ch-ch-ch-changes
Hold, please, while I redo some bits & bobs on my site. You don’t want to peek behind the scenes—it’s not pretty. Yet.
Hold, please, while I redo some bits & bobs on my site. You don’t want to peek behind the scenes—it’s not pretty. Yet.
“A lot of what goes into your work can be unconscious, or at least the emotional reverberations from these images might have been unanalyzed. It’s difficult for these things to remain that way when you do a book tour … it’s got to have some effect on how you write. … You start to become much more self-conscious.”
—Kazuo Ishiguro
[from a Paris Review interview with novelist Kazuo Ishiguro]
I hadn’t thought about it this way before. He’s right. Some awareness of your work and the unconscious choices you make while writing might be good, especially if you’re trying to break out of patterns, but I didn’t know how easy it would be to tip over into “being” a writer, or thinking about being a writer, or thinking about writing instead of simply writing.
Here’s the full question and answer from which the quote is taken:
PARIS REVIEW INTERVIEWER:
Does the publicity side of a writer’s life—book tours, interviews—end up affecting your writing?
KAZUO ISHIGURO:
It affects your writing in two obvious ways. One is that it takes up a third of your working life. The other is that you spend a lot of your time being quizzed by often very insightful people. Why is there always a three-legged cat in your stuff, or what’s this obsession with pigeon pie? A lot of what goes into your work can be unconscious, or at least the emotional reverberations from these images might have been unanalyzed. It’s difficult for these things to remain that way when you do a book tour. In the past, I used to think it was nicer to be as honest and open as possible, but I’ve seen the damage that this does. Some writers get quite screwed up. They end up feeling resentful and violated. And it’s got to have some effect on how you write. You sit down to write and you think, I am a realist and I suppose I am a kind of absurdist as well. You start to become much more self-conscious.
I knew there was something I should be doing besides writing … Mexican Thumb-Wrestling Masks!*
Image & ideas from penandink:
Temporary tattoos for children commissioned by McSweeney’s The Goods.
* You probably think I’m just writing that to catch up on site posts and for amusement value. If so, that merely demonstrates how little you know me. Behold, the predecessor to Mexican Thumb-Wrestling Masks c.2013: Korean Toe-Wrestling Hats c.2004.

The contender in the left corner: my toe. The contender in the right corner: my friend Janny’s toe.
I take my instead-of-writing activities seriously, peeps. So all you fauxcrastinators, come correct.
This is terrific! … and also not what is happening with me at the moment—me sitting in front of my keyboard, no symphony orchestra behind me, at best the accompanist in my brain is the ghost of John Cage, at worst there are foghorns, disturbingly lots.
[Thanks to scientist, discoverer, inventor, squid sympathizer, poet, and herself an extraordinary typist Sierra Nelson for leading me to this video.]
this is it—this is exactly the kinda shit i expect chairs do when we’re not looking.
“check it, check it, yo—i’m jumproping my own leg.”
“wheeeeee! lookit me! i’m salvador dali!”
“shutupshutup. suck it in. they’re coming back.”
Lawn Chairs, 2010
by Andy Ralphvia BOOOOOOOM!
This video of 1-sec clips from each day - like a poem! Made w/Cesar Kuriyama’s 1 Second Everyday app. (Hurry up, Droid version!) Thanks to @kelliagodon for sharing.
Here: a photo of Mt. Everest.
At first, I thought the mountain seemed unimpressive, flatter than I imagined it would be. But then I realized those tiny, tiny dots of color at the bottom were—click zoom, click zoom, click zoom, click zoom—lots and lots of base camps. They were us. We were so small I almost didn’t notice us. And the mountain that I thought was nothing like the talk of the mountain—well, it wasn’t anything like the talk. It was much more sublime. And we were never mountains.
Finally got to see Laurie Anderson live last night. When it was done, I immediately wanted it to start again.
I’ve listened to these Anderson CDs I have so many times that now and then, the voice in my head—the deep-sub-con voice that talks to me in my own XM satellite way—doesn’t come out sounding like my voice, but like hers.
Here’s a bit of her Dirtday! performance that it I found online—wish I could share with you my favorite part—the part where she suddenly puts the pillow speaker in her mouth and sings like a violin, and then like a wolf. She is so wow.
I see she’s heading to VA and MN, among other places, to perform this show. My peeps there—if you have a chance to see her, go!
[to Sofia, wherever you are: I still think about those Redmond afternoons at work in that office we shared at the end of the hall. Opera or Laurie Anderson loud on the crappy little boombox while you did this-and-this with pictures and I did this-and-this with words. Then our respective bosses would come in and point here and here and sweep out, and we’d get back to this-this-this. The first day you played that Anderson CD—looping it over and over again—I got nothing at all done. And I was so glad.]
