That was me that asked that question! And I love that sweatshirt, very warm and comforting, both literally and figuratively. Also, I didn't think George flubbed answering at all. Here was his answer, as best as I can remember it:
1. He made me feel better when I admitted I was raised on Grey's Anatomy, by saying hey, there's some good writing in Grey's Anatomy.
2. He recommended I Stand Here Ironing (which of course we've already devoured here).
3. He recommended picking up Best American Short Stories for any given year.
4. He said it's perfectly fine to say "this story's not working for me right now."
All in all, exactly what I needed, and then some, with today's post! I was thrilled to be at the event and really enjoyed the conversation. Everyone was super nice and really encouraging, because I was nervous, asking that question. Anyway, thanks a ton, George, for all that you do. Best wishes for the rest of the tour!
That was such a great question and clearly one George enjoyed, as it left him pondering it hours later. (Only George would go home after a successful reading and ponder the questions put to him and then wish he'd done better...) I love this in his answer here: "Does it do anything for you? Not all stories will, even really good ones. And that’s for you and only you to say." Yes, certainly reading more stories and then reading the ones that others have deemed "good" (such as in the collection he mentioned to you) is a path to seeing what the literary world thinks is a successful story. And doing so (reading a lot of those stories and thinking about them and why they were chosen) would make anyone a more sophisticated reader. But if a story doesn't go directly to your heart, then it's just an intellectual exercise. I so agree with George on this one--that it's only for you to say if a story works (for you) or not. Wanting to be a better reader is fantastic. But being an open reader--allowing your heart to open to whatever opens it--that's the ticket. (You know all of this already. I'm just blathering.) On another note--i bought a SC t-shirt and now wish I'd sprung for the cozy sweatshirt! How's the sizing? The women's t-shirts run SUPER small...
Does the sweatshirt have a zipper, or is it pull over? Hood or no hood? On another note, I think writing makes people better readers. What if kids were encouraged to write a book with chapters about whatever they wanted to write about, in whatever their first language is? Wouldn't that make them more appreciative of how books are written, and the whole process?
As a teacher in UK in the seventies when creativity and skill as a reader and a writer were fostered and the National Curriculum was nowhere to be seen I used to beg publishers for slip covers for children’s books that they used as publicity material before publication. Boxes full would arrive. I would give the students a choice from the collection that they would like to write the story that was going to go inside.
They had a title and a blurb to give them starters and they set off to write the book. No computers of course so they were handwritten and they trimmed the paper to fit their cover.
Help and guidance on the way and our workshops went over several weeks till the books were “published” in the class library for all to read. When the “real” book was eventually published I bought some of them to add for comparison and more reading pleasure.
Class mates became reviewers on the classroom display board. It was a buzz of energy and delight in story which still fills me with pleasure to remember all these years later.
Avril, I love this. I went to grade school in the UK for a couple of years in the late seventies and received wonderful writing instruction, more than I ever got anywhere else, including college. Creative writing was treated with as much respect as any other kind of writing. I used to feel let down if I wasn't sent home on a Friday with a writing assignment for the weekend : ) The biggest thrill was if something you wrote was read out loud for the whole school at assembly. Sounds like you really ran with it and I'd bet your students still remember those enriching experiences, just as I remember mine, not quite as many years ago but still a long time!
I mean, I think that's what the impetus is behind Dave Eggers brainchild 826 National, a writing and tutoring center in 9 locations throughout the country for kids. It's a real great, well-regarded organization. I don't know if Eggers is involved anymore, but he got it started. It's brilliant.
Such a good idea. If they could incorporate that into the public schools, it would be great, and I believe it would've helped kids focus on something during the pandemic. Even get them off the screen, they could make a paper book, written by hand. Good on Dave Eggers.
i volunteered at 826LA before the pandemic and we went into the public schools to work with the kids. We did several month workshops with them, culminating in the publication of a book (a real book) of their work! And a public reading. It was fantastic. 826 runs several programs, but I did the school one. As far as I know, Dave Eggers is still very much involved.
Oh fantastic. I’ve subscribed to their newsletter all these years but never lived where there was a chapter. I see there is an 826 Seattle - The Bureau of Fearless Ideas. I’m going to volunteer!
Hi Shaiza! - great question - never be nervous asking a question of writers. It lets us give something personally to you, and also, like your question, something that really gives us something to think about.
People of Story Club: George just now lifted an adoring crowd to the rafters in Los Angeles. I wish you all could have been there. Just a wonderful evening. It was kind of otherworldly, to see him in person. He's so exactly HIM. I swear, there is not a false bone in his body. He's an empathy tank, constantly refilled. (I was sitting about a third of the way back so I can't be certain, but I'm fairly sure his jeans were freshly ironed.) The pairing with Judd Apatow was just about perfect. (What a nice guy Judd Apatow turned out to be. He had a couple of real zingers, including a Kanye joke that cracked me up.) There was a little girl in the room who asked the cutest question about a story she's not sure how to finish--it's about aliens. George chatted her up about her missing tooth and told her she's already a writer, that he has faith she'll figure out what to do with those aliens. She's gonna remember that moment forever. Thank you so much, George, for all of it, and especially for making my evening with your call out! Okay, time to read Liberation Day, now that I have a copy in my hands!
So good to see you, Mary. That was a riot. When I asked if there were SC members, seemed like about a third of the room raised its hand. Hands? Too tired to conjugate. ❤️❤️
A fantastic evening last night at Zipper Hall downtown Los Angeles with a gaggle of Story Club folks (it was a pleasure to see how my question prompted George (or was it Judd?) to ask how many Story Clubbers were in the audience…and a sea of hands went up!)…and the kick of Mary turning to me in the lobby, asking me, “Are you Robert?” “Yes! How did you know?” (Well, yeah, duh, my face, right here…) George made Mary’s night, literally asking for her by name: “Is Mary G here?” And then saying she was the best. Not only was Judd Apatow a pretty wonderful host, setting the kind of relaxed vibe that played right into George’s strengths , but it set up both of them to be vulnerable in public—a genuine modesty, a willingness to share weakness, screw-ups. And this triggered a flood of extremely smart and terrific audience questions. What a night…!
That turned out not to be a girl, Mary, but a boy. I ran into him and his dad on Grand Ave., learned that his name is Cyan. (Like the color.) Wonderful dad, wonderful kid. Oh, and he thought George’s answer to his question was just what he needed.
Robert, it was so fun seeing you in the lobby (and i think you should go ahead and buy the mug!). I hope you had a safe drive back to Palm Springs (I think that's where you drove from). And I was really happy that you asked about Story Club. Yes, the evening was just brilliant, you've captured it perfectly here. You're right that the tone was set by Judd Apatow and it made the evening flow in a delightful way. The shout out to me was such a surprise, for a minute there I thought I had dreamed it. So many Story Clubbers in that room! Which made it fun for me, because a couple of people came up to me afterward and said, so you're Mary G.! As for that kid who wrote about aliens--what a doll. And i think his dad asked a question as well, though i don't remember what he asked. I liked how a man in the very back was so relieved to get to ask his question--he said his heart was pounding waiting to be called on--i'm sure others could relate. (And then, suddenly, it was my turn to ask a question and I thought I'd screwed up because for a moment George seemed reluctant to answer. But then, the two of them just went with it and all was well. Phew!)
Mary, I thought your question was perfect. You gave George a chance to come back to a moment of vulnerability with Judd. Also, was wonderful to see you in person - you also embody empathy in your comments and in your energy. So nice to get a hug from you in the aisle!
Julie! Thank you for saying hello last night! And--relief--that you found my question appropriate. Your comment here makes me feel better about it, so thank you. (I took one look at you and felt the urge to hug. Glad that was okay, too!) xo
Mary, I genuinely thought when you asked that question that is was the best question of the evening. I twinged a bit when George answered Judd the previous time - it felt like Judd was genuinely looking for advice and George sort of answered, but then veered off to talk about form. You picked up on that in your usual sensitive way, and then asked George to revisit in your also usual kind way. One of the things I love about George is how human he is - you pushed him a bit and it made for a great interaction in what is often a contrived setting. I am sure he appreciated it. He said that you are the heart of story club, and I agree. It was so fun to see and hear from live story club people... I loved the hug, and had this sudden wish we could all hang out together
I felt like Judd had really admitted to something there--that he'd spent a year staring at a blank page and just couldn't get any words down. (Famous People--they're just like us!) And I think he said he'd been stopped by fear (that he'd never write a decent play, which was what he was trying to do). That admission of fear and the fact that he felt he had failed--both of those things just struck me. I wanted to offer to help him write a play! Ha! Obviously, that wasn't gonna happen, so I did the next big thing: asked George to help him! Thanks again for your supportive words! I'm feeling much better about asking my question and putting George on the spot. Hopefully, he'll forgive me!
