Tag Archives: writing

May 29, 2012

An interview with Amy Adoyzie

By welcometoflavorcountry

Amy Adoyzie is a fine lady who I know of through the magic of Razorcake. We finally met this past summer in Portland, Oregon, after knowing one another for many years, and she is just as awesome in person as I figured she’d be.

Illustration by Amanda Kirk

When you went to teach English in China, did it help you understand your parents any better by living in that culture?

It helped me to understand what I knew about them, but not necessarily who they are. If that makes sense.

Sort of, but can you expound upon that?

The thing is that my parents didn’t grow up in China. My parents were both born in Vietnam. But we’re ethnically Chinese. I think the mainland Chinese that live there now weren’t raised much different than my parents because of the Cultural Revolution. People my parents age would have lived through that. They’ve had a really different upbringing in that way. My parents had to go through a war in Vietnam. So in that way it’s different.

It didn’t directly tell me more about who they were but more in an indirect way. The way I can explain it is like this: Before I went to China my parents didn’t want me to go. I think there were a lot of reasons, but I think one of the main reasons was that they wondered why I would want to volunteer in a developing country. I know that China is becoming a huge economic powerhouse, but there are many parts of China that are very underdeveloped and people would consider them a developing country. There’s this notion that my parents came here so I could have a stable job and earn a stable income and not to go back to the native country and live and work there. So that’s something that showed me who they are.

When I was getting ready to leave they were really worried about me and how I would survive there. They were concerned I would get hurt or harmed somehow by thieves or bad food or whatever. My mom told me that she saw some story on the news about how they re-use broth. When you’re done with your soup they’ll pour it back in the pot and heat it up again. Things like that. They were worried I would get ripped off. So it wasn’t so much cultural things there that showed me who they are as it was how they felt about me being there that showed me who they are.

They were being paranoid and over-protective of me and actually very negative about me doing this. They also don’t have this idea of volunteer service. I think that’s because of where they came from and how they got here which is more of a dog-eat-dog culture.

Were they South Vietnamese?

Yeah. They both lived about three hours from Ho Chi Minh City.

So they came after the war was over?

Yeah. In ’79.

Did they come directly to Los Angeles or did they move around a little before settling there?

I don’t know if you want to hear about how they got here.

Sure. Whatever you want to talk about.

My mom and dad didn’t know each other in Vietnam. Things there were pretty dire, though. My mom told me about how they had to eat roadkill once – a dog that got hit by a car. Things like that.

I guess a boat pulled up to shore – I don’t know if this is true, but it’s the story they told me – and they literally had a split second to decide if they wanted to get in the boat. They knew it was a refugee boat and there was only so much room. That boat would take them to Thailand and then they would get processed through Hong Kong and then they would get sent to America, or wherever.

So, my mom, who is the oldest of six children, and her brother, who is the second oldest, got in the boat. And my dad got in the boat too. That’s how my parents met. My mom had another boyfriend at the time, but she got on the boat. The way I heard the story is that she didn’t even have time to say goodbye to her parents.

My mom has terrible motion sickness and so my dad helped my mom with her sea sickness. And when they got to port where they process you, my mom had the choice to go to Australia where she had an uncle or go to the States with my dad. And she chose to go to the States. So, my parents weren’t in love when they came here. I think my mom and dad got together for survival’s sake. They weren’t in love in our Western, romantic sense. I think they were in love in another way.

So they went to LA because my dad had a brother there and that’s where I was born in Chinatown in Los Angeles.

How did you get into music and writing, since I’m guessing it wasn’t instilled in you in your home life?

I think I just wanted to escape. I think I found that through the Arts. Either watching TV or things I learned at school. I just wanted to be someone else. I always felt like I didn’t fit in with my family, and I didn’t fit in with my community. I created these worlds. I started writing when I was in third or fourth grade. I would write these stories about this curly, permed, blonde-haired girl. I’d draw her and her name was Angela because that seemed like a white person’s name. She was popular and a cheerleader and her friends were always jealous of her. Her boyfriend was a football player. I drew these stories out and then I never showed them to anyone. I made book covers for them out of construction paper and put them together like they were books.

Nobody recognized I wrote until I was in sixth grade. My parents had bought an electronic typewriter and I decided to type out my class’s yearbook. I had no idea what a yearbook was and I viewed it abstractly from watching TV. So I wrote out all these weird stories about my classmates. Just totally random, made-up shit. The sports section had all these stories about how our teams played others schools, but I didn’t know anything about sports. All I knew was about basketball because my uncle liked to watch the Lakers play and so I’d be writing about baseball and the final scores would be 89 to 92 because I didn’t know any better.

