Mood Pieces
Once in a while you read a story that's so strange and poetic, it completely envelops you in its world. A couple of years ago I read William Gay's "The Paperhanger" and didn't quite understand or appreciate it. But I remembered it, and a few days ago I read it again. It felt a little like being attached to a heavy rock that was slowly sinking in a cold green lake. There are stories you appreciate for character, or wit, or plot, and then there are stories that capture a mood. I'd love to know what stories have cast those kinds of spells on people.
Gilead Wins $200,000 Religion Award
http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6293076.html
Return To This Place
The latest on Yiyun's immigration case:
Washington Post
Camus Phase?
A few weeks ago I was talking to this man who started telling me about how much he used to read when he was younger. Especially in his twenties - Camus, Sartre, all the existentialists. Then he realized that the world was bleak enough and finally snapped out of it. He spoke a lot about "The Plague," assuming I'd read it (which, to my embarrassment, I hadn't). So Fine. Two weeks later, I started chatting with another guy, an accountant in his fifties who, unprompted, started telling me about his "existentialist phase" when he read nothing but Sartre and Camus, and lay for a whole week with hundred degree fever reading "The Plague." Then he grew out of it, because, hey, life is hard enough without being reminded. Coincidence?
How many others, I wonder, have gone through this "Camus Phase," as they call it, and later gone on to lead normal lives? Is this more typical of men? I know plenty of women who went through a Madeleine L'Engle phase. I personally had a period of three months when I read nothing but those fictional accounts of the Holocaust aimed at young adults. I'm curious to know what other people's "phases" were and if anyone can shed light on the "Camus" one?
Please, Continue
Don't want to put a halt to the catching up, but thought we could use a new post host for our reconnecting. (Please, you more recalcitrant of Ropes, we do want to hear.)
I hope you'll all be charmed to know that my local aquarium (just across the river in Newport, KY) submerges Santa in a 385,000-gallon shark tank five times a day. You may have read about him in the Times. Said one local reader of the article, "I thought all aquariums had underwater Santas, but I guess it's just ours."
Partnering Santa, who has exchanged his reindeer for magical sea-horses, is an elf who protects Santa's hat from careening sea turtles with a carefully wielded plastic candy cane. Visitors may communicate with Santa via a microphone system in his diving mask. Heated debates have sprung up this month regarding what the best question to ask tank-Santa, if you were only allowed to ask one question, would be. Some approach the debate as though he is some sort of oracle, others as though he is an astronaut. Though I don't find "How do you go to the bathroom?" an appropriate victor, it often is. "Who Dey?" runs a close second.
I've Always Liked It Spicy...or Where Are They Now?
My favorite magazine articles are always the where are they now features...you know the ones: in 1983, he was on top of the world, with a number one single "Jessie's Girl," and a recurring role as Doctor Noah Drake on number one-rated soap opera General Hospital. Where is Rick Springfield now? Oh wait, he's back on GH. Nevermind.
Anyway...in order to live up to SAS's lofty expectations, I am going to post...on a random, yet crucial topic. Where are all the Ropes and what are we doing? This may be fruitless but then again, it took me about a month to figure out that Sugi was Vizzini, so maybe I'm not the best person to kick this off.
But I'll start. I am in Tallahassee, Florida, and about a third of the way through my PhD. It's a great program here, with a lot of fine up and coming writers, too...the only downside is that the department is HUGE, which means that competition for jobs etc. is ridiculously fierce. Still working on the novel that many of you generously read, and still hoping to finish for good this spring (I write this in case my agent is reading). My lovely and talented wife got a job as the in-house editor at a think tank, which is dull and dry but provides a roof over our heads and some money to keep hubby in drinks.
And our house has has a few IC-related visitors, notably including Mr. Ian Stansel, who managed to get hisself a real fine sunburn and drink most of my bourbon. So if you're ever this way, come on down.
Next?
Spicing up the Blog
Dear Ropes -
I read in an unreliable online resource that "fantasies begin with the ideas of one, can blossom into a shared fantasy, and can become a reality as easily as making a wish -- as long as you make that wish out loud." I thought about the blog, decided it was time to start talking and stop inside-wishing. I've been warned that "many who are introducing fantasy exploration might receive a mixed reply -- part curiosity, part apprehension." I may be met with "a reluctance to talk about it." I may even be met with "outright refusal." This seems likely as many of our contributors have remained mute. But I've noticed that we haven't been blogging as much as we used to blog. Maybe it has become too routine, too familiar. Maybe it's time we started introducing a few new elements into our blog. I want to take our shared bloglife to the next level -- even it it's just the level of open discussion.
I've got a few ideas to start us out:
1. Toys
There a number of inexpensive gadgets out there that might enhance our blog. They can easily be downloaded and appended to our current format. Word games, puzzles, dancing graphics.
2. Outfits
It is possible for us to put a new dress on this blog, though I've heard parts of its face might fall off if we try.
3. Public Blogging
We can re-open our blog to the comments of others, provided some security measures are in place. We may need a volunteer lookout, for example.
4. Dirt Talk
We might invite contributors to talk to us on a more regular basis. Review, sling arrows, gab.
5. Frequency
(Couldn't think of a good title for this one.) We might agree to blog more freely more often.
tragedy strikes again (and again and again)
regretfully, I must add to the collective grief of our group, gentle readers. my friend and former partner-in-crime died of natural causes last week. he was 1.25 years old. some of you may recall ingomar's fondness for chewing on things and pooping on stuff, or the way he marked his trail with micro-droplets of urine. he also enjoyed nesting, sniffing things, and going on romantic trips with ivan breedlove.
lots of people hate rats; society seems to think that is ok. i have to believe ingomar helped break down some of these walls, or at least bit little holes in them.
