ILLUMINATIONS

One of my poems just appeared in Illuminations 36, and another has recently been accepted for August 2021 in Better Than Starbucks. This year continues to be very sweet.  

Also in that Illuminations are two poems by Professor Emeritus Ron McFarland of the University of Idaho who is connected to my Eastern Washington University days. I've linked to his page. You'll find his publications and bio there. He was deeply involved in establishing University of Idaho's literary magazine, Fugue. We published one of his poems in the second issue of Willow Springs, the literary magazine I co-founded in 1977 with fellow students in the MFA program at Eastern. We were very happy to receive his poems in our early days. Those who have founded literary magazines knows how important early poems by established poets are to building a reputation.

Professor Emeritus McFarland

 

 

 

 
 

BEATNIK BOOMER BEGINS 6th [or 7th] REWRITE OF PORN WRITER

Ten days I've let pass without an entry. Sorry, but I'm keeping busy. I just began the sixth [or 7th] rewrite of The Porn Writer, and I didn't finish the 5th [or 6th] rewrite. My friend poet Geoff Peterson is visiting from Tucson, and it was his comment that caused me to return to "go" and start again. He made some sense about the history of an MFA in my narrator's past that made good sense. So I began again, and I'm happy with it. I had begun the novel with the idea Frank held an MFA then took it out because I thought the idea was cliched. Now I'm putting it back in again. Geoff's considerations had to do with potential audience, then, for other reasons of authenticity, I saw a good reason for it's remaining in the novel, because the real center of the novel is "dysfunctional relationships" that are divorced from the MFA considerations. The MFA is in it only to add to his sense of failure and inadequacy that have plagued all his relationships. 

Reason for relief above. As for the aggressive prostate cancer that threatens to lengthen the odds for my succeeding in my lone bucket list item to get someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine: I finally begin radiation treatments this coming Monday, July the 18th when the Cyberknife will shoot a first heavy dose of radiation into my cancerous prostate. It's only taken from April 25th when my primary doctor found the nodule on my prostate till now.... 

WHADDA THEY WANT FROM THIS OLD BEATNIK?

Find photo here!

Whazzup? Whazzup here is more of same. Rewriting short stories, sending a few of them out as I go along. I'm getting the idea that when a literary magazine editor says he or she wants something "different", I don't know what they mean because I can't read minds. Do they want something different from what is the current trend in MFA programs and literary magazines? Or are they receiving the sort of fiction writing that was around 30 or 40 years ago that was coming out of MFA programs, and they're tired of it? Unless I have that data, I have no idea what "different" means. Sometimes I'll send out something so different that I've never seen the style in any literary magazines. Nil acceptances of those, thank you. Literary styles can come and go and come back again. My current goal is to write something so entertaining that a lot of people enjoy reading it and lots of sales follow. I sure think my novel Ghoul World has entertainment value, even movie appeal. So far. No takers. Whadda they want?

Well, that "anonymous" novel I was reading and not responding to? I've grown to like it so I'll tell you it's Netherland by Joe O'Neill. It teaches lots about plotting. My wife, who reads more than I do probably won't like it. I told her the novel includes tons of information about the game of cricket, for example, even details about how to care for a cricket field to make the grass come out okay. Detail oriented novels leave her cold. She wants "raw gut" emotion. That's why she fell in love with me, she tells me. We talk about our raw gut emotions with one another. Goodness sakes, I'm happy!

BEATNIK BOOMER STRIKES OUT AGAIN...AGAINST THE ESTABLISHMENT

Not much to say, here. Today I finished one more rewrite of another short story, then did a complete rewrite of another very short story and came up with a better finish for a third story I'd already finished the rewrite on several days ago. 

See Hemingway influence here? Died age 55. Alcoholism.

What I wanted to say in this entry is something about an impression I have about a couple of published writers. I just finished Whistle by James Jones. Now I'm reading a book written by a writer whose name will not be mentioned. The second book won a Pen/Faulkner Award sometime within the last 15 years. That's a prestigious award offered by the top people in the world of MFA programs for one group. The award winning book is all you "expect" it to be. It's well researched and offers snapshots of many people in many fields of work and play, all of whom talk and act as if the writer knows about or has researched those fields. Phillip Roth, anyone? It's glib and polished and well constructed compared to Jones's novel. You can see that Jones put his poor damn passion in his book for better or worse while the award winning book reveals an easy handling of memorized tactics for writing an award winning book. And talk about a pile on of praise offered by magazines and newspapers? In short, the novel so far bores me. It's got no pizazz. No passion in it. Cooly intellectual, I'd say, and that's all I'm saying here. Detachment? Is that the modern mood? Of course, I haven't finished it yet. Who knows how I'll feel after I finish it? Just before Whistle, I  read Asleep by Japanese author Banana Yoshimoto [in translation] and it took me 2/3 of the book before I was dragged into an interest in it. I guess I sort of feel saddened by the fact that the passions of my youth for the men who fought WWII is no longer in style. We've all died and gone to heaven.

THE HAUNTED BEATNIK WALKS THE COLUMBIA RIVER

Walked by the Columbia River this afternoon, a golden time, the sun slanting low toward the horizon and long shadows spilled across the grass. 

only 3:30 and looks eveningish

An old phantom came to haunt my morning as I was writing at the Torque. How do I explain it? It's a destructive little snot. I've no idea how to explain why it comes nor where it comes from. It appears in my consciousness unasked and carries with it a troubling sensation. The sum total of the sensation is that I don't feel like a writer. The sensation says: "Hey, who do you think you are, trying to write a novel? You're not a writer, silly goose." I deeply experience this sensation, so deeply that it convinces me momentarily of its undeniable truth. 

My father seems to haunt the edges of it when it comes. Could be that when I sent him a bound copy of my MFA poetry thesis, he told me he hadn't read it because he didn't understand it. Maybe that's why his image is always a part of the sensation that materializes within the synapses of my brain. The thoughts that become clear when I'm feeling this sensation is my middle class, working class background and my wage earning dad who, actually, was a self-taught tool designer, a pretty technically difficult job that he learned on the job. Anyway, I put my head down and kept at, and, finally, had a pretty good morning and early afternoon of writing.

BEATNIKING AROUND FOR LAUGHS

Man Preparing To Leap From A Mirror

September was an interesting month. Can report I've now finished entirely with the final, the polishing, rewrite of The Man In the Mirror and wrote a plot outline for it too. It's ready to be sent around. Also, just this month entered Angie's Choice, in two literary contests. Goodbye 50 bucks! I don't have much hope for it in contests since it's closer to commercial writing and less like workshop writing. My progress was like that for me with my MFA when I learned how to write a publishable poem, and, sure enough, some of my poems began to find markets. Did I get better or did I only learn how to please editors who looked for poetry like they wrote and, of course, would think was good poetry? From my own experience with editing, editing is one way to learn about where you rank among poets in your own mind. Also, last month, as reported elsewhere, Toni Partington, Christopher Luna,  Eileen Elliott and I were featured readers at the Angst Gallery celebration for 100,000 Poets For Change/William Stafford Centennial.   A combined affair. September was a busy month.