The Maplewoods Mirror

(Something odd is going on here.)

The Maplewoods Mirror #31 - November 2008

Welcome to my monthly newsletter on life and writing. If you want to see my website for past issues and other news, please visit www.chrismeeks.com. I also have a new author site (click here)

To see a three-minute video about my newly published book, click here.

At last, I’ve finished tweaking my novel, The Brightest Moon of the Century, after my editor, Nomi, went through it and a friend read it, too. The final manuscript flew off to the book designer, and I then returned to The Maplewoods Mirror. The Brightest Moon of the Century will be out March 7.

WHEN AUTHORS GIVE READINGS: Things to Do and Not Do if You’re the Person Up Front

On Halloween night, I read my story "Dracula Slinks Into the Night" at Skylight Books in Los Angeles after four other authors read their short works. I found the reading challenging and, in the end, fun, and it occurred to me there are things to do and not do if you're the author reading.

First, in many readings I'd been in with other authors, the other authors often spoke in a dreary monotone and never looked up from their pages. I've found being an audience member at such readings that I couldn't follow the story, and my mind would wander. I didn't want that to happen for my story.

My experience in teaching had moved me away from monotone. After all, as an instructor, I didn't want to be a synthesis of all my worst and boring professors. I wanted to be like my best ones, the kind that made me look forward to going to class.

That perhaps had been one of my biggest challenges of my life. I'd become a writer for a good reason. I was frightened to death of being in front of people, and I could write alone. When I started teaching in 1994, it was because I wanted to help other writers, and I hadn't focused on how it meant being in front of people. As the first class approached, I could hardly breathe. Fear of public speaking rates higher than the fear of death.

For my first two years of teaching, I'd have to psyche myself up before walking into the room full of students. At some point, I had become used to it, even looked forward to it. I adore teaching now. If I can do it, anyone can.

While I looked forward to my reading on Halloween night, I did something I wouldn't have done fifteen years earlier: I practiced. With practice comes self-assurance. If you're frightened being in front of people, then practice a lot. Read aloud at home into a recording device. Get used to hearing your voice.

In June, actor and director Sally Shore gave my book Months and Seasons a publication party at the Beverly Hills Public Library where four actors each read one of my stories. When an actor reads a story, it becomes a captivating performance. If you want to see what I'm talking about, watch this short YouTube video. Actor Rod Maxwell performs the last half of "Dracula Slinks Into the Night."

On Halloween, it was up to me to embrace and create such a performance. Why the heck shouldn't an author be able to emote? What one writes should be emotional, so reading it should reflect that. If a character is surprised, you should be surprised. If a character looks off, you should look off.

Having seen how high the bar was raised by Maxwell, I called an actor friend, C.C. Pulitzer, for help. She met with me. Here were her thoughts and words of advice after hearing me read for about four minutes:

1) My inflection was great, she said. Too many authors read in a monotone. I didn't. She said, however, to slow down. "Relax" was her big note.

2) When I'd become emotional in one part as I read aloud and remembered the truth of the scene, I fought for control to NOT be emotional. She said audiences connect with that emotion. Don't fight it. I should allow myself to experience the feelings I had when writing. She also said that's what authors have going for them: those sense memories of the story itself.

3) Make little icons or asterisks in the story so that I could look up to the audience to allow for eye contact. I could then find my place again easily by seeing the icon or asterisk.

4) She also said actors often write short notes in the margin to remind themselves what to do in certain sections, such as to offer a certain gesture, or to become angry or even to mime something.

She had me start over. I took a few deep breaths at her suggestion, then started again more slowly, more relaxed. Her smile and encouraging nods moved me forward. She let me go the whole way through and said, "Perfect. You're an honest reader being yourself, and that's all you have to do. It's a great story and you'll connect."

And I did. Near the end of the story on Halloween night, I could hardly talk because I was wracked with emotion, but this time, I didn't worry about being embarrassed. I knew it was the kind of emotion C.C. had said to allow to happen.

Afterwards, people I didn't know told me it was powerful. A few asked if I was an actor. No—I've never acted.

If you want to see me speak a little about my stories and also see C.C. Pulitzer perform a part of another story, click here to go to YouTube.

