So then I read Richard Brautigan and felt so much better.

     I'm in love with the work of Richard Brautigan. For those of you who dont know, Richard Brautigan is a writer of poetry, short stories, and novels the most well known of which is Trout Fishing in America. His work is full of dark humor, inventive metaphors, and just plain crack-ups. He lived a tragic existance growing up in the Pacific Northwest in the 40s and 50s, moving around with his mother and her abusive relationships, living on welfare, and going days without eating. When he broke a window in a police station in 1955 in order to have a bed and a meal, he was sent to a state hospital and diagnosed with depression and paranoid schizophrenia. All the while he wrote his quirky poetry and stories based on his experiences. He was finally published for the first time in 1958 after being rejected continuously because his work didn't "fit in." He soon became involved in the San Fransisco counter-culture scene, participating in poetry performances and other events. When Trout Fishing in America was published in 1967, Brautigan became internationally famous. Even though he hated hippies, he was credited as being the most representative of the counter-cultural youth movement of the late 1960s. He published at least four books of poetry, a collection of short stories, and five novels since then. 

     Though his professional life was taking off like a rocket, his personal life suffered dramatically. He married twice, both ending in divorce as a result of his alcoholism and abuse. He had one daughter.

     In 1984, Brautigan was living in California when he was found dead by a private investigator. It was speculated that he had been dead for at least a month, having shot himself in the head. He left a suicide note that read simply, "Messy, isn't it?"
     Brautigan left a legacy of works that are still as influencial today as they were in the 60s and 70s. His humor and insights have transcended proprietal boundaries and leave a lasting impression.

     I adore him.

     I have read several of his works and there is no other author that has provoked more thought than Richard Brautigan. Even a few short lines are enough to put a smile on my face or leave me pondering. One of my favorite short stories is only two lines about a woman who shot the man she lived with and I laughed my ass off. My favorite poem is only 4 or 5 lines (and its about a penis) but dammit its beautiful. His off the wall metaphors seem utterly random, but his randomness makes crazy sense. His world is where I go to disappear from reality. You pretty much have to in order to understand him. He is heartbreaking and hilarious all in the same breath. And he would call me an ass for being to adoringly fluffy and mooning over his writing. And then later, he'll write a satrical story involving me and my three-legged blind dog that drives a stick shift.

     He's so brilliant.

     Right now, I'm reading The Abortion, which so far centers on a librarian who works and lives in a very special library full of unpublished books that are never checked out or read by anyone else but him. From 6 year old boys to 80 year old grandmas, they bring in their precious works at all hours of the day or night and he catalogues each one. How awesome is that? Knowing Brautigan, it will probably go in a whole new crazy direction before the next chapter is over. Alien cowboys could be involved.

     He's creative, he's fun, he's unexpected. I've been reading him since one of my former bosses gave me a collective works book in 2001 and I was instantly hooked. Since then, I have been passing on the good word. Read Brautigan.

     And don't forget the mayonaise.

Geek romance at its best

I could hardly put down the last top 100 (actually more like 150) book I just read. Possession by A.S. Byatt was almost like porn for word geeks. Its the story of two literary scholars, Roland and Maud, who study the poetic works of Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte, respectively, as they try to discover the mysterious connection between the two authors. It begins when Roland discovers a draft of a letter in one of Ash's personal books written to an unknown woman, who is evidently not his wife. Unlike much of his other letters, this one is very personal and almost passionate, so unlike Ash who is considered a dry scientific scholar through and through. Using clues in the letter, Roland begins to suspect it was written for Christabel LaMotte, a poet very popular with feminists and a dedicated lesbian. Did Ash send the letter? Did she reply? His questions lead him to Maud, an authority on LaMotte, and the two begin a quest to discover the connection between the two that wil change traditional scholarship completely. I don't want to go too much into the search because each clue is so integral to the plot, and I so much want everyone to go out and discover them personally.
Its part detective mystery, part steamy romance, and total geekery at its best. Full of traditional poetry and amazing word use, this is easily one of my top favorites. The character development was top notch, especially the relationship between Maud and Roland, which was in no way formulaic boy meets girl and they get wrapped up in the romance and immediately fall in love (or into bed). The interactions between them are honest and real. And of course I love the historical background story. It is important to note that these poets are entirely fictional, which makes it pretty impressive that the author wrote pages of epic poety in their styles throughout the book, Ash being very male and LaMotte strong female. Byatt tells their histories in so convincing a fashion, I had to look them up to see if they actually existed. Very moving page turner. Really, don't bother with the movie; it's a pale imitation. It's nearly impossible to reach the depth of this story in two hours, although I love Jennifer Ehle and Jeremy Northam as the star-crossed poets.
A thick read, over 500 pages, but well worth it. There were some extra characters that dragged the story down for me, and the old style poetry can get a little thick, but very deserving of the honor of top book of all time. Especially for word geeks.

