February 21st, 2009
Sometimes
Sometimes, I become so upset at my teetering stacks of books and papers (commented one recent guest, “You’re busy!” me: “Or should be!”), email queue and general failure of productivity, that I resolve to scale back on all frolic, forthwith. Which is of course the signal for an eruption of amazing frolicking opportunities amongst my friends and acquaintances. Thus, last night spent on the announcement of the Descant Winston/Collins poetry prize (congrats to all the long- and short-listers, and to Descant for the amazing bash) and later on guitar harmonies and silliness (I sure know the words to a lot of bad songs). And then today, between the yoga and the photo shoot and writing this very important blog post, I had amazing things planned, workwise…which didn’t quite happen. And in a few hours, I have to go out for Mexican food!! How do these things happen?
Something, obviously, has to scale back. Don’t worry, it probably won’t be this blog; does a junkie ever get too busy to shoot up? I fear it’s sleep.
Wake up
The house is on fire
And the cat’s caught in the drier
RR
February 20th, 2009
Dulce de leche
#1–(describes delicious dulce de leche filled pastry he bought once in a store)
Me–I once saw a recipe for that where you just take a can of sweetened condensed milk and boil it in a pan of water for hours. That’s it! So simple.
#1–Hmmm…interesting.
#2–You know, a lot of pressure can build up in that can, and sometimes they can explode. You have to time it really carefully. How long do you boil it for?
Me–Dunno. But I’m sure it said in the recipe.
#3–Maybe you should open the can a little bit, so that steam can escape?
#2–No, it has to be in the sealed can for it to work. But then if it explodes there’s all this busted metal coated with boiling sticky milk flying around. You could get really hurt.
Me–I’m sure that mostly doesn’t happen. In general.
#2–I’m worried about you specifically doing this.
Me–I wasn’t going to do it. I just mentioned it cause *he* said–
#3–I don’t want you to do this, Rebecca. You can buy dulce de leche in a can.
#4–A can that doesn’t need to be cooked.
Me–Guys, guys, I’m not going to try to make anything that involves boiling syrup under pressure. I know my limits. Last night I was talking on the phone and I fell off the couch.
#2–That’s a relief.
#3–Good!
#1–You failed at sitting!
Me–Yes, I suppose I did. Thanks for phrasing it just that way.
February 19th, 2009
Writing Exercises: The Plot-Variant One
Try this: next time you see a stranger or strangers doing something interesting, take the image home (in your mind; I think strangers don’t like it when you photograph them) and write a little mini-story about what’s going on, how it came to occur and/or what happened next. Then write another that has nothing to do with the characters and situation of the first, but still explains the scenario. Then another. Do as many as you feel like, but three is a good number to break you loose from that sense that a good idea is good for one thing only.
If you are low on interesting strangers in your life, you can have some of mine:
–teenaged boy talking on cell-phone, teenaged girl berating him and is ignored. Finally, she kicks him in the shins.
–woman attempts to step into crosswalk, man jogs a few steps to catch up from behind her and grabs her arm to pull her back
–extremely attractive young couple in restaurant, talking extremely loudly. Man congratulates woman repeatedly on “respecting herself” and “standing up for hereself”
–middle-aged couple in Bulk Barn, puzzled and argumentative over selection of popcorn-shaker flavours
Writing exercises just sort of float in the ether and there are a million different versions of everything, but I suppose I should be giving credit to where I’ve found’em. This exercise adapted from one in the (very good) book What If? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers by Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter (and the strangers, for good or ill, are my own). The last one is one I made up, and the one before that was originally given to me by my very first (and brilliant) writing teacher, Pam North.
Enjoy! I’ll post my version in few days!
The lights are on and the party’s over
RR
February 18th, 2009
Are you a writer? (PSA)
We all know that the way to identify a real writer is certainly not through quantifiable rewards like money and glory, or even necessarily published work. It’s the writing that defines a writer: the doing it, the loving/hating/gnashing of teeth of it, the throwing up your hands and snapping at loved ones of it, and the joy of going back to it again in an hour (after apologizing to loved ones).