If you’d like to read the “author chat” I was in recently at LibraryThing, click here.

VISITOR AT A FUNERAL

My wife Ann received a call from a distant cousin that his father, Ann’s uncle, Harry Crosthwaite, had died. Ann had never mentioned him before, but then I learned he was her mother’s brother’s first wife’s brother. Wouldn’t that make him Kevin Bacon?

Ann said Harry and his family would often join them at Thanksgiving or one gathering or another at Ann’s grumpy grandfather’s house in San Bernadino, and Harry had always been fun and outgoing. The funeral, a memorial service, actually, was in Banning on Sunday and would I like to go?

I’d go with Ann most anywhere (and she’s going to try skiing again with me soon though she’s not a skier), so we drove the 90 minutes from L.A. Banning, I came to see, was just up the hill from Redlands. My brother David had graduated from the University of Redlands, where he’d met a young perky woman named Melanie, now his wife. Their two sons just zipped of to college. Doesn’t life go fast?

The memorial service turned out to be at a clubhouse in the golfing resort community Harry had lived in. As we drove down the winding main road past tees, past the same red-tile-roofed tan houses and green lawns everywhere, I said, “You never know. Maybe this is where we’ll retire. We can golf until we drop.”

At the clubhouse, we entered a room of mostly older people hugging each other, while others stood in line for the vegetable platters, croissant sandwiches, and swirls of meat-filled wraps. I hadn’t expected food, which was why I’d eaten a 99-cent hot dog at a gas station outside of Banning. It had one of the most crunchy buns for a hot dog I’d ever had, and when Ann said, “Why are you eating that thing?” I said, “It’s only 99 cents.”

People sat around clubhouse tables, and we joined one with Ann’s cousins Lynn, Lorraine, and Michael. The three siblings’ father had died the previous year, and it was at his funeral, the brother of Ann’s mother, where I first met these cousins. Lorraine is a game warden near Modesto, and her tales of finding off-season hunters, fishermen smuggling out endangered fish, armed men processing meth in the forest, and other tales not so bucolic has always kept me fascinated. When Lorraine visited us last year, she showed up in her uniform and hat, gun at her side, and her shotgun and black Labrador in her Jeep. The dog is trained to find fish, ammo, and certain shelled creatures.

Michael is a pediatrician in South Lake Tahoe who recently remarried, joining his four children with his wife’s two kids. Think of the Brady Bunch with skis. Ann and I loved their wedding on a South Lake Tahoe beach. Come to think of it, aren’t our lives set in relief with weddings and funerals?

Ann, Lorraine, Lynn, and Michael

Lynn, the mother of three young children who lives in Sacramento, soon gave the opening speech of the memorial service. Harry’s son, Allan, followed, and between the two, I learned Harry had grown up in Redlands, graduated from Oregon State University, married, and taught math and English for seventeen years at Moreno Valley High School. He became an administrator for fifteen years in the San Bernadino County school system before retiring where he pursued golf, fishing, tennis, and traveling with his wife, Carol. He died of congestive heart failure.

Alan Crosthwaite and Harry on screen

These facts alone make life seem far too short. It was when an elderly man stood to tell of first meeting Harry in kindergarten that Harry’s life began to bloom before my eyes. Harry turned out to be incredibly friendly from a young age, getting otherwise shy people to talk. In college, Harry had the largest high-fidelity sound system anyone had ever seen. This was pre-stereo, pre-Beatles, pre-Rock-and-Roll. Harry loved jazz. With a set of massive speakers installed in the basement of his frat house, his sound system created many a fabulous party.

A tiny elderly woman, his recent neighbor with a breathy voice, told of how Harry, forever charming, had asked her if she might feed and watch his large Boxer dog while he and Carol were on vacation. The Boxer was bigger than she was, but she said yes, and told of how she’d throw food into the dog’s cage and run out, frightened. “My husband asked me why had I said yes,” said the woman, “but how couldn’t I? It was Harry.”

A college friend said how he hadn’t seen Harry in years, but had kept in constant contact. Harry was loyal to his friends. “When I saw him a few years ago, Harry had grown a large gorgeous mustache, all silver. It was beautiful.”

