A Reliable Wife, some thoughts

Just finished reading Goolrick’s A Reliable Wife. I liked the darn thing, but I'm not sure why anyone is taking it seriously. Maybe they aren't. It is in no way “complex,” as the cover blurb suggests, or “darkly nuanced,” as cited in the Washington Post review. In fact it is a predictable and simple book about three existential characters who derive transcendence through lust to escape the miseries of the past and present. There’s Truitt, the rich, haunted widower. Caroline, the scheming party girl who will never go hungry again. And Antonio, the dissipated prodigal who lives on oysters and champagne. You do the math.

In other words, A Reliable Wife is a smutty romance novel, albeit one that is oddly and brilliantly informed by the world represented in Michael Lesy’s Wisconsin Death Trip. By the end, I felt a real Taylor Caldwell vibe, especially as the novel strenuously attempts to rationalize its horny violence.

In between scenes of damp consuming passion, we learn where the characters came form and how they got to where they are, locally and psychically, but the particulars don’t really add up to anything that matters. For example, early on Caroline sews jewels into her hem only to lose them in the snow after an accident. She spends her free time looking for the jewels. Eventually, the caretaker finds them, but by that time she no longer cares about the jewels. This works as a symbol of her willingness to give over her autonomy, but the literal loss of the jewels has no bearing on the events of the book. I think that’s a problem. Like Alton Brown, I don’t like single use tools.

That said, I recommend it, especially as a super fun companion to the Lesy work.

***reading this post 2 hours later, man it's nasty. But I really enjoyed the book. I guess that, as I work on my own novel and worry about its future, I really grind on what disappoints me in published, well sold books.

revision status

well alrightey, I'm "through" revision 1 in that I've gone through the draft and managed to whittle it down to 330 better pages. I got some great advice about the first 40, which I'm still applying, and now I think I may be at the stage of re-writing the chapter by chapter summary to see what this tighter version looks like, bird's eye view.

one of my worries is that I never really answer the questions of the supernatural phenomenon that drives the plot. all I do is write about the affect on my main character. hope I can get away with that.

next weekend we go to new orleans. whee! research! gonna eat and drink myself stoopid.

Does Travel Writing not mean what I think it means?

J. W. Wang sent me the link to "10 Online Literary Magazines that Publish Great Travel Writing" in Matador magazine. Juked is number 10, and my story "Do you know what it means to miss" is excerpted as a sample.

I'm not sure how Juked or my story--in which the mayor shoots down orange clouds in New Orleans, crushing Victor the fat corset maker to death--contributes to travel writing, but Matador likes indie lit scene writers, that's for sure. Check out "Brandon Scott Gorrell Goes to Oakland."

Scrivening

Sean Lovelace has the very best imagination, ever, so I'm thrilled that he posted a nacho-trippy-inspired reading of my story from elimae, "Render, or to transmit to another," which was selected for the Wigleaf Top 50. He nails it of course. I write from the 19th century.

this is SO GOOD

"Unbecoming a Librarian (In Nine Steps)" by Michelle Reale. It's dedicated to me, you know. Heeee!

Michelle owns the season, I tell you.

I've submitted to eyeshot twice. the rejections notes said "strike one," and "strike two" respectively. never worked up the nerve to strike out.

The time I was entombed

I made a comment elsewhere that makes it sound as if I don’t appreciate my publication in the venerable Ploughshares several years ago, and I think I should walk that back, because the experience was invaluable even if the story itself was/is pretty meaningless.

I had rough times in my MFA program, mainly because I prioritized smug lyricism over story, and early on Richard Bausch called me out on that, sort of memorably. So when Al Young conducted a visiting writer’s workshop, beginning with a grave speech about how essential it is for the main character to change by the end of the story, I was nervous. See, he had my manuscript in hand, a story in which a guy sits at a bar in front of a big painting of Dolly Parton, thinks about his life, leaves the bar. That’s freaking it. 20+ pages.

And then he said my character never changed. I braced for another MFA beat down. But no, he said it was a good story any way. I think he used the word ‘ineluctable.’

Several months later, Young called the dept asking for that “woman with the brown curly hair” who had written a story he liked. He wanted me to make the revisions and send it to him for an issue of Ploughshares he was editing with the theme of “Believers.”

So that happened. A pub in Ploughshares, graduation and immediate employment, and I didn’t write for years. When I did write, I played with novel projects and had no interest in literary short stories—too much cancer and divorce amongst the middle class—and journals made me sad because I was convinced that the only reason someone would crack Ploughshares to read my story was to see if they could do better than me.

Then years later, Ploughshares offered authors the opportunity to join their digital archive. I opted in, and the rush I felt from seeing my work online was powerful, which in turn sent me into the world of online lit where what I read was so exciting that my love of short story was re-ignited.

I don’t have an ending for this. Oh, almost forgot. When Young called the dept, the receptionist got over excited for me and kept saying it was Andrew Young who needed to speak with me asap. That was confusing.

revision update (snore)

I'm revising my draft, Social Aid & Pleasure, and that's coming along, but my goal was to shed 70-80 pages of the 386 I ended up with. I'm at about 140 pages now, and I've only managed to dump 20 pages so far. Maybe I'll run into some digressive chapters about knot tying soon, but I don't remember writing any of those.

The main job in the first 40 pages was to make them more active and focused, less expository and discursive. This required me to wrestle with my narrator, who is a naturally loquacious, sometimes affected, dude. Dean read the pages, liked them, but he knows the concept too well to determine whether I'm delivering enough information at a decent pace, so I have two readers on the job (thanks E & D).

