To Re-Read or Not To Re-Read: How to Resurrect Old Plots

I’m writing. Sort of. I’m really trying. I’m sitting here in front of the computer. My hands are on the keyboard. Words appear on the screen as I type. But there is no doubt that I am stuck. I have been for a while. There are words, but no story. Words, but no satisfaction. Words, but no fire. Not even a spark or a fizz.

I want a new story. The old stories don’t quite hold together. They are the bits and pieces of my learning process. Some better than others, none complete, all missing Something.

And then I have a brainwave. 

I think of my favorite story that I’ve written. Then my mind wanders over to my favorite bit from another story. And KAPOW.

These stories have nothing in common. Well, not really. Their protagonists share a certain clumsiness and curiosity. But that’s it. One is full-on, urban fantasy. One is more, what? Magical realism, I guess. Reality plus some subtle fantastical falderal.

Am I rambling yet? Yes? Ok, I’m getting there.

I can’t put the stories together. No. But I can lift that favorite element from one, and pour it into the pot of the other. I can skim off the detritus that rises to the top, and maybe, maybe I can get a good stew out of the whole thing.

Here’s my question for you, You thinking-, writing-, creative-types:

Where do I start?

Should I treat this story like a fresh idea, plotting out the parts and writing anew, with only my memories of those earlier plans to fertilize the growth of the new story?

Or

Should I go back and reread those earlier stories, taking clippings here and there for pieces that might somehow be revived and grafted together into something new?

What would you do? One of these approaches, or something different? 

The Case of the Street Lunch

NaNoWriMo Total Word count: 7764. Revision today: one hour. Goals met.

I heard a rumor that today is National Sandwich Day, so designated because it’s the birthday of John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich. Monty is credited legendarily with creating the modern concept of the Sandwich. 

I love sandwiches. For everyday consumption I’m happy with peanut butter and jelly, but from the deli I love a Reuben. 

Here’s a sandwich mystery for you. 

Monday, I was walking down my street. About halfway down, just before my turn, there was an apple sitting in the middle of the road.  A large, red, intact apple.  It was just sitting there, upright, as if someone had intentionally placed it in the middle of the street.  I thought it was weird, but shrugged and went on.

Tuesday, same time, same place. No sign of the apple, but where the apple had been, there was now a sandwich.  Two slices of white bread with something in between.  I was in the car this time, and from my vantage point I couldn’t identify the filling. The sandwich was not squished or obviously soiled.  It was just sitting there, again, as if someone had intentionally placed it in the middle of the street. 

I wouldn’t lie to you.

So what do you think? Will there be a juicebox in the street today? A packet of fruit snacks? Carrot sticks?

The better answer though, would be why these items have appeared in the middle of our street.  Who is the instigator of this sandwichy enigma? What is YOUR favorite sandwich?

No one wants to be a puppet, the ethics of opportunity

In 1997 I lived in San Antonio, Texas for one year.  Fresh from New Mexico State University with two degrees (Biochemistry and English) and university honors and tangible working experience as a tutor, a lab tech, and a slinger of electronic media.

UN-gainfully UNemployed.  UNcertain what the heck I was going to do with my life.  UNderstandably worried.  Partner was responsible for our location, and thankfully he was employed.  New schoolteachers in Texas then and now do not get paid very well, though, so there was a certain pressure for me to unseat all of those UNs.

I spent a lot of time with the classified section of the Express-News.  I put out applications for just about everything that was even remotely related to my training and experience and a great deal that was not.  I was hoping to do better than bagging groceries or checking out videos, but was willing to do almost anything that would get a little positive cash-flow going.

One day I got a call from a law office.  This was the sort of law firm that is named after only one person and advertises on the back of the metropolitan phone books of several cities in Texas.  Those ads featured a cowboy hat and boots, and their TV commercials were filled with folksy truisms, a bushy mustache, and a drawl.  I remembered applying to this firm.  They were hiring for several different positions, and I was hoping only to be considered for an intake receptionist.  After all, I had NO legal training of any kind.

Color me surprised then when they wanted to interview me for a different position.  A New position within the firm.  A Very Important position.  And yes, they believed I had the perfect qualifications.  I’d like to say I was cynical, but I was so glad to get a bite for a job and so flattered by the charming voice on the phone that I didn’t blink when he said he wanted to talk to me about being their new Ethics Officer.

Let that sink in a minute.

I was completely terrified and had nothing appropriate to wear.  Almost nothing.  I ended up wearing a shirt and tie with these cheap, sort of dressy, sort of feminine suspendered slacks, and heels.  Everything was brownish.  I was sure I’d fall down with every step.  I thought I’d throw up in the car on the way there.

My interview consisted of thirty-seconds of hateful scrutiny by a receptionist, a ten-minute chat with the venerable proprietor, and five minutes with each of his lawyers.  I had expected to be interviewed by an office manager or something, and was really surprised to be interviewed by the boss.  Mr. Lawyer, esquire, wore a necktie and suspenders and heavy cufflinks.  His suit jacket and cowboy hat hung on a rack next to his office door.  I can’t remember a single thing about that interview except that I was intimidated and nervous and sure that I’d fall down when he led me on a tour of the office.  I remember thinking that MY suspenders were stupid compared to HIS suspenders.