However, I fear that writers, real as they are, don’t always take themselves that seriously when it comes to finances, and I’m actually quite worried that people are filling out their tax forms both incorrectly and disadvantageously.
No, don’t surf away!! This is boring but not *that* boring! If you made any money at all on your writing last year, read this. Yeah, the tax laws are confusing and might not be relevant to you right away, and yeah, this document does contain daunting headings like “Reasonable Expectation of Profit,” but it might still be worth reading. All those submission stamps and software and research might well be deductible, if you look into it.
And some of it is sort of sweet, in a bureaucratic way:
The nature of art and literature is such that a considerable period of time may pass before an artist or writer becomes established and profitable. Although the existence of a reasonable expectation of profit is relevant in determining the deductibility of losses, in the case of artists and writers it is recognized that a longer period of time may be required in establishing that such reasonable expectation does exist.
And it *is* sort of fun to put “writer” on the tax forms. No, really (did I mention I don’t get out much?)
I was paralyzed
RR
February 17th, 2009
Rose-coloured Reviews *Once*
It seems small and petty to complain about random coincidences. Yet, small and petty as I am, I did wish that the year prior to my book being published, there hadn’t been a a major motion picture that everybody loved with the exact same title. Indeed, one of the (many) great joys of my little book gaining a little fame is that, when someone asks me the title and I tell them, *sometimes* they say they’ve heard of it or they’ve read a review, rather than, “Oh, like that Irish move?” Someone once even asked me if I was writing a novelization of the film (no, but is that gig still available?)
It was a similar pettiness that prevented me from seeing the film for over a year, but now I have and I’m feeling a lot better, because the other On(c)e is nearly as good as everyone says it is, and it’s pretty clearly a different animal from my book. *Once* the movie is about a Dublin street guitarist/vacuum-cleaner repairer with a broken heart, and the Czech flower-seller/pianist who inspires him with her love for music: his, Mendelssohn’s, her own.
Music is the core of this movie–when our stars plays as song, they play the whole of it, and we get to see them work through ideas, chord patterns, melodies and lyrics to make some of the music from scratch. It’s interesting to me that most of the blurbs and press on this film call it a “musical”–to me, the songs in a musical replace dialogue and are non-diagetic–the characters don’t acknowledge that they are singing, and the accompanying instruments are not on-stage.
To me, *Once* is not a musical; it is a movie about music, the same way *The Thin Red Line* is a movie about war and *Bring It On* is a movie about cheerleading. All the songs are sung by characters as songs, though of course as well-written and subtle a movie as this allows their emotions about each others to creep into the song lyrics. And all instrumentation is diagetic, too–there is a truly great scene where the girl is challenged to come up with lyrics for the guy’s music, and wanders the streets singing possibilities over the tune in her discman.
The music is amazing, and when people get done telling me that at least my book has a great name, they usually tell me that the songs in the film are what they remember. It is a true joy to get to hear these pieces in their entirety, and the music resonates more and more when a song recurs in the film, and the lyrics resonate with where you heard them last time and what’s happened since. These are the highest elevation of gentle acoustic rock, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I wound up buying the soundtrack.
If I were to write a novelization of this film, I couldn’t include the music and so, I think, that book would be about 20 pages long–not a lot happens in *Once* other than music, chat, and pitch-perfect awkwardness between two people who like each other but have a lot of problems. I have to admit, I’m stunned at how universally, unequivocally positive all the reviews are, since I myself quite liked the movie, but I was a little bored.
It’s less than 90 minutes, and all the characters are charming, but there’s little conflict and not a lot of action. There is a simple truth to the film–the characters have zero money and a fair amount of sorrow in their lives, and yet they are kind to their families, hopeful for their futures, passionate about their art. And they ride busses and carry courier bags (their is a spectactular frolic on the beach where everyone has their courier bag firm strapped to their torsos–that is my romantic urban fantasy!) *Once* makes the streets of Dublin look both quotidian and sunlit magical, but there’s a lot of sitting around, fiddling with guitar strings, making conversation.
