Friday, April 15, 2011 - Long Beach , CA
It's a quarter to eight in the morning and I'm lying in bed, a bit out of it, but feeling pretty good after about nine hours of makeup sleep (this work week was particularly crushing and sleep free). It's been a week since I've touched this diary. I'm not being lazy, just far too busy with work. Plus I really haven't had all that much to say; the day-to-day grind has been pretty much all that's going on, all that's been occupying my mind.
Some interesting news has come down the pipe, though. Despite the looming state budget cuts I've managed to hold on to both my teaching jobs; I've been scheduled in the fall for two classes at each school. That I've kept the Irvine job doesn't surprise me too much as that that district has a lot of money in its coffers. That I'm still at Santiago Canyon College, which is much poorer, has caught me a touch off guard. Adjunct teachers like me come cheap, though, so I guess they're targeting more expensive cuts than us. However, its come about, the situation looks pretty good for me. I've lost enough classes that I can begin my transition to full-time writing in earnest, while still having enough teaching work that I won't come close to starving while doing it. But a part of me, I must admit, is a little disappointed that I tossed completely out of the teaching profession. I was almost looking forward to the struggle of having to make my way with the pen; it would have forced me in a big way into the new life I want so desperately. Now that I can take my time about it the transition is going to lose some of its urgency and glamor. I'm not complaining, though. I've lived on starvation wages before in my life and the romance of the situation exists mostly in hindsight. Plus, I'm a bit too old to really want to take on that kind of stress again ...
As I've said, there really hasn't been much going on for me besides work. In my few free moments I've been continuing my exploration of "pulp" writers. I finished From a High Window, by Raymond Chandler and Casino Royale, by Ian Fleming. I enjoyed both a great deal, especially the Chandler book; he's such a good writer, so lean and incisive. The story was great in this novel too (not enough dangerous hottie femme fatales for my taste, though). My next Chandler book will be The Lady in the Lake. I've already started Moonraker, the third book of Fleming's James Bond series (the LB Library doesn't have Live and Let Die, the second in the series). I read a lot of these Bond books years ago, but I can't remember reading this one; it doesn't yet seem all that familiar. Readings these kinds of books is really good for me, I'm starting to realize. It's been a long time since I've read mostly for the sheer enjoyment of it. I hope to keep this trend going for a while - the fun I'm having with these books is making me feel downright human for a change!
OK, off to the eye doctor for a checkup and then a fun day doing errands. Just another day in the exciting life of the great writer Rob Woodard ...
Friday, April 22, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Raymond Chandler, Ian Fleming, and I
Saturday, April 9, 2011 - Long Beach, CA
Lying in bed after a nice night's sleep (about nine-and-a-half hours worth!). Trying to make up for lack of sleep during the week with long weekend sessions of course doesn't work very well, but it works better than not trying to make it up. I feel pretty good, in other words, groggy, but much more centered and rested than I've been in recent days ...
For the last hour I've been lying in bed reading. After abandoning Hemingway, I've started what I think could be an extensive examination of what are are often foolishly dismissed as "pulp" writers. A while back I reread The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler. Last week I picked up that thread and for the first time read Farewell, My Lovely, another one of his classic crime novels. Right now I'm about forty pages into Casino Royale, the first of Ian Fleming's James Bond novels. Why am I doing this? For entertainment partially; I'm discovering that I need to immerse myself in the kinds of adventures these authors offer as a counterpoint to my currently numbing day-to-day life. However, there's something else going on as well. I'm also trying to learn a thing or two about writing, about storytelling, as well as use these kinds of books to take stock of where I am now as a writer. Let me explain.