The other two or three lawyers were mostly unmemorable except that none of them seemed too sure what sort of questions they were supposed to ask me or what I would be doing.  They were all white men over forty-five.  All of the staff that I met were hispanic women under thirty.  One lawyer was a retired Navy JAG so freshly installed in the office that half of his law books were still in boxes and his razor haircut was still fresh.  He looked uncomfortable there.

On the trip home the adrenaline rush and fear started to fade into headachy fatigue, and my skepticism and cynicism woke up.  Part of me hoped that they would pay me a lot of money.  Part of me knew that I would have no idea what I was doing in that job.  I had no background in philosophy or ethics or the law.  I didn’t even think I was particularly old enough or wise enough to offer any kind of credible advice about anything morally questionable.  That part of me knew I’d be nothing but a rubber stamp for that slick dude.  A young woman, easily ignored or patronized by the boss.  In that office, I suspected, an Ethics Officer was merely an empty rhetorical device to flash at critics of the morals of that style of law practice.

Still, I thought, it was a job.  I could probably overcome my moral compunctions for a job that didn’t involve videos or grease or even a name tag, right?

They called me the next morning with the job offer.  I declined before the phone call ended.  I think he was surprised, which gave me a thrill.  I eventually found a job in a souvenir gift shop, making almost no money at all, and went off to grad school the next year.  You’d think I’d be remorseful about passing up that job in that law office.  That it was a Good Opportunity, right?

I’ve regretted a few missed opportunities in my life, but missing out on being an Ethics Officer will never be one of them.

Book Review: House of Leaves: The Remastered Full-Color Edition by Mark Z. Danielewski

I found this book incredibly frustrating.  I don’t know how to tell you what the book is about, because it is about so many things.  Irritatingly, the book compels me to draw pictures to try to sort it out.  For you, I’ve made a chart.  Here are the levels of narrative in the book as I see them.  In the spirit of piling-on so pervasive in the book, please feel free to suggest additional layers.

The life of Will and Karen Navidson, particularly their experiences in a bizarre and changing house in Virginia

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The Navidson Record, a movie made from the photos and videos of the Navidsons as they explore the uncanny labyrinth that appears beneath their home

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Popular and academic discussion (ad nauseam) of the film, including bootleg internet copies of film

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Zampáno’s description of the film and compilation of artifacts (introduced to Johnny by his friend Lude, a neighbor of Zampáno)

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Johnny Truant’s edition of Zampáno’s text, with additional footnotes about his own life; internet versions of this text are described here and at the next level

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An edition by unnamed editors that adds documentation about Johnny’s life; a copy of this is carried by Will Navidson during his last exploration of the house

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The author, Mark Z. Danielewski

That is a very pretty, ordered, and linear idea of the book, but nothing in the book is pretty or linear.  Like some post-structural choose-your-own adventure, the reader is constantly pulled away from the central text by footnotes and supplemental materials.  These aren’t the sort of footnotes and appendices that can be ignored either.  In the midst of a bit about Will Navidson, Johnny will go on for several pages about himself, his lovers (especially Kyrie, but also Thumper, his dream girl), or his friend Lude, among other things.  Some of these footnotes have their own footnotes, and in one particularly memorable sideways slide, we are pulled into the extensive catalogue of letters written by Johnny’s mom when she was confined to a mental hospital before her death.

On top of that, there are additional layers of narrative completely outside the text I hold in my hand.  For instance, the nature of the book invites any review (like this one) written about the book to become part of the narrative.  My favorite bit of meta-narrative though, is that Danielewski’s sister is Annie Decatur Danielewski, more commonly known as the singer Poe.  Poe’s album Haunted was produced simultaneously with House of Leaves.  The video version of the single “Hey Pretty” features bro reading a particularly hot and sticky scene about Johnny and Kyrie and a BMW on a hill.  It was certainly “the longest unzipping of my life” in more ways than one.  The unzipping of the book did not have the same erotic tension though as the unzipping of Kyrie’s leather pants.

I’d like to say that at the core of the story we have a haunted house.  Ok, not haunted, but very creepy and unstable, with a vast network of rooms beneath it that change according to the will and mental stability of their occupants.  It’s also possible to say that Johnny’s struggle with his own sanity is at the core of the story.  Alternately you could prioritize one of the love stories (Karen and Will?  Thumper and Johnny?  Johnny and Kyrie?  Kyrie and Gdansk Man?).  So what is it?  Satire on the extensive mental masturbation of academic and popular discourse, along with stabs at our bizarre willingness to overanalyze anything (guilty)?  Ghost story about a creepy house?  Love story?  Self-destructive struggle with drug addiction or mental illness?  All of these?