I would write totally random, fake stories about my classmates and it was just for me. But one time in sixth grade I had re-written the Christmas Carol with my classmates in it. And I showed it to my teacher and she loved it so much she had me go into another classroom and read it for them. And around that time I showed them the yearbook I had written and everybody thought it was super funny and interesting. And then I thought, “Oh, this is my thing now. I like to write silly stories about people I know.”

I also think that in Junior High School I got totally into reading terrible young adult horror fiction. Did you ever read Christopher Pike?

I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know if I’ve ever read anything by him.

I’d read his stuff and then before middle school I’d read Garfield and the Peanuts cartoons.

Oh god…

And I loved Beverly Cleary’s Ramona series because I identified a lot with Ramona.

Really?

Yeah, because she’s mischievous and stubborn and a know-it-all and a brat. And even if I didn’t show it all the time, I felt that way. And all the time I was reading my mom would see me reading and be upset with me. For my parents, they didn’t understand reading for pleasure. In their minds, you read to get knowledge so you can do your homework and get good grades.

Hmm. That’s interesting. So, we had talked before we started recording about making some changes in our respective lives. Do you have any you want to mention?

I really want to travel again. It’s been years. And I’m referring to serious travelling. I just want to pack my backpack and get on an airplane and go somewhere. But that’s also unsatisfying because it’s like traveling in vain. I have to be doing something, too. I have to have a purpose when I travel. So I’ve had to think and re-evaluate the things that make me feel good and purposeful when I’m traveling. I think one thing is helping to share stories of people whose stories don’t get shared. But I have to find those stories. I don’t know what those stories are. But that’s also sticky because I also feel like a very privileged American. It’s like, “Let me tell your story for you!” I recognize that there are citizen journalists in every country. They can tell their own fuckin’ stories. Who the fuck am I to tell their stories? I know I’ve told stories that haven’t been told before. I know they exist. I just don’t know where they are and if they are better equipped to tell them than I am.

I think I just think too much. I think about things to the point where I wonder if I should even do them. Some people miss that part of their brain where they don’t think enough and then they do some crazy shit. I want that to be removed from my brain so that I can act that way sometimes.

You don’t do any crazy shit anymore?

I do some crazy stuff now and then. I’ve been thinking of doing some more photojournalist things, but I don’t know what stories I want to tell. I’m just stuck.

Does this mean you’ve put away the idea of grad school for good or just for a while?

Probably for good because I don’t want to be in debt any more than I already am. A lot of people around me think that I don’t need it. I think a lot of people in my life – it’s not that they think it’s a waste of money, but that I don’t need to pay to learn these things.

I think if I were to go to grad school for writing, a lot of people would say, “Why would you do that? You can write.” In a way, I get that. I’m so stuck right now that I can’t imagine going to school for writing.

So, since I know your writing through Razorcake, I’m curious how long you’ve been doing the column for them.

Since 2005. It was crazy when I got that call. As a person who writes and a person who does zines, that was a big fucking deal to get a column in a punk zine like that.

Totally.

I wrote a column about how I ended up with the column and I was so much ballsier then. When I first met Todd, I told him I wanted to design a cover for the magazine. And Todd didn’t know what I could do so he asked me to do a layout first and he liked that so then I got to do some covers. And then I wrote one web column and Todd liked it and decided to put me on the roster.

Has anyone famous (at least in punk rock circles) ever reached out to you based on something that you have written in a column?

The thing about writing is that it is done in solitude. You write it, put it up, people read it, and the vast majority does not get in touch with a response. The columns I tend to get the most feedback on are the ones that are totally posi-core. People like that. People need someone to tell them that someone is experiencing a good thing in life and thus it creates hope for them. In the past two or three years since I got back from Bangladesh I think my columns have been complete downers and I recognize that, but that’s where I’m at right now. I’ve literally gotten zero feedback. I think you’ve written me a couple times but outside of you, nothing.

The one exception is this column I wrote that was probably my least well-received column. It was correlating something that Lauren Measure had written about sexism and punk rock. She pointed out how when men take their shirts off at shows it creates a sexist environment. So I wrote a column about how that small butterfly of an act does not necessarily create rape but that it contributes to a culture where it’s more susceptible to happen because it’s a patriarchal, male-centered culture where men are always allowed to assert their male-ness and female identified people are just supposed to be there to take it in.