When I first completed Mother Earth, the second novel in my Backwaters saga, I finally began accepting who I am as a writer. When it comes to writing I essentially have one gift: the ability to say a great deal in relation to the number of words I'm putting down; my sentences are crisp and with each piece I'm becoming freer from indulgence. This makes what I write an "easy read," according to many. People have also told me that my writing is addictive, that they can't put my books down once they start them. All this, I think, springs from a philosophy I have that words have no meaning beyond the story they are there to tell; they have no worth in themselves. Every word in a story should move the story along - if a word is not doing this it serves no purpose and should not be there. If one can write in this manner the words no longer get in the way of the story and reading becomes something more like watching a film, or better yet experiencing real life; a reader feels he or she is living in the universe of the story, instead of just having it described to them. So many writers don't get this; writing for them is at least partially an explorations of their egos, of obsessions they've convinced themselves that everyone else shares or at least should share with them. I think that's way so much "serious" literature is so boring - it's no longer about storytelling but words, technique, the writer's own unacknowledged neuroses. Writers who fall into this trap I feel not only waste their own time, but the time of their readers. many "great" writers, especially those from the so-called "modern" and "post-modern" eras need to (or needed to) pull their heads out of their asses and learn one basic truth, which is that it's the story that matters not the story teller.
Now back to my current reading (finally!). The Chandlers and the Flemings of he world know how tell a story that not only reaches a great number of people in its own time, but can also transcend its time and grab people in the future - and I want to learn, really learn, the secrets behind such feats, secrets that I'm convinced are ancient and unchanging. I mean, what was Homer if not a pulp writer of his time? In other words, I want to be a "popular" writer, as well as a "serious" one. It's taken me a long time to admit this, but I'd rather be the Dumas of my time than the Hugo. Or maybe that comparison is not quite on target. What I want to do is open up people's minds to the bigger questions of life while really reflecting my culture in a way that doesn't shut out the average literate person. And I want to have fun while doing it. More importantly, I want the reader to have fun. John Fante meets Ian Fleming? Knut Hamsun meets Ray Bradbury? Why not? Isn't that more or less what Homer is in the end and he seems to have turned out alright ...
Lying in bed after a nice night's sleep (about nine-and-a-half hours worth!). Trying to make up for lack of sleep during the week with long weekend sessions of course doesn't work very well, but it works better than not trying to make it up. I feel pretty good, in other words, groggy, but much more centered and rested than I've been in recent days ...
For the last hour I've been lying in bed reading. After abandoning Hemingway, I've started what I think could be an extensive examination of what are are often foolishly dismissed as "pulp" writers. A while back I reread The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler. Last week I picked up that thread and for the first time read Farewell, My Lovely, another one of his classic crime novels. Right now I'm about forty pages into Casino Royale, the first of Ian Fleming's James Bond novels. Why am I doing this? For entertainment partially; I'm discovering that I need to immerse myself in the kinds of adventures these authors offer as a counterpoint to my currently numbing day-to-day life. However, there's something else going on as well. I'm also trying to learn a thing or two about writing, about storytelling, as well as use these kinds of books to take stock of where I am now as a writer. Let me explain.
When I first completed Mother Earth, the second novel in my Backwaters saga, I finally began accepting who I am as a writer. When it comes to writing I essentially have one gift: the ability to say a great deal in relation to the number of words I'm putting down; my sentences are crisp and with each piece I'm becoming freer from indulgence. This makes what I write an "easy read," according to many. People have also told me that my writing is addictive, that they can't put my books down once they start them. All this, I think, springs from a philosophy I have that words have no meaning beyond the story they are there to tell; they have no worth in themselves. Every word in a story should move the story along - if a word is not doing this it serves no purpose and should not be there. If one can write in this manner the words no longer get in the way of the story and reading becomes something more like watching a film, or better yet experiencing real life; a reader feels he or she is living in the universe of the story, instead of just having it described to them. So many writers don't get this; writing for them is at least partially an explorations of their egos, of obsessions they've convinced themselves that everyone else shares or at least should share with them. I think that's way so much "serious" literature is so boring - it's no longer about storytelling but words, technique, the writer's own unacknowledged neuroses. Writers who fall into this trap I feel not only waste their own time, but the time of their readers. many "great" writers, especially those from the so-called "modern" and "post-modern" eras need to (or needed to) pull their heads out of their asses and learn one basic truth, which is that it's the story that matters not the story teller.
