Waking up to three new inches of accumulated snow at the end of March isn’t an experience I’ve had in a while. The winters in New York City were seldom this long. Last January there had the steady, cold sameness that really made you feel the post-holiday, thirty-one-day length of that month, but here in Buffalo, March has become the longest month of the year. It doesn’t help matters that Easter has already come and gone. That only makes it feel like its May 1, and still snowing. But a glance at the National Weather Service page for U.S. Postal Code 14221 indicates a “warming trend” over the next seven days, the temperature going all the way to the high forties by this time next week.
I’ve been staying busy this winter, though. So busy that sometimes I find myself wondering what I was doing in NYC, whether I was just standing still. And truth be told, I was. I was writing, but not as much as I wanted to; I was working, but perhaps more than I needed. I had something of a social life, but nothing actual. Working in the restaurant business always provided this ersatz social life. I came to enjoy that part of the work a bit more only when I was giving it up.
It’s rather remarkable to me to look back a year and realize that at this time in 2007, I was just at the beginning of the process of the decision-making that brought me to Buffalo. Some circumstances all conspired at just this point in the calendar to make me feel the brunt of my unhappiness in Manhattan. It felt like a personal crisis; it felt like the beginning of the end of a relationship, but I was still at the point where I couldn’t even see the option of leaving on my own. As I said in the first post on this blog, I was waiting for NYC to break up with me.
I had a similar experience just last week. One of the small events that had played a part in my larger decision to come here last year was have heard from a literary agent about a project I’d pitched, a selection of the essays written by Diana Trilling. I’d known Diana personally; I’d actually worked as her assistant for several summers on Cape Cod. Diana was a formidable figure in American intellectual history, and knowing her on the level that I did was one of the great experiences of my life, a personal and intellectual passage with no parallel until then. In her last summer, Diana worked on a piece on the 1961 Kennedy White House dinner for the American Nobel laureates; she and her husband attended, and her memoir of the experience was wonderful. Published posthumously in the New Yorker, it was also selected by Cynthia Ozick for the Best American Essays. When it was published, I thought it too bad that the original, longer piece couldn’t also be made available at some point; there were qualities in the original that were lost by editorial cuts. And out of that thought came my eventual idea of doing a selection of Diana’s pieces myself.
I pitched it to her literary executors in October 2004. Last February they contacted me again, and it was apparent that they were more serious about the project. So was I, and time had helped me see both Diana and her work more clearly and critically. I became interested in aspects of her thinking I hadn’t seen before. So one of the reasons I gave myself for moving here to Buffalo was the idea of having real time to work on this project. It became important to me. Unfortunately, it never seemed to become important to the literary executors or, importantly, to Diana’s surviving family. I pestered them every few months or so, and since the start of the year made a stronger effort, but nothing worked. The insulting thing was that they didn’t even respond at all. That’s behavior I expect from literary agents; from Diana’s family, whom I’d known personally, it was another matter.
I packed up all my research materials and all of the books, the Xeroxes, the notecards, and put them in a box. It felt painful, like packing up the things of someone you’ve lived with, but when I woke up the next day I felt better. Don’t get me wrong: if the project walked back into my life like Mr. Big walking back into Carrie Bradshaw’s, I’d think about it. But not today.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Spring Ahead
This morning the sun is out with a vengeance, and that’s a blessing, because yesterday I spent the entire day confined to about 25 square feet of this house. The snow started Friday afternoon about 1 p.m., and it was clear that it was going to be a doozy. At the clothing store (it was time to put in a fresh stock of men’s “basics,” as they were called at J.C. Penney) I told the clerk, “I haven’t seen it coming down this fast all season.” When he agreed, I felt like a longtime Buffalonian.
I had about 225 invitations to hand-address for the spring benefit we’re doing in May for my brother’s organization. We’re having an auction/wine tasting/cocktail party/performance to raise money for an original production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” This was an idea I had last fall, when my sister-in-law and my brother were talking about dream projects. I realized that there might also be an opportunity to do something more “grownup” than the pizza-and-pop potlucks we do at the end of the year or after the Nutcracker. Now, I’m a party planner from way back. I used to love to host dinners for 12, 16, 20, and I also used to plan parties that never came to fruition (ask me how I actually spent the Turn of the Millenium). But with the resources available to me here—time, energy, motivation both internal and external, and most importantly, help and support—I felt like it was possible to try, just try, to put something together. Not some fancy dress-ball fundraiser, but something reasonably scaled to the demographics served by my brother’s school.
With the snow coming down steadily through most of yesterday morning, I shut myself in my room and started in with the calligraphy pens. I didn’t try to do actual calligraphy, but pseudo-calligraphy. I managed to get through all of the envelopes by the end of the evening—reply envelopes, address list, and return addresses. It’s funny how you sometimes can get on a tear with something. I wanted to give up, but I also wanted to get through the whole kit and caboodle in order to drop them all in the mail first thing Monday. I turned on HGTV for company and got through all the envelopes and some good DIY tips as well (not to mention that HGTV has the best—and I mean the BEST—eye-candy on television.
I have short stories to evaluate today, but with the sun and blue sky and white, white snow, it seems silly to stay inside. But my blinds are up, the drapes drawn, and I suppose if I put my determination-cap on, I can get through those and maybe even get around to reading the book whose review is due tomorrow.