So, I wrote that column and Todd and I got into a tangle about it because my first draft wasn’t that great. It was poorly written and not very tight. And he said, “If you’re gonna do this, you better have your shit together.” So I had to re-write it two or three times.

In my column I say that as a man, when you’re at a show, it might seem like a really innocuous act, and I can understand why you would feel that way, because that’s how we were raised. But there are people in that room who find that gesture very threatening. I’m not saying people who do that are rapists; I’m saying, “Think about what you’re doing.” Think about all the privileges you have as a male and in the punk rock scene, as a straight, white male. Your privileges are boundless sometimes.

In that same column, I wrote about how this young girl in Bangladesh was raped by her cousin and then she was lashed to death for adultery. I talk about another story of how this young girl in Texas was systemically gang-raped. I’m sure a lot of men don’t feel comfortable reading a story that talks about men taking their shirts off at basement shows and also these horrific acts of rape and death. But for me, at that moment in time when I read those stories and read Lauren’s story, I think culturally they work together. Maybe they’re thousands of miles apart, but culturally, I think there’s something there.

About male dominance.

And our culture and how men assert themselves. In a culture where half the people are not them.

I got a lot of shit from a lot of people about that, for sure.

But to get back to your question – sorry, I veered off track – there’s a columnist for MaximumRocknRoll named Mykel Board and he wrote me. He said he liked my perspective in my columns because I’m a woman but not too girly. But this column was ridiculous and he was calling me out on it. And he asked me if I wanted to respond to him because he was going to write about what I wrote in his column for MaximumRocknRoll. I was like, “Are you creating some kind of zine flame war?” I didn’t even respond. Well, maybe I’m responding now that I’m telling you about it. I don’t really care what some guy writes about what I said. It doesn’t affect me in my daily life.

What was his problem with the column?

He was also focused on the taking your shirt off thing. My point was that you should respect those around you and not take your shirt off and he said that if you’re a woman you should join in and take your shirt off. It was completely off the point of what I was talking about. I was saying that our culture is very unsafe in many respects and punk shows are theoretically supposed to be safe places and I would say the majority of women would not feel safe taking off their shirts anywhere – even at a punk show. So to say that you should liberate yourself and not adhere to these norms and join in on it – well, it’s not that easy. It’s not that simple. It was intense because he attached the column he was going to run and I just didn’t respond.

Wow. I don’t understand the taking off your shirt thing. I think maybe I would have when I was a teenager but I don’t feel comfortable enough with myself to take off my shirt. I don’t want people to look at my tattoos or my farmer’s tan. I don’t understand why dudes are so full of themselves that they would take off their shirts. You wouldn’t take off your shirt other places, so why do it at a punk show?

Personally it doesn’t bother me. But if I was a survivor of sexual assault and a bunch of men simultaneously take off their shirts and start dancing violently, it could be triggering. And I think that’s what Lauren was talking about. People who were upset about what she or I had written didn’t understand why it was that big of a deal and why we were being so sensitive. Well, it’s not for you to say how somebody else should feel. These things happen to people. Be respectful.

Well, I hope you continue to get more positive comments from your columns. If you do get negative ones, I hope they will be edifying to you in some way.

You know, for someone as sensitive as I am, they don’t bother me that much.

Do you think you would have been more sensitive to them in the past?

No, I don’t think so. I may be bothered by it for a day or two and then I let it go. Everyone has their own opinions. It’s not true of everything in my life as far as negative criticism. But as far as my column, whatever. It’s just a column in a punk zine. I’m not going to get too upset about it.

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August 5, 2011

Looking for a ladder to climb

By welcometoflavorcountry

I thought I’d finished dreaming of her weeks ago but she cropped up in my head last night. My now ex-girlfriend called and asked me to come over. I didn’t want to but I still care too much so I made my way to the large stucco apartment building where she lived. I climbed three flights of outdoor stairs to come to an enormous room with ridiculously high vaulted ceilings. It was like a gymnasium but with bunk beds stacked three high. The space between each level was exaggerated so that the top bunk was likely 30 feet in the air. I craned my neck up to the top and could make out the frame of her computer. She was laying on her back, watching TV shows on the screen although I couldn’t make out which one.