Now back to my current reading (finally!). The Chandlers and the Flemings of he world know how tell a story that not only reaches a great number of people in its own time, but can also transcend its time and grab people in the future - and I want to learn, really learn, the secrets behind such feats, secrets that I'm convinced are ancient and unchanging. I mean, what was Homer if not a pulp writer of his time? In other words, I want to be a "popular" writer, as well as a "serious" one. It's taken me a long time to admit this, but I'd rather be the Dumas of my time than the Hugo. Or maybe that comparison is not quite on target. What I want to do is open up people's minds to the bigger questions of life while really reflecting my culture in a way that doesn't shut out the average literate person. And I want to have fun while doing it. More importantly, I want the reader to have fun. John Fante meets Ian Fleming? Knut Hamsun meets Ray Bradbury? Why not? Isn't that more or less what Homer is in the end and he seems to have turned out alright ...
Friday, April 8, 2011
Relaxing with Steve Martin, California Disolves
Friday, April 1 2011 - Long Beach, CA
A good, semi-lazy day after a long four days of teaching. Got up early, around seven-thirty. Puttered around the house for a bit and then walked to the post office. After that I went to the library and the bank. Once these errands were done, I rode my bike down to the beach and then went for a long, soft-sand hike down to the end of the peninsula. I then decided to augment my hike with a rock hop about three-quarters the way out on the jetty that runs along the north side of the entry way to the Alamitos Marina. It was a beautiful day for all this - it was about eighty-five degrees, the sky was high and blue, and there was very little wind, which meant the polluted, breakwater-neutered San Pedro Bay was looking a pretty green-blue as it gently lapped against the polluted sand (from out on the breakwater the City hugging the beach looked almost placidly Mediterranean if I squinted my eyes a bit).
After I got home from the beach I made some penne marinara for lunch, took a shower, and then had a short nap. After I got up I decided to do a couple more errands and headed over to Big-5 sporting goods to pick up some hiking socks for my trip (I lucked into a good sale and ended up getting four nice pairs for around fourteen bucks). After Big-5 I went over to Staples and bought a ream of paper, as well as a couple of composition notebooks I plan on bringing with me to Greece.
So definitely not an exciting day, but a pleasant one (I have so little time to myself these days that doing things like going to the post office and buying socks are treats).
For the last hour or so I've just been lounging around naked (it's so great to finally be getting some warm weather!) in bed reading Born Standing Up, which is Steve Martin's book about his early days as a performer. So far it's really fun; it's neat to get the background on a comic I really loved growing up (before he started making some very questionable, very Hollywood choices in his career). I'm also enjoying the local Southern California feel of the book. Martin did most of his growing up in Garden Grove, a municipality that's just down the road from me (I drive thru it every time I head over to Santiago Canyon College to work), and it's interesting to get his take on that area, on Orange County in general. Though he was born about twenty years before I was, the general feel of his growing up reminds me of what I later experienced - bland Orange County comfort teamed up with a dysfunctional family and a longing to do something else, to be someone else, somewhere else. In retrospect this obviously came thru in his stand-up work, which is probably part of the reason I so identified with it in my early and middle teens - though it manifests itself in different ways, the Southern California vibe and all that's troubling (and worthwhile) about it really forms the baseline of both of our personalities ...
Speaking of my home state, it looks like we might be getting something close to worst-case scenario, in regards to the funding of the community college system. As of right now their budgets will be slashed 800 million - 800 MILLION! If this happens, I, along with many other teachers, will surely be out of a job come this fall. Now I don't think it will be quite this bad. Tuition hikes that have already gone thru will make up for 200 million of the cuts. I suspect that if Governor Brown can't get the people to go along with the tax extensions he wants (which is likely) there will be another fee hike, which will probably make up for another 200 million. Still a 400 million dollar cut would be devastating; classes and programs will be cut right and left and so will teachers. I might survive a less extreme cut, though I will probably end up being very part time.