Charlie! Thanks so much! When someone gets sick of me around these parts, I'm gonna send them directly to this post from you! (It was a great night--and guess what? i'm going again on Monday because why not? So I'll let you know about that evening as well--whether you want to hear about it or not! (Thanks again, Charlie. Hope your Seattle writers project is going well.)
OK. I am totally jealous of what sounds like a wonderful, participatory event. I was at the one in Berkeley and I gotta say it was rather subdued compared to what you folks are describing. We weren't really allowed to interact with George. I love him anyway, of course, but it was a pretty sterile affair.
I'm jealous too! I wanted to go up to Berkeley, but it's kind of hard for me to get there with all the crazy drivers out there. (I drive like a little old lady so I had to stay out of trouble.) Now I think the Bay Area needs another event with George so that we can all wear our Story Club t shirts and our freshly ironed jeans and interact with George and each other. I hope George's book sells like crazy and Random House has to do another events to meet the overwhelming demand for George. Give the Bay Area another chance!
Hi Dee - Same for me, I sadly missed the SC event , not wanting to drive over 17 and back in the dark, alone with my bad night (driving) vision. Wish there was a way for IRL SC meet ups such as pple have been having serrendipitiously at the readings. Have any SCers met up, regionally, other than at George's readings?
Hi Dee, Dorothy, and Mary g etc. I was in Santa Cruz as I had a place to stay and did NOT have to drive in the dark. Now I wish I had driven to LA! I would love to meet Bay Area/peninsula/Santa Cruz, Story Clubbers
Not that I know of, but it would be fun to meet Bay Area SCers like you and Leslie. We'll have to look for a good event to attend and wear our SC t shirts! (I have to get one first.
Kurt, it's true that we had two very funny people up there, willing to go deep. But there was no real interaction with George--just the Q and A--so you didn't miss anything, I promise! (Yes, I did have such a lovely moment, huge for me, really. But I wouldn't call the evening participatory. We were audience members, listening to two smart people talk about the subjects we all love.)
Hi Mary, I’m thrilled you guys got to ask questions yourselves. That’s already way more alive than ours. Ours was more like zoom than an in person event. We were 20’ away but might as well have been a thousand, or a time zone. However, I’m extra thrilled you got a shout out from George. You are one of the heroes of StoryClub, always ready with thoughtful, deep answers. We’re lucky to have you.
You didn't have a Q and A? So sorry your event wasn't all you'd hoped. That sounds super frustrating. On another note, thanks for being happy for me. I certainly don't feel heroic, but I do love taking deep dives with everyone in the club. And can you imagine how lucky I feel, that someone like you would take the time to write me such a sweet note? This club! People are so nice! Yay, world!
Well to be fair, there was technically a Q&A. We could email Q’s ahead of the event or hand in cards at the event. Then those were handed to Samin Nosrat, the interviewer, then she picked about three of them, possibly the most simplistic of the lot, then it was over. Not that I’m deeply upset…I’ll only resent it for like a year or two, maybe ten, then I’ll be totally over it. Also to be fair, I don’t think George controls the terms of engagement at the venues, at least I’m assuming that, since at yours you could actually use your voices and the story clubbers got called out. And yes, this club is a reminder that there is thoughtfulness and generosity left in the world. We need to nurture that, and each other, for sure.
“...the world is wild and lovely and too big for us ever to really understand except with the heart.” Really enjoyed reading this (in an airport in Seattle, waiting to board a plane.) Thank you!
I had a wonderful time at the event in Santa Cruz! I have two life-long friends who live near there, so I flew up from San Diego and we all went. I didn’t ask a question. (I have a history of being overcome with emotion at author signings. Neal Shusterman is an author of YA fiction. At a signing I—high school librarian— was telling him how much his work meant to my students, and I started to cry. I believe he thought I was insane.) However, I was sitting on the aisle, and George happened to walk by. I thought to snap his photo. He leaned into the picture, which made me smile because it seemed in tune with his personality here in Story Club. I got to spend a few more days in Santa Cruz doing fun stuff (hikes and the monarch butterflies are there now). But it rained a few times while we were out and about. Each time this happened, we three hopped in the car at an ocean lookout point, read from Liberation Day, and then talked about the story we’d just experienced. And that was wonderful Story Club time, too. :-)
Me too! My small world stories always start with "I've probably told you this before...." because, unfortunately perhaps, I never tire of telling the few that I really love. Maybe some day Story Club will go off on a small-world tangent, and I'll have yet another opportunity. (Which reminds me of a favourite quote from Eugene Ionesco's *The Bald Soprano*: "He agrees! He's going to bore us again."
Once, I made it a point––a wish really, to try to see if I could "focus" on running into someone I knew on an epic New York walk from NYU to Midtown, where I was meeting friends at a deli. I never took my eyes off the faces that passed me the entire way, I really looked at people, and because it was a sunny autumn day, I got away with staring because: Sunglasses. At the end of that walk, not having run into anyone I knew (I was bummed because it had happened before... and I was so sure of myself!) I looked into the window of the deli where I was meeting my friends, and there he was, my writer friend Paul, standing in front of the window looking out, sucking down a smoothie. It is such a simple memory, but the sheer joy of seeing him there, how happy we were to be randomly running into each other in the very place I was headed to meet other friends, plus the fact that I didn't live there and I didn't know he'd moved to New York. Satisfying.
Great story, S. Shepard! I remember when I first moved to NYC in my 20s. I was so happy to finally be getting out of Seattle, Washington, where it felt like I knew every other person on the street. (Seattle used to be small and sequestered in the corner of the country. It felt like the middle of nowhere, and ten years behind everywhere else. Also, rainy.) Anyway, there I was, DAY ONE in NYC, walking down 108th toward Broadway and telling a new friend how great it was to be in a new place where I knew no one. Well, of course, RIGHT THEN we turned onto Broadway and someone shouted out my name. I mean, it was like he'd been hired to pull that one on me. At that moment, the world seemed way too small. Something similar happened to me years later when I had just moved to DC. We were at a Nats game--exactly 24 hours after moving to the area--and I was feeling whiny and sad. I had just turned to my husband to say how hard it felt to move to a new place AGAIN where I knew no one (my poor husband--he puts up with so much), and RIGHT THEN I got a text that said, "look over your right shoulder." Yep, an old friend in the row behind us. In that moment, i was happy that the world felt so small. Life. It's amazing to be here.
I'm so chatty today. Still in a good mood after last night, I guess. Plus, I just scored the ugliest mug at my local Goodwill after scarfing down a breakfast burrito made with tater tots. Win-win!
I love these stories. And: Bring on the chatty. I love it! I realize that in these days if we keep our heads down and in our phones, instead of looking around us, we could be sitting close to an old friend and never notice them at all! Yay for looking around.
Okay. I'll bite. First a tiny, if inconclusive one, since N.Y.C. is a subject. Years ago (many!) I was told by several friends or acquaintances over a period of months that I had a doppelganger in N..Y.C. Unfortunately I never did meet or see him.
I have a more conclusive small world story. On our first morning in a B&B in Dublin, Ireland, in the breakfast room, Martha and I overheard the landlady telling other guests the story of her trip to the U.S.A. "I flew to Boston to visit with relatives there, then flew clear across the United States to a place called Larchmont to visit more kin...." (It is a suburb of N.Y.C. - but that's a direct quote). When she visited our table I said "That's where I grew up." "Well," she said, and asked if I knew the family she visited on Larchmont Avenue. I didn't.
Eight months later my mother visited Martha and me in Toronto, where we were living. Driving in from the airport I told the story of the landlady in Dublin, and asked Martha if she remembered the name of that family on Larchmont Avenue. "I think it's in my journal."
She produced it and found the entry. "Cashman."
"Oh," said my mother, "that would be Hugh Cashman on Larchmont Avenue. His son boarded at our house while they were doing renovations on theirs."
OMG. If Martha hadn't written it down in her journal, she might not have remembered the name!
Your doppleganger story is funny, too. For years I was told I had one––some person who was my double, she even dressed like me, or so I was told. "I saw her again today, I thought it was you," several friends said. Some were embarrassed that they'd shouted out my name. I never met my double, either.
I met my double. We look nothing alike! But other people mix us up all of the time. (I'm thrilled. She's younger than me....)
