I can still feel the scratch of octane in my throat, a distinct pungence of earth still in my nose. Ben, Jeremy, and I have just returned from walking the dirt at the Nuclear Cowboyz warm-up, getting ready for tonight’s show, which is going to be ridiculous, and by ridiculous, I mean unabashedly awesome. I mean, this dude is upside-down, with a 215-pound motorcycle, and to him, this act is as quotidian as hitting the snooze button.
Got to chat with pioneering FMX rider, Ronnie Faistt, who seemed a little on-edge about his gear having not arrived from a layover at Chicago O’Hare. Rider Takayuki Higashino took a spill while we watched, and was to his feet before I even knew he’d fallen. Before we left, we talked some shop and had some laughs with Mike Mason, who was self-admittedly bummed about not being one of the Metal Mulisha, thus having to settle for fat girls all tour.
While there, Ben got in a good game of King of the Mountain…with himself.
We’re about to head out to get something to eat before the main event. Tonight is going to be stupid awesome; if you’re there, look for the 3 dudes who look, 1) out of place, and 2) keep saying, “WHAAAAA?!”.
*Photos taken by Jeremy Albert.
“I’m pretty nervous about the snow tomorrow. It’s so white and it melts.” -Adam Robinson
My pal, Jeremy, took a series of great photos last night (light pollution – 12:47 a.m.):
Writing some comments concerning a draft of Laura’s this morning. The draft itself is 3 paragraphs long, not much more than a few hundred words, & in the last sentence, she makes a great and poignant reference to the David & Goliath story.
My suggestion to her was to try to develop that theme earlier & throughout the piece.* I linked her to Shya’s Big Other post a few weeks ago about alignment of metaphor and theme; the discussion there outlines my advice better than I could.
Then, trying to think of an editorial rewrite/example, I realized how hard that task would be: to infuse allusions to David & Goliath throughout a few-hundred word piece, subtle enough that you’re not insulting your readers. & then I posed this question, to her as well as myself:
How do we grow as writers if we shrink from hard writing?
At times lately, I’ve been getting discouraged, even to the point that I don’t want to sit down & open up a draft of something big and difficult that I chewed off in my brainspace. When did I get into the mindset of getting discouraged by pushing myself?
It’s like I’ve forgotten the feeling & the rush of trying to write something better than me, that Archimedes-in-the-bath feeling of finally figuring out how to make language work with my idea, instead of the vice versa. I’m getting back into that space–agonizing over commas, deliberating verbs, asking myself questions, revelling in ideas that stretch my understanding of how language works.
All this talk lately with Joe & David & Laura is pushing me to get big, to fail better. There are things worse than death.
*P.S. Does anyone know the Raymond Carver story where the father & mother tug-of-war with their baby, & it ends with the Solomon reference, “in this way, it was decided”?** I referenced it in my critique as something Laura should read, but couldn’t remember the title.
**”Popular Mechanics” is the title of the story in question. Thanks, Edward Mullany over at Big Other.
Over at Big Other, Mel Bosworth reads an excerpt from Sasha Fletcher’s WHEN ALL OUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED MARCHING BANDS WILL FILL THE STREETS & WE WILL NOT HEAR THEM BECAUSE WE WILL BE UPSTAIRS IN THE CLOUDS. I’ve been really stoked about this book since I read an excerpt of it over at the latest Alice Blue.
You should seriously look into it. He makes rivers out of what rivers have always been made out of. Everything I’ve read of this so far puts this book as one of my most anticipated releases of ‘10.
Get ready.
*
Dave Erlewine and I have a chit chat going about patience in submitting work over at his blog, wherein he references a great comment by Lovelace wherein Sean says not all pieces are worth submitting.
It comes at a good time, as my good friend Joe and I were just talking today about the need for more patience and deliberation in our writing. We’ve recently begun workshopping each other’s work via the email (welcome to the 21st century!), something we’ve both been pretty lacking in lately. We are tearing into our drafts like something carnal and savage, something hungry, blood in our jowls, sharks swarming.
Get ready.
*
A video, wherein my friend Peter (my real friend, not the Alkaline Trio song) reads one of Dan Bailey’s drunk sonnets:
Peter also has an awesome idea for his next lit zine, which he’s asked me to be a part of, and which he hopes to have finished in time for myself and a few others to distribute at AWP in April.
