1-9-96
Talking with Gramma Vera on the phone about her platelets...
...and about how my uncle permanently lost his hair at Potsdam from a scalp infection when he was just twenty years old...
...She has too many platelets! (Wouldn't that make you invincible?)...
...She saw "Carmen" in Manhattan sixty years ago! She was about fifteen. She didn't want to go, but her older sister made her..."Trying to culture her kid sister." ...A year later she saw the Russian Ballet...and a dreary play called "Tobacco Road"...Of "Carmen", she loved the costumes but hated all the "screeching"...Now she loves listening to Sinatra do "My Way" with Pavorotti...
I got that letter out to my uncle, finally. Sent him a copy of my story.
Gramma thought Aaron was a Scandinavian name, but I told her it was Moses' brother's name, who was, of course, not Scandinavian.
Finised Chez Chance. It sure pissed me off. It sucks. My writing is so much better. If my idea has to be usurped, why can't it be well done? And it's so short they've got only 200 words per page stretched out to make it look like a novel. I remember this Gummerman from UCI, a lugubrious type who I made nervous at the pub. The story is pointless, and the theme and plot both turn on acid, a topic near and dear to my heart, that he obvioulsy knows nothing about. You can tell he's the kind of guy that did it once, undertook such a great danger for the sake of his artistry, risking his quiet normal little life in the safety of San Clemente. Urgh.
What else? Still have to arrange the field trip, write John Bayles, A. Automann, and mail off this story to the LA Times magazine, and to the American Journal of Short Fiction, and Harper's. I have an essay, two short stories and a book of poems to read before I select the nest novel I'll read. The Jim Crack story needs to be at leat 120 pages. He should do some odd jobs before the Vegas trip. The characters to know are Jim, Tink, Jim's dad (security guard), mother (deceased), Adam--peripherally. Other jobs as flashback? Yes. The Newport house flashback. Whittaker (weeds!). His ability with time and numbers at gambling leads to a mob underboss and some kind of chore with a climax in Death Valley. Ozit gonna be good.
I'm going to read the Ring Lardner story from 1926 called Haircut. But before that I have to read 1901-1910 in The Ultimate Baseball Book. Tomorrow's freaking homework day. I must'nt forget the utmost priority of this year is that friggin' credential. So
that's
three
pages.
Talking with Gramma Vera on the phone about her platelets...
...and about how my uncle permanently lost his hair at Potsdam from a scalp infection when he was just twenty years old...
...She has too many platelets! (Wouldn't that make you invincible?)...
...She saw "Carmen" in Manhattan sixty years ago! She was about fifteen. She didn't want to go, but her older sister made her..."Trying to culture her kid sister." ...A year later she saw the Russian Ballet...and a dreary play called "Tobacco Road"...Of "Carmen", she loved the costumes but hated all the "screeching"...Now she loves listening to Sinatra do "My Way" with Pavorotti...
I got that letter out to my uncle, finally. Sent him a copy of my story.
Gramma thought Aaron was a Scandinavian name, but I told her it was Moses' brother's name, who was, of course, not Scandinavian.
Finised Chez Chance. It sure pissed me off. It sucks. My writing is so much better. If my idea has to be usurped, why can't it be well done? And it's so short they've got only 200 words per page stretched out to make it look like a novel. I remember this Gummerman from UCI, a lugubrious type who I made nervous at the pub. The story is pointless, and the theme and plot both turn on acid, a topic near and dear to my heart, that he obvioulsy knows nothing about. You can tell he's the kind of guy that did it once, undertook such a great danger for the sake of his artistry, risking his quiet normal little life in the safety of San Clemente. Urgh.
What else? Still have to arrange the field trip, write John Bayles, A. Automann, and mail off this story to the LA Times magazine, and to the American Journal of Short Fiction, and Harper's. I have an essay, two short stories and a book of poems to read before I select the nest novel I'll read. The Jim Crack story needs to be at leat 120 pages. He should do some odd jobs before the Vegas trip. The characters to know are Jim, Tink, Jim's dad (security guard), mother (deceased), Adam--peripherally. Other jobs as flashback? Yes. The Newport house flashback. Whittaker (weeds!). His ability with time and numbers at gambling leads to a mob underboss and some kind of chore with a climax in Death Valley. Ozit gonna be good.
I'm going to read the Ring Lardner story from 1926 called Haircut. But before that I have to read 1901-1910 in The Ultimate Baseball Book. Tomorrow's freaking homework day. I must'nt forget the utmost priority of this year is that friggin' credential. So
that's
three
pages.
posted by johnz at 10:38 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home