There are nice tributes to John Updike making their way out into cyberspace: I particularly enjoyed this Slate roundtable, featuring Anne Fadiman talking about her days of editing Updike's poetry at The American Scholar. Strange to realize that only a couple months ago I was working on illustrating his short story, "Nessus at Noon," arguing for layout changes, and a couple of weeks later typing out the address label for his house in Beverly Farms. According to the L.A. Times, it was his last work published during his lifetime.
Got plans for tomorrow night? If not, I highly recommend this:
PHILIP LOPATE COMES TO THE WRITER'S CENTER
The Writer’s Center will celebrate its 32nd birthday with a reading by acclaimed memoirist, essayist, and film critic Phillip Lopate. Lopate, author or editor of more than a dozen books, including The Art of the Personal Essay, will read from his recent collection of novellas, Two Marriages, his first work of fiction since his 1987 novel The Rug Merchant. About Lopate, critic Sven Birkerts writes: “His fearlessness is tonic, his candor is straight gin.”
When: Saturday, January 31 (7:30 P.M.)
Where: The Writer’s Center
4508 Walsh Street, Bethesda, MD 20815
The cost of this event is $25;
a reception and book signing will follow the event.
Phillip Lopate was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1943, and received a bachelor's degree at Columbia University in 1964, and a doctorate at Union Graduate School in 1979. He holds the John Cranford Adams Chair at Hofstra University, and teaches in the MFA graduate programs at Columbia, the New School, and Bennington. He can be found online at www.philliplopate.com
...and seriously, I love that Sven Birkerts quote. This will be fun. I'll see you there.
January 30, 2009
January 28, 2009
Everything Goes Down Better with a Hot Toddy in Hand
When it is snowing, I eat handfuls of saltines. When it is snowing I crave oranges. When it is snowing, I walk down the street with the umbrella's curve resting partially on the back of my head--the Hollywood umbrella technique. A posture that surely allows more snow into my face than necessary, and yet I can't resist.
When it is snowing each flake fizzes against the skylights in my apartment. When it is snowing it puts me in the mood for memoirs.
*
The Post Office is threatening to cut a day of mail service due to budgetary strains. On first read I was very disturbed. Most writers have had periods of living for that daily mail drop--opening the thin envelopes and occasionally, if you're lucky, finding a thicker one. It is an emotional ritual, and I frequently rail against the tardy mail service on our street (11 AM...nothing...3 PM...nothing; 4:45 PM...still nothing...5:30 PM...nope), much to the amusement of my boyfriend.
The last time I lived on this street, not only did the postman skip whole DAYS of service (I could tell by the postmark), but he pulled the utterly creepy move of taking outgoing mail from me one day by hand--and using said mail to find out my apartment number, then show up outside my door at 7 PM that night looking for a date. It took a half-hour of waiting (and hoping he did not test the deadbolt, which was set in rotting wood) for him to give up and leave.
Anyway. On first read this story was disheartening; on second read, not so bad. Most acceptances come by email nowadays (and big news, like prizes of fellowships, by phone). And I've always liked the sensation of getting mail after an "off day"--Sunday, or some Federal holiday--when there is the implicit promise you'll have twice as much good stuff.
*
A few months back I posted a call for submissions for a new literary journal, the White Whale Review. Issue 1.1 is up now featuring Liam Callanan, Jennifer Barber, George Kalogeris, Daniele Pantano, Rachel Coye, Stephanie Goehring, and Michael Lynch. Go check it out--admirable visual design. Witty, and yet the top nav bar's categories still make sense to a user. I like the display of multiple prose columns across the horizontal page.
When it is snowing each flake fizzes against the skylights in my apartment. When it is snowing it puts me in the mood for memoirs.
*
The Post Office is threatening to cut a day of mail service due to budgetary strains. On first read I was very disturbed. Most writers have had periods of living for that daily mail drop--opening the thin envelopes and occasionally, if you're lucky, finding a thicker one. It is an emotional ritual, and I frequently rail against the tardy mail service on our street (11 AM...nothing...3 PM...nothing; 4:45 PM...still nothing...5:30 PM...nope), much to the amusement of my boyfriend.
The last time I lived on this street, not only did the postman skip whole DAYS of service (I could tell by the postmark), but he pulled the utterly creepy move of taking outgoing mail from me one day by hand--and using said mail to find out my apartment number, then show up outside my door at 7 PM that night looking for a date. It took a half-hour of waiting (and hoping he did not test the deadbolt, which was set in rotting wood) for him to give up and leave.
Anyway. On first read this story was disheartening; on second read, not so bad. Most acceptances come by email nowadays (and big news, like prizes of fellowships, by phone). And I've always liked the sensation of getting mail after an "off day"--Sunday, or some Federal holiday--when there is the implicit promise you'll have twice as much good stuff.
*
A few months back I posted a call for submissions for a new literary journal, the White Whale Review. Issue 1.1 is up now featuring Liam Callanan, Jennifer Barber, George Kalogeris, Daniele Pantano, Rachel Coye, Stephanie Goehring, and Michael Lynch. Go check it out--admirable visual design. Witty, and yet the top nav bar's categories still make sense to a user. I like the display of multiple prose columns across the horizontal page.
January 24, 2009
Excitement
I took down my post last night because I didn't want it to be seen as a comment on employers past, current, or future; it was more just me navel-gazing (Anais Nin being the patron saint of navel-gazing) about how an artist moves through the work world.
One thing I miss about being in school was being presented with discrete choices of programs, all timed on approximately the same application/notification/acceptance/initiation schedule. Each program becomes the node for a different life. Once you're in the world of full-time employment (including teaching, probably), you lose that sense of discrete choices. Everything becomes entangled and interdependent, especially as you no longer give yourself permission to live off loans. Each opportunity comes toward you organically, and if you take it you then reshape your life to absorb the shock. Stephanie was nice enough to comment on my post before I took it down, and one thing that she nailed was that it's not really a choice, though I like to think of it in those terms because it provides an illusion of control. You just do what you have to do, and then you do what you have to do to make what you've already done viable.
Today: theoretically, the only thing on my schedule is...writing. Specifically, working through a freelance profile I alluded to back in December. The sky is fortunately gray, so I won't even feel guilty about not leaving the house. Onward!
Oh, and since so many of my recent posts have included themes of "Grumping," Depressing News," etc....I leave you with this:
That's right. Pictures of baby animals. I'm like the wacky aunt who sends you socks for Christmas.
One thing I miss about being in school was being presented with discrete choices of programs, all timed on approximately the same application/notification/acceptance/initiation schedule. Each program becomes the node for a different life. Once you're in the world of full-time employment (including teaching, probably), you lose that sense of discrete choices. Everything becomes entangled and interdependent, especially as you no longer give yourself permission to live off loans. Each opportunity comes toward you organically, and if you take it you then reshape your life to absorb the shock. Stephanie was nice enough to comment on my post before I took it down, and one thing that she nailed was that it's not really a choice, though I like to think of it in those terms because it provides an illusion of control. You just do what you have to do, and then you do what you have to do to make what you've already done viable.
Today: theoretically, the only thing on my schedule is...writing. Specifically, working through a freelance profile I alluded to back in December. The sky is fortunately gray, so I won't even feel guilty about not leaving the house. Onward!
Oh, and since so many of my recent posts have included themes of "Grumping," Depressing News," etc....I leave you with this:
That's right. Pictures of baby animals. I'm like the wacky aunt who sends you socks for Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)