“Hey!” I yelled up to her. “What’s up?”

She twisted her neck to the left and down and said, “I can’t come down there. I broke my ankle!”

“I’m sorry!” I replied. I wondered how she could climb down from her perch with a broken ankle. Perhaps she had an elaborate pulley system comprised that allowed her to descend to the floor. Or she was using a colostomy bag and catheter to deal with her waste. Or maybe she had a new boyfriend who took care of her like I would if we were still going out.

No, that was unlikely. Our break-up had been too recent. Although that hadn’t kept me from looking online at a dating site. Every time I did so, I ended up being simultaneously disappointed at the options of people as well as having a wave of emotion coming over me, the closest equivalent to a male friend pulling me aside, placing his hand on my shoulder and saying, “Dude, you’re not ready.”

“I can’t hang out with you I’m afraid. Sorry!” she yelled down to me, looking back at the computer screen.

I wondered why she had called me over. Did she miss me or did she just need to see me to assure herself she had made the right decision?

“Okay,” I said to her, not quite mumbling but not yelling either.

I made my way to the rear entrance, confused by the entire experience. What just happened? She was as confusing in my dream as she had been in my real life.

I went outside and down the aqua blue plaster stairs. Two other men in their late twenties emerged from some unknown location and I recognized one of them as a friend from elementary and middle school that I hadn’t seen since I graduated from high school. As of late I had been trying to find him online, although if I did, I knew I was not the type to actually reach out and make a connection. I was just curious.

But here he was and he didn’t recognize me and I didn’t make an effort to tell him who I was and how I still remembered all the times as gangly pre-teens we played basketball and tackle football in his front yard. And how I thought back to these days fondly and missed that simple level of connection with others.

There was another fellow there as well and I didn’t recognize him as any one particular individual but rather as an amalgamation of various other friends from that elementary and middle school time period. The two men were friendly enough and talked to me as we descended the staircases on our way down to the ground level. I tried to ride the handrail down between the second and first floors but it was rough and the friction didn’t allow for much movement. I scooted my ass along every few feet like a dog dragging its posterior along the carpet. But minus the anal gland condition.

At street level we started moving in the same direction, making small talk. These two young men were friends and had plans together and once again I felt left out and alone. We made our way to the industrial area surrounding the apartment building and toward a train station. The ex-friends of mine were going on a trip, getting ready to make memories and establish a deeper connection. I, on the other hand, was going to trudge around the empty factories and side streets, past lots of land that were no doubt saturated with chemicals from the long-standing pollutants that society had been ignorant of for so long.

I said goodbye to them as they entered the decrepit station and I started walking down the street to the right at the corner of Tokyo and Japan streets.

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February 10, 2011

Kill Dragon

By welcometoflavorcountry

I grew up in the same neighborhood as Tim Showalter.

Our families went to the same church for a number of years and I was in the same grade as his older brother. After I graduated college we got to know each other fairly well while we both lived in our hometown. We’re still friends although now he lives in Philadelphia and I live in Boston.

Tim is also a musician and under the moniker Strand of Oaks he has put out a remarkable album, Pope Killdragon. Having known Tim for a long time, I thought that connection made for a unique opportunity for my own creativity. I decided to take each of the songs on the album and use them as inspiration to write something. Hopefully you like some of what you read. You can listen to each of the songs off Pope Killdragon here.

2. Kill Dragon

My friend Jeremiah recently told me he had found a copy of the first issue of the first zine I ever did: Shelter. Considering that for some reason I didn’t save any of the issues of that zine (I can’t even remember how many I did) it was with great fear and trepidation that I asked if he could send it to me. He graciously obliged.

To say that it is bad would be putting it lightly. But it’s part of my development and we all have to start somewhere. However, I will admit I like some of the layout. It is a conglomeration of cut and paste words and photos. It’s much better than anything I ever did for the print issues of Welcome to Flavor Country.

The content of the first issue of Shelter included a review of Starflyer 59‘s Gold album as well as the re-mastered version of the Star Wars Trilogy (on VHS mind you). I also do a shout-out to a couple of other zines that I liked. My friend Lee wrote a poem called “Shelter” and Jeremiah (the same one who sent this to me) wrote some poems as well. Also included is a very poor interview with Jeremiah’s high school band, Directed Youth.

