Quick notice to RSS subscibers:
First of all, THANKS for subscribing to this blog! This is a brand new blog, and some people have already subscribed to it. That makes all of you champions, by the way.
That said, due to my having a difficult time deciding whether to use Tumblr for my professional or personal blog (I’ve got both), it has taken awhile to define exactly what I wanted on here and what I didn’t.
I’ve decided to make my Tumblr my PERSONAL video blog. That’s right: I’ll be posting video. It’s a book blog, and you’ll get to listen to me ramble about shit. Cool? Good.
In order to do that, I had to change the domain to the domain name I reserved for my personal blog: On The Porch. From now on, just go to http://ontheporch.org to see this blog.
I’m letting subscribers know this because I’M GOING TO CHANGE THE RSS URL to correspond to the new blog. You’ll have to go back to the site and sign up again. Not too hard, really. I’m going to do that immediately after posting this, so go ahead and “re-subscribe!”
If you’re just following me on Tumblr, you shouldn’t have to do anything. Thanks!
Adam
Narcissism is awesome.
Narcissism is especially awesome when you’re a writer who can get away with it by participating in the self-indulgent exercise of writing about writers. The thing is, I don’t know if many writers can get away with doing this, and it seems to be a very easy trap for the well-intentioned writer to fall into.
Because what could be easier for a writer than making his or her protagonist, well, a writer?
But it sucks when the narcissism kills the story.
One noteworthy figure who nearly fell into the black hole of narcissism happens to be one of my favorite short story writers, a guy named Larry Brown. In 2007, I attended a “Larry Brown-centered” literary conference in Oxford, Mississippi during which one of Brown’s editors recounted a discussion she had with the writer about the protagonist in his first novel, Dirty Work.
It seems Brown made his main character, Walter, a writer when he handed in the first draft of the manuscript, and his editor sent it back demanding he make a change.
Why? Probably because making the character a writer didn’t do anything for the story. Instead, the editor felt it demonstrated a sort of self-centered approach to fiction writing.
I should add that Brown went on to successfully craft stories about writers. The novella 92 Days, I think, is a killer example of how the struggles of a writer can be relevant to a wide audience.
So when does narcissism work well?
There is one writer I’ve been reading a lot lately who nearly always writes about writers. In fact, I have to pause and think for a minute before I can even come up with a single short story by this guy that isn’t about a writer.
Roberto Bolaño is his name, and somehow, somehow, he’s able to wallow in self-love without completely alienating the reader. I understand his last novel (as in his last one ever – Bolaño died a few years ago) has sold really well and not just among a “niche” crowd of artsy fartsy fiction snobs.
Bolaño is able to write about writers as much as he wants because the storytelling is just so spot-on. Take “Sensini,” a short story about an unnamed young writer who meets an older writer through their mutual participation in a writing competition.
Yeah, there’s a lot of writing going on there.
We as readers grow to pity both the young writer, a poor loner looking for some guidance and companionship, and Sensini, the older writer, who enjoys the friendship he has struck up with the younger writer as his own son ran away from home years ago. In fact, the younger writer ends up serving as a long-distance surrogate for Sensini’s absent son, who later turns up dead.
And that’s what the story is really about: Not that they’re writers, but that they’re passionate human beings. Bolaño could just as well have made them welders or garbage collectors.
So maybe it’s possible to write about writers without seeming vain or self-obsessed.
Or maybe just a little narcissism, when cloaked skillfully behind the veil of a good story, is permissible, after all.
A few days ago, I finished the part of Journey to the End of the Night where Bardamu meets Lola, the lovely American nurse.
As I am most impressed primarily by the honesty of the following lines, I don’t want to be dishonest myself by neglecting to admit that a smile crept upon my face as I read them:
Her body was an endless source of joy to me. I never tired of caressing its American contours. to tell the truth, I was an appalling lecher – and I went on being one.
The paragraph that follows is worth quoting, as well:
Indeed, I came to the very delightful and comforting conclusion that a country capable of producing anatomies of such startling loveliness, and so full of spiritual grace, must have many other revelations of primary importance to offer – biologically speaking, of course.
Céline may be French, but commentary so praiseworthy of “the republic for which it stands” would make an American boy stand up to say the Pledge of Allegiance.
Thanks, Lou.