A film–a popular film–at such a leisured pace is something of an achievement, and maybe it’s only my Hollywooden mind making me yearn for someone to make a bold gesture or statement. Another problem I had with *Once* that’s likely limited to me is that I had a terrible time with the accents–I actually missed a good bit of dialogue because of it. I kept thinking I was not making out the main characters’ names, and was relieved when I got to the end credits to find them simply billed as “Guy” and “Girl.” And that, too, is an achievement–the filmmakers make us (well, me) care about these characters while giving us only the sketchiest of backstories and not even names to hang our care on. And if you’re me, with 30% less dialogue, too.
And the ending, the ending blew me away because that just doesn’t happen in American films, and it was both genuinely moving and genuinely true to how human beings are. So, though I was a little bored at times, and a little confused at others, I have to give the other On(c)e the A grade, and concede that, if I have to share the name, this is a film worth sharing with.
Get out of bed / you little sleepyhead
RR
February 14th, 2009
Reading Alerts
Completely unrelated to the previous post, I will be on a panel on “Wandering Jews?” at tomorrow’s Limmud Festival of Learning. Sidura Ludwig, Adam Sol and myself will be talking about the place of Jewishness and the place of place in our writing. That’s at 4:45, but the fest is all day, with cool events throughout.
And then on Tuesday March 3, I’ll be reading at the Vagabond Trust’s inaugural Toronto reading, at Gallery 1313 and as part of Parkdale’s Fireside Culture Week. There’s a whack of amazing people in on this reading, including but not limited to Jenny Sampirisi, angela rawlings, David Seymour, Daccia Bloomfield and DJ Bronson Lee!
The good times just never stop!
And, ok, ok, Happy Valentine’s Day!
Would you mind if I walked over and I kissed your face?
RR
Character Exercise: Holiday Letter Inspired by Personal Ad
Dearest Friends and Family,
Well, it’s that time of year again–the lights, the hugs, the presents, and all those spinning spinning dreidels: it’s Hannukah!
Just kidding! Of course, I am as Christian as a candidate for American public office, and now that Adrienne Goldberg is no longer in my life, I haven’t the slightest need to light a candle during the month of Kislev. As I string the lights and tinsel from fridge to coat-stand and back again, I am sending all my friends and family out in the great white north my sincerest good wishes for merriment at this merry time.
What’s this, you are wondering? Why kill perfectly good trees with this silly letter, Trevor, you might be asking, when you will be home among us, wishing us Merry Christmas in person while attending the Satelliteberg Elementary Festive Singalong and eating your weight in buttertarts at Aunt Sally’s Advent party and falling asleep at the pre-dawn prayer gathering!
Sadly, I won’t make it this year, my dearest friends and family. It’s been a tough year–I don’t like to complain, but managing a hedge fund has gotten a lot less glamourous in the past few months. After the layoffs, you’d think I would have been left with a good deal of free time, but with the class-action suit along with the divorce proceedings finally proceeding, I wound up spending most of my days with lawyers, and my nights in an Manischewitz-wine-soaked despair.
Kidding! Although you know my endless regard for Adrienne hasn’t ended, I abide by her report that we “want different things”! Although I don’t even know what that means! From what I can see across the arbitration table, we’re still both putting non-dairy creamer in our caffeinated beverages when the milk is in pitchers, because that little Kosher “u” just makes us feel better. And when, during our extremely pleasant smalltalk while one of the lawyers is in the restroom, Adrienne mentions a tv show she has enjoyed, it’s almost always one I’ve enjoyed too, or else one I was just about to rent the complete DVD collection of.
So don’t buy me any DVDs for Christmas this year, I’ve seen almost everything in an effort to have something new to present at arbitration smalltalk! Also, they might get busted in the mail. Please just don’t worry about it!
I know, I know, you might think that the end of a six-year marriage and a brilliant career would be an excellent time for the warm embrace of high-school classmates and second cousins, for the comforting tones of my mother asking if I knew all along there was something wrong with a marriage in a synagogue and that’s why we never had kids?
