothing. Until today.
Today I read over the notes and realized that they are not too terribly understandable – I believe I’ve mentioned my habit of writing cryptic notes in the past, and this was no exception. Luckily, as the notes were retyped from another set of notes about an in-depth conversation, rather than a hastily scribbled down translation of inspiration, I was able to piece the meaning together from my memory. It was, however, necessary to write the revisions out in more detail before actually setting to work, so here, just for fun, are those notes. A little glimpse into my writing process. And for those of you who are not writers, imagine this: I consider the following to be “light” revisions, and I consider the damn thing to be so close to done I can taste it. Imagine that.
1) More Christine Searching: Christine is Lily’s mother, and when she goes missing, you’d think Christine would go crazy looking for her. And she does, go crazy anyway. I think when I wrote this part I felt like is was implied that she did some searching before fully turning her life over to booze and tears. HOWEVER, not only is “some searching” not quite enough searching, but I don’t even really show the “some searching.” Add at least one scene and several references to “searching” in first third of book.
2) Fewer/ Less Extraneous People: I have a lot of characters, and while this isn’t necessarily bad, I need to possibly edit/ combine some of them, as well as just show fewer scenes with those that I do keep. I like that thing where authors show a little bit from everyone’s point of view, and I seem to attempt to do that here, but the book doesn’t call for it, I don’t do it enough, and I don’t need/ shouldn’t have it. In many cases, the scene would actually be more valuable from the point of view of the main character in the scene. So, edit/ delete several of the scenes.
3) Less Madeleine and Jane?: This suggestion goes along with #2, as Madeleine and Jane fall somewhere in between main characters and extraneous characters. It ha a question mark, though, because I really like them and I think they are important to the story. So, read scenes with Madeleine and Jane with a critical eye, decide if they are indeed important, and if they are, beef up their presence and underline their importance to make them full-fledged main characters.
3.5) Fun Side Activity: make a list of all characters and status as main or secondary, and decide which ones to keep/ combine/ trash.
4) Andrew Needs to be Weirder: My original character sketch of Andrew is Totally Average Guy. The name “Andrew” even means “man.” But that sketch isn’t gonna cut it anymore. Here is what Andrew needs: He needs the be more caring, more creepy, and more of an outsider. Let’s have a flashback where we see is inability to function socially in high school, his relationship with his family, pets, etc. What draws him to care for Lily? Why would he be who he is? Add 1-2 scenes, edit most scenes involving Andrew.
5) The Ending is Weird: Okay, so the ending is a little weird. Maybe a little rushed? Spend a good 5-6 hours over a couple days with the ending to give it the attention it deserves. May change very little, but be sure it is un-rushed and logical (or at least as logical as the rest of the book).
6) Put Lily in the Gorge: We want to see Lily in the gorge. It is a symbolic and lonely place. I’m thinking she goes there in her original quest for home, as well as after she leaves Andrew’s dorm. Add two scenes.
7) Amplify Kidnapping Henry: It is only 70% obvious that the kids are joking about kidnapping Henry. This needs to be more like 100% obvious. Edit one scene.
8) Bring Lily’s Darkness: Lily is one creepy-ass little girl. This needs to be more apparent. More descriptions of her odd reactions, the way her giggles are not seen in her eyes. When we are in her head, we need to be a little worried. Edit all Lily scenes slightly.
8.5) Lily Hates Alida: This goes along with her darkness. Lily has always blamed Alida for her misfortune, and after her death, she blames her even more.
9) Make Police 100% Scary: Christine and Lily are terrified of the police. Right now they just don’t like them. They need to be terrified. Edit several scenes.
10) Make a Rounder Haskell: Mr. Haskell is a creep, but he should be a creep with a soul. Edit several scenes.
11) Roger Not Calling Christine Makes Her a Victim: We talked a lot about Christine’s reactions to others. She blames the world for her own shortcomings a lot of the time. When Roger doesn’t call her to say he has Lily, she is able to comfort herself by telling herself that he is holding this over her, and making her a victim. This little lie keeps her from finding out the truth about Lily sooner. Add to one scene.
12) More Andrew Reaction to Lily Being Gone: I kind of skip over Andrew reacting to Lily’s return to her mom, when this is one of the most important emotional scenes in the book. Add one scene.