Tim, I lived in Larchmont Woods at one terrible point in my life. Springdale Road off of Rockingstone, if that rings any bells. Just up the hill from the Larchmont train station. Larchmont was a super cute town back then. (Did not know the Cashmans....[insert winking face here]. Great story!
I lived yards from Manor Park, and was ten years old when Hurricane Carol hit and blew down the Manor Beach pavilion. We have our own Rockingstone close by where I now live, in Nova Scotia. Go to Google images with this search phrase: the rockingstone in halifax nova scotia
The first image s/b from my friend Stephen Archibald's wonderful blog "Noticed in Nova Scotia" q.v. He is a great museologist and curator of the built environment.
BTW I wonder if there are any woods left in Larchmont Woods.
What energy you have and the energy of your words. In the end it all comes down to language for the wordy; paint for the painters; marble for the marblers; song for the warblers and so on. Happy trails & teaching & selling your work. I look forward to reading. I’m writing again thanks to S C & everyone here🧿🎶❤️🌸
Being here commenting, sometimes not, but always reading GS's posts & your comments formed a lifeline back to words. As my illustrator daughter said, "I hooked myself back into language" which I never left fully. It is a gift as is loving language. I don't know if everyone can access this but here's a video doc made about another lover of words (and illustration) George Booth who just died at 96. He never stopped cartooning either. A lifeline. A hook💓https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-documentary/george-booths-old-school-character-and-cartooning
I saw that documentary about the extraordinary George Booth. I’ve long been a fan of cartoonists and cartooning. My college roommate became an award-winning cartoonist and storyteller. And I worked for a while for Universal Press Syndicate producing a Sunday feature for kids. UPS was built upon the relationship of its owner and Garry Trudeau of Doonesbury fame. They were college roommates.
Oh George. I really loved this post. The coincidence with security guard! The being home, but not home. The saying “masturbation” on live radio. Thanks for the glimpse into your globetrotting life.
I don’t know how you do it... I am almost certain I don’t have the energy to keep up that travel schedule, let alone be gracious and lovely to thousands of strangers along the way. You’re knocking it outta the park, Saunders!
I just picked up my wristband to see you in Portland on Saturday. Immensely looking forward to it! (And hoping to bump into you fellow Clubbers as well - should we all pin a rose to our raincoats so we can identify each other? Ha )
Looks like I might not make it to Portland after all; too many issues! But maybe I will use my sudden day off to do some writing. If you make it and I don’t, Sara, please let me know how it went!!
True. I was looking forward to going, but ran into some problems. Disappointed, but I did get some quality time with spouse and child in lieu, so it was not a total loss!
As a Story Club member I so regret that a nasty seasonal flu collided with my ticket (purchased on Oct 6) to attend your book reading in Santa Cruz. I was so looking forward to just sitting, listening to the interview and the following Q&A, and then to maybe being able to stand up and thank you personally, not so much for improving my writing but for introducing me to your Shit Mountain concept in Swim In The Pond. I would have said it has helped me focus on what was emotionally true for me in developing characters that are real rather than trying to be another Hemmingway or any of my other literary heros. The perspective doesn't always work but I feel I'm getting there. So there, I said it here instead of at the event (also regret I never got to pose my questions). I'm not sure this is appropriate but I would be happy to connect with any Story Club members in Santa Cruz who would like to meet occasionnaly by Zoom or in person for Story Club conversations. Slow Reading is amazing. Looking foward to reading Liberation Day. Thanks again for Story Club and your dedication to teaching.
Bill! I hope you’re in the pink, health wise, by now—I empathize with the frustration/disappointment of anticipating something so earnestly and then having it fall through —
The upside is that we all here, even those a great length from Santa Cruz, are gifted by your comment —
HI Bill: I don't live in Santa Cruz (sorry to say) but I read your "shit mountain" reference and I read Swim in the Pond but don't remember that concept—can you post a quick overview? THANKS!
Angela: If you have the paperback edition of Swim, it's on pages 108-109. It's when George realizes that he has to write in his own voice (not, for instance, in imitation of Hemingway). He writes that at a certain point in his learning, he had to come down from the mountain of other writers and find his own place, his own voice--and he stumbles through the valley until he comes across a little shit-hill labeled "Saunders Mountain". He ends with this: "...what will make that shit-hill grow is our commitment to it, the extent to which we say, Well, yes, it IS a shit-hill, but it's MY shit-hill, so let me assume that if i continue to work in this mode that is mine, this hill will eventually stop being made of shit, and will grow, and from it, I will eventually be able to see (and encompass in my work) the whole world."
thank you, Mary, it's all coming back to me now—very helpful! I think a lot about what finding your own voice as a musician takes (my clients are musicians) and this perspective is terrific! Owning your own shit—that's the deal.
It's in "Swim", this "shit mountain" thing, you'll find it. But you'll find an expanded & I think better explanation in the text of an address George gave at AWP in 2018 and which appears in "The Writer's Chronicle", Sept 2018 issue, page 38ff. Check the AWP archive. The idea, basically, is an argument against imitation and how George found his own way & how we might also"find our own voice" as he says in the piece. Here's something else George wrote from an essay entitled "Why I Wrote Phil" & which I think is even more helpful: "[I]f a story is compelling line-by-line, then theme, character, politics, etc. will all take care of themselves." Hope this helps.
THANK YOU, Rosanne—very helpful! I LOVED "Swim in the Pond" and I'm always amazed at seeing what sticks with me and what doesn't in anything I read—I'm probably dissociating the portions that strike too close to my biggest challenges!
What a great thread...and exploration of George's Shit Mountain theory from Swim. I love Mary's explanation and now I'm imagining myself hiking in that valley. I've noticed that when I let my character do the talking (instead of me!) something magical starts happening too. And then I'm flying over my own Shit Mountain and seeing the world through my character's eyes and my own (because I made her up!)
I was there in Chicago even though I was cohosting a Halloween party that night! It was worth it. And I can report that folks in the audience thought George was thoughtful, charismatic, and funny. Funnier than they expected.
I also chatted with some about Story Club. The woman who sat next to me became a fan when she picked up A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. She had her copy on her and I pulled out my own. Neither of us were sure if there would be book signings. It’s the only book I have of George’s that isn’t signed (because of the virtual book town in the midst of covid) and I brought it just in case.
The copies of Liberation Day we got with our ticket purchase were pre-signed, but I also had a copy I had preordered, which I brought with me and slyly exchanged for one that was signed (it’s a gift for a friend and fellow fan).
It only occurred to me because the copy I picked up at the event wasn’t signed and I had to exchange it. And I was like, “oh I have this other one too that wasn’t signed.” No regrets.
George: The Santa Cruz event was wonderful, your voice is the same in person, in travelogues, maybe even in some of the weird stories; it is a voice one can trust. You do take us down some scary, meandering paths in your fiction. Yet somehow, against all odds, we come out safely at the other end. Though perhaps not the same person as when we started the story.... I met two women at the event, who became instant new friends, and I can't wait to discuss Liberation Day with them.
I don't know who posted about Alexander Chee's piece in the Paris Review "On Becoming an American Writer" but it speaks to many of the SC themes and I wanted to post this fantastic excerpt from it:
"There’s another Alexander Chee in my mind, the one who I would be if I’d only had access to regular dental care throughout my career, down to the number of teeth in my mouth. I started inventing him on a visit to Canada in 2005 when I became unnerved by how healthy everyone looked there compared to the United States, and my sense of him grows every time I leave the country. I know I’ll have a shorter career for being American in this current age, and a shorter life also. And that is by my country’s design. It is the intention.
I have been to convenience stores where I see people working with untreated injuries, and when I leave, I get panhandled in the parking lot by someone in a chain-store uniform who is unable to afford the gas to get home on the last day before payday—someone with two jobs, three jobs. Until recently, I struggled to get by, and yet I am in the top twenty percent of earners in my country. I am currently saving up for dental implants—money I could as easily use for a down payment on a house. But I’m not entirely sure I’ll see the end of a mortgage or that any of us will.
*
Only in America do we ask our writers to believe they don’t matter as a condition of writing. It is time to end this. Much of my time as a student was spent doubting the importance of my work, doubting the power it had to reach anyone or to do anything of significance. I was already tired of hearing about how the pen was mightier than the sword by the time I was studying writing. Swords, it seemed to me, won all the time. By the time I found that Auden quote—“poetry makes nothing happen”—I was more than ready to believe what I thought he was saying. But books were still to me as they had been when I found them: the only magic.