I had about 225 invitations to hand-address for the spring benefit we’re doing in May for my brother’s organization. We’re having an auction/wine tasting/cocktail party/performance to raise money for an original production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” This was an idea I had last fall, when my sister-in-law and my brother were talking about dream projects. I realized that there might also be an opportunity to do something more “grownup” than the pizza-and-pop potlucks we do at the end of the year or after the Nutcracker. Now, I’m a party planner from way back. I used to love to host dinners for 12, 16, 20, and I also used to plan parties that never came to fruition (ask me how I actually spent the Turn of the Millenium). But with the resources available to me here—time, energy, motivation both internal and external, and most importantly, help and support—I felt like it was possible to try, just try, to put something together. Not some fancy dress-ball fundraiser, but something reasonably scaled to the demographics served by my brother’s school.
With the snow coming down steadily through most of yesterday morning, I shut myself in my room and started in with the calligraphy pens. I didn’t try to do actual calligraphy, but pseudo-calligraphy. I managed to get through all of the envelopes by the end of the evening—reply envelopes, address list, and return addresses. It’s funny how you sometimes can get on a tear with something. I wanted to give up, but I also wanted to get through the whole kit and caboodle in order to drop them all in the mail first thing Monday. I turned on HGTV for company and got through all the envelopes and some good DIY tips as well (not to mention that HGTV has the best—and I mean the BEST—eye-candy on television.
I have short stories to evaluate today, but with the sun and blue sky and white, white snow, it seems silly to stay inside. But my blinds are up, the drapes drawn, and I suppose if I put my determination-cap on, I can get through those and maybe even get around to reading the book whose review is due tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
On Time and Writing
I’m halfway through my second teaching artist residency. It’s a different school than the first, and the demographics are more mixed. Furthermore, the girls and boys are separated. It makes for a completely different dynamic than my first school.
The host teacher and I agree to teach a unit on narrative poetry. We are taking the approach of teaching them how to draft and write and edit the narrative (story) first, and on the next and last day we will be pushing them into poetry form. I’ve been very pleased with how this residency has been going. For one thing, we started off very strong: I had the kids pick a photograph and tell the story of what was happening. The pictures were from a collection of the Pulitzer Prize winners over the years. I chose to leave out some of the photographs; some of them are very graphic or have a vivid message. Some of them, however, are more upbeat—a couple color photos from the 1985 and 1992 Olympics, for example. The students in each class had to pick their own in a process of elimination. It was interesting to see how some of them gravitated towards the obvious, while others challenged themselves.
Then to see their imaginations and intellects at work! They really hunkered down and wrote. Sure, there is usually a degree of goofing around to put up with—and yesterday and Friday we worked in the computer lab. I spent most of my time monitoring use of MySpace. On the other hand, I’ve never seen so much use of the grammar and spell checks. Good grief! What will their children have as tech tools?
It’s really fun for me because it makes me think about narration versus story. The kids slide easily into a top-this mode—“There was a car crash, and an earthquake, and a fire, and then someone died, and then another person was shot, and then a bank was robbed.” Even the girls do this—lots of death! So we talked about plausibility and believability. And we talk about dialogue and detail and description. It’s quite something. And some of them can really write—-for example, the seventh-grade boy who has the most trouble with focus nevertheless wrote in a second-person voice that was completely believable and compelling. Another wrote a play about a forest fire—-Norman Maclean would be proud.
Speaking of writing, I had this horrible thought last night at about 4 a.m. (No more Mighty Taco!) I had this thought that I may never finish my book about my family. I hope that’s only a sense of panic and not a sense of truth. I hadn’t felt anything like it in several years. I often have this idea that because I made certain changes, I also paved the way for all possibilities. That kind of panic attack makes me think of my own limitations, my own mortality. And even now, even with a sense of life as I’ve never had before, I can fear that I will leave too much unfinished. Well…I guess if I keep eating Mighty Taco before bedtime, that will be true…
The host teacher and I agree to teach a unit on narrative poetry. We are taking the approach of teaching them how to draft and write and edit the narrative (story) first, and on the next and last day we will be pushing them into poetry form. I’ve been very pleased with how this residency has been going. For one thing, we started off very strong: I had the kids pick a photograph and tell the story of what was happening. The pictures were from a collection of the Pulitzer Prize winners over the years. I chose to leave out some of the photographs; some of them are very graphic or have a vivid message. Some of them, however, are more upbeat—a couple color photos from the 1985 and 1992 Olympics, for example. The students in each class had to pick their own in a process of elimination. It was interesting to see how some of them gravitated towards the obvious, while others challenged themselves.
Then to see their imaginations and intellects at work! They really hunkered down and wrote. Sure, there is usually a degree of goofing around to put up with—and yesterday and Friday we worked in the computer lab. I spent most of my time monitoring use of MySpace. On the other hand, I’ve never seen so much use of the grammar and spell checks. Good grief! What will their children have as tech tools?
It’s really fun for me because it makes me think about narration versus story. The kids slide easily into a top-this mode—“There was a car crash, and an earthquake, and a fire, and then someone died, and then another person was shot, and then a bank was robbed.” Even the girls do this—lots of death! So we talked about plausibility and believability. And we talk about dialogue and detail and description. It’s quite something. And some of them can really write—-for example, the seventh-grade boy who has the most trouble with focus nevertheless wrote in a second-person voice that was completely believable and compelling. Another wrote a play about a forest fire—-Norman Maclean would be proud.
Speaking of writing, I had this horrible thought last night at about 4 a.m. (No more Mighty Taco!) I had this thought that I may never finish my book about my family. I hope that’s only a sense of panic and not a sense of truth. I hadn’t felt anything like it in several years. I often have this idea that because I made certain changes, I also paved the way for all possibilities. That kind of panic attack makes me think of my own limitations, my own mortality. And even now, even with a sense of life as I’ve never had before, I can fear that I will leave too much unfinished. Well…I guess if I keep eating Mighty Taco before bedtime, that will be true…
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