Just to clarify...

There has been some confusion about what the whole "tower of creative awesomness" is about. Here's a photo story to clarify:

This is a tower of creative awesomeness.

Where I will write

And

While wearing

In the company of a

The shelves will be filled with books, there will be a place for all my supplies, an old typewriter, and my art desk.

It. Will. Be. Mine.

Just for future reference. Hope this clears everything up. And don't laugh, it could happen. One day...

Feeling a malenky bit bezoomny in me gulliver, brothers.

Robbery, severe beatings, general havoc, theft, more beatings, and a viscous rape. All in the first thirty pages of A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. All committed by fifteen year old Alex and his droogs. And that's just the beginning. Oh, man where do I even start...
First, its important to realize that this boy Alex is living in a frightening alternate universe where there are basically no laws that govern the night. Its a good idea to stay indoors because boys like Alex are on the prowl, looking for mischief and aching to draw blood. There are not many police about at night, and really parents aren't governing their kids as they should. Alex is a known criminal. He loves the thrill of violence, especially when the blood begins to flow, tearing up the night with his cronies and going home to his parents' house like nothing happened. His passion for violence is matched only for his passion for classical music, especially triumphantly powerful composers like Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven. The music conjures up images of chaos and destruction for Alex, almost as satisfying as the acts themselves. So far, he has escaped harsh punishments, but one night his luck runs out and he's taken to prison for murder.
Ok, I never saw the movie, but I heard it was pretty disturbing. The story is difficult to follow at first because Alex speaks the nadsat language of his generation, but it doesn't take long to catch on. And its scary to think about children, yes he's fifteen in my mind that is a child, so devoid of empathy. I guess its not so far-fetched considering the horrible things kids see and hear now. They are constantly being desensitized by movies, music, and video games...but that's another argument. It's more for Alex. He derives pleasure from the violence, and he doesn't want to change no matter how hard they try. While he is in prison, he learns how to work the guards, pretending to study the Bible and ask for help in changing so he can re-enter society as a clean fellow. He knows there's some research going on to "cure" criminals and he's pretty sure he can fake it enough to get out and get back to business. Of course, he's a prime candidate for re-education. And he's all for it. All he has to do is watch some movies...
What is the meaning of freedom? Burgess explores this question as Alex undergoes aversion therapy to "'cure" his violent nature. Take away a man's freedom of choice, is he still a man? Is it really better to force behavior change rather than allowing a person to be who they are, even if it's violent? Are we doomed to become mindless automatons, living by routine, no more unique than a piece of fruit? Very thought provoking and moving. Honestly, I felt sorry for Alex. Was he a product of his generation, or truly evil? He's used and abused, and in the end...maybe he grows up a little.
What I found interesting beyond the scope of the book was the forward by Burgess. A Clockwork Orange was not his favorite book. Far from it; he almost wishes it would die. Other works he found personally more satisfying as a writer are forgotten. He theorizes, and I fear, that many artists feel the same about their early works. What one may write as an amateur is celebrated as the creator moves on to mature and meanwhile everyone is still talking about the "breakthrough" or "debut." How can the artist recover from that? I always like hearing the story from the author/artist's perspective; their take on the work we talk so much about. I wonder what Beethoven would think about Fur Elise being a ringtone and how Shakespeare would like our studying Hamlet and Romeo & Juliet in high school as opposed to his less critically acclaimed works.
For myself, I guess I'll just have to save the best for last. Keep 'em guessing, keep 'em talking.

I highly recommend his version as it has a previously unpublished chapter (in America). Such a tragedy considering the last chapter seems incredibly important to the development of Alex's character. Another fear of mine as a writer...if I go the official publisher route one day, I will fight tooth and nail to keep my words in their entirety!

I need something fluffy now...

A momentary flash of brilliance.