To write is to sell a ticket to escape, not from the truth but into it. My job is to make something happen in a space barely larger than the span of your hand, behind your eyes, distilled out of all that I have carried, from friends, teachers, people met on planes, people I have seen only in my mind, all my mother and father ever did, every favorite book, until it meets and distills from you, the reader, something out of the everything it finds in you. All of this meets along the edge of a sentence like this one, as if the sentence is a fence, with you on one side and me on the other.
If you don’t know what I mean, what I mean is this: When I speak of walking through a snowstorm, you remember a night from your childhood full of snow or from last winter, say, driving home at night, surprised by a storm. When I speak of my dead friends and poetry, you may remember your own dead friends, or if none of your friends are dead, you may imagine how it might feel to have them die. You may think of your poems or poems you’ve seen or heard. You may remember you don’t like poetry.
Something new is made from my memories and yours as you read this. It is not my memory, not yours, and it is born and walks the bridges and roads of your mind, as long as it can.
All my life I’ve been told this isn’t important, that it doesn’t matter, that it could never matter. And yet I think it does.
*
I began this essay as an email I wrote to my students during that first weekend of the Iraq War. I had felt a sudden, intense protectiveness of them. I didn’t want my students to go into the draft, rumored then to be a possibility. I wrote to them that weekend and told them that art endures past governments, countries, and emperors, and their would-be replacements. That art—even, or perhaps especially, art that is dedicated somehow to tenderness—is not weak. It is strength. I asked them to disregard the cultural war against the arts that has lasted most of their lives, the movement to discredit the arts and culture in American public life as being decorative interruptions of more serious affairs, unworthy of funding or even of teachers. I told them that I can’t recall the emperors of China as well as I can Mencius, who counseled them, and whose stories of them, shared in his poetry of these rulers and their problems, describe them for me almost entirely. And the paradox of how a novel, should it survive, protects what a missile can’t.
I have new lessons in not stopping, after the election. If you are reading this, and you’re a writer, and you, like me, are gripped with despair, when you think you might stop: Speak to your dead. Write for your dead. Tell them a story. What are you doing with this life? Let them hold you accountable. Let them make you bolder or more modest or louder or more loving, whatever it is, but ask them in, listen, and then write. And when war comes—and make no mistake, it is already here—be sure you write for the living too. The ones you love and the ones who are coming for your life. What will you give them when they get there?"
— Alexander Chee is the author of, most recently, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. He teaches at Dartmouth College.
I think this post is a pretty good illustration of a "strawman" argument, where the writer sets up a Boogyman opponent to argue against, as well as a blanket assertion, "Only in America do we ask writers to believe they don't matter as a condition of writing," that he uses to justify his own insecurities about writing. Considering the nation was founded by largely self-taught people who based their ideas about founding a new nation based on their extensive reading of history and philosophy, and up until (roughtly) the Sixties we had many "Great Book" series and serious television programs devoted to authors talking about their fiction and non-fiction works, this assertion simply doesn't hold water. Even today, although those programs have largely passed, "Progressives" in Gov and Big Tech certainly take writing seriously considering they have warred against "disinformation" ie Free Speech from the Plebs by censorship and weaponizing the government justice agencies to try and chill opposing BadThink. I'm not "gripped with despair" at the coming election(s), I'm elated that the brain-dead "leaders" who have weakened this nation and the slimey lackies who have profited off it are about to have their asses handed to them (assumiing they don't commit enough fraud to tip the scales) and something resembling sanity (or at least the start of it) restored.
Wow, plenty to think about here, Michael. It's good to have an excerpt of a piece stir things up. And yes, here's to the election helping us find our way to a better tomorrow!
This must surely be one of the many reasons GS is so successful - most of us would be griping away about travel, no sleep, queues, cancellations and not being 'allowed' time to write. GS takes it all in his uplifting stride and finds joy in it all. What a great lesson.
What I love most about George’s post yesterday (beating by a hair report of food eaten during book tour!) is his “second thoughts.” I see George as having a gift for thoughtful conversation— able to think on his feet and draw language so that, moment to moment, he means what he says. That he has “second thoughts” comes as a relief!!! That said, thank you, Shaiza, for sharing your question and your recollection of original answer which, I agree, is more than good enough. And thank you, George, for the second thoughts— I’m glad to have this in our collection of “George-isms” : “And so we can evaluate a story on that basis: does it square with your sense of how things are? Does it speak to the deepest part of you? Does it do anything for you? Not all stories will, even really good ones. And that’s for you and only you to say.”
I’m double dipping in my own comment when I should get back to writing desk (have also been traveling, with less.. well less -though had luck of flying back to NYC on a flight full of French NY marathon runners. Wow!)
Years ago, many- I was sitting in a cafe on Sarah Lawrence campus with 3 poets (established) when one of them made the comment that he wasn’t a basketball game enthusiast “It doesn’t help me live my life.” The other two made the case for how watching basketball and playing a pick up game from time to time did help them.
I didn’t have strong convictions either way re: basketball— but I loved the boldness of discounting something because it didn’t help you live your life. It validated the feeling I had of needing all the help I could get.
So this combination of questions George asks— “Does it speak to the deepest part of you? Does it do anything for you?” boils down in my vernacular to: “does it help me live my life?” I see now after 6 decades of living it, the need for help has had me going to the well of literature and film over and over and over again— something about stories — about experiencing other folks grappling with stuff gives me insight, validation — and courage. (I’m a scaredy-cat). It can also be heart opening, a sure life-help aid.
P
An exhibit I saw last week in Paris featuring works of “still life” (though in France “still life” is “nature morte” (dead nature!! )) begins with a clip from Tarkovsky’s film “Stalker.” (The last scene—- the daughter moving the glass without touching it so that it tumbles off the table). I saw the film for the first time 40 years ago and while I had no vocabulary then for understanding how the movie worked to have its effect on me, the effect was guttural, given the story’s premise— basically it’s this: if you were given the opportunity to go into a room where your deepest heartfelt wish would come true, could you go in? Or put another way, can you trust your heart?
I share this here only to say that I had such a vivid reminder last week of the way a story can “speak to the deepest part of me.” And in so doing, help me live with hard questions, even the ones that go on unanswered.
Nice mention of "Stalker." One of my favorite movies (despite the author, Arkady Strugatsky not being crazy about it) along with Tarkovsky's other sf film, "Solaris." Both films I always highly recommend despite their sometimes-glacial pace in that they are serious, adult movies that ask fundemental questions about existence and life and don't provide easy answers. "Solaris," I think, is actually the better of the two because while "Stalker" sorta fudges the answer, "Solaris" has a wider scope and confronts the question more directly. Briefly, for those of you that haven't heard me write about it before, "Solaris" is the name of a distant, ocean-covered planet that an orbiting station has been studying for years without concrete results. Most of the personel have been withdrawn and the three people left on it have started acting strangely. Kris Kelvin, a psychologist, is sent to the station to evaluate the situation, only to discover that the planet is studying them, reading their minds and materializing people from their past - in his case, the wife who committed suicide rather than live with her cold, emotionally-unavailable husband - forcing him to confront the greatest guilt and failure of his life. It's also, to me, a powerful demonstration that mainstream fiction, which is constrained by what is possible, has less scope to deal with the problems of our age than sf, where we can play out any scenario we can imagine and see what the results might be, for good or bad.
That was me that asked that question! And I love that sweatshirt, very warm and comforting, both literally and figuratively. Also, I didn't think George flubbed answering at all. Here was his answer, as best as I can remember it:
1. He made me feel better when I admitted I was raised on Grey's Anatomy, by saying hey, there's some good writing in Grey's Anatomy.
2. He recommended I Stand Here Ironing (which of course we've already devoured here).
3. He recommended picking up Best American Short Stories for any given year.
4. He said it's perfectly fine to say "this story's not working for me right now."
All in all, exactly what I needed, and then some, with today's post! I was thrilled to be at the event and really enjoyed the conversation. Everyone was super nice and really encouraging, because I was nervous, asking that question. Anyway, thanks a ton, George, for all that you do. Best wishes for the rest of the tour!