As the wireless microphone was passed around, a constant image kept reoccurring: Harry’s bowed legs. Many a new opponent on the tennis court or golf course had been fooled by those legs. “I remember the first time I golfed with Harry,” said another friend. “After I whacked my ball, and it did fairly well straight down the fairway, Harry teed up. He stood there on those crazy legs of his gripping his club, and I thought this would be an easy win for me. It wasn’t. Harry’s first shot flew straighter and truer than mine, and I couldn’t beat the guy.”

Harry’s son Allan, a man in his forties with a graying beard, wiping his eyes, chatted how his father was so competitive, Harry never gave him a break—“yet he was always made me feel I was a worthy opponent. A few years ago, we got on the tennis court, and while he couldn’t run real fast on those bowed legs, he was so good at placing the ball, he kept me running until I was beat. I loved it.”

My father George, too, just reached eighty, and, now that I think of it, I’ve never beat him at tennis and probably still can’t. Dad can aim the ball like a laser. I could imagine Harry with my father’s laugh and great smile. These are the kind of people who push you to the edge—and then you’re glad they did. You did more than you could know.

A friend of Allan’s told of hiking with Harry high into a mountain, and how Harry kept up a tough pace. When they reached the top, Harry, in shorts, fell to his knees in the snow, laughing that “his poor knees were worn out and needing icing. He never said anything about those knees the whole way.”

After the service, while everyone was chatting again, I came across a black-and-white photo album of Harry’s. There were shots from the year I was born when a rattle was called entertainment. The photos revealed life was being lived before I even understood what living meant. There was a dog faithfully looking dogish, an unnamed woman in the water holding a baby, and a bunch of geeky frat boys looking cool. The frat boys’ names showed someone with a first name of Nimrod. No one names boys that anymore.

That afternoon offered me a few branches on the tree of Harry Crosthwaite. I left buoyed by the man. If we’re lucky, we can all be Harry, adding immensely to other people’s lives.

MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRLS

Recently on NPR, I heard a story about an idealized female character in films, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. This is a woman who exists to pull a too-staid man out of the doldrums and make him realize life is great. This is Natalie Portman in Garden State, Katherine Hepuburn in Bringing Up Baby, and the character of Maude in Harold and Maude. NPR explains it well, and here's a link to it (with a video there, too).

Some of my absolute favorite characters are this person. Part of the definition is that a MPDG has no real past or inner life. I'll disagree with that in part. Natalie Portman's character in Garden State has a past--witness her ice skating video when she was a girl. She has sadness--witness the death of her pets and also when Zach Braff gets on the plane. She has needs.

I guess I love the notion that there are characters to remind people that life is worth living and experiencing. I'm reminded of this as I'm rereading The Power of Myth, a conversation with Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers--one of the great books around (and should be on the Best 100 books list, below). In the book, Campbell says that the myths tell us that life is not about searching for a meaning. Rather, it's about the quest to experience life. The MPDG tells us this. We need our MPDGs.

ON BEING REVIEWED

The literary blogs are in part burning now because of one author following his id to get back after a bad review. Self-published author Jim Michael Hansen sent his new book Immortal Laws to Trish Collins at Hey Lady! Whatcha Readin'?, a literary blog, and Trish read it and did not like it. She wrote about the book, not cutting down the author but, as in any good essay or review, she quoted from the book to support her points.

In detesting her review, Hansen first wrote a comment on her blog anonymously, angered by the unfairness that after “the author” gave her a free book, sent at his expense, she turned around and panned it. When Trish called him on such expectations and on his anonymity, he demanded that she remove the quote and book cover art, saying it was his copyrighted material.

Having been a book and theatre review for years, then becoming a playwright and author, I can empathize with both Ms. Collins and Mr. Hansen. Vividly, I can understand Mr. Hansen's feelings. I've experienced negative reviews when my plays were first produced. I'm happy to say I've received more positive reviews than negative, but I tend to be detail-oriented, looking at my own work at some point as the reviewer I once was. While my latest book, Months and Seasons, has received very good if not great reviews, not all reviewers necessarily are clear, quote from the work to prove their points, or are as enamored as other reviewers. Yes, all authors want stellar reviews, but you can't go into it expecting that.

