Well, my favorite is this one,

and especially the wonderful photo recipe for this frosting party dress–click on it to see it up close in all its glory!  Happy San Diego Pride Everyone!

And, oh yes, you will see collage made of these!

In any case, I did read the 5 Nonfiction pieces by: Jennifer Egan, Junot Diaz, Tea Obreht, Edward P. Jones, and Salvatore Scibona. They were all good, but my favorites were Scibona’s Where I Learned to Read, Jones’ Shacks, and Diaz’ The Money (and also Jones, but I’ll save that for another blog post).

As a side note, I’m currently reading Tea Obreht’s novel, The Tiger’s Wife, which is getting phenomenal reviews, she’s being called a new wonderkind, and Colum McCann says, “Téa Obreht is the most thrilling literary discovery in years.” I’m only about 100 pages in though I’m enjoying it–especially the magical stories the narrator’s grandfather tells her (hence the title), that are woven throughout the book, which is essentially a mystery (the narrator is trying to discover why her grandfather left home to die without telling anyone).

Anyway, back to the 5 Nonfiction pieces. I love it when NYer does these 1 page shorts, because they’re so easy to use/teach in a writing class. I’m definitely going to be using these in my Fall Creative Nonfiction Workshop at the college.

Scibona’s particularly appealed to me because it’s basically a love letter to reading– though told through a twisty series of events in his young school life. But it reminded me of my own growing up, sneaking away at recess and lunch to the library in grade school to read those short bios of famous people– called the Childhood of Famous Americans Series: Lincoln, Dolly Madison, Jim Thorpe, Betsy Ross, Jane Addams. Remember those bios? They were meant for grade school, probably only about 50 pages (if that) and had the most basic information about the peoples’ lives– though all told very melodramatically (lots of exclamation points!). These were some of my best friends from 2nd to 6th grade.(I SO remember reading this one– Narcissa Whitman, Pioneer Girl).

In talking about finding his way to reading Scibona writes:

By senior year at St. John’s, we were reading Einstein in math, Darwin in lab, Baudelaire in French tutorial, Hegel in seminar. Seminar met twice a week for four years: eight o’clock to ten at night or later, all students addressed by surname. On weekends, I hung out with my friends. The surprise, the wild luck: I had friends. One sat in my room with a beer and “The Phenomenology of Spirit,” reading out a sentence at a time and stopping to ask, “All right, what did that mean?” The gravity of the whole thing would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so much fun, and if it hadn’t been such a gift to find my tribe.

You can also find out what these writers are reading this summer.

The premise of BB is simple: you come in, I read a prompt from my black box of prompts, and then we write for a set period of time (within an hour). After the time limit we then read our pieces aloud. No critique, just listening.

I’m so glad to be back. It makes for such a rewarding hour, especially since it’s on Tuesday; it helps to ease me into the rest of the week.

If you’re someone who has trouble finding that time to write then definitely join or start a group like this, or, hold your own private, one-person Brown Bag writing hour. (I recommend using Judy Reeves’ A Writer’s Book of Days !)

I also love finding/getting my own prompts. Sometimes I’ll find them online, on a writing webpage, but most of the time I take lines from poetry or prose and use those as prompts. For example, here are some past prompts:

Write about Food and Comfort (from James Merrill’s Poem “Maisie”)

You became so attached to the objects of our home (from David Plante’s The Pure Lover: A Memoir of Grief)

This week’s prompt also came from James Merrill– I think all of the prompts I’ve used are from his book From the First Nine: Poems 1946-1976. (of which I have a first edition!).

Here is the prompt:

The street, if it ends at all, ends here (from “Light of the Street, Darkness of Your Own House”)

I’ve even used the title of the poem as a past prompt–which made for some great writing from everyone.

Here are some lines from the brief scene I wrote during that Brown Bag session:

There were no real streets on the reservation. No side walks. Nothing that indicated where one yard began and the other ended. No stops or starts. In this way we were all connected.  The warmth from the oven of one home was felt in the chest of someone in the next . The rise of bread, the sinking of hopes. An open window carried voices, songs, welcomed anger, provided temporary escape for regret.

If you’re in San Diego, come to Tuesday Brown Bag– every Tuesday 12pm to 1pm. Or Thursday Writers held at Lestat’s West Coffee House. More info here.

And definitely take a look at James Merrill’s poetry. It will inspire!

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.

Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl– with the 1959 George Stevens movie tie-in (the book features actress Millie Perkins on the cover). My other vintage paperbacks are here. And here. And here. (click on the link on the sidebar for vintage books to see others of mine).

I would still love to one day find a vintage/antique paperback book display like the one in the picture.

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).

The film, “Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid,” starred William Powell and Ann Blyth and looks quite similar to the Ron Howard-directed “Splash.” The reviews aren’t very kind, Halliwell’s Film Guide calls it “a boneheaded quick cash-in…”

And IMDB states that one of the goofs includes: In the underwater fight scene, one shot shows that the fishtail costume had clearly separated from Lenore’s (the mermaid’s) back.

Nice.

Click to read the excerpt on the back cover.

“It was incredible but there it was: his catch, from the waist up, was a woman! Her little breasts were pointed and rosy tipped. On a small scale, she was maturely voluptuous!”