That was such a great question and clearly one George enjoyed, as it left him pondering it hours later. (Only George would go home after a successful reading and ponder the questions put to him and then wish he'd done better...) I love this in his answer here: "Does it do anything for you? Not all stories will, even really good ones. And that’s for you and only you to say." Yes, certainly reading more stories and then reading the ones that others have deemed "good" (such as in the collection he mentioned to you) is a path to seeing what the literary world thinks is a successful story. And doing so (reading a lot of those stories and thinking about them and why they were chosen) would make anyone a more sophisticated reader. But if a story doesn't go directly to your heart, then it's just an intellectual exercise. I so agree with George on this one--that it's only for you to say if a story works (for you) or not. Wanting to be a better reader is fantastic. But being an open reader--allowing your heart to open to whatever opens it--that's the ticket. (You know all of this already. I'm just blathering.) On another note--i bought a SC t-shirt and now wish I'd sprung for the cozy sweatshirt! How's the sizing? The women's t-shirts run SUPER small...
Does the sweatshirt have a zipper, or is it pull over? Hood or no hood? On another note, I think writing makes people better readers. What if kids were encouraged to write a book with chapters about whatever they wanted to write about, in whatever their first language is? Wouldn't that make them more appreciative of how books are written, and the whole process?
As a teacher in UK in the seventies when creativity and skill as a reader and a writer were fostered and the National Curriculum was nowhere to be seen I used to beg publishers for slip covers for children’s books that they used as publicity material before publication. Boxes full would arrive. I would give the students a choice from the collection that they would like to write the story that was going to go inside.
They had a title and a blurb to give them starters and they set off to write the book. No computers of course so they were handwritten and they trimmed the paper to fit their cover.
Help and guidance on the way and our workshops went over several weeks till the books were “published” in the class library for all to read. When the “real” book was eventually published I bought some of them to add for comparison and more reading pleasure.
Class mates became reviewers on the classroom display board. It was a buzz of energy and delight in story which still fills me with pleasure to remember all these years later.
All these years! Fifty I suddenly realise.
What a wise teacher you must have been, Avril, & how lucky your students!
Thank you Rosanne.
Avril, I love this. I went to grade school in the UK for a couple of years in the late seventies and received wonderful writing instruction, more than I ever got anywhere else, including college. Creative writing was treated with as much respect as any other kind of writing. I used to feel let down if I wasn't sent home on a Friday with a writing assignment for the weekend : ) The biggest thrill was if something you wrote was read out loud for the whole school at assembly. Sounds like you really ran with it and I'd bet your students still remember those enriching experiences, just as I remember mine, not quite as many years ago but still a long time!
Amanda, delighted to hear of your UK creative teaching and its impact on your life.
This is brilliant!
That is so wonderful to read about. And yes, time is strange like that!
I mean, I think that's what the impetus is behind Dave Eggers brainchild 826 National, a writing and tutoring center in 9 locations throughout the country for kids. It's a real great, well-regarded organization. I don't know if Eggers is involved anymore, but he got it started. It's brilliant.
Such a good idea. If they could incorporate that into the public schools, it would be great, and I believe it would've helped kids focus on something during the pandemic. Even get them off the screen, they could make a paper book, written by hand. Good on Dave Eggers.
i volunteered at 826LA before the pandemic and we went into the public schools to work with the kids. We did several month workshops with them, culminating in the publication of a book (a real book) of their work! And a public reading. It was fantastic. 826 runs several programs, but I did the school one. As far as I know, Dave Eggers is still very much involved.
Oh fantastic. I’ve subscribed to their newsletter all these years but never lived where there was a chapter. I see there is an 826 Seattle - The Bureau of Fearless Ideas. I’m going to volunteer!
That's the kind of news I needed to hear right about now. That's cool.
It's a pullover. No hood.
Thank you for asking the terrific question, Shaiza: it's great to have BOTH of George's answers!
Yes!
Yay Shaiza!
Hi Shaiza! - great question - never be nervous asking a question of writers. It lets us give something personally to you, and also, like your question, something that really gives us something to think about.
People of Story Club: George just now lifted an adoring crowd to the rafters in Los Angeles. I wish you all could have been there. Just a wonderful evening. It was kind of otherworldly, to see him in person. He's so exactly HIM. I swear, there is not a false bone in his body. He's an empathy tank, constantly refilled. (I was sitting about a third of the way back so I can't be certain, but I'm fairly sure his jeans were freshly ironed.) The pairing with Judd Apatow was just about perfect. (What a nice guy Judd Apatow turned out to be. He had a couple of real zingers, including a Kanye joke that cracked me up.) There was a little girl in the room who asked the cutest question about a story she's not sure how to finish--it's about aliens. George chatted her up about her missing tooth and told her she's already a writer, that he has faith she'll figure out what to do with those aliens. She's gonna remember that moment forever. Thank you so much, George, for all of it, and especially for making my evening with your call out! Okay, time to read Liberation Day, now that I have a copy in my hands!
So good to see you, Mary. That was a riot. When I asked if there were SC members, seemed like about a third of the room raised its hand. Hands? Too tired to conjugate. ❤️❤️
A fantastic evening last night at Zipper Hall downtown Los Angeles with a gaggle of Story Club folks (it was a pleasure to see how my question prompted George (or was it Judd?) to ask how many Story Clubbers were in the audience…and a sea of hands went up!)…and the kick of Mary turning to me in the lobby, asking me, “Are you Robert?” “Yes! How did you know?” (Well, yeah, duh, my face, right here…) George made Mary’s night, literally asking for her by name: “Is Mary G here?” And then saying she was the best. Not only was Judd Apatow a pretty wonderful host, setting the kind of relaxed vibe that played right into George’s strengths , but it set up both of them to be vulnerable in public—a genuine modesty, a willingness to share weakness, screw-ups. And this triggered a flood of extremely smart and terrific audience questions. What a night…!
That turned out not to be a girl, Mary, but a boy. I ran into him and his dad on Grand Ave., learned that his name is Cyan. (Like the color.) Wonderful dad, wonderful kid. Oh, and he thought George’s answer to his question was just what he needed.
Robert, it was so fun seeing you in the lobby (and i think you should go ahead and buy the mug!). I hope you had a safe drive back to Palm Springs (I think that's where you drove from). And I was really happy that you asked about Story Club. Yes, the evening was just brilliant, you've captured it perfectly here. You're right that the tone was set by Judd Apatow and it made the evening flow in a delightful way. The shout out to me was such a surprise, for a minute there I thought I had dreamed it. So many Story Clubbers in that room! Which made it fun for me, because a couple of people came up to me afterward and said, so you're Mary G.! As for that kid who wrote about aliens--what a doll. And i think his dad asked a question as well, though i don't remember what he asked. I liked how a man in the very back was so relieved to get to ask his question--he said his heart was pounding waiting to be called on--i'm sure others could relate. (And then, suddenly, it was my turn to ask a question and I thought I'd screwed up because for a moment George seemed reluctant to answer. But then, the two of them just went with it and all was well. Phew!)
Mary, I thought your question was perfect. You gave George a chance to come back to a moment of vulnerability with Judd. Also, was wonderful to see you in person - you also embody empathy in your comments and in your energy. So nice to get a hug from you in the aisle!
Julie! Thank you for saying hello last night! And--relief--that you found my question appropriate. Your comment here makes me feel better about it, so thank you. (I took one look at you and felt the urge to hug. Glad that was okay, too!) xo
Mary, I genuinely thought when you asked that question that is was the best question of the evening. I twinged a bit when George answered Judd the previous time - it felt like Judd was genuinely looking for advice and George sort of answered, but then veered off to talk about form. You picked up on that in your usual sensitive way, and then asked George to revisit in your also usual kind way. One of the things I love about George is how human he is - you pushed him a bit and it made for a great interaction in what is often a contrived setting. I am sure he appreciated it. He said that you are the heart of story club, and I agree. It was so fun to see and hear from live story club people... I loved the hug, and had this sudden wish we could all hang out together
I felt like Judd had really admitted to something there--that he'd spent a year staring at a blank page and just couldn't get any words down. (Famous People--they're just like us!) And I think he said he'd been stopped by fear (that he'd never write a decent play, which was what he was trying to do). That admission of fear and the fact that he felt he had failed--both of those things just struck me. I wanted to offer to help him write a play! Ha! Obviously, that wasn't gonna happen, so I did the next big thing: asked George to help him! Thanks again for your supportive words! I'm feeling much better about asking my question and putting George on the spot. Hopefully, he'll forgive me!
High drama! No really, the whole thing gave me such a warm feeling for my hometown…thinking about it driving back to Palm Springs.
Your comment is so heartwarming. Thank you for sharing!
Jessie
Chicago suburbs, IL
Thank you, Jessie!
Never stop posting here! Thank you. You gave such a great sense of being there.