For me getting my classes cut back or even losing my job might be an OK situation. I know teaching is not my future and this will push me into my life as a full-time writer more quickly. I'm in fact quite excited by the prospect of being forced to take this plunge. I'd rather have a transition period, though, time to build up a bit more of a freelance income before I lose my teaching paychecks altogether. I think the best thing for me might be to get cut down to three classes (I'm teaching six now). That will give me an income that will pay my bedrock expenses, while allowing me time to do my own writing as well as freelance work. Interestingly I'm finding that I'm not worrying about any of this too much as of yet. Things are really out of my hands at the moment and either way I know I'll still be moving forward in my life - somehow. It's the students, present and future, who are really getting screwed. It also pains me to think of the future of this state. We're already hovering around 12% unemployment and now the college system is really crumbling (the State and UC schools have been taking hits for years). How did the wealthiest state in the nation turn into an economic basket case? Don't get me started on that long, ugly tale ...
A good, semi-lazy day after a long four days of teaching. Got up early, around seven-thirty. Puttered around the house for a bit and then walked to the post office. After that I went to the library and the bank. Once these errands were done, I rode my bike down to the beach and then went for a long, soft-sand hike down to the end of the peninsula. I then decided to augment my hike with a rock hop about three-quarters the way out on the jetty that runs along the north side of the entry way to the Alamitos Marina. It was a beautiful day for all this - it was about eighty-five degrees, the sky was high and blue, and there was very little wind, which meant the polluted, breakwater-neutered San Pedro Bay was looking a pretty green-blue as it gently lapped against the polluted sand (from out on the breakwater the City hugging the beach looked almost placidly Mediterranean if I squinted my eyes a bit).
After I got home from the beach I made some penne marinara for lunch, took a shower, and then had a short nap. After I got up I decided to do a couple more errands and headed over to Big-5 sporting goods to pick up some hiking socks for my trip (I lucked into a good sale and ended up getting four nice pairs for around fourteen bucks). After Big-5 I went over to Staples and bought a ream of paper, as well as a couple of composition notebooks I plan on bringing with me to Greece.
So definitely not an exciting day, but a pleasant one (I have so little time to myself these days that doing things like going to the post office and buying socks are treats).
For the last hour or so I've just been lounging around naked (it's so great to finally be getting some warm weather!) in bed reading Born Standing Up, which is Steve Martin's book about his early days as a performer. So far it's really fun; it's neat to get the background on a comic I really loved growing up (before he started making some very questionable, very Hollywood choices in his career). I'm also enjoying the local Southern California feel of the book. Martin did most of his growing up in Garden Grove, a municipality that's just down the road from me (I drive thru it every time I head over to Santiago Canyon College to work), and it's interesting to get his take on that area, on Orange County in general. Though he was born about twenty years before I was, the general feel of his growing up reminds me of what I later experienced - bland Orange County comfort teamed up with a dysfunctional family and a longing to do something else, to be someone else, somewhere else. In retrospect this obviously came thru in his stand-up work, which is probably part of the reason I so identified with it in my early and middle teens - though it manifests itself in different ways, the Southern California vibe and all that's troubling (and worthwhile) about it really forms the baseline of both of our personalities ...
Speaking of my home state, it looks like we might be getting something close to worst-case scenario, in regards to the funding of the community college system. As of right now their budgets will be slashed 800 million - 800 MILLION! If this happens, I, along with many other teachers, will surely be out of a job come this fall. Now I don't think it will be quite this bad. Tuition hikes that have already gone thru will make up for 200 million of the cuts. I suspect that if Governor Brown can't get the people to go along with the tax extensions he wants (which is likely) there will be another fee hike, which will probably make up for another 200 million. Still a 400 million dollar cut would be devastating; classes and programs will be cut right and left and so will teachers. I might survive a less extreme cut, though I will probably end up being very part time.