Hmm, rather, erm, titillating for 1945, eh?

I’m a sucker for these pulps from the 50s/60s–but especially if they’re film tie-ins, like this one:

The Best of Everything written by Rona Jaffe.

The movie starred Hope Lange, Stephen Boyd, model Suzy Parker, Diane Baker, Bob Evans (yes, The Kid Stays in the Picture), and special guest Joan Crawford!

Here’s a review.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s on DVD (I own it, natch).

The movie is totally melodramatic (“An expose of the lives and loves of Madison Avenue working girls and their higher ups”) and most of the story takes place in a publishing house–where Joan is the top editor.

Here’s a classic scene between Joan and Hope Lange–guess which lines are Joan’s…

Amanda Farrow: When you finish the slush files, then you may go. But I want my comments on each.
Caroline Bender: Typed?
Amanda Farrow: No Miss Bender. Beat it out on a native drum.

It’s been a hectic and challenging last few weeks. Some highlights:

A couple of weeks ago, as you may know, I took Tom Spanbauer‘s Dangerous Writing workshop– three intense days of talking, writing, analyzing about what we are afraid of in our writing, about how to get to some of those places we worry about going in our writing, and even how to be better writers on the sentence level. Exhausting and insightful. I’m actually going to rewrite parts of my novel based on what I gleaned from the class.

I’m wrapping up my teaching semester, a semester that found me receiving an Excellence in Teaching Award–given to me by the college that I primarily teach at. It was a complete surprise, and a wonderful gesture on the part of my Chair. Now can I parlay it into a full time job…? I’m hoping at some point.

I was also awarded a substantial fellowship from Vermont Studio Center for Jan 2010 (it sounds so far away, but really only 8 months). I’ve accepted (of course), so I guess in the coming months I better get out my snow boots and winter clothes.

And, well, umm, I turned 40. Yes 40. On April 29th. I almost can’t believe it. Even as recent as this week, the thought came over me that, wow, i’m 40. In ten years I’ll be 50–half a century old.

I’m trying not to get bogged down in the ole “what have I done in my life now that i’m 40″ whining… and instead trying to focus on what i’m doing next, and the fact that I have a good life, I have my health, a wonderful husband who is doing some incredible stuff with his PhD, my cat Hermia is still alive at 18 years (for better or worse), the best is yet to come, right?

Besides, Wallace Stevens didn’t publish his poems until he was in his 40s!

Speaking of ageless writers, here’s a bizarre, zany book I got for 25 cents at the college library where I teach. It’s called Psychic Messages from Oscar Wilde, by Hester Dowden. The book is called a modernist hauntology, and is made up of Ouija board/seance messages from Oscar Wilde written down in the early 1920s. It’s fascinating stuff. Not sure what I want to do with it– do I use it as ephemera or do I preserve the book as it is?

Here are a few pictures:

Being dead is the most boring experience in life. That is, if one excepts being married or dining with a schoolmaster.

I haven’t read it all, but I visit the book every so often–it sits on the nightstand next to my bed, with the others i’m reading or will soon read. Each time I open the book again I’m entranced.

Here, he describes his bike (he rode his bike in Fresno, Oakland, SF, and Beverly Hills, delivering telegrams and newspapers) and how bike riding is connected to writing:

Before I was sixteen I had many bicycles. I have no idea what became of them. I remember, though, that I rode them so hard they were always breaking down. The spokes of the wheels were always getting loose so that the wheels became crooked. The chains were always breaking. I bore down on the handlebars with so much force in sprinting, in speeding, in making quick getaways, that the handlebars were always getting loose and I was always tightening them. But thie thing about my bicycles that I want to remember is the way I rode them, what I thought while I rode them, and the music that came to me.

[...]

A man learns style from everything, but I learned mine from things on which I moved, and as writing is a thing which moves I think I was lucky to learn as I did.

A bike can be an important appurtenance of an important ritual. Moving the legs evenly and steadily soon brings home to the bike-rider a valuable knowledge of pace and rhythm, and a sensible respect for timing and the meeting of a schedule.

Out of rhythm come many things, perhaps all things. The physical action compels action of another ordr–action of mind, memory, imagination, dream, hope, order, and so on. The physical action also establishes a deep respect for grace, seemliness, effectiveness, power with ease, naturalness, and so on. The action of the imagination brings home to the bicycle-rider the limitlessness of the potential in all things.

Brilliant.

And speaking of bicycles, I recently bought this belt, made of a recycled bike tire/innertube, from Etsy shop Superflot. Superflot is located in Brooklyn (yeah!) and they make the coolest stuff.

Here’s a description of the belts:

These punky belts are upcycled from discarded bike inner tubes. The rubber tubes are super-sturdy and have a nice amount of stretch for a comfy, secure fit. Buckles are an antique silver color. The tubes start off with a whitish cast and turn shiny and black with use; some come with text or numbers printed on them, so each belt is unique.

I love mine. It’s fun, and looks great. They cost less than $20. Each one is custom made and sized and each has its own characteristics– discolorations, the text or numbers that she notes above. Mine even has some rust color on it, which probably came from the metal inside of the tire. She’s down to her last few products, but I bet if you emailed her and said how much you loved the belt that Rob Williams bought she’d make some more.