Hansen should not have written back angrily. I doubt there's a single book out there where every single person loves it. Two of my graduate students recently commented negatively on The Great Gatsby, which I and most of the other students loved. An author can't expect roses all the time.

As I have written in another post, people who self-publish tend to shoot themselves in the feet right off the bat by not hiring a professional editor to go through the manuscript. Maybe that's what happened with Mr. Hansen's book and why Ms. Collins says it feels choppy. The choppiness would not slip by a professional editor. Self-published books have to compete with the quality from the major publishers--and if self-published books get reviewed, they're under the same critical gaze as books from Random House.

I feel for Ms. Collins, too. As much as I wrote balanced reviews and felt utterly fair, I've come across certain playwrights over the years who were able to quote verbatim the critical things I had written in my published reviews. The playwrights did not quote the positive things I also wrote. Writers are an odd bunch, frankly, and I've run into some hotheads in my time.

I have a few emails to reviewers in Ireland and England right now that's similar to what Mr. Hansen may have written reviewers: "Have you had a chance to read my book yet? Might it still be considered for review?" I can't expect bouquets, however. Sometimes you get brickbats.

On the positive side, the many reviewers who've approached my two books of fiction have started a dialogue, and I like that. I feel part of a bigger community.

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You can read Ms. Collin's original review & comments here.

Rebecca Schinsky, a particularly great blogger and reviewer who first brought this controversy to my attention, wrote a response here, and Hansen’s response to that is here.

Another blogger wrote her thoughts here.

THE NEW CLASSICS

Best lists always stun. That’s because there’s always something to agree with and always something that seems missing. If we each had to come up with our top best books from the last fifteen years, I doubt any two people would have the same list. We’re like snowflakes—different designs. Even so, any list helps us sort in our minds what we love and what we might catch up on.

Entertainment Weekly’s recent double-issue has its Top 100 Books from the last fifteen years, shown below. Which books have you read? My guess is that people who read moderately are likely to have read at least six of these. I’m only a moderate reader, and I’ve read fifteen from this list. In fact, I’ve used a few of them in College Freshman English classes I’ve taught. They include Into Thin Air, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Things They Carried, The Lovely Bones, The Kite Runner, as well as selected short stories from Alice Munro, Lorrie Moore, and Raymond Carver. They are all fabulous. You can see my Amazon list of best-taught books here.

I’ve also thoroughly enjoyed Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking and High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, whose latest book A Long Way Down captivated me. Hornby and Lorrie Moore combine drama and humor well, a balance I aimed for in my books, The Middle-Aged Man and the Sea and Months and Seasons.

There are a few books I’ve bought but still haven’t read, and this list makes me want to get to them sooner than later: Love in the Time of Cholera, Rabbit at Rest, On Writing, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and Naked.

There are a couple that I wonder why are on here. I’ve tried reading Don DeLillo’s Underworld twice. It was so damn slow, little happening, that I couldn’t push forward, even though my good friend Stewart loved it and has taught it. Desperate to get through it, I tried the audio version. My mind wandered, and so I stopped. I don’t feel guilty. There are too many other books that are more enjoyable.

The Da Vinci Code is one of the one hundred best? That’s a good case where the story bests the writing. The little I had read seemed so clunky, I stopped.

There are books on the list that I don’t have but should read. That includes Mystic River. The film was so strong and visually poetic, I bet the book is, too. I should get Alice Munro’s Selected Stories. Every story I’ve read of hers has been satisfying. T.C. Boyle, who teaches at USC, is a writer I admire, and I used his Tortilla Curtain in one of my classes, which turned out to be a hit. I should try Drop City. I’m a huge fan of John Irving, too, and I don’t know why I haven’t read A Prayer for Owen Meany yet. I must.

Last, there are books and authors who are missing from the list that would be on mine. They include: White Oleander by Janet Fitch, Ransom Seaborn by Bill Deasy, The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger, and Smila’s Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg. Drama would be great to have on the list, too, such as Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen, Edward Albee’s The Goat, and David Hare’s Skylight.

What books on this list do you adore, and what other books would you have on your list?