Get ready.
Britt and I started working on a new project tonight. When we get some content on it, I will show you it.
*
Today, someone found this blog searching for “motocross sonnets.” I stared a while when I saw that. Then, I laughed. Then, I wanted to read a motocross sonnet. Maybe I will write one after this weekend. We’re going to Nuclear Cowboyz. If Laura and her bourgeois lawyer friends can’t handle it, fuck ‘em. Let ‘em riot. We’re going to Nuclear Cowboyz.
*
The phrase “in order to” continues to grate me. It can simply be “to.”
*
I had something else to say, but I am all Parmesan dust. When I was a child, I’d scatter Parmesan cheese over my various Italian cuisines while saying in a child-like, sing-song, “It’s snowing in pizzalaaaaand,” usually even if it wasn’t pizza, but in fact, spaghetti. It wouldn’t have been lasagna. It’s only in the past few years that I’ve developed a taste for that layered delicacy of comfortable belly.
*
Matt Bell writes comforting rejection letters. Thank you, Matt. You made me look forward to submitting more to The Collagist in the future.
Note: If you don’t currently read and keep up with The Collagist, you should. It’s one of the best out there.
Yo, everyone. Booth Journal, put out by the Butler U. writing program, is putting out a call for submissions:
I just wanted to put out a quick call for submissions for Booth. If you—or anybody you know—or anybody THEY know—has some killer fiction, poetry, nonfiction, or a quirky list, please get it over to us. Apparently we’re the only magazine in America not currently drowning in submissions. So, please, spread the word so we can drown a little, too.
Booth, out!
*
I’m looking forward to the start of So Do It, a new thing the Writer’s Center is doing where writers around the Indy area get together at Marian University for a few hours to just write, and afterwards, hang out and talk about writing/what we’re working on, etc. I think it’ll be a good way to get some work done and connect with some local nerds.
For anyone local who might read this, this starts on February 21st (it was supposed to start on the 7th, but it was pushed back since the Colts made it to the Superbowl, so suck on that), 1 p.m. -4 p.m. at Marian University. Not sure of the exact place at Marian U. It’s $10 if you’re not a member of the Writer’s Center, free for members. Get into it.
*
Edit: 8 hours after the initial posting of this, I reread it and suddenly realize a lot of innuendo surrounding the title and variations on the phrase “put out” regarding Booth. This is because Booth is long-legged and sexy.
My story in NUVO about Nuclear Cowboyz dropped today. I’m not gonna lie; it was fun to write. How many times as a freelance journalist do you get to write about getting punched in the face ?
There’s no subtlety here; Nuclear Cowboyz is coming to Indianapolis to accomplish one thing — to mash up Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, Cirque de Soleil and motorcycles into a production with the sole purpose of simulating a punch to the face. At the onset of a fist fight, your body has one simple response: adrenaline, a rush of blood to the head, eyes wide and darting alert, a flush of skin, big and gulping breaths.
*
Wow. Even the art museum directors between Indy and New Orleans are talking smack about the SuperBowl. That’s pretty hilarious.
“I am amused that Renoir is too sweet for Indianapolis. Does this mean that those Indiana corn farmers have simpler tastes? If so why would Max offer us that gaudy Chalice — just looks like another over-elaborate Victorian tchotchke. Let’s get serious. Each museum needs to offer an art work that they would really miss for three months. What would you like Max? A Monet, a Cassatt, a Picasso, a Miro? Sorry but we have no farm scenes or portraits of football players to send you.”
*
I’m off to have a shot of Maker’s with a Coke back on the company dime.
My buddy Jer linked me to these rare photos of celebrities yesterday. Some interesting of notes:
Bukowski
Hemingway
Ginsberg
Kerouac
Hunter S. Thompson
Well, it was a hard choice, but in the end, I settled on Brent Harshman’s bro-punch to the face, bruised brain, $12000 ambulance bill, and Pangea-face as the winning drunk story. So, Brent, get me your address at cenewgent (at) gmail (dot) com, and I’ll get this copy of The Drunk Sonnets to you stat!
Thanks to everyone who entered; your stories ruled at life, and made me glad to know all of you just a little more.
Boosh cover design by Jez Burrows for a Penguin design contest–took 2nd. (HT: ffffound)