13) Miscellaneous Other Things: I need a conversation between Lily and Andrew about Lily’s presence in the dorms being a secret, a flower or two in Chloe’s flashbacks, a couple mentions of Chloe’s first year at Cornell (she is a sophomore after all), present mentions of Chloe continuing to run, and a follow-up on Casper after Grumpert and Maizy die. And that’s all. Whew.
Art of the Personal Essai
As we all know, “essai” is French for “attempt.” I forget, or never knew, how this factors in to the definition of “essay” (note to self: consult Merriam Webster and GARFIELD later) but by simply learning this definition, the casual thinker/ writer/ blogger in me feels instantly at ease. When my creative non-fiction professor told me about essai 7 years ago, I rolled my eyes, but I think that was just the 21 in me rolling. This is the same symptom I had in high school when my U.S. History teacher encouraged us to find out about history for ourselves instead of assigning a textbook – the “I assume this is gonna be lame because it’s gonna involve a lot of work” principle. Also, the “you are old and I am young young YOUNG” principle. But now here I am, older, and thanking myself for at least doing enough of the work to remember a few names, phrases, and definitions.
So let me get to my jumbled point. I’ve been reading some essay collections recently – How Did You Get This Number?, This Won’t Take But a Minute Honey, and of course Pulphead for the BoC Book Club (next Wednesday at Longfellow, folks! Free booze & pizza, so read it already) – as well hopping around on a few blogs, and I realized something that I’m afraid is painfully obvious, but I can only admit that it’s news to me. Blog posts are mini personal essays. Or, you know, essais.
Folks, this may solve my blogger’s block. I freakin’ love personal essays, and if I call them personal essais, that means all I have to do it *attempt* to write. I mean seriously though – attempts I can handle, so watch out Phillip Lopate, cause I’ma (attempt to) start blogging like it’s an art. The pressure is OFF!
Cleaning Nabokov’s House
You guys! Holy crap, I am totally loving Cleaning Nabokov’s House by Leslie Daniels. It starts of quirky, slow and sad, but gets weirder and weirder, funnier and funnier, and keeps its sadness the whole way through. I’m going to go finish reading it now, but don’t miss out – head to your local bookseller posthaste and ask for this book!
Cravings Sated
I’m a woman of many cravings and inspirations – sometimes the two can be the same thing. I have a craving for a certain type of food or drink, and inspiration for a knitting or sewing design, a desire to go for a walk or a swim, or to watch a certain movie or hear a certain song. I have a craving, an inspiration, to write.
I’m sure it’s the same for most writers – an idea springs into your mind, a scene or a character or a poem fleshes itself out in your mind. You can’t control it happening, all you can do is hold onto as much of it as you can, by force of will-power, or if you’re smart you have a pen and paper at your fingertips and can jot down the main points, if you’re lucky you have the time and space to write the whole thing down right then, and the ability to keep it going.
I love these little bursts of inspiration – they’re better than candy, almost as good as sex. But for some reason I find I often waste them. Not so with my other cravings. I tend to always meet my food or drink cravings, unless they’re crazy or expensive or unreasonable. I can’t keep my hands off of yarn – I start every knitting project I think up (it’s become a problem). I go for every walk, I watch my favorite movies all the way through, and if it’s a song I need to hear, I listen to it usually more than once, often more than twice. But when it’s writing inspiration, I bask in the moment of inspiration, I feel awesome at having had such an awesome idea. About fifty percent of the time, I jot it down on a scrap of paper, or in a notebook. Fifty percent. Do you realize how many awesome ideas I must have had and forgotten? As for how many of those ideas get translated from my chicken scratch into a fully realized scene… Well the number too embarrassing to figure out.
I made a resolution to myself recently to take the time to write legibly and in full sentences whenever inspiration strikes. This resolution was the result of finding notes to myself that read along the lines of “Ch19: goes to a play with J, runs into T there ala LoPOV.” This is an actual note. I remember the play I had in mind, but I don’t know who “J” is, and I have no idea what “LoPOV” means – something Point Of View is all I can think of, but still notsohelpful.
Anyway, I think this resolution was a good first step towards being a better writer. Now it’s time for another – that every time I am having that craving to write, and I DO have the time and space, I have to do it. And why wouldn’t I? If I’m craving the feeling of keys under my fingers, the spread of a story across a page, then sitting down to it is a treat, not an obligation. Right?
Right??
New Revamp
All right, the page keeps changing around, but I think I’ve got it right this time – let me know if you have any suggestions!