The rest of the content is me being VERY Christian. I won’t write it all here but allow me to share a bit of how ridiculous the content was (and what my state of mind was at that time). Please keep in mind I was about 16 when this was written and I’m cringing as you read this.

Sometimes, it seems that i get really depressed. Not like, “yeah, i had a bad day at school” type of thing, but all of the problems that i have seem to come to a head. i don’t know how to explain it exactly. And a lot of times i have to do things like write letters to my friends, write poetry, or just talk to someone to make myself feel better. But in the long run, it seems that i always end up back where i was before. And where i was before is a state of me feeling like i’m nothing. So, being the ignorant person that i am, i continue this silly game instead of getting to the root of the problem. And to be honest, up until a little while ago, i was still playing that silly game. But then, thanks to some friends (thanks, guys!) i got straight. i’m not saying that it’s all horrible to feel sad once in a while, but the constant deep depression is just so destructive. Why can’t we open our eyes to that? And while my friends helped me more than i could ever know, the real savior to my predicament was Jesus. i know some of you guys are going, “ah, man, screw Jesus, he’s never done squat for me!” But, from my personal point of view, i could never thank him enough. He’s the one who took away my depression, and it wasn’t hard either. All i had to do was ask. And if you feel that way sometimes, that’s what you need to do. Just trust Him. i know it sounds cheesy, especially if you are an independent sort of person but it’s the only way to make it. Put your trust in him.

There are so many things wrong with this piece I don’t know where to begin. First off, my depression never went away for good. It may have receded for a time around when I wrote this, but it came back again and again. My attempts in giving it to Jesus and trusting him just kept me thinking there was something wrong with me spiritually because the depression always came back in greater waves. If Jesus was taking care of this then why wasn’t I feeling better?

I didn’t know much of anything about getting help for depression. Medications, counselors or psychiatrists weren’t talked about in my family (just out of sheer ignorance, not for any spiritual reason) and by the time I started to understand what was happening to me on a psychological level I was too enveloped in my depression to be willing to go and commit myself to working through my emotional instability. The depression was just a shell for the anxiety that had tucked itself into my bones and was truly running the show whether I realized it or not.

“Just trust Him. i know it sounds cheesy, especially if you are an independent sort of person but it’s the only way to make it.” Actually it’s not. There are lots of ways to survive in life. I just didn’t know any better. And for all the “trust” of god, it didn’t exactly get me real far either. It’s only once I seriously started to question my belief in god that I felt like I was getting anywhere in my life – away from the depression and anxiety and really coming into my own.

I know that it’s a coincidence that both were happening at the same time but it certainly made things easier trying not to worry about fitting into some vague notion of what is right and wrong. Ironically, I am now that “independent sort of person” and agree – it does sound cheesy.

Despite my apprehension with the text, I did find a redeeming aspect in regards to the number of great pictures of my friends and I from high school. Pictures I hadn’t seen in years. Pictures of Jeremiah with makeup on, Directed Youth rocking it, me with a long wallet chain (back before it was cool and then wasn’t cool and was then cool again – yeah, that long ago) and a dog chain padlocked around my neck.

There are also pictures of my sister and I as little kids that are cute. I really loved seeing those old photos because honestly, a lot of my past is blank to me. And I don’t have any of those pictures. I remember some things here and there but these pictures are like a friend telling me what s/he remembers and thereby helping to fill in the gaps.

I forgot that I used to wear a Tooth & Nail Records stocking cap all the time, even when it wasn’t freezing out. Back when Tooth & Nail was good and put out all kinds of clothes. And music. It was good to see that despite my anxiety and depression at that time I was still enjoying myself. I still knew how to have a good time and smile and laugh and occasionally be content even if I was also dissatisfied a great deal of the time. And despite only rebelling against dressing a certain way and not thinking entirely for myself. These things take time.

I’d like to think my writing and zines have gotten much better. I see that from the first issue of Welcome to Flavor Country, let alone my writing with Shelter. There’s one thing I know that has been consistent through the years, though. I need a way to express myself. Always. And constantly. And writing it out is all I’ve got. Even all these years later.

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February 3, 2011

I need some editors

By welcometoflavorcountry

Youthful dreams once directed me towards a notion that life in the city would be filled with sharp, crisp camera angles of me walking down the street alone, yet retaining confidence in myself.