I also put a section of dialogue up on fictionaut, sans context, and the folks there are treating me very well indeed. I'm feeling pretty good about how this is going, with the only barrier being the fact that people keep expecting me to work for a living.

The pic is my WV cabin undergoing renovation. If you click on it, you'll see the toilet is outside in the yard, next to the entrance. This is not our preference.

Go back to J-school

John Roberts (mtv correspondent turned CNN morning anchor) made me mad today, and it was just a little thing, but cripes. After an otherwise sane exchange between Kiran Chetry and a senior editor from WIRED, JR gets all harumphy before he chimes in with something along the lines of, 'I don't get why some bloggers won't blog under their real names.'

Unrelated, but still pseudo journo bashy: when I started college I was a journalism major. When I switched to English, I thought my mom would be mad, seeing as there weren't clear professional options with a BA. But she surprised me. Said, "Oh thank God. I thought we were paying for you to learn how to become a pickpocket."

New story up at Northville Review

"This American Death" is up today at the always fun Northville Review. It has zombies and public radio in it, and it was written specifically for NR, which is just about my favorite of the newer venues. It's a journal where you can really see the eccentricity of the editor shining through. Plus, Erin Fitzgerald is a great American.

The Possibilities are Endless

This is a feminine products vending machine, located in the restroom outside my office. Check out the options for the gal on the go who won't be held down by a bit of monthly bother:

rollerskater
boot scooter
bicyclist
tag wearer
tennis player

The woman in the foreground is not wearing a snuggie. That's a cowl neck dress, kids, accessorized with a lion 'do and a thoughtful expression. I have never felt the way that woman seems to feel. I think I'm glad of that.

At the bottom three possibilities promised, but each selection dispenses the same generic pad.

Not since Free Pancake Day

. . . have so many writers gotten soooo excited. And for good reason. Matt Bell has just announced his new venture, a new online journal called The Collagist, set to debut in August. It's sponsored by Dzanc Books, so it's already awesome.

Once it comes out, readers will be just as excited, but at the moment I'm thinking Matt's inbox looks pretty scary.

I want to have a michelle reale weekend

I'm doing this because it doesn't look like she has a stinkin' blog. These were her pubs last weekend. Guess she took Saturday off.

Thursday: "Forbidden Fruits"
Friday: "Manipulation"
Sunday: "Natal"

enjoy.

Glorious run

Paul Toth's deliriously satisfying Hit and Run has suspended publication due to "lack of readership," which seems insane--who did not check this site daily?

I'd join the crowd of folks clamoring for its return, but H&R must have been difficult to sustain, given the concept. It was/is an idea that is almost too good. Perhaps someone will take it over, but I'm okay thinking of it as a gallery that has filled to capacity.

Thanks, Paul!!!!

Dazzling

Wow, my little 750 word story got a real work out in May. A fragment of it in this this gorgeous collage thingy (press both buttons for an interesting mix) from the mysterious and riveting bedepressed blog. Looks like it's on a hiatus. Hope it comes back. Got a couple Nancy Drew types working on this.

While I wasn't looking

The amazing Steven J. McDermott posted this about my story, "Do you know what it means to miss" from Juked. I'm a happy writer, he totally gets what I'm going for emotionally, even if doesn't think I have a plot.

rock. rock. rock.

Light & Air

Finished Shane Jones' Light Boxes, which was both fun and frantic, like Arcade Fire songs. So much of the book is about the fragility of despair and how it will always be weaker than magic, which means that no matter what happens, humanity is recoverable. The book is very accessible, concrete, matter-of-fact, and startling.

Then I got my mac air. Try reading an apple manual after reading Shane Jones. There's a certain shared friendliness that weirds me out.

Today was all about test driving the computer, looking at my novel manuscript. Dean's advice, revision-wise: "please put chapters in."

Then we did danger gardening. There has been a huge broken branch caught in other branches swinging over our house for some time now. So we tied a shoe to a rope, tossed the rope over the supporting branch and shook the bugger loose. Spiked a deep divot in the ground near the porch, but missed the cardinal's nest (which has a lone cowbird egg in it).

oh, almost forgot--the pic in the previous post has naughty bits in it. I didn't know that.

Reading Light Boxes, waiting for Fed Ex

"I don't want to die, said February." page 92.

New Story at decomP!

The June issue of decomP has gone live, with my story: "Ava Gardner was born in Grabtown" . I'm very excited, of course. The story comes from an idea that was too-too to fly: what would happen if you dropped Infinite Jest in the bathtub? Of course there's none of the original idea left.

My bio is a little off. I claim that I have a recent publication in the Northville Review. So far this is untrue, but Erin will crack any day now.

Completed the draft of the Louisiana Novel

it's a mess, but a completely workable one. think I'll take the rest of the afternoon off. the thing is called Social Aid & Pleasure. what dean has read so far, he says is like cory doctorow. my story in Barrelhouse 7 "Wishtank" comes from the novel.

I will celebrate the same way I grieve, with food and alcohol.

so hows youalls novelses goings?

katrina finished her draft, gary hit 200pp, david seems to have gone underground with his. I'm 4 complicated scenes away from my planned ending, having taken a surprise detour into a sex scene that's sorta didactic. it's the last good time in the book, the last time everone's a winnah! now for the collapse of all we know and love.

just finished reading Gillian Flynn's Dark Places, a great book that should be called Grotty Places. I swear each time the locale changes, it gets grosser and grosser.

I'm going to try write all weekend, but if I have to stop, I plan to start reading Light Boxes. hope it doesn't mess me up by being too good. And the thing is so attractive that Dean says he wants to read it. Keeps eyeballing the book like it's some fascinating new pet in the house, but not a kitten or puppy. More like a gecko.