My dad called me and left this message:

Hey Bobby. Just called to wish you a happy birthday. Gosh, how old are you now? Let’s see, you were born in 69. 1969, 79, 89, 99, 2009, 2011. Are you 42 years old? Wow. Gosh you’re older than I am. Sorry I missed you. Talk to you later. Love you. Dad.
On my birthday I bought a belt for myself at American Apparel and it turns out it’s a womens belt (though some would call it Unisex). Sigh.

But had a fun night. Turf club then out with the gang at Whistle Stop bar.

In other news:

I met and had dinner with writer Dorothy Allison last week! She was part of our college’s Literary Arts Festival and she was pretty damn awesome. Funny as hell and oh my, the story she read– 45 minutes long– moving, scary, sharp. She’s such a master of dialogue. I was completely consumed by the reading– wholly taken out of the dingy theater with it’s avocado walls and bright red seats. She is without a doubt one of the great writers of our generation.

Recently bought a new book for my pulp-film-novel collection.

It’s hardly pulpy but it is a movie-tie-in. And it satisfies my June Allyson fetish. For now.

Finished Cleopatra by Stacy Schiff. I loved the information about Egypt and Cleo and Mark Antony, but I was missing dialogue (the book is serious nonfiction). Still, Schiff impressed me with her knowledge and Cleo impressed me with her sheer tenacity.

My office at home is looking like one of those NYC apartments where the reclusive tenant saves every newspaper, magazine, letter,  leaflet and flyer. I’m too embarrassed to post a picture of it.

I cut the tip of my middle finger off and it hurt. Ok, it wasn’t really the tip, more like the corner of the tip. But it still hurt. For a couple of days I had to wear one of those splint-thingies so that I wouldn’t bump it on anything, but it definitely made it seem pretty drastic (but if you know me, you know how melodramatic I get with just the sniffles). And then I had to learn how to type without using that finger, which a couple of days ago I finally mastered. But now the finger is healing better and I can pretty much use it, only I have to re-learn how to type with it. Arghh!

While I was in the Emergency room Ted brought me Nicole Krauss’ Great House to read. I absolutely loved The History of Love and have been wanting to read this. It doesn’t disappoint. I read about 50 pages in, but I’m also reading another book so I may have to put the Great House aside until then.

Speaking of books…though I’m not finding, or rather making, the time to write as much as I should (I think that I somehow didn’t get the gene for discipline…), the little bits, spurts of writing that I’m doing I’m pretty pleased with. I’m loving working on two characters that I’d only been sketching out, or had only been on the periphery so far– the young female English High School Teacher with the secret stash of lipsticks in her desk drawer at school and the Shivwit Indian boy, Limpie, whose POV is told entirely through an essay he’s writing. It’s funny how developing these characters more and letting them lead me on this journey has sparked such new energy in me.

Ted‘s out of town for a week visiting his mom and then our new niece, and the cats, Betsy and Jack, are so neurotic (i’m fine though, thanks for asking)! They are completely underfoot. Betsy sits with me while watching TV, her head resting in my lap.

On another note, I’m obsessed with this website Instructables–have you seen it?– from which you can learn how to do anything from how to tie a tie, how to kiss, to other more craft-oriented tips such as  book-making, how to knit, make mosaics, origami, and my recent obsession: how to make linocuts.

I really really would love to have a letterpress machine, but this linocut thing looks a bit simpler (and less expensive). See the samples of what you can do below.

Many of the how-to’s have step-by-step photos and videos. Check them out, search for how to make or do just about anything.

Watched the last episode of TCM’s Moguls and Moviestars– the epic documentary series about the rise and fall of the movie studio system. It was completely fascinating. I couldn’t help but feel for the movie stars and studio heads when the studios started crumbling around them; not to mention the footage of the old studio land that was sold off.

Went to a fantastic reading Friday night at The Ink Spot. James Meetze (in the picture) read from his book of poems DAYGLO of which Rae Armantrout says “James Meetze is, in some sense, a ‘landscape poet,’ except his landscape includes ‘FA-18 Hornets’ that ‘boom above the freeway / as eucalyptus leaves rustle.’ He has a feel for his hometown, which is also mine. In fact, San Diego, with its ahistorical ‘Dayglo’ pastels, best glimpsed in passing from a freeway, is where we all live now, somehow, or soon will.”

Ryan Murphy (a friend from grad school!) says “Dayglo is a conscious artifact…”

Indeed, his poems took me back to my days growing up here. The beaches, the sunsets, the valleys and malls. But also they look at Southern California, and San Diego especially, through the eyes of someone who left here and then came back. They speak about beauty and warmth, of Eucalyptus trees, freeways and fluorescent lights, but also separation, isolation, regret, disappointment.