But wait, there’s more.  The book’s structure is enigmatic and twisting, the sense of time and place in the story is incredibly squishy, and embedded within the text are many puzzles.  Codes embedded in the letters of Johnny’s mom or the corners of pages. Anagrams in the first-letters of the footnotes.  Perhaps picture puzzles in the many different photos and drawings in the book.  Be sure to examine the pub info page and the use of color to highlight or obliterate some words and phrases.

So when I say that the book was frustrating and crazy-making, I’m quite serious.  Cleverly perhaps (on the part of Danielewski), my frustration and disorientation as a reader trying to navigate the structure of the book echoed the confusion of the characters.  The structure and narrative are quite lucid and “normal” sometimes.  At other times the text is upside down, angled, backward, sometimes with words edge-to-edge on a page of multiple columns and inset boxes.  Other times there will be only one or two words on a page for several pages.

The prose is so compelling though that I found myself wishing for a cleaner structure that would allow me to appreciate the very strong writing and imagery.  I quit reading the book repeatedly, convinced that the structure was an irritating manifestation of smug self-indulgence.  If I hadn’t agreed to read the book for Patrick I would certainly never have finished.

The book is successful in that I didn’t quit it, I won’t forget it, and I’ll likely talk about it a great deal.  That success is narrowly won though.  The structure is a gamble.  Most readers likely wouldn’t keep at it, let alone pick it up in the first place.  Those who love a puzzle and are willing to experience the book as an enigma to be savored will find it a treasure.

Off We Go, A Vacation Preparation Checklist

In my pre-vacation procrastination I apparently forgot to post this.  Just pretend that you don’t know we’ve already returned.  

1.  Do not leave behind anything that will be gross when we return.  Trash, food, laundry, science fair experiments. 

a. Take out trash. 

b. Cook, freeze, or give away food that can’t be taken with us. Eat the last four brownies with an enormous glass of milk in an effort to use up the milk.

c. Nibble at everything and begin ingesting absurd amounts of caffeine.

e. Wash and put away clothes.

f. Freshen the aquatic habitats and ask someone to feed the animals while we’re gone.

g. Get distracted cleaning something that hasn’t been cleaned for a while but has no relevance to the trip or the empty house. For example, the toaster.  Stop and clean out the toaster crumbs even if the toaster won’t be used while we’re gone.  Then panic about how little time is left before the children come home from school and we leave. 

2.  Prepare for the return.

a. Make beds ready for sleep, in case we return late.

b. Resist taking a nap in a freshly made bed.

c. Check cupboards for some kind of nonperishable food that the children are willing to eat in case we return late and/or hungry.

3.  Pack.

a. Clothes appropriate for travel and destination. (Snow clothes!!)

b. Convince the children that even though they have worn shorts to school all week, there is no way that they will need shorts where we are going, especially since there is a reasonable expectation of some snow.

c. Ignore the nine year old’s well-reasoned argument that while the high desert does get cold at night at this time of year, the daytime temperatures can often be as much as forty or fifty degrees higher, thus opening up a narrow possibility of short-need. 

d. Travel snacks, drinks, and entertainment.  Be sure there are enough snacks for ten people for ten days even though we are five people traveling to see grandparents with a well-stocked pantry for one week in a place that has stores.

e. Enough knitting and books to keep us busy for five months even though we’re only leaving for one week.

f. Gifts for people we will visit.

g. The cell phone and iPod chargers.

h. Lovies or lap blankets for children who might have to sleep in their seats while we drive over highways that expect snowstorms during our travel.  

4. In the middle of everything, stop and procrastinate for a while. Spend some time reading blogs that I couldn’t care less about.  Googlemap the trip 500 different ways.  Print out four of them even though we know exactly how to get where we’re going and we always go the same way. 

5. Panic about absurd contingencies. 

6. Calm down and plan for more reasonable contingencies.

a. Tell a trusted neighbor that we’ll be gone.

c. Make sure to have emergency contacts on the cell phone AND scribbled on a piece of paper and tucked inside the novel or knitting bag I’m bringing.

7. Spend an hour writing a blog post about getting ready for a trip, even though I haven’t actually done anything on the list.  

8. When the kids come home from school, and while one is finishing the science experiment that involves milk and juices sitting on the counter for a week, convince them that that we do not need to bring an entire drawer full of markers and toys that they cannot play with inside the car.

9. Have a plan to feed everyone a dinner composed of perfectly good food that needs to be eaten, but cave to picking up sandwiches on the way out of town.

10. At the last minute, after the suitcases are in the car, remember that I needed to pack some extra clothes for the youngest child, who is at Grandma’s and will be picked up along the way.  Cram some clothes into a grocery bag, intending to put them in his overnight bag when we get him.  Keep the clothes in this grocery bag all week, and tell him it’s a new kind of disposable suitcase.  [I forgot to do this one, so he wore the same two shirts all week.]

11. Collapse into the driver/passenger seat an hour later than we intended to leave, turn the radio up, roll the windows down, and appreciate the warm sea breeze for a few miles as we drive off to Northern New Mexico.  

 Off we go to grandparents, green chile, (maybe) snow, and fun.  Have a great Spring Break everyone!