For me getting my classes cut back or even losing my job might be an OK situation. I know teaching is not my future and this will push me into my life as a full-time writer more quickly. I'm in fact quite excited by the prospect of being forced to take this plunge. I'd rather have a transition period, though, time to build up a bit more of a freelance income before I lose my teaching paychecks altogether. I think the best thing for me might be to get cut down to three classes (I'm teaching six now). That will give me an income that will pay my bedrock expenses, while allowing me time to do my own writing as well as freelance work. Interestingly I'm finding that I'm not worrying about any of this too much as of yet. Things are really out of my hands at the moment and either way I know I'll still be moving forward in my life - somehow. It's the students, present and future, who are really getting screwed. It also pains me to think of the future of this state. We're already hovering around 12% unemployment and now the college system is really crumbling (the State and UC schools have been taking hits for years). How did the wealthiest state in the nation turn into an economic basket case? Don't get me started on that long, ugly tale ...
Friday, April 1, 2011
Looking Forward, A Little Brice Marden
Wednesday, March 30, 2011 - Orange, CA
Just sitting in the library at Santiago Canyon College killing time between classes. I actually got a whole six hours of sleep last night, which means I'm semi with it for a change. I'm still burned out, though - and bored. I can't wait until my life starts moving in other directions ...
I did manage to see an old friend last week, which was a nice change of pace. My buddy Eric H. and his wife and kid came down from Petaluma for a week to get away from it all. We didn't hang out much: I just had breakfast with all of them one morning and then Eric and I went out for a beer one afternoon. Still it was nice to see him. It's interesting how some relationships always pick up right where they left off. He and I met about fifteen years back, when we were both students at Cal State University, Long Beach and working in the same restaurant. He eventually moved back up north where he was from, but we've stayed in touch, sporadically. Still we can hang out with each other as if nothing's changed, like he'd never left, which is something I can't do with too many people I only see occasionally. He's just a very laid-back guy, who doesn't get thrown by my eccentricities, which in regards to the latter, makes him a bit of an exception. It was great to see him - I need more simple, enjoyable relationships like that one in my life.
Other than seeing Eric nothing much new has been going on - physically. I have been doing a lot of thinking, though - about my upcoming Greece trip and more importantly what it might represent in the larger currents of my life. For a long time now I've been struggling thru many issues, as a writer and a person. These issues have been huge, make-or-break kind of stuff. I feel myself now coming out of the other side of them into something that will be truly new for me, into a place of greater confidence and much more joy, but a place that also features a great deal more risk. I've reached the point where the shackles that have bound me since childhood are naturally starting to fall away. I believe as if I am beginning the last and best period of my life and doing it with eyes wide open ...
What this means in in a day-today sense is still hard for me to say. For sure I see myself transitioning out of teaching. Though my degrees say "anthropology" on them I've never really been of that world and the longer I stay there the more of a charlatan I will become. Though I don't know how it will occur, what I will be transitioning into is the life of a free agent - somehow I will make my living thru writing and related endeavors. Over the last few years I've begun to realize that I simply can't be told what to do by others. I don't believe that this is arrogance on my part - I don't walk around with the belief that I'm better than everyone else - but simply an expression of something that's in my DNA. My basic nature is that of the drifter, of a person who must filter thru life as freely as possible - and it is in this unfettered that both my happiness and social worth is to be found. My first, best, and only role of note is being a reflector of my culture, specifically as a writer (and sometimes painter). Again, I'm not sure how it will play out, but somehow, soon, my income will be coming largely from my pen. With this change I will have essentially found my place in the world. Perhaps more importantly it is this change that will ultimately make me a useful part of the human community. I mean, I really can't do anything else other than write. Therefore my attempting to live a different life, by definition, is a waste of time for everyone involved ...
*
Big thoughts. Big insights. A little too big; they're swamping me a bit. What else is going on? The latest edition of Art in America has a nice little article on Brice Marden's latest work, on a small show he has going on, in New York, I think. There are just a few reproductions, but what's there looks really interesting. He's still working with the tangled lines he's been exploring since his "Cold Mountain" period, which got going in the late eighties, if memory serves me correct. He's also going in some new directions as well. I'm looking forward to seeing a fuller exhibition of this stuff, hopefully in the near future. Seeing new Mardens makes me want to get back to picture making myself. Hopefully there will be time for that after Greece ...