And later, when Bardamu finds himself (through an unfortunate set of events beyond his psychological control) speaking to Princhard, the “schoolmaster-gone-mad,” the following bit of wisdom stands out as perhaps the most memorable from the ex-teacher’s tirade on humanity and power:
There is no rest for the humble except in despising the great, whose only thought of the people is inspired by self-interest or sadism.
Okay, so Princhard may be right about this one, but I still wouldn’t tap him to lead any corporate team-building activities.
But as Bardamu explains of Princhard, “He had the intellectual’s vice; he was futile. The fellow knew too much and it confused him.”
Like his commentary on the features of American women, our protagonist has once more succeeded in hitting the bull’s eye.
photo by Wesley Fryer
“I’ll tell you … because people with nothing wrong with them, you can’t get around it, are frightening … Especially since the war … I know what they’re thinking … They don’t always know it themselves … but I know what they’re thinking … As long as they’re up, they think about killing you.”
Journey to the End of the Night
Warfare. Heartache. Pity. Betrayal. Lust. Falling on swords. Fighting with swords. Trash talking. Glove dropping. Eyeball plucking. Honor. Dishonor. Theft of the maidenhead. Destruction. Empire. Conquest.
vs.
Chasing balls around in the grass.
One thing that’s great about the prevalence of user-generated content is that it has put us on the path to a completely “opt-in” world. With a generation accustomed to buying stuff based on the deliberate choice to connect with whoever is selling it, marketers of the future can assure themselves that the last way to get a prospect’s attention will be to surprise him or her out of the blue with some kind of ad or obnoxious sales pitch.
People aren’t even watching TV. Unlike the old days when we had no choice but to watch the ads, we’re now able to see pretty much anything we want without the undue burden of turning our attention to commercials.
It’s quite nice, really.
If advertisers really want to reach out to me, they can do so by telling fart jokes on Twitter or writing meaningful blog posts about something I’m searching for.
So when a candidate calls me on the phone (or gets some political bigshot’s recorded voice to call me on the phone), you can bet I’m hanging up just as fast as my finger can locate the “off” button. This scenario played out several times today while I was visiting my mom and dad, who still have a land-line phone.
Speaking of, if only having a cell phone means I’ll get to avoid telemarketing calls forever, I’ll stay land-line free, thank you.
But in spite of the title of this blog post, I’ll stop short of saying that I will refrain from voting for any candidate who uses such an archaic, irritating marketing tactic. If the candidate bothering me on the phone is the best one for the position, then he or she is the best one for the position.
That doesn’t mean such phone calls won’t annoy others out of voting for that person, however. With the explosion of social media and such, a few more election seasons are likely to show a hastening of politi-calls either by candidates or on their behalf.
Because those are some things for which the opt-in generation just will not stand.
Anybody agree?
As soon as I finish this post, I’m going to do some hand exercises. Not that I actually know any hand exercises, mind you, but I’m going to play guitar for awhile just to get my hands out of this stiff, i’ve-been-typing-all-day position.
You see, starting a business – no matter what kind of business – is hard work. Thankfully, my business is mostly just me working as a freelancer, and the start-up costs are extremely low. That said, there is a lot of work that goes into decorating my “office.”
It’s all happening because I finally drank the Kool-Aid and bought one of those premium Wordpress themes and a custom skin to complement it, and it was definitely worth it. That said, I still find myself spending all afternoon coding into oblivion.
I thought the premium themes were supposed to make things easy.
All in all, it’s coming along nicely, though. The site is looking good, and as soon as the structure is set into place as it should be, I’ll start providing regular updates and actually blogging.
It’s both exciting and terrifying to be doing something like this. Other than the freelance stuff I’ve been doing the past several months, this is my first real business. I’m finally building my freelance work upon some kind of solid foundation, and for that I feel confident.
Even if I fail, so what? I’ll still have my teaching job. Trying to start a business in the first place is what separates the men from the boys.
Come to think of it, not even carpal tunnel could stop me. I’d probably just hire some hack to type everything until I got better.
I just post something here, and it goes up on my blog page? A combination of twitter+blog.
Yeah.
Neat.
On The Porch is a tri-weekly video blog about books.
Its subscribers have been known to start fights and drink Old Milwaukee whilst reading Kafka.
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