So, just because I am in the middle of writing two stories doesnt mean the ideas stop coming. The overactiveness of my imagination can get distracting, and in the past I have simply tried to push forward and focus on the task at hand. But lately I have learned to embrace the momentary flashes of brilliance and at least sketch out a rough outline and character descriptions to return to later. A while ago, an idea started rolling around inspired in part by a name of a relative (ancestor? He lived in the 1800s and I never know when to call a person a relative or ancestor. What's the timeline?). When I heard his story and his name, I was instantly attracted to it. The other day, a rough opening to his story came to me and I seized the moment and jotted it down. Here's what I came up with:

    "Mr. Ashley was born with nothing, and by the time he married his wife, he had less. Their poverty was the pity of her entire family, for Mrs. Ashley had all the beauty and she had wasted it on a bad marriage. A love match, the worst curse for a pretty girl and a poor man. Nothing could be gained from it, and all the love in the world could not fill their bellies.
    Two children were born and died before the age of three. Thus, when the boy was born, he did not have a name until his fourth year. On that day, as his mother lay dying, she felt the despair of life with Mr. Ashley. She had nothing to give her son; no fortune, trinkets, property, nothing but a name. It must declare to the world his intrinsic value, more than the value of wealth or family connections. It must also be a promise, a hope, of the man he might someday become.
    And the name she gave him was Diamond."

As I said, very rough random idea. I'm looking forward to writing Diamond Ashely's story. It's been a long time coming. But first, must finish the other works in progress!

This book changed my life. No, seriously.

"Ten days after the war ended, my sister Laura drove a car off a bridge."
Thus begins "The Blind Assassin" by Margaret Atwood. It pretty much goes downhill from there, at least for Iris Griffen, an elderly woman from a once prominent family in Port Ticonderoga, Canada. The book is a memoir of her and her sister's life beginning in the 1920s. More accurately, its an expanation for her granddaughter, whom never speaks to her. Iris and Laura's life is fraught with hardships, from their Mother's death, to the market collapse, wars, marriage, and other unspeakable things I wont give away. The book jumps between the life of Iris now and her life then, mostly in chronological order. There is also a novel within a novel, written by two lovers in back alleys and seedy hotels. You're not really sure who they are, and as the book progresses, more and more clues are dropped so you think you know, but then something else happens to question your theory. There's a lot of mystery to be solved.
Honestly, its been a long time since I've read a novel that has grabbed my attention so completely. I snatched every available moment to read the 500+ pages as fast as possible. The characters are endearing and your heart breaks for them again and again. There isnt much happiness to be had for these sisters. Atwood has an incredible way with words. Her descriptions paint an exact picture without being excessive, which can sometimes bog down a story. Its like I say to Chase, "Too many words!! Just spit it out!" There is just such a beautiful usage here, almost like poetry, but without the fluff. Make sense? Apparently, I havent mastered this skill.
Yes, you'll cry. A lot. But you'll laugh as well. There are some great moments of humor for Iris, as a youth and in her old age. And in the end, there's hope. This is a book I would read again, and there are not many I can say that about. I also did something else I dont usually do while reading: scramble for a pen. I read one particular line over and over and in the end I had to highlight it. This will be my motto; how I want to be as a writer:
"The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a long scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand; you must see your left hand erasing it."
To write without fear of judgement, that is what I want to strive for. To first please myself, and afterwards others.
If I feel like it.

Just leave the flowers on the doorstep; I'm grieving in here.

So, I know I should be working on my book or writing a blog for Long Beach Coffee Roasters, but the truth is, I just cant bring myself to do anything remotely productive. I will be losing a very valuable asset in a few months, and this has cut me to the core.
It's the photo editing site, Picnik.
I know what you're probably thinking: WTF, Mandy? Is that all? I about crapped my pants!
You don't understand! Ever since I discovered this gem it has helped me work wonders with photos and making brochures and flyers and general entertainment. Super important stuff like this:

Hold me, Alex, hold me.

And of course I would be lost forever if I wasnt able to indulge in fantasies like this:

It's just so unfair, isn't it James?

Picnik is one of those great tools that allows me to express who I am! It's about art, people. And self indulgence...er...expresssion. All that fancy shit. (The UPS guy just brought my saddle bags and tail wrap! Moment of extreme excitement! Woot!)

Someone help me out here, please. What do you use to awesome up your photos? My blogs just wont be the same without snarky comments on photos. Help me put the pieces back together. Honey badger does care!

On the other hand, this drama has put me in the writing state of mind...hmmm...