There was one annoying thing about the Marden piece. In the magazine's table of contents there is a little picture of a new triptych of his, a dense fascinating work in powerful reads. However, this piece, easily the most interesting of the paintings of his in this issue, is not reproduced in larger scale in the main article. What the hell, man? A cruel, pointless little way to do things, if you ask me.
Just sitting in the library at Santiago Canyon College killing time between classes. I actually got a whole six hours of sleep last night, which means I'm semi with it for a change. I'm still burned out, though - and bored. I can't wait until my life starts moving in other directions ...
I did manage to see an old friend last week, which was a nice change of pace. My buddy Eric H. and his wife and kid came down from Petaluma for a week to get away from it all. We didn't hang out much: I just had breakfast with all of them one morning and then Eric and I went out for a beer one afternoon. Still it was nice to see him. It's interesting how some relationships always pick up right where they left off. He and I met about fifteen years back, when we were both students at Cal State University, Long Beach and working in the same restaurant. He eventually moved back up north where he was from, but we've stayed in touch, sporadically. Still we can hang out with each other as if nothing's changed, like he'd never left, which is something I can't do with too many people I only see occasionally. He's just a very laid-back guy, who doesn't get thrown by my eccentricities, which in regards to the latter, makes him a bit of an exception. It was great to see him - I need more simple, enjoyable relationships like that one in my life.
Other than seeing Eric nothing much new has been going on - physically. I have been doing a lot of thinking, though - about my upcoming Greece trip and more importantly what it might represent in the larger currents of my life. For a long time now I've been struggling thru many issues, as a writer and a person. These issues have been huge, make-or-break kind of stuff. I feel myself now coming out of the other side of them into something that will be truly new for me, into a place of greater confidence and much more joy, but a place that also features a great deal more risk. I've reached the point where the shackles that have bound me since childhood are naturally starting to fall away. I believe as if I am beginning the last and best period of my life and doing it with eyes wide open ...
What this means in in a day-today sense is still hard for me to say. For sure I see myself transitioning out of teaching. Though my degrees say "anthropology" on them I've never really been of that world and the longer I stay there the more of a charlatan I will become. Though I don't know how it will occur, what I will be transitioning into is the life of a free agent - somehow I will make my living thru writing and related endeavors. Over the last few years I've begun to realize that I simply can't be told what to do by others. I don't believe that this is arrogance on my part - I don't walk around with the belief that I'm better than everyone else - but simply an expression of something that's in my DNA. My basic nature is that of the drifter, of a person who must filter thru life as freely as possible - and it is in this unfettered that both my happiness and social worth is to be found. My first, best, and only role of note is being a reflector of my culture, specifically as a writer (and sometimes painter). Again, I'm not sure how it will play out, but somehow, soon, my income will be coming largely from my pen. With this change I will have essentially found my place in the world. Perhaps more importantly it is this change that will ultimately make me a useful part of the human community. I mean, I really can't do anything else other than write. Therefore my attempting to live a different life, by definition, is a waste of time for everyone involved ...
*
Big thoughts. Big insights. A little too big; they're swamping me a bit. What else is going on? The latest edition of Art in America has a nice little article on Brice Marden's latest work, on a small show he has going on, in New York, I think. There are just a few reproductions, but what's there looks really interesting. He's still working with the tangled lines he's been exploring since his "Cold Mountain" period, which got going in the late eighties, if memory serves me correct. He's also going in some new directions as well. I'm looking forward to seeing a fuller exhibition of this stuff, hopefully in the near future. Seeing new Mardens makes me want to get back to picture making myself. Hopefully there will be time for that after Greece ...
There was one annoying thing about the Marden piece. In the magazine's table of contents there is a little picture of a new triptych of his, a dense fascinating work in powerful reads. However, this piece, easily the most interesting of the paintings of his in this issue, is not reproduced in larger scale in the main article. What the hell, man? A cruel, pointless little way to do things, if you ask me.
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