I’m particularly taken with the first two lines of the poem “To Make You Surfer”:

In all the movies about California youth,

we are made to believe in gold everywhere.

I love the movie– you know, massive tidal wave flips over a cruise ship and survivors, including Shelley Winters, Red Buttons, and Pamela Sue Martin, have to climb their way to the top, er, now bottom of the ship.

Great Fun!

In any case, I’m hoping 2011 will bring a full-time teaching job for me; a substantial draft of my book; much creative inspiration; new friends and stronger ties to current friends; travel; bigger things for the writing community in San Diego; even greater love, closeness and appreciation for my wonderful husband, Ted; a vintage letterpress (anyone know where I can get one?); more visits with family; more reading for pleasure (so many books, so little time); more time spent in NYC; patience and understanding; health and prosperity; peace.

Below are some of my favorite photos and memories from the year (especially the bloody Justin Bieber that I made with a faux-wood stamp! and Hermia, my cat, 1991-2010).

and

which do you like better?

Here’s an excerpt:

1. The Sophisticated Photograph (aka “The My-head-is-so-weighted-down-by-great-thoughts-it-requires-additional-support”)

It’s the two-fingered peace sign of tourists. The “say cheese” of extended-family portraits. The pouty lips of Facebook users. The middle finger of punk rockers. Putting your fist under your chin does not come naturally to most people, but given the pose’s ubiquity amongst authors, it must be innate to those within the profession.

I’m a big fan of Marion Ettlinger’s photos of authors–she seems to be the go-to gal for them.

I especially love her pics of Truman Capote and Francine Prose and Monique Truong (who has a new book out! I loved The Book of Salt and sent her a fan letter on Facebook which she graciously answered). Felicia Sullivan also had a lovely photo done by Marion for her book The Sky Isn’t Visible From Here. I would say in the photo Felicia never looked lovelier but I don’t think Felicia can take a bad photo–she always looks awesome.

Maybe I’ll get Marion Ettlinger for my author photo? Or my friend Kelli’s brother Steve Drimmel is also a pretty awesome photog. Then there’s Adriana, too… hmmm.

Here are a few of mine over the years–the most recent, with the vintage Magazine covers– from Vermont Studio Center Jan. 2010:

So, first, Fishtrap. Got back from my 8-day writing retreat/gathering at Fishtrap in Northeast Oregon (Wallowa Lake, to be exact). Beautiful beautiful country — big blue Wallowa Lake, mountains with snow at the tips (still!), deer outside my window, writing on my laptop next to the river that rushed past my bedroom and back porch (talk about white-noise).

I had the most amazing writing workshop — not really a workshop, thankfully, but more a seminar — with Karen Fisher (I’m not worthy; I bow down to her), author of A Sudden Country. She was just incredible. Inspirational. There were no daily prompts. No sharing of work (except one-on-one with her). No BS. She talked about her process, about structure of the novel, notably “historical fiction.”  We talked about our own books, our own projects, asked how to get over our own specific hurdles. She talked about structure of scenes, momentum, pace. And most important (especially to me — or at least I really took it to heart) she emphasized COMPRESSION. Sometimes in this book i’m writing, because it’s historical fiction I want to put every bit of detail, fact, statistic, trivia, that I know into it. She told us, “Just because you love all those statistics and facts and lists doesn’t necessarily mean your reader will.” COMPRESSION. Pick what is really essential to the story, the characters. If what you know doesn’t fit into your story, it doesn’t belong. Don’t force it into your story. Get over the impulse to (over)inform! (That’s Karen in the red sweater in the middle.)

Can more be achieved in fewer pages?

Test every word or moment in your writing for the truth.

She talked about revision: Revision comes from the 1. head, 2. gut, 3. heart

The three truths to adhere to about Revision:

1. clarity

2. authenticity

3. the heart/credibility

Revision is increasing engagement with what you are doing. Increasing the reader’s engagement in your work.

She also suggests to create folders for each character — hard copy folders or electronic.

A week with Karen Fisher was worth the entire trip.

Other highlights included meeting Cosy Sheridan — folk-singer-story-teller-funny-bone-tickler-extraordinaire. She and I shared a rental car from the Boise airport through the 4.5 hour drive to Fishtrap. I don’t think we stopped talking once. She was funny, irreverent, political, compassionate, and we got along like wildfire. I just love her. And this was before I had even heard her sing (well, live anyway — I had heard her online). She is fricken awesome! A crystal voice and her songs are real stories. Her banter with an audience is nothing short of dazzling. She rocked the Fishtrap house!