Charlie! Thanks so much! When someone gets sick of me around these parts, I'm gonna send them directly to this post from you! (It was a great night--and guess what? i'm going again on Monday because why not? So I'll let you know about that evening as well--whether you want to hear about it or not! (Thanks again, Charlie. Hope your Seattle writers project is going well.)
OK. I am totally jealous of what sounds like a wonderful, participatory event. I was at the one in Berkeley and I gotta say it was rather subdued compared to what you folks are describing. We weren't really allowed to interact with George. I love him anyway, of course, but it was a pretty sterile affair.
I'm jealous too! I wanted to go up to Berkeley, but it's kind of hard for me to get there with all the crazy drivers out there. (I drive like a little old lady so I had to stay out of trouble.) Now I think the Bay Area needs another event with George so that we can all wear our Story Club t shirts and our freshly ironed jeans and interact with George and each other. I hope George's book sells like crazy and Random House has to do another events to meet the overwhelming demand for George. Give the Bay Area another chance!
When the paperback version comes out!
Hi Dee - Same for me, I sadly missed the SC event , not wanting to drive over 17 and back in the dark, alone with my bad night (driving) vision. Wish there was a way for IRL SC meet ups such as pple have been having serrendipitiously at the readings. Have any SCers met up, regionally, other than at George's readings?
Hi Dee, Dorothy, and Mary g etc. I was in Santa Cruz as I had a place to stay and did NOT have to drive in the dark. Now I wish I had driven to LA! I would love to meet Bay Area/peninsula/Santa Cruz, Story Clubbers
Not that I know of, but it would be fun to meet Bay Area SCers like you and Leslie. We'll have to look for a good event to attend and wear our SC t shirts! (I have to get one first.
Kurt, it's true that we had two very funny people up there, willing to go deep. But there was no real interaction with George--just the Q and A--so you didn't miss anything, I promise! (Yes, I did have such a lovely moment, huge for me, really. But I wouldn't call the evening participatory. We were audience members, listening to two smart people talk about the subjects we all love.)
Hi Mary, I’m thrilled you guys got to ask questions yourselves. That’s already way more alive than ours. Ours was more like zoom than an in person event. We were 20’ away but might as well have been a thousand, or a time zone. However, I’m extra thrilled you got a shout out from George. You are one of the heroes of StoryClub, always ready with thoughtful, deep answers. We’re lucky to have you.
You didn't have a Q and A? So sorry your event wasn't all you'd hoped. That sounds super frustrating. On another note, thanks for being happy for me. I certainly don't feel heroic, but I do love taking deep dives with everyone in the club. And can you imagine how lucky I feel, that someone like you would take the time to write me such a sweet note? This club! People are so nice! Yay, world!
Well to be fair, there was technically a Q&A. We could email Q’s ahead of the event or hand in cards at the event. Then those were handed to Samin Nosrat, the interviewer, then she picked about three of them, possibly the most simplistic of the lot, then it was over. Not that I’m deeply upset…I’ll only resent it for like a year or two, maybe ten, then I’ll be totally over it. Also to be fair, I don’t think George controls the terms of engagement at the venues, at least I’m assuming that, since at yours you could actually use your voices and the story clubbers got called out. And yes, this club is a reminder that there is thoughtfulness and generosity left in the world. We need to nurture that, and each other, for sure.
How fantastic!!!!
It was.
“...the world is wild and lovely and too big for us ever to really understand except with the heart.” Really enjoyed reading this (in an airport in Seattle, waiting to board a plane.) Thank you!
Wasn’t that rich?!
Another quote for my pinboard!
I had a wonderful time at the event in Santa Cruz! I have two life-long friends who live near there, so I flew up from San Diego and we all went. I didn’t ask a question. (I have a history of being overcome with emotion at author signings. Neal Shusterman is an author of YA fiction. At a signing I—high school librarian— was telling him how much his work meant to my students, and I started to cry. I believe he thought I was insane.) However, I was sitting on the aisle, and George happened to walk by. I thought to snap his photo. He leaned into the picture, which made me smile because it seemed in tune with his personality here in Story Club. I got to spend a few more days in Santa Cruz doing fun stuff (hikes and the monarch butterflies are there now). But it rained a few times while we were out and about. Each time this happened, we three hopped in the car at an ocean lookout point, read from Liberation Day, and then talked about the story we’d just experienced. And that was wonderful Story Club time, too. :-)
The security guard! I love small world stuff like that!
Me too! My small world stories always start with "I've probably told you this before...." because, unfortunately perhaps, I never tire of telling the few that I really love. Maybe some day Story Club will go off on a small-world tangent, and I'll have yet another opportunity. (Which reminds me of a favourite quote from Eugene Ionesco's *The Bald Soprano*: "He agrees! He's going to bore us again."
Tim, I love your comments. Tell me a story!
Once, I made it a point––a wish really, to try to see if I could "focus" on running into someone I knew on an epic New York walk from NYU to Midtown, where I was meeting friends at a deli. I never took my eyes off the faces that passed me the entire way, I really looked at people, and because it was a sunny autumn day, I got away with staring because: Sunglasses. At the end of that walk, not having run into anyone I knew (I was bummed because it had happened before... and I was so sure of myself!) I looked into the window of the deli where I was meeting my friends, and there he was, my writer friend Paul, standing in front of the window looking out, sucking down a smoothie. It is such a simple memory, but the sheer joy of seeing him there, how happy we were to be randomly running into each other in the very place I was headed to meet other friends, plus the fact that I didn't live there and I didn't know he'd moved to New York. Satisfying.
Great story, S. Shepard! I remember when I first moved to NYC in my 20s. I was so happy to finally be getting out of Seattle, Washington, where it felt like I knew every other person on the street. (Seattle used to be small and sequestered in the corner of the country. It felt like the middle of nowhere, and ten years behind everywhere else. Also, rainy.) Anyway, there I was, DAY ONE in NYC, walking down 108th toward Broadway and telling a new friend how great it was to be in a new place where I knew no one. Well, of course, RIGHT THEN we turned onto Broadway and someone shouted out my name. I mean, it was like he'd been hired to pull that one on me. At that moment, the world seemed way too small. Something similar happened to me years later when I had just moved to DC. We were at a Nats game--exactly 24 hours after moving to the area--and I was feeling whiny and sad. I had just turned to my husband to say how hard it felt to move to a new place AGAIN where I knew no one (my poor husband--he puts up with so much), and RIGHT THEN I got a text that said, "look over your right shoulder." Yep, an old friend in the row behind us. In that moment, i was happy that the world felt so small. Life. It's amazing to be here.
I'm so chatty today. Still in a good mood after last night, I guess. Plus, I just scored the ugliest mug at my local Goodwill after scarfing down a breakfast burrito made with tater tots. Win-win!
I love these stories. And: Bring on the chatty. I love it! I realize that in these days if we keep our heads down and in our phones, instead of looking around us, we could be sitting close to an old friend and never notice them at all! Yay for looking around.
Okay. I'll bite. First a tiny, if inconclusive one, since N.Y.C. is a subject. Years ago (many!) I was told by several friends or acquaintances over a period of months that I had a doppelganger in N..Y.C. Unfortunately I never did meet or see him.
I have a more conclusive small world story. On our first morning in a B&B in Dublin, Ireland, in the breakfast room, Martha and I overheard the landlady telling other guests the story of her trip to the U.S.A. "I flew to Boston to visit with relatives there, then flew clear across the United States to a place called Larchmont to visit more kin...." (It is a suburb of N.Y.C. - but that's a direct quote). When she visited our table I said "That's where I grew up." "Well," she said, and asked if I knew the family she visited on Larchmont Avenue. I didn't.
Eight months later my mother visited Martha and me in Toronto, where we were living. Driving in from the airport I told the story of the landlady in Dublin, and asked Martha if she remembered the name of that family on Larchmont Avenue. "I think it's in my journal."
She produced it and found the entry. "Cashman."
"Oh," said my mother, "that would be Hugh Cashman on Larchmont Avenue. His son boarded at our house while they were doing renovations on theirs."
OMG. If Martha hadn't written it down in her journal, she might not have remembered the name!
Your doppleganger story is funny, too. For years I was told I had one––some person who was my double, she even dressed like me, or so I was told. "I saw her again today, I thought it was you," several friends said. Some were embarrassed that they'd shouted out my name. I never met my double, either.
I met my double. We look nothing alike! But other people mix us up all of the time. (I'm thrilled. She's younger than me....)
Tim, I lived in Larchmont Woods at one terrible point in my life. Springdale Road off of Rockingstone, if that rings any bells. Just up the hill from the Larchmont train station. Larchmont was a super cute town back then. (Did not know the Cashmans....[insert winking face here]. Great story!