Perhaps there’s a chill in the air and my breath is evident as it escapes my lungs into the sky. I envisioned romantic experiences whereupon my spirit would feel so alive, and trial and error would all converge in exciting new ways. My soul would never slow down and there could be films made of the adventures and excitement that dwelt in my experiences. Instead, I have found periods of severe boredom punctuated by intense moments of Ozzy Osbourne-like cries of “Am I going insane?”

There were going to be plentiful opportunities for love and connection with others. I would discover friends and have a cadre of folks with whom I could call and converse or meet up with at a bar. I don’t know where those notions came from. I’ve often tried hard to create things out of thin air. And when I at last find myself ready to attack my insecurities head-on and to adjust my behavior to take into account my previous neuroses, I discover that any hope of a sense of belonging I may have once had isn’t entirely existent.

My nighttime walks in the chill of November are alone. There is no endearing, semi-mysterious female there to hold my hand. I walk by myself and keep my eyes peeled for dubious individuals. This time in my life would make for the worst of films: filler material of the most banal kind.

It’s a series of shots of Kevin Spacey surfing the Internet for hours upon end, checking his Facebook page every 15 minutes. It’s Philip Seymour Hoffman reading a self-help book while riding the subway to and from work. It’s Paul Giamatti spending four hours on a Saturday morning under the covers of his bed in his small apartment, re-reading this sentence for the 35th time in order to make sure it flows just right.

If this has been relegated to the world of made-for-TV movies, then change the channel. If this is a film on the big screen, then we have a problem. You need to leave the theater and get your money refunded. This script should have never been written.

I thought there would be more late nights spent staying up talking with a cute girl in my bed. I thought I’d become a creature of the night like in college or grad school (the first time around, that is.) I would be somewhere else with someone whose eyes I could look into and admire. There would be nights of us out in the cold, huddled together to keep warm, witty banter rolling off our tongues, making one another laugh in an effort to take our minds off the frigidity. There would be shows and late nights at our favorite dive bar and riding bikes in the warm summer nights.

And I thought at its’ worst, I would find myself drinking Maker’s Mark on the rocks in front of my computer on lonely Friday or Saturday nights while I pounded away on this keyboard, writing – no, pouring out my soul for no one in particular to read. But it would be worthwhile and express the things I needed to say.

And somebody else would read it and know. And they would thank me for my words. He or she would say that I really spoke to them and that my writing was great. And I would humbly respond with a thank you and leave it at that. Or if I was really lucky, it would be a woman who fell in love with me through my writing and we could spawn something delicate – a correspondence that would be meaningful.

But I’ve already lived that portion of my life and had those adventures and instead I find myself mercilessly punching away on the keys for myself. And there’s no Maker’s Mark and there’s no ice – I don’t even own a goddamn tumbler to put it in.

I get asked why I write and it’s for myself. It’s always been for myself. I put it out there and hope someone reads and understands. I hope someone knows what I’m talking about – I hope that someone else has found their life to be disappointing in comparison to the film version they tried hard to make happen.

We don’t always get what we wish for, but that optimism for some kind of romantic climax in New York City with a woman you just met doesn’t seem to be happening and there’s a doubt that you may not even have a fun weekend in New York City with friends, let alone a romantic, life-altering episode. But we can try and make ourselves open to the possibility. It will come right before the divorce. And I’ll try my best to make that entertaining for myself as well as anyone else that might be watching.

4 comments   |  tags: , | posted in Non-fiction

January 31, 2011

Interview with Carlene Bauer

By welcometoflavorcountry

Carlene Bauer is the author of the memoir Not That Kind of Girl, which is one of the better books I have read in a while, if for no other reason than I found a lot of similarities between Carlene’s life of being raised in evangelical Christianity and my own. Every now and then I write her and tell her how great I think she is and she humors me with a kind response.

Why did you decide to write a memoir?

Had this been 1994 or 1985 I would have done what many people before me had done and written a thinly veiled, autobiographical coming-of-age novel. But I felt that would be kind of a cop-out. Memoir, to me, seemed like Prozac Nation or The Glass Castle – books I would never read. And I thought, “What if I could try and write a book that would read more like a novel?”

And I also wanted to write a book that could engage the reader not because of the salacious details but because of the strength of myself as a character and the writing. I didn’t think of the book as a memoir but I knew the publishing house would have to call it that because that’s what happens now. I just saw my book as a very long personal essay.

Have you ever read someone’s memoir and then met them?

Yes. One person I was just getting to be friendly with, so I knew about her before I read her book. I also just recently interviewed Joyce Carol Oates and she’s publishing a memoir about losing her husband.