Check out the video below of her singing “Do You Love the Life You Made?” last year.

And, meeting Jack Loeffler (with the beard) was a kick — he’s a much lauded aural historian who has spent countless hours taping Native Americans telling their stories and published many of them in a terrific book (that I bought) that comes with a great DVD called Healing the West.

Also, the four other fellows, Christine Colasurdo, (and, from left to right) Dave Jarecki, Chris Robertson, and Bill Wright — were lovely– super writers and fast good friends. Had many fun nights, slumber-party-style (a.k.a. long talks, red wine, chocolate, lots of laughs, impromptu poetry readings) with Dave and Chris and Bill, who were my cabin-mates. And what a cabin–huge!

Now… for the downside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to Fishtrap for bringing me out there. They paid for just about everything, including my travel. There were many nice people there. It was wonderful having the time away to think, write, learn. But truthfully, I felt there were kinks that needed to be worked out in their organization. First of all, there is a huge age gap, and very little effort is made to bridge that gap. The fellows were all mid thirties to mid-late forties, but the participants, for the most part, were 60s, 70s. No problem with that, but there seemed to be a big separation, a segregation, between ages. Where were the 20, 30, 40-somethings? Why haven’t they reached out to them? (There were a couple of women in their 20s who spent a week camping and then they came down the last few days.) And again, don’t get me wrong, all my life I’ve gotten along with people much older than me. When I was a kid I used to hang out in the living room with the grownups and my grandparents and their friends, emptying ashtrays, talking about movies and books, while the other kids were in the playroom. But at Fishtrap, there was a weird lack of young people. (However, there were very young kids there– a sort of writing camp for kids all week).

In addition, there were odd rules: no alcohol at dinner — or anywhere near the food (granted, maybe that was out of their control, the cabins and yurts–yes there were yurts!– were on a Methodist campground). We could not use ‘explicit language’ or ‘sex’ in our reading — and all of the fellows gave a reading — or if we did, we needed to give a disclaimer to the audience so they could leave, or take the kids out of the room. The fellows could only read for ten minutes and we were chastised, even harassed, for going slightly over. Seriously. I actually kept mine to about 8 minutes, but some of the other fellows, bless them, went over. Maybe 15 minutes total. They were pulled aside the next morning. And then at the reading the next night, we were all chastised in public. (“We are using a timer tonight because last night the readers couldn’t stick to the plan…” or something like that. And YES! they used a timer and even flashed a red light in people’s faces when they hit the time limit.) However, a couple days later, when a few of the instructors read — who were also told they had a specific time limit–most of them went way over — some even 35 minutes–without a word being said to them. It was all very strange and oppressive.

Finally, when I was introduced for my reading they made no mention of the book I edited with my husband, From Boys to Men: Gay Men Write About Growing Up – which is the first thing on my bio — a best-selling and award-nominated anthology of, omigosh, GAY nonfiction. Only two of the fellows, myself and Christine, had books out, and they mentioned Christine’s (Return to Spirit Lake — an excellent memoir of Mt. St. Helens). Not a mention of my book. Not a mention of me being gay. In fact, though at the opening ceremony and subsequent events, there were talks about the Environment, Native American Issues, Political Activism, there was no acknowledgment of GLBT anywhere, despite the fact that several of the women participants were clearly out lesbians AND one of the employees is an out lesbian. There’s no outreach to GLBT writers or any plans for GLBT workshops, etc. Kind of a shame, considering they could really pull in some great folks from Portland: Tom Spanbauer, Mark Acito, Chuck Palahniuk, Judith Barrington, Sage Ricci. I don’t know if it’s that they were worried that anything too ‘adult’ would offend board members, or, as one person there on staff put it– Fishtrap is made up of the old ‘boys club,’ but they are missing out on a vital part of the writing population– and, we have money (i.e. donors… though of course not me and Ted, we’re poor!). But anyway, it seemed a little ridiculous when, in the opening address, with all of the talk about spirituality, nature, environmentalism, activism, Native American life, there was nothing about this being GAY PRIDE MONTH throughout the U.S.  and no welcome to our GLBT brothers and sisters.

Am I just being sensitive? Maybe. But the fellows and I talked about it in my cabin and when, at the end of the week, they gave everyone evaluations to fill out I said as much as I could in the tiny space they allowed for comments. I’ve decided, though, that I’m going to send a letter to the new Executive Director, who starts in September.