Oh, mom, I love you! But I’m bound and determined to spend the holidays and the remains of my savings on a trip to Israel to finally see where Adrienne’s people came from–I figure it’s the least I can do for the woman I spent the best years of my life with. And I know what you are thinking, Laurence, that Adrienne’s people were from Newark, which means there’s no reason to go where they are firing bombs and don’t even speak English instead of where the beer is cheap and G-d smiles on our OHL team, and yes, but you know what I mean, you big anti-Semitic galoot!
But I really think that this embrace of the Chosen People is an excellent way to illustrate to Adrienne how very much she is my chosen person. I also think that those of you who have chosen to keep her in your hearts and in the family by sending cards and letters are doing *almost* the right thing. However, I know from personal experience in the arbitration room that, now that we are no longer wed (legal as of this morning) she would rather not receive explicitly Christian images in the mail, such as creches, angels, or the seasonally inappropriate cruxifiction scene you sent, Laurence–nice, really nice.
So, without further ado, I’m off on my Birthright tour (if they contact any of you, please be discreet about any small fudgings of the truth of my “birthright”!) Should you miss me enough to want to send gifts, you could give instead to the local Jewish Community Centre. Hah! Of course there is no Jewish Community Centre in Satelliteberg, or even any Jews since the Weinbergers got into that tiff about prayer in school (I’ll finally weigh in on this one: yes, I think grace *is* technically a prayer) and lobbied the county to move the town line so that the family now lives in Burrsbury.
If you are still inclined towards gifting, perhaps you could forward your cheques to one of the fine Jewish organizations in Newark, New Jersey.
I’ll send postcards from the Wailing Wall.
Love,
Trevor
(This wound up having very very little to do with the poor guy whose personal ad I used, and I will *not* be linking to it. He was, I think, quite a catch, and this sort of nonsense would not be helpful to him or his pursuit of happiness.)
February 13th, 2009
Niceness
So, my “Family Day is Fascist” position is not winning many supporters (Family Day, right up there with eyebrows and butter on popcorn on the list of things everyone else finds benign but Rebecca despises). Which is fine, really, I probably need less arm-waving rants in my life, anyway. And since Family Day weekend coincides with Valentine’s Day weekend this year, and last year I finally came up with a suitable position on V-Day, I have extrapolated that to include Family Day, another day of dictated affection!
And the position is, of course, for many of us, families and romantic others are amazing presences and deserving of whatever they desire on any given holiday and also every other day of the year. And for some, that is not the case, temporarily or permanently, for whatever reason. Which might be fine with them, or not at all fine with them, but is certainly none of the government’s business! Sorry. Arm-waving.
*Anyway*, I think there a lot of important people in everyone’s life that don’t have a formal title like mother, sister, partner, second-cousin. I think that people who we interact with in small ways–the colleague that checks the printer and finds your lost invoices, the supermarket cashier with the really long fingernails who is still superfast, the woman who helped me scramble out of a snowbank a couple weeks ago–are also deserving of a good deal of niceness. Maybe we won’t be cooking dinner for them Saturday night (man, that cashier would be surprised), but maybe this weekend could just be a weekend of niceness to everyone.
I guess I don’t like the restrictions of these “days”–this is who you should be kind to, *exclusively*. But there’s nothing stopping me, someone pointed out, from expanding the definition of “family” to include everyone I like. Which I think the OED people would have something to say about, but in the interests of limited arm-waving, I’ll try it. And then I’m going to try expanding the day into the rest of the year.
I promise not to cook dinner for you unless you want me to.
I’ll dig a tunnel / from my window to yours
RR
February 12th, 2009
Stephen on children
Everyone says this Stephen Colbert fellow is so funny, and I very much enjoyed his election coverage last November (particularly his screaming his rage into a water bottle when Obama took the lead). But the page-a-day Stephen Colbert calendar I received as a gift has mainly been a good source of notepaper and not funny so much.
But today, today is funny, so I guess this is the point of the calendar. The point of this post is just to reproduce the Feb. 12 verbatim, and probably break a copyright law:
Stephen on…children
They may be cute, but they are here to replace us. Need proof? Ever catch one walking around in your shoes? That’s a chilling moment, like finding an empty body snatcher pod in the basement.
Heh!
Get out of bed / you little sleepyhead
RR
Buy the book: