Tag Archives: reading

Reading From LitQuake, Lenore Kandel’s Poetry

I found these clips of my reading from the Litquake event a couple weeks ago in honor of Lenore Kandel. Lenore Kandel was an amazing female beat poet that I knew nothing of before Evan Karp, a fellow poet, and mind behind Quiet Lightning, invited me to read for Kat Engh and North Atlantic Books, (the publisher of the book I read from, “Collected Poems of Lenore Kandel.”) I felt honored to be able to read Kandel’s poems, because they really spoke to me, especially as they related to sex, life and meaning.

I feel like Evan Karp summed up my life and what I’m trying to do on this blog eloquently in a minute, so I’ll post that video first, and following is a video of my reading of three of Lenore Kandel’s poems. Don’t mind me, I just obscured my entire head with the book of her poetry. It was a ploy to make you think I was Lenore Kandel.

Additional readings of mine from previous events:

East Bay on the Brain, Not Quite Dateable
Lip Service West, Cough Syrup My Gateway Drug

A Day in the Life of a Writer, Musician, Whatnot

I try not to write too much about myself in here, except when it makes a good story. But today, the husband was out of town and I realize with no one around, I could very easily get sucked into a world in which I write and read all day, not talking to a single other person except through intraweb type activity or when I have to interview someone for an article.

And I wonder, do all other writer/musicians completely forget time/chores/eating on an almost daily basis? This, of course, isn’t every day. Variations that occur include writing group, breakfast out, working extra long at the library and not getting to my writing as much, a random drive to wherever just because, a nervous breakdown, a two hour hike just because… (photo credit Rick Nelson)

A Day in the Life of a Writer, Musician, Whatnot

Wake up at some hour like 9 a.m.or 10 a.m. Roll my body, literally, out of bed. Slurk to the kitchen. The husband has brewed a french press, hopefully, yes it’s there, thank god. Get the cream out of the fridge. Add the coffee. Add brown sugar. Put the cream in the fridge, hopefully, and not the cupboard: sometimes it goes in the cupboard.

Hold coffee like it’s a scepter and I’m death. Continue reading →

5 Helpful Links for Reading, Writing and Productivity

I’m on a roll with the five things this week. First it was bacon, now it’s links to interesting sites.

A lot of my inspiration comes from reading posts out there on the intrawebs.  Some make me laugh. Some give me new ideas. Some make me feel really good at writing because they are very badly written. Some make me feel extremely terrible at writing because they are most excellent and I am not worthy of their splendor. Here are the posts I found helpful and entertaining this week:

Six Signs You’re Not Ready to Make a Living as a Professional Writer from Terrible Minds

Over at Terrible Minds, a blog I wish I had discovered long ago, authored by Chuck Wendig, there’s a lot of sage advice peppered with odd made-up words, fantastical wacko descriptions and general all round make-you-laugh-so hard-your-stomach-hurts-revelations. Someone on twitter linked this post and I got lost in all the other extremely well-executed posts. So much that I found joy in reading, and also became quite fond of the word bloviate in the process.

Finding Your Voice from Leo Babuta at Zen Habits

I have been reading Zen Habits for some time now, and usually find the advice contained therein to be pared back and helpful without being condescending. Simple steps for life and writing are woven in with threads from the author’s own life. I found the part where Babuta explains why he writes at the bottom to be particularly inspiring, making me reflect (more than I usually do) on why I write.

Book Review of Millennium People

I often talk about suburbia and madness, and am fascinated by the extreme mind-blowing two-facedness and hidden enmity that lurks inside the box-like houses all lined up on grid-like streets with well-tended lawns. Therefore, I loved reading this in-depth review about late author J.G. Ballard’s book, Millennium People.

Book Review of Stone Arabia: The Imaginary Rock Star

I also enjoyed reading this review about Dianna Spiotta’s book Stone Arabia, a book in which she has created a rock star with a fictionalized history. The book speaks to the ability to recreate yourself in America, and delves into a relationship between a brother and a sister, one covering for the other, the other shining in the other’s stead. I haven’t read it yet, but I am number 163 in queue for it at my local library.

Lifehacker’s Boost Your Productivity, Cripple Your Technology

I never realized, viscerally, how much time I was spending on social media and froo froo sites until I read this article. What I had been postulating in the back of my head became an actual plan to limit my time screwing off. After reading this, with the help of my sister, I discovered a google chrome extension called StayFocused, which actually does a count down and locks you out of the websites when you’ve reached a self-imposed time limit. I set a limit for ten minutes on facebook and was locked out after mucking around for that amount of time. I tried to manipulate more time, but the application was shameless and blocked my every maneuver. I felt like a teenager who had been sent to her room. Hell yes it worked!

Too Long; Didn’t Read

I ran into a comment on a long response I had written on a particularly hip site dedicated to essays about culture. The comment was, “TL;DR.”

The first time I saw that jumble of capitol letters I thought maybe it was from a spambot and simply ignored it. After seeing it again, though, I was curious. Just what the hell does TL;DR mean, anyway?

The Urban Dictionary definition for TL;DR is, “Literally, ‘Too long; didn’t read,’ said whenever a nerd makes a post that is too long to bother reading.”

If it’s nerdy to write at length, then hell, I’m as nerdy as they come. I might as well get some coke-bottle glasses and a bow tie and sit in the corner with a calligraphy pen and a loose leaf leather-bound notebook mumbling to myself about the fall of urban civilization as we know it. Right?

Which makes me wonder, do people even like to read anymore? Or has our modern culture fallen into a twitter-length-is-best philosophy?

Now that we all have access to the meaning of words, to books and pens, we don’t seem to want much to do with them.

And does the fact that a post is so long you didn’t read it mean that the post itself is the crime? Or is a lack of attention span keeping the larger population from considering something outside their comfort zones: Something that is too long might spur them to action or take them down memory lane, inspire them to write, even.

We live in a time where flash fiction and haiku poems are the aspiration (that’s not to say either of these are bad in and of themselves), where people fit a limited number words into a facebook or twitter feed and absolutely must pack a punch within that limited box of space or else…

Or else what?

People won’t like it? They’ll call you a nerd?

Probably, in these overstimulated days, things are better assimilated if they’re broken down into bite-size pieces, so that we can have our mini cupcakes and eat them too.

It soothes the corporations and the cool kids more if we keep our words confined to just a couple, so that they can have their news reel in the three seconds it takes to tie their shoes in the morning before putting on a tie and heading out the door to sit in think tanks and brainstorm about the most creative way to get the current generation to buy the next iconic plastic object or technology.

It hurts when we try to tell them too much in too long of a space. And yes, they will call us on it. They will troll the web looking for those who write things that are TOO WORDY and they will tell them–in a cute little abbreviated way that doesn’t take much space at all–I didn’t read what you wrote because it was too long. Thus, you are a dork.

Oh wait, sorry, according to wiki, dork is:

  • A penis; A quirky, silly and/or stupid, socially inept person, or one who is out of touch with contemporary trends. Often confused with nerd and geek, but does not imply the same intelligence level.

It appears that dork and nerd are not mutually exclusive in the context of judgement on wordy writing that isn’t mainstream, isn’t cool.

Along the dork line, it seems that short-and-to-the-point advertising and buzzwords have affected our generation as a whole. God forbid we read a long windy reply or devour a freaking novel.  We need the words to be one sentence. We need them to hit the readers RIGHT AWAY. We need the words to provoke purchase, coolness or immediately make you part of the hippest group of forward-moving people if you so much as retweet them. Good god, we’ve created a monster.

What? Oh, sorry, TL;DR.

Books: An Addiction

book piles

One thing about working in a book publishing job that I adore is the Free Book Shelf.

Recent titles I’ve acquired include but are not limited to: Money Sex War Karma. The New Writer’s Handbook: A Practical Anthology of Best Advice for Your Craft and Career. 100 Strokes. Kissing Dead Girls. The Unknown Terrorist.

All free. All mine. Sure, some are galley copies, but that doesn’t change the fact that free books rock, and I am a self-proclaimed book junkie.

Like all junkies, the activity spent acquiring and counting of my supply is three quarters of the thrill; indulging only a minute percentage. No matter how many books I have, I need more. I crave more. I have a rolling order open at the public library, with 16 books checked out and two on hold. I have a new dedicated bookshelf in the living room for copies I’ve picked up from work: whether from the free book shelf, or galley copies given to me of our new titles. In the bedroom, books are mercilessly stacked on the floor, teeming on the edges of the shelves, pushed two deep and as many as can fit on top.

My amazon wish list is insanely long, with over three hundred titles. I have other lists aside from the main one. We won’t go there. I started to organize and gave up. Sometimes, for fun, I just sift through and rearrange my wish list. Fills those empty hours.

At times, I will take three books (one from the bedroom, perhaps a library title and one from the free shelf or such) with me to the living room, so that I can read (all three?) from each at varying intervals.

When I was eleven, I checked out 30 books at one time from the library. The librarian sneered at me. “You can’t read all those in a week,” she fumed. I cocked my head at her, raised my eyebrow and wrinkled my upturned nose. “Can too!” I said.

And I did. Every bloody copy. Even if I didn’t like it. Because for her to judge me like that on my summer vacation when I lived for reading and reading waited for me in every ticking hour, was just plain dumb.

My new plan is this. I will devote a bookshelf to books I love and must keep, no matter how trashy.

I will devote another bookshelf to new books I’ve purchased or acquired for the thrill alone and need to get around to reading.

And then, the rest will be put in a “for sale” pile, to go up on half.com. I will pick up mailing supplies and upload the titles this weekend. Get some extra play dough for my efforts. Perhaps send a few books to friends.

And that might just clear up an inch of space in the apartment.

Stephanie Plum, Lingering Thursdays, Books and a Schizo Red dog

Today is a long meandering day. Thursdays linger so long. It’s so strange how time can stop while you’re at work and then just chug on like a barreling train when you’re not.

Just trying to find some stability in this new world I’ve created. Some routines, traditions, relaxations.

Lately, books call to me. Books, books and more books. Fitting, since I’m interning at a book-publishing company filled with the types of books I like to read & write. Books I’d like to read and write but am not reading and writing.

My life instead has fallen into the hands of Mystery novel writer Janet Evanovich. My life waits on hold as I count the minutes until I can go pick up a copy of To the Nines, the next book in her hilarious rote series about Stephanie Plum, a completely incompetent bounty hunter, wooed at times by two separate men, one of which she loves, one of which she lusts after…endlessly…story after story, and of course, each book ends with a teaser to reel you into the next book. But they all start with enough info that you can pick up any book in the series and be clued in, or you can read them in order, which I prefer.

Of course, being a bestseller, it follows certain uniformities, but I can deal with that. Sometimes I get tired of “literature”. Sometimes I just want brain muck. Some way to spend all this free time I have to ponder my existence.

Hell, it makes me wonder what I used to do for fun! Cooking? Cleaning? Doing the Laundry? All those things got done, but I wouldn’t exactly call them fun.

What did I used to do for fun!! I have drawn the most euphemistic blank.

Moving to a new location brings with it certain adjustments like where do I hike? Where should I wash my laundry? I actually have to take my laundry to a laundromat? Is it cool to walk around the block late at night? Where do I grocery shop? Eat? See movies?

I tend to go back to my old neighborhoods. Berkeley can be infamously expensive. Oakland and Emeryville less so. And I liked my old hiking trails up in the Oakland Hills, but Tilden park is alright as well. That’s where I’ve been going as of late. Except not enough. Because this morning my dog was going completely berserk. She hauled each of her toys out of her crate and took them to the yard to desecrate their very existence, whipping her head back and forth and pouncing, running like a jackrabbit with a wolf on it’s tail, squatting like a big clown in order to pounce suddenly. Nothing was free from her antics. Not gardening gloves. Not the used-to-be-a garden. And certainly not her squeaky stuffed toy frog.

I’m not doing her justice by being such a homebody; I don’t want to walk anywhere or go anywhere or drive anywhere cause gas is to expensive and I check the odometer every second I’m on the road lately.

Oh yes. And the fridge has been empty for weeks! Domestic? ME?