At this rate, the next book should be finished by summer’s end. Along with enough short stories to fill a collection, and a new screenplay (more on that below).
If for no other reason, the MFA experiment has been successful because it forces production. Sure, I’d like to think I remain perfectly self-motivated, but isn’t believing in your own “perfect” self-motivation a sign of laziness? My increased output may also be–and here’s when this site is forever taken in a new direction–the result of lingering, profound sadness.
Ah, there you have it. My wife and I have been trying to make babies for seven years. I slogged, distracted, pretended, and hoped. The debt has finally come due, in the form of chaotic grief. Our seven years has been, from a strictly baby-making p.o.v., a failure. The worst part? Watching my wife suffer through it. And before the self-righteous types fire off the usual round of emails dripping with pseudo-outrage (”the world has enough children!”), her grief has been the most incredible thing to watch. She maintains optimism and joy, while I descend–with much shame at times–into cynicism.
It’s true, you know. Cynicism is much easier; it remains the refuge of cowards.
So I intend to find hope in my writing, which seems to be the prereq for young writers. I’m a grizzled veteran at retreating into a fantasy world. It got me through much of my childhood, so why stop now? Does this mean my stories will all be marked by sad men who cannot become fathers as soon as they’d liked? God, no. Blech. I loathe fiction that smacks of autobiography. Strike that–I loathe fiction that obviously smacks of autobiography.
The paradox: we mine material from our lives, but must refine that material into something else entirely.
I’ve spouted much bullshit on writing, art, etc. But the single sentence above just might be the one true, and good thing I’ve ever said.
Onward. I finally saw Låt den rätte komma in (Let the Right One In). Forget the horror label–if you like your films perfect, queue it up. After one viewing it made my top 20 all-time.
Now, as for that screenplay. I’m doing an adaptation of a short story written last semester. Rachel (who, despite my insistence that I know better, really does have a keener sense of what works and what doesn’t) insisted I just-get-the-damn-script-written, and send it off to Sarah Self. Last December I promised Sarah something in March. I didn’t know why I promised, or what I promised. Now I do. Sort of.
Micah,
You mentioned in a previous post that you might put some of your student’s work on this site. Would you consider one of my short stories? Especially if it’s really, really good (I’m not saying it is, I’m just saying)?
Waiting Patiently for That Elvis Book,
Caroline
Well Caroline, if it’s really, really good, why on earth would you publish it here? Send it someplace that pays, and enjoys a large readership. I’m not looking to make this site into a literary journal of any kind; the student story experiment would serve as a lesson in revision. I want to post one of my student’s stories that I think almost worked, then post the second draft. We’re not even halfway through the first round of stories, so I’m holding off.
Okay. Time to shovel snow. Our front walk is buried, and it looks like another sunny Holliston day. Mornings like these almost make me not miss Brookline.