Milkweed posted this link on their FB page so I took a look. & I likey.
For all of you Twitter poets, vocab geeks, and lovers of tight prose, here’s a new writing tool for you: THSRS, the thesaurus that only suggests shorter words.
Can’t tell if this is a good development or a bad one. What do you think: harmless fun, or travesty to the art of writing?
This will, natch, be added to my box of writing toys.
Btw, my answers to their questions are as follows: harmless: Y, fun: Y, travesty to writing: Y, but also exaltation: Y—or as Thsrs might say, sendup & raptus!
Today’s news: I was almost a Washington State Book Award winner!*
[In case you can’t read the drawing’s caption: ‘Sage in Meditation’ in ink on a paper album leaf by the Korean painter Kang Hui-an (1419-1465). The style of Chinese painters like Ma Yuan transmuted by Ming painters are here given a Korean deftness and humour.”]
Here are the winners of the 2012 WA State Book Awards. Big congrats to all—I feel super honored to have been a finalist among you all!
Especially warm congrats to Christine Deavel, whose collection of poetry Woodnote is wondrous (particularly that last long piece “Economy”—I have read and re-read it a lot), and to fellow finalist Elizabeth Austen, whose poem “Lilies” from that book Every Dress a Decision has these lines I think of sometimes when I’m posting things like this to the online carousel that is FaceTube:
Emptying their daylight bodies, they dismantle
the display.
While I’m talking about this, here’s an invite to the awards party:
WA State Book Awards Party!
Wednesday, Oct. 3, 7:00 p.m.
@ Hugo House (1634 11th Ave - in Cap Hill)
Free and open to the public. Come celebrate winners, finalists, writers, readers, and friends.
And here’s the full list of winners & finalists:
2012 Washington State Book Award in Poetry: Woodnote by Christine Deavel (Bear Star Press)
Finalists:
2012 Washington State Book Award in Fiction: A Young Man’s Guide to Late Capitalism by Peter Mountford (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)
Finalists:
2012 Washington State Book Award in Biography/Memoir: In Earshot of Water: Notes from the Columbia Plateau by Paul Lindholdt (The University of Iowa Press)
2012 Washington State Book Award in History/General Nonfiction: In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror, and an American Family in Hitler’s Berlin by Erik Larson (Crown Publishers)
Finalists:
Scandiuzzi Children’s Book Award, Picture Book: To Market, To Market, written and illustrated by Nikki McClure (Abrams Books for Young Readers)
Scandiuzzi Children’s Book Award, Book for Middle Grades &Young Adults (ages 10 to 18): Something to Hold by Katherine Schlick Noe (Clarion Books)
Finalist:
* I also would not have minded announcing that I was a winner of the Washington State Lottery. Alas, I am neither a state book award winner nor flush with dubiously raised, state cash. Back to meditating.
Here’s the exciting news I promised: I’m one of this year’s recipients of the American Book Award!
The press release lists all the 2012 winners—including fellow poet (& coincidentally fellow Twin Cities timer, fellow Brown alum, & fellow drinker of the 한) Ed Bok Lee.
This reminds me of getting those paper award certificates in grade school—y’know, the ones with fancy signatures and shiny gold seals on that faux parchment paper to make it feel as though the Queen herself were recognizing you for your good works, your 15th century excellence. I loved those. I had a stash of them in my piano bench from competitions I’d played in. I never much enjoyed the piano competitions, but I adored those certificates. It wasn’t so much the recognition—I mean, that is also the awesome but that wasn’t why I kept them. It was really the paper. The feel of that paper. The ink on it. Sometimes the ribbon under the seal. Often the overblown, recklessly lavish calligraphy.
I should just make myself a bunch of those for random achievements, random excellences. Or especially for things I was never awarded but coveted, like:
But maybe the general Certificate of Excellence is best. I should carry it around with me. In a scroll. That way I can prove my certified excellence in moments when it might come into question. For example, the other day when I was returning some things to Bed, Bath & Beyond and I accidentally included an item that I hadn’t purchased there in the bag. It’s stunning how much haughty self-righteousness can be conveyed in the simple phrase, “This isn’t one of ours.” I mean, sorry—it was a mistake—I didn’t mean to contaminate yours with this. I’m not the kind of person who would try to pull a fast one on you like that. And anyway, look—that soap dispenser was only $4.95 at whatever slumhole I originally bought it from, so it’s not even like I was trying to rip you off for some unethically exorbitant amount. Here … here’s my certificate of excellence. See? An excellent person wouldn’t do that. And I’m an excellent person. An award winner. I swear.
(fruit-headed thoughts of varying volume. thanks & hello.)