I lived yards from Manor Park, and was ten years old when Hurricane Carol hit and blew down the Manor Beach pavilion. We have our own Rockingstone close by where I now live, in Nova Scotia. Go to Google images with this search phrase: the rockingstone in halifax nova scotia
The first image s/b from my friend Stephen Archibald's wonderful blog "Noticed in Nova Scotia" q.v. He is a great museologist and curator of the built environment.
BTW I wonder if there are any woods left in Larchmont Woods.
What energy you have and the energy of your words. In the end it all comes down to language for the wordy; paint for the painters; marble for the marblers; song for the warblers and so on. Happy trails & teaching & selling your work. I look forward to reading. I’m writing again thanks to S C & everyone here🧿🎶❤️🌸
That's an amazing gift, Lucinda, to be inspired to write again. Story Club is so special. So happy for you!
Being here commenting, sometimes not, but always reading GS's posts & your comments formed a lifeline back to words. As my illustrator daughter said, "I hooked myself back into language" which I never left fully. It is a gift as is loving language. I don't know if everyone can access this but here's a video doc made about another lover of words (and illustration) George Booth who just died at 96. He never stopped cartooning either. A lifeline. A hook💓https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-documentary/george-booths-old-school-character-and-cartooning
I saw that documentary about the extraordinary George Booth. I’ve long been a fan of cartoonists and cartooning. My college roommate became an award-winning cartoonist and storyteller. And I worked for a while for Universal Press Syndicate producing a Sunday feature for kids. UPS was built upon the relationship of its owner and Garry Trudeau of Doonesbury fame. They were college roommates.
💞That is coolehooleeoh🌷
Oh George. I really loved this post. The coincidence with security guard! The being home, but not home. The saying “masturbation” on live radio. Thanks for the glimpse into your globetrotting life.
I don’t know how you do it... I am almost certain I don’t have the energy to keep up that travel schedule, let alone be gracious and lovely to thousands of strangers along the way. You’re knocking it outta the park, Saunders!
I just picked up my wristband to see you in Portland on Saturday. Immensely looking forward to it! (And hoping to bump into you fellow Clubbers as well - should we all pin a rose to our raincoats so we can identify each other? Ha )
I'll be wearing my shirt!
I’m thinking of putting a label sticker on my coat/shirt that says “Ask me about Story Club”
We’ll see how social I feel in the morning haha
Looks like I might not make it to Portland after all; too many issues! But maybe I will use my sudden day off to do some writing. If you make it and I don’t, Sara, please let me know how it went!!
Oh no! Hopefully George will make it to Seattle soon.
It’s always been strange to me how close and far Portland and Seattle are at the same time.
True. I was looking forward to going, but ran into some problems. Disappointed, but I did get some quality time with spouse and child in lieu, so it was not a total loss!
Another day…
I, on the other hand, finally got some quality time on my own without the spouse and children! Much needed sometimes. :)
haha David - I'll look for your glasses!
George,
As a Story Club member I so regret that a nasty seasonal flu collided with my ticket (purchased on Oct 6) to attend your book reading in Santa Cruz. I was so looking forward to just sitting, listening to the interview and the following Q&A, and then to maybe being able to stand up and thank you personally, not so much for improving my writing but for introducing me to your Shit Mountain concept in Swim In The Pond. I would have said it has helped me focus on what was emotionally true for me in developing characters that are real rather than trying to be another Hemmingway or any of my other literary heros. The perspective doesn't always work but I feel I'm getting there. So there, I said it here instead of at the event (also regret I never got to pose my questions). I'm not sure this is appropriate but I would be happy to connect with any Story Club members in Santa Cruz who would like to meet occasionnaly by Zoom or in person for Story Club conversations. Slow Reading is amazing. Looking foward to reading Liberation Day. Thanks again for Story Club and your dedication to teaching.
Bill! I hope you’re in the pink, health wise, by now—I empathize with the frustration/disappointment of anticipating something so earnestly and then having it fall through —
The upside is that we all here, even those a great length from Santa Cruz, are gifted by your comment —
Yes to meeting on zoom with other Santa Cruz Story Club members occasionally!
HI Bill: I don't live in Santa Cruz (sorry to say) but I read your "shit mountain" reference and I read Swim in the Pond but don't remember that concept—can you post a quick overview? THANKS!
Angela: If you have the paperback edition of Swim, it's on pages 108-109. It's when George realizes that he has to write in his own voice (not, for instance, in imitation of Hemingway). He writes that at a certain point in his learning, he had to come down from the mountain of other writers and find his own place, his own voice--and he stumbles through the valley until he comes across a little shit-hill labeled "Saunders Mountain". He ends with this: "...what will make that shit-hill grow is our commitment to it, the extent to which we say, Well, yes, it IS a shit-hill, but it's MY shit-hill, so let me assume that if i continue to work in this mode that is mine, this hill will eventually stop being made of shit, and will grow, and from it, I will eventually be able to see (and encompass in my work) the whole world."
thank you, Mary, it's all coming back to me now—very helpful! I think a lot about what finding your own voice as a musician takes (my clients are musicians) and this perspective is terrific! Owning your own shit—that's the deal.
It's in "Swim", this "shit mountain" thing, you'll find it. But you'll find an expanded & I think better explanation in the text of an address George gave at AWP in 2018 and which appears in "The Writer's Chronicle", Sept 2018 issue, page 38ff. Check the AWP archive. The idea, basically, is an argument against imitation and how George found his own way & how we might also"find our own voice" as he says in the piece. Here's something else George wrote from an essay entitled "Why I Wrote Phil" & which I think is even more helpful: "[I]f a story is compelling line-by-line, then theme, character, politics, etc. will all take care of themselves." Hope this helps.
THANK YOU, Rosanne—very helpful! I LOVED "Swim in the Pond" and I'm always amazed at seeing what sticks with me and what doesn't in anything I read—I'm probably dissociating the portions that strike too close to my biggest challenges!
What a great thread...and exploration of George's Shit Mountain theory from Swim. I love Mary's explanation and now I'm imagining myself hiking in that valley. I've noticed that when I let my character do the talking (instead of me!) something magical starts happening too. And then I'm flying over my own Shit Mountain and seeing the world through my character's eyes and my own (because I made her up!)
Nice, Dee, keep going with this! Anything (legal?) that gets us flying is good!
I was there in Chicago even though I was cohosting a Halloween party that night! It was worth it. And I can report that folks in the audience thought George was thoughtful, charismatic, and funny. Funnier than they expected.
I also chatted with some about Story Club. The woman who sat next to me became a fan when she picked up A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. She had her copy on her and I pulled out my own. Neither of us were sure if there would be book signings. It’s the only book I have of George’s that isn’t signed (because of the virtual book town in the midst of covid) and I brought it just in case.
The copies of Liberation Day we got with our ticket purchase were pre-signed, but I also had a copy I had preordered, which I brought with me and slyly exchanged for one that was signed (it’s a gift for a friend and fellow fan).
It only occurred to me because the copy I picked up at the event wasn’t signed and I had to exchange it. And I was like, “oh I have this other one too that wasn’t signed.” No regrets.
With apologies to James Brown, GS is The Hardest Working Man in Show Business. Impressive. Thanks for the update.
George: The Santa Cruz event was wonderful, your voice is the same in person, in travelogues, maybe even in some of the weird stories; it is a voice one can trust. You do take us down some scary, meandering paths in your fiction. Yet somehow, against all odds, we come out safely at the other end. Though perhaps not the same person as when we started the story.... I met two women at the event, who became instant new friends, and I can't wait to discuss Liberation Day with them.
Please please please tell me you’re hinting your next story is about a bunch of kids and a werewolf.
Hey George, there's your kid's book! Be sure and do the illustrations!
I don't know who posted about Alexander Chee's piece in the Paris Review "On Becoming an American Writer" but it speaks to many of the SC themes and I wanted to post this fantastic excerpt from it:
"There’s another Alexander Chee in my mind, the one who I would be if I’d only had access to regular dental care throughout my career, down to the number of teeth in my mouth. I started inventing him on a visit to Canada in 2005 when I became unnerved by how healthy everyone looked there compared to the United States, and my sense of him grows every time I leave the country. I know I’ll have a shorter career for being American in this current age, and a shorter life also. And that is by my country’s design. It is the intention.