Because really, the place, the scenery, are all incredible and so conducive to writing, sharing, thinking, reading, inspiration, discussion, dialogue, friendship, learning. This place should be huge. Fishtrap, though it’s been around for, I think, over 20 years, seems to still be figuring itself out– and I’d like to see them really do it, really become something great, something inclusive and welcoming to everyone.

Today had one of the longest (and most productive) days of writing since I got back from Vermont.

Also, kind of nice to go with the hubby and write.

We went to down to The Ink Spot, the writing group/organization (San Diego Writers, Ink) that I work for and we both teach for downtown. Every other Sunday they have what they call, Room To Write, from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. for members and provide a quiet space and tables and chairs and lots of light to write. If you live in San Diego you should really think about joining SDWInk!

After nearly four hours of working on a new scene in the book, I looked through my journal, the one I kept while in VT at the VSC.

Read through the notes I took when Amy Bloom, the visiting writer, gave her craft talk. Bloom is, in my humble opinion, a queen of the first line.

Here are some of the things I wrote down:

Make the characters come alive from the inside.

Create a dream the reader enters; the errors in syntax, form, character, etc., can destroy that dream.

The best novel strives to be like the best poem.

Character: see the world as he sees it.

And, if you spend the time to give them a name, they should also have a soul.

How does it feel inhabiting that world as that character?

They should sound like themselves, not like variations of YOU.

If you can’t imagine what it is a character does or says, don’t write about it.

A reader should encounter and create their own relationship with a character.

Always keep in mind:

1. Illuminating the character
2. Advancing the story
3. Giving a beautiful sentence

Don’t walk us through every moment—crossing the room, grabbing the door knob, etc.

Sometimes start with the very bare bones of a scene and then go back.

When you write, your loved ones, your audience, your parents are DEAD.

You make this good because it matters to YOU.

Read it aloud without inflection so you can hear every bad thing you’ve done.

Move a reader—like an actor—into and out of every scene.

Make your readers believe things really happened, even if it didn’t.

I’m really drawn back to the line: They should sound like themselves, not like variations of YOU.

So much of my writing has been autobiographical, even if loosely based on me or my life. And so I’m trying very hard to make this book, these characters, sound unlike anything else I’ve ever written. But I’m also wanting to move forward and not get hung up on lines and images in this first draft; so, gulp, I’m going to try to do a little bit of both. Work on language, but not get trapped and stopped up by the language—yet—so that I can press on and get through.

So much to say but my head is utterly pounding and the thoughts in my brain a-jumble — anxiety about travel tomorrow, the strange ritual of packing up after 5 weeks away, the  goodbyes to dozens of wonderful people. What is there to say? How to put it into words how important this residency was, how inspiring, how enlightening.

Some fragmented thoughts (Part 1):

I love snow (and it’s now snowing on our last night–yay!)

layering of clothes– forgot how fun it was to accessorize with a scarf–though I didn’t wear my hat as much as I should have (worried about bad hair)

learned so much about the characters in my book.

was inspired by the art and artists here: collage, painting, sculpture, jewelry, print making

decided I really want to buy a print-maker, print press (anybody have an old one they don’t want?)

felt pangs of jealousy that I wasn’t an artist making paintings or sculptures or other visual art

dance parties are fun again

in a pinch Jim Beam will do nicely

really worked on voice and language in my book

VSC has probably the nicest, funniest chef i’ve ever had the pleasure of working with (Go Mark!)–as well as everyone else in the kitchen.

Leni Zumas is my new favorite writer. If you haven’t read her, go out and get her book Farewell Navigator NOW.

People here were very interested in my book. WHEWWW!

I learned some new collage techniques, including ‘tearing.’

Learned the word Gesso. Also ‘underpainting.’

Ate a lot of salad while here.

Crashed into a ditch/snow bank but was rescued by friendly Vermonters.

Saw sled dogs up close and personal!

Twirled around in a black dress while having my picture taken.

Washed about 17, 294 dishes (ok, I just rinsed them).

Made photograms with Rachael!

Finally got good use of my duckboots!

Missed Ted.

Missed the kitties.

discovered Green Mountain organic distilled Vodka (awesome martinis)

the founders and employees of VSC are the greatest

**more about my work at VSC later…

However, I found much joy and comfort with the arrival of Kimberly Dark ! She and I read together last summer in San Diego. And, surprise surprise… I walk into the lobby of the dining hall and there is Anthony Hawley– a Columbia MFA friend of mine. I had no idea he was going to be here, let alone that he was here as an artist! Very cool.