When you met them, how were they different than what you expected based on reading their memoirs?

With Joyce Carol Oates, she’s small and has a soft speaking voice and a shy demeanor, but the writing can pummel you. So that was the disconnect. With the other woman I’m thinking of there was pretty much a one-to-one correlation between her writing and her person. I think with memoir it’s easier to find the one-to-one correlation but with fiction it’s much easier to find a disparity with a voice on the page and the voice of the person. I think most people who are ferocious in any art form are going to be ferocious in person.

Have you ever had a muse that has influenced your writing or do you currently have one?

*laughs* Karl Lagerfeld is my muse.

Who’s that?

He’s this crazy, German fashion designer. He designs Chanel. But I do like his outrageousness. But hmm…I don’t know. I mean, Jesus?

*laughs*

For serious. You know, when I wrote the book I had lots of people in mind. But now I would say lots of people from the 19th century. Currently I would even include Neko Case because the book I’m writing is a love story and it’s very hard for me to say emotional things and I think that happens more often in music so I’m trying to do something that most people do in music – make something emotional without being sentimental or saccharine. So I’ll think a lot of her songs.

With the first book, I think it was predictably Sylvia Plath as a muse. I know it’s unfashionable and stupid, but nobody talks about what a good writer she is. She had a lot of control and whatever she did she did on purpose. I think nowadays our writing gets bigger and bigger and bigger and we don’t try and make every sentence count. You know who else –

Jesus?

You know, even though I don’t know what I believe I do think often of him. I guess in some way I have a religious project and I would like to think he’s hovering somewhere in the background.

Even though you don’t believe in him?

Yeah. It’s like trying to reclaim some sort of religious act from the Right.

What is the book you’re working on right now?

It’s an epistolary novel. It’s told entirely through letters. It’s set in the early 60s and it’s about a poet and fiction writer who become friends and then fall in love but can’t quite make it work. He suffers from manic depression and she is repressed. They’re both Catholic and he eventually becomes lapsed and this creates conflict and the novel follows their ins and outs.

It’s based loosely on Robert Lowell and Flannery O’Connor who were friends but never fell in love (that we know of). I thought it would be interesting to create a story where you have a male character who is very effusive, generous, passionate and sort of delusional and the woman is colder and reticent and have those people be in conflict all the time.

Are there certain subjects you get embarrassed talking about in front of your parents?

Not embarrassed but I’ve learned not to talk to them about politics. I’ve learned through the last two elections that it is just not worth it.

But you can talk about things such as your sex life in front of them?

I have. They’re actually very sympathetic and compassionate so I lucked out there.

If you had to ever kill someone, could you do it?

*gasp* You know I‘ve actually thought about that.

Worst segue ever.

No. Best segue ever. I like to think I’d be able to. But I hope I don’t ever have to find out.

Dogs or cats or both and –

Dogs. Dogs. Dogs.

Why?

Because they’re more emotionally available. I like the space they take up and I like their faces. I’ve had to cat sit a couple of times and the litter box thing is terrible and they’re temperamental and they don’t really need you.

What was your favorite trip overseas?

There was one I took with an ex-boyfriend to Barcelona and London that was really lovely. But I don’t know. I can’t pick! When I graduated from graduate school and my sister graduated from college we took ourselves abroad in the grand manner. We went to London, Paris, Florence and Rome for two and a half weeks and that was great because I’d never done it. Oxford had this weird summer program and I did that about ten years ago, so I stayed there for a month and then went to Paris with a friend.

Do you have a favorite out of those?

Well, I’m an anglophile, so I’ve loved whatever time I’ve spent in London. I saw Sleater-Kinney play in London five years ago. There were these Bob Hoskins types standing in the back in this club in Camden drinking Foster’s tall boys. And I said to my boyfriend at the time, “What the hell are these guys doing here?” but they were into it and they approved. I forgot – I went to see Belle & Sebastian in 1999 or 2000 at a festival in the South of England and I saw them and Teenage Fanclub and Sleater-Kinney. But the thing about Sleater-Kinney when they played abroad – I felt that we were exporting this and people were just eating it up. It was a complete rock show. It had nothing to do with who they were as women although I admit I took great pleasure that they were girls kicking ass.

Barcelona is beautiful and I had read Homage to Catalonia before I went and – Oh! George Orwell! He’s often a muse. Anyway, that city is very old in ways that New York and Paris isn’t sometimes. It felt medieval and dusty and untamed and also very alive.

Without giving the obvious answer, what’s something you used to believe that you don’t believe in anymore?

I should say New York. I should have had that beaten the hell out of me by now.

You still believe in it?

Yeah. I feel ashamed. There are too many people with money coming in cleaning everything up and then people want to raze Coney Island to the ground. It’s total liberal arts major complaints that are totally unoriginal but still deeply held about money and history.

Hmm. Also, I might not believe in certain bands anymore.

Such as?

It was Belle & Sebastian a couple years ago.

And maybe I don’t believe in the gym right now. I have gone a lot in my life and I find it useful but the thought of it is kind of soul crushing.

What was the last good film you saw in the theater?

I did like “The Social Network.” I thought it was well done and Jesse Eisenberg did a good job. That might have been the last thing I saw in the theater. That’s kind of embarrassing.

Eh, not really. I only go when I can pull the double feature so it’s not too often for me either.

Okay.

What pops into your mind when I mention the word “Mormons?”

Oh, lots of things. White shirts, ties, and nameplates. Upstate New York.

Why upstate New York?

Joseph Smith was living in upstate New York when he had his visions.

Oh right.

Preparedness – what do they call those kits they make for the impending apocalypse? It’s got a lot of freeze-dried food, too. I wrote a piece on Mormon comedy for the NY Times Magazine a long time ago. So I did a lot of research into Mormons. I actually have sympathy for them in a weird way. I understand the problems and the weirdness and all that. When talking to them I felt that sometimes they were misunderstood. There’s a lot of sexism in Mormonism. They may even be more sexist than evangelicals but it also seems they may also be a little less uptight than evangelicals.

What kind of influence has Soren Kierkegaard had on your life?

Oh. A lot, because he was a depressed person who was a Christian. I knew who he was but I didn’t read up on him until I moved to New York. The line on him is that he’s a poet but he’s also a philosopher. So there’s logic and poetry. There’s a tendency to preach while also trying to purport logic and poetry so as an act of writing I find this incredibly compelling.

It’s beautiful but it also clears the way for existentialism and very clear directives, which I think if you’re depressed, it can be helpful to have. Like the idea that if you despair, despairing over something is worse than despairing of something. So these small shifts with just a preposition shift you into a whole other category of despair and the idea that you move from the aesthetical to the ethical to the religious – that there is a forward motion and a hierarchy of modes – I find this really great. It’s exciting. Just the grappling with faith constantly. And also the fact that you can’t prove it, you just have to believe it. That idea is incredibly helpful. You can’t prove it; you have to just have faith. But this is also hard at times to believe. Like, “That’s it?”

I love his explanation of Abraham and Isaac and how that doesn’t make any sense at all. Abraham goes through this absurd, immoral, illogical thing that breaks all the norms of what we’re taught to believe and THAT gets credited to him as faith and the faith becomes righteousness and the righteousness gets him into heaven. So you have to do something that goes against everything you’ve ever been taught – and that gets you into heaven?

Does that bother you?

I think it used to but now I don’t really give a shit.

Did it bother you because you felt as though it was going to legitimize acts of violence?

No, not that, but that it was promoting the idea that you can’t have a logical basis for your faith. And if you can’t have a logical basis for your faith, how do you defend it against “secular America” or secular society? And then you can’t and you don’t.

But if you just come at it and admit it doesn’t make any sense and it’s not supposed to make sense then it just ends up becoming this thing where you personally believe that this person was right and it’s strictly a matter of faith. I see that with the Christian Scientists I know. It makes no sense but you just accept the idea that this woman received a divine inspiration from God. And that’s totally weird to me because the evidence points otherwise.

Yeah. Thinking about the Mormons it’s the same thing. The only difference between Joseph Smith and Jesus is that Jesus has two thousand years on him. In some ways there might not be a difference. I mean, there is, but there isn’t.

Yeah, totally. So my last question: what is one of the most important things you’ve learned from living in New York City?

There is no meritocracy. Poor me. I’ve learned that.

This is sort of trite but I am often surprised how kind New Yorkers are. I think people don’t realize that. You hear things about New York – “it’ll be a teeming crack den of iniquity and caviar and heroin!” But I was really surprised how easy it was to find friends that are good people.

3 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Friends & Acquaintances, Interviews

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