I have been to convenience stores where I see people working with untreated injuries, and when I leave, I get panhandled in the parking lot by someone in a chain-store uniform who is unable to afford the gas to get home on the last day before payday—someone with two jobs, three jobs. Until recently, I struggled to get by, and yet I am in the top twenty percent of earners in my country. I am currently saving up for dental implants—money I could as easily use for a down payment on a house. But I’m not entirely sure I’ll see the end of a mortgage or that any of us will.
*
Only in America do we ask our writers to believe they don’t matter as a condition of writing. It is time to end this. Much of my time as a student was spent doubting the importance of my work, doubting the power it had to reach anyone or to do anything of significance. I was already tired of hearing about how the pen was mightier than the sword by the time I was studying writing. Swords, it seemed to me, won all the time. By the time I found that Auden quote—“poetry makes nothing happen”—I was more than ready to believe what I thought he was saying. But books were still to me as they had been when I found them: the only magic.
To write is to sell a ticket to escape, not from the truth but into it. My job is to make something happen in a space barely larger than the span of your hand, behind your eyes, distilled out of all that I have carried, from friends, teachers, people met on planes, people I have seen only in my mind, all my mother and father ever did, every favorite book, until it meets and distills from you, the reader, something out of the everything it finds in you. All of this meets along the edge of a sentence like this one, as if the sentence is a fence, with you on one side and me on the other.
If you don’t know what I mean, what I mean is this: When I speak of walking through a snowstorm, you remember a night from your childhood full of snow or from last winter, say, driving home at night, surprised by a storm. When I speak of my dead friends and poetry, you may remember your own dead friends, or if none of your friends are dead, you may imagine how it might feel to have them die. You may think of your poems or poems you’ve seen or heard. You may remember you don’t like poetry.
Something new is made from my memories and yours as you read this. It is not my memory, not yours, and it is born and walks the bridges and roads of your mind, as long as it can.
All my life I’ve been told this isn’t important, that it doesn’t matter, that it could never matter. And yet I think it does.
*
I began this essay as an email I wrote to my students during that first weekend of the Iraq War. I had felt a sudden, intense protectiveness of them. I didn’t want my students to go into the draft, rumored then to be a possibility. I wrote to them that weekend and told them that art endures past governments, countries, and emperors, and their would-be replacements. That art—even, or perhaps especially, art that is dedicated somehow to tenderness—is not weak. It is strength. I asked them to disregard the cultural war against the arts that has lasted most of their lives, the movement to discredit the arts and culture in American public life as being decorative interruptions of more serious affairs, unworthy of funding or even of teachers. I told them that I can’t recall the emperors of China as well as I can Mencius, who counseled them, and whose stories of them, shared in his poetry of these rulers and their problems, describe them for me almost entirely. And the paradox of how a novel, should it survive, protects what a missile can’t.
I have new lessons in not stopping, after the election. If you are reading this, and you’re a writer, and you, like me, are gripped with despair, when you think you might stop: Speak to your dead. Write for your dead. Tell them a story. What are you doing with this life? Let them hold you accountable. Let them make you bolder or more modest or louder or more loving, whatever it is, but ask them in, listen, and then write. And when war comes—and make no mistake, it is already here—be sure you write for the living too. The ones you love and the ones who are coming for your life. What will you give them when they get there?"
— Alexander Chee is the author of, most recently, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. He teaches at Dartmouth College.
Find at https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2018/04/19/on-becoming-an-american-writer/
I think this post is a pretty good illustration of a "strawman" argument, where the writer sets up a Boogyman opponent to argue against, as well as a blanket assertion, "Only in America do we ask writers to believe they don't matter as a condition of writing," that he uses to justify his own insecurities about writing. Considering the nation was founded by largely self-taught people who based their ideas about founding a new nation based on their extensive reading of history and philosophy, and up until (roughtly) the Sixties we had many "Great Book" series and serious television programs devoted to authors talking about their fiction and non-fiction works, this assertion simply doesn't hold water. Even today, although those programs have largely passed, "Progressives" in Gov and Big Tech certainly take writing seriously considering they have warred against "disinformation" ie Free Speech from the Plebs by censorship and weaponizing the government justice agencies to try and chill opposing BadThink. I'm not "gripped with despair" at the coming election(s), I'm elated that the brain-dead "leaders" who have weakened this nation and the slimey lackies who have profited off it are about to have their asses handed to them (assumiing they don't commit enough fraud to tip the scales) and something resembling sanity (or at least the start of it) restored.
Wow, plenty to think about here, Michael. It's good to have an excerpt of a piece stir things up. And yes, here's to the election helping us find our way to a better tomorrow!
Always happy to say "It's Brussel Sprouts and I say To Hell with It!" :)
This must surely be one of the many reasons GS is so successful - most of us would be griping away about travel, no sleep, queues, cancellations and not being 'allowed' time to write. GS takes it all in his uplifting stride and finds joy in it all. What a great lesson.
Financial Times: George Saunders: 'It's wonderful how writing never abandons you'.
https://www.ft.com/content/3da30d72-ebbc-4772-8f04-90e63d135b14
What I love most about George’s post yesterday (beating by a hair report of food eaten during book tour!) is his “second thoughts.” I see George as having a gift for thoughtful conversation— able to think on his feet and draw language so that, moment to moment, he means what he says. That he has “second thoughts” comes as a relief!!! That said, thank you, Shaiza, for sharing your question and your recollection of original answer which, I agree, is more than good enough. And thank you, George, for the second thoughts— I’m glad to have this in our collection of “George-isms” : “And so we can evaluate a story on that basis: does it square with your sense of how things are? Does it speak to the deepest part of you? Does it do anything for you? Not all stories will, even really good ones. And that’s for you and only you to say.”
I’m double dipping in my own comment when I should get back to writing desk (have also been traveling, with less.. well less -though had luck of flying back to NYC on a flight full of French NY marathon runners. Wow!)
Years ago, many- I was sitting in a cafe on Sarah Lawrence campus with 3 poets (established) when one of them made the comment that he wasn’t a basketball game enthusiast “It doesn’t help me live my life.” The other two made the case for how watching basketball and playing a pick up game from time to time did help them.
I didn’t have strong convictions either way re: basketball— but I loved the boldness of discounting something because it didn’t help you live your life. It validated the feeling I had of needing all the help I could get.
So this combination of questions George asks— “Does it speak to the deepest part of you? Does it do anything for you?” boils down in my vernacular to: “does it help me live my life?” I see now after 6 decades of living it, the need for help has had me going to the well of literature and film over and over and over again— something about stories — about experiencing other folks grappling with stuff gives me insight, validation — and courage. (I’m a scaredy-cat). It can also be heart opening, a sure life-help aid.
P
An exhibit I saw last week in Paris featuring works of “still life” (though in France “still life” is “nature morte” (dead nature!! )) begins with a clip from Tarkovsky’s film “Stalker.” (The last scene—- the daughter moving the glass without touching it so that it tumbles off the table). I saw the film for the first time 40 years ago and while I had no vocabulary then for understanding how the movie worked to have its effect on me, the effect was guttural, given the story’s premise— basically it’s this: if you were given the opportunity to go into a room where your deepest heartfelt wish would come true, could you go in? Or put another way, can you trust your heart?
I share this here only to say that I had such a vivid reminder last week of the way a story can “speak to the deepest part of me.” And in so doing, help me live with hard questions, even the ones that go on unanswered.
Nice mention of "Stalker." One of my favorite movies (despite the author, Arkady Strugatsky not being crazy about it) along with Tarkovsky's other sf film, "Solaris." Both films I always highly recommend despite their sometimes-glacial pace in that they are serious, adult movies that ask fundemental questions about existence and life and don't provide easy answers. "Solaris," I think, is actually the better of the two because while "Stalker" sorta fudges the answer, "Solaris" has a wider scope and confronts the question more directly. Briefly, for those of you that haven't heard me write about it before, "Solaris" is the name of a distant, ocean-covered planet that an orbiting station has been studying for years without concrete results. Most of the personel have been withdrawn and the three people left on it have started acting strangely. Kris Kelvin, a psychologist, is sent to the station to evaluate the situation, only to discover that the planet is studying them, reading their minds and materializing people from their past - in his case, the wife who committed suicide rather than live with her cold, emotionally-unavailable husband - forcing him to confront the greatest guilt and failure of his life. It's also, to me, a powerful demonstration that mainstream fiction, which is constrained by what is possible, has less scope to deal with the problems of our age than sf, where we can play out any scenario we can imagine and see what the results might be, for good or bad.
I also a fan of “Solaris”— though saw it a few years after “Stalker” laid its hand on me!