Oh, and here’s a better picture of the collage I made last week with the artists in Firehouse Studios.

and here’s the back of the card (we were all given a sentence or two from this obscure book and we had to create a collage based on the sentence/s). You try to make the connection between the collage and the sentence…

I also made some broadsides for the writers who left on Saturday. I took ads from some vintage (1954) movie magazines that I brought from home and then printed on them– in old typewriter font– a line or two from the writers’ readings. I forgot to take pictures of them except for this one, which was for Sarah C.

If you click on it you can see it bigger but the line is from Sarah’s story and reads:

“Rebecca couldn’t sleep for fear of the wolf”

and the ad is for Lustre Creme shampoo and featuring actress Debra Paget.

My writing is going well here. But the more I write, the more I see what a BIG project my book is, and that it is something that is really going to take some time.Whenever I tell people here at VSC about they book they all say it sounds great but sounds like a lot of work.

Hmpf.

It is a lot of work, and I wonder if i’m in over my head writing about a time, place, people, world, I don’t really know (but isn’t that what writing is all about?). I think about writers like David Ebershoff, who wrote the exquisite The Danish Girl. I’m sure he wasn’t an expert on Transgenders or on 1920s Copenhagen and 1930s Dresden. Still, David Ebershoff is pretty brilliant, probably bordering on genius (I should know, I worked as his research assistant for another book while in NYC).

Part of me thinks I should work on something else–like stories, in addition to this book (not while i’m here, but when I get back), or maybe I should try to write essays about what i’m writing the book about; short pieces about the film i’m writing about– for journals and magazines. Something to ‘finish’ as it were–to allow myself the feeling of accomplishing something every once in a while. The scrap of satisfaction for a job well done. Because I just don’t see me finishing this for a long time. Anyway, getting a good draft of this out here at VSC, and really working on character development, and that’s what’s important.

And, thankfully, still have all of the other wonderful residents and faculty here at VSC– folks like Tracy, Rachel, Marin, Tatiana, Matt, Jonathan, Ariana, Jang Soon, JoAnna, Marcie, JT, Jason, Louisa, Eric, Bruce, Nick, Sang-hee, Steven, Lia, Giordanne, Kristie, Nicole, JC, Kim, etc etc (lots of names I still don’t know!). <–CLICK THE NAMES AND SEE THESE AMAZING ARTISTS AND WRITERS!!

So, 2 more weeks (well, really only about 11 days).

It was only a week, I know, but when it’s just me and the kitties it gets a little weird. I wonder what he’s going to do when i’m in Vermont for a month doing my writer’s residency?

So, the other night in one of my classes a student, talking to me after class, asked: how long has your hair been thinning?

WTF??!!!

He is actually a very sweet student, but very chatty. Also, his own hair is thinning so I think he was trying to relate to me… in a strange way…

It did get me thinking though… my hair IS thinning. Not in the back but definitely at the top, or where my [feathered] bangs used to be. What is that part of the head called? Above my forehead.

It’s thinning enough that it’s just starting to look a little, er, funky. And not funky in a good way, but funky in a ‘do I look like I’m trying to grow my hair out so you can’t see that i’m thinning?’ kind of way.

I’m thinking it’s about time I stopped trying to rock a trendy mullet or faux-anything. I might be at the point where

GASP!

i’m going to have to start cutting my hair really really short. Not shaved, by any means, but really short. Sort of Chris Meloni in Law and Order SUV short.

Plus, i’m going to be in Vermont for the month of January, and that means I’ll be wearing winter hats, and that means messy hair, so why not avoid all that and cut my hair short?

I was also thinking of growing a beard, but nah. I like my stache still.

Speaking of beards, I found the COOLEST artist on the website Fecal Face, Keith Shore, and love love love his print called “The Bearded Portraits.” I’ve got to put a bug in Ted’s ear so he’ll get it for me for Christmas.

If you check out Shore’s website you can see more of his paintings– I like how they look almost childish, but there’s something in the way he paints the characters’ eyes and mouths that to me look very tense and real.

Anyway, The Bearded Portraits reminded me of Walt Whitman’s musings on beards so I thought I’d leave you with a couple of excerpts.

Whitman rocked his own beard, as you all know, and mentions them in the preface to Leaves of Grass.

About America, he writes: “Here are the roughs and the beards and space and ruggedness and nonchalance that the soul loves.”

Then again in “Song of Myself”:

Washes and razors for foofoos …. for me freckles and a bristling beard.

*Whitman image from here.