1. The Road , Cormac McCarthy (2006)
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling (2000)
3. Beloved, Toni Morrison (1987)
4. The Liars' Club, Mary Karr (1995)
5. American Pastoral, Philip Roth (1997)
6. Mystic River, Dennis Lehane (2001)
7. Maus, Art Spiegelman (1986/1991)
8. Selected Stories, Alice Munro (1996)
9. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier (1997)
10. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami (1997)
11. Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer (1997)
12. Blindness, José Saramago (1998)
13. Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (1986-87)
14. Black Water, Joyce Carol Oates (1992)
15. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers (2000)
16. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood (1986)
17. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez (1988)
18. Rabbit at Rest, John Updike (1990)
19. On Beauty, Zadie Smith (2005)
20. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding (1998)
21. On Writing, Stephen King (2000)
22. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz (2007)
23. The Ghost Road, Pat Barker (1996)
24. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry (1985)
25. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan (1989)
26. Neuromancer, William Gibson (1984)
27. Possession, A.S. Byatt (1990)
28. Naked, David Sedaris (1997)
29. Bel Canto, Anne Patchett (2001)
30. Case Histories, Kate Atkinson (2004)
31. The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien (1990)
32. Parting the Waters, Taylor Branch (1988)
33. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion (2005)
34. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold (2002)
35. The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst (2004)
36. Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt (1996)
37. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (2003)
38. Birds of America, Lorrie Moore (1998)
39. Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (2000)
40. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman (1995-2000)
41. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (1984)
42. LaBrava, Elmore Leonard (1983)
43. Borrowed Time, Paul Monette (1988)
44. Praying for Sheetrock, Melissa Fay Greene (1991)
45. Eva Luna, Isabel Allende (1988)
46. Sandman, Neil Gaiman (1988-1996)
47. World's Fair, E.L. Doctorow (1985)
48. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver (1998)
49. Clockers, Richard Price (1992)
50. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen (2001)
51. The Journalist and the Murderer, Janet Malcom (1990)
52. Waiting to Exhale, Terry McMillan (1992)
53. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon (2000)
54. Jimmy Corrigan, Chris Ware (2000)
55. The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls (2006)
56. The Night Manager, John le Carré (1993)
57. The Bonfire of the Vanities, Tom Wolfe (1987)
58. Drop City, TC Boyle (2003)
59. Krik? Krak! Edwidge Danticat (1995)
60. Nickel & Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)
61. Money, Martin Amis (1985)
62. Last Train To Memphis, Peter Guralnick (1994)
63. Pastoralia, George Saunders (2000)
64. Underworld, Don DeLillo (1997)
65. The Giver, Lois Lowry (1993)
66. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, David Foster Wallace (1997)
67. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini (2003)
68. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel (2006)
69. Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)
70. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell (2004)
71. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, Ann Fadiman (1997)
72. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon (2003)
73. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving (1989)
74. Friday Night Lights, H.G. Bissinger (1990)
75. Cathedral, Raymond Carver (1983)
76. A Sight for Sore Eyes, Ruth Rendell (1998)
77. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
78. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert (2006)
79. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell (2000)
80. Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney (1984)
81. Backlash, Susan Faludi (1991)
82. Atonement, Ian McEwan (2002)
83. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (1994)
84. Holes, Louis Sachar (1998)
85. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson (2004)
86. And the Band Played On, Randy Shilts (1987)
87. The Ruins, Scott Smith (2006)
88. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby (1995)
89. Close Range, Annie Proulx (1999)
90. Comfort Me With Apples, Ruth Reichl (2001)
91. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc (2003)
92. Presumed Innocent, Scott Turow (1987)
93. A Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley (1991)
94. Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser (2001)
95. Kaaterskill Falls, Allegra Goodman (1998)
96. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown (2003)
97. Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson (1992)
98. The Predators' Ball, Connie Bruck (1988)
99. Practical Magic, Alice Hoffman (1995)
100. America (the Book), Jon Stewart/Daily Show (2004)

LINKS TO PAST ISSUES

If you missed the past issue or didn't see it with photos, you can go to www.chrismeeks.com. Scroll down to get the issue of the Maplewoods Mirror that you want. The photos add a lot.

An amazing sunset from our house in November. I finally get Edvard Munch's "The Scream"

The Maplewoods Mirror