tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38705929848229384952024-02-19T11:56:08.733-05:00YEARS OF BASS*Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.comBlogger373125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-89437915282424835152024-02-16T08:36:00.002-05:002024-02-16T08:37:01.435-05:00 The Way People Run – Christopher Tilghman<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cxkSw4W79M9HRdg8mLL2fzaTOtqTIOfpMr0ixjGxuwBGiG8lU_9Jndlwq-mrImvsEBNNTVKldpBYABt9LZR_MYQaPGUwlY0uv7bhMnhiJvejYysSR-364njEhokaInXE9gGtv4DBVBhoeJ0rcmASOIP5idkvYmh8jgYpGkSgjjLdL2i8YbavbbVB/s450/37630.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="293" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cxkSw4W79M9HRdg8mLL2fzaTOtqTIOfpMr0ixjGxuwBGiG8lU_9Jndlwq-mrImvsEBNNTVKldpBYABt9LZR_MYQaPGUwlY0uv7bhMnhiJvejYysSR-364njEhokaInXE9gGtv4DBVBhoeJ0rcmASOIP5idkvYmh8jgYpGkSgjjLdL2i8YbavbbVB/s320/37630.jpg" width="208" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When I was reading and writing here more frequently, I
remember the feeling when the story delivered a surprise. I’m not talking about
something within the story…but usually some odd connection that comes through
something in the story or, in the case of this story, information about the
author.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Pulling up his Wikipedia page, I learned that Christopher
Tilghman served three years in the Navy. The page also provides a link to a
story that appeared in the Virginia Quarterly Review in the Spring of 1986. The
story titled Norfolk, 1969, describes Norfolk in such a way that he had to have
spent some time in my old city. What a pleasant surprise to read about
neighborhoods, streets, and places I knew so well. Pulled a little at my
heartstrings. We’ve been out of Norfolk for more than a couple of years, and
this time has allowed memories to reappear – good and bad. Of course, the
digital world brings images and friends from Norfolk to me daily, but I’ve
found that more personal feelings and emotions are being stirred. I miss
Norfolk – not enough to return permanently, but the city where I spent most of
my life is still part of me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Way People Run was first published in the New Yorker on September
9, 1991. In September 1991, I was just beginning my sophomore year at Norwich.
I think the strongest memory from that time was hearing Nirvana for the first
time on our college radio station and blasting the Pearl Jam CD from my roommate's
stereo system. My sophomore year was a huge difference from my freshman year,
and we had a great time. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I’ve always felt that stories published in The New Yorker
had a certain “feel” to them, and this, too, has that “feel.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">My <a href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2010/01/introduction-hortense-calisher.html">introduction
to BASS 1981 where Hortense Calisher</a> describes the typical New Yorker story
– and I believe, that 10 years later, in 1991, her assessment holds up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“Perhaps this is a good place to talk about the “typical”
New Yorker short story, since the proportion of my inclusions from that
magazine will give pain to some. There is no typical one, really, but I can
describe what people think it is: <b>a story of suburbia or other middle-class to
“upper” milieu, which exists to record the delicate observation of the small
fauna, terrors, and fatuities of a domestic existence, sometimes leveled in
with a larger terror—a death, say, or a mortal disease—so that we may respond
to the seamlessness of life, and of the recorder’s style.</b> To move on
casually from these stories, as we often do, is a guilt, since they are as
often, if subduedly, about the guilt of moving on. Muted response is the
virtue. Never break out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I’m excited though to see how her assessment holds up in
2001, 2011 and 2021! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Down a little side path here – I haven’t read New Yorker
fiction in quite some time…I also feel that there has been a shift in the New
Yorker where what they publish isn’t of interest to me anymore. I think I’m still
part of their targeted readership?!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Back in the main path – in the Contributor’s Notes at the
back of the volume, Tilghman states that he “composed “The Way People Run” as a
collage of visual images I have collected on the northern Plains.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I immediately felt this composition when first reading this
story, before turning to the back of the book and him laying it out in his
notes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I can’t stress enough how much I appreciate these
anthologies' Contributor’s Notes section. They provide such insight into the
author, and like their short stories, I feel that they work hard to really
provide a rich, detailed look into the author’s mind around the time of inclusion
in the anthology and perhaps a reflection of where they were (in their heads)
when they wrote the story, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I found this last passage of his notes interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“About
a year later I was driving through the boarded-up towns of rural Virginia (it
could have been anywhere in the U.S.A., of course), and my character Barry came
back to me as a simple image of economic decline and moral exhaustion. I
realized my story was not about the West, where it is set, but about the
coasts, from which Barry has run. The fact of decay seemed to offer its own
sufficient reason, so I polished up the first draft and sent it off. I don't
like describing things that are falling apart — it's the shape of the story
that bothers me more than the pessimism - but I'm afraid we'd all better get
used to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">“…<b>but
I'm afraid we'd all better get used to it</b>.” And here we are over 30 years
later. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-16792251896362338402023-12-04T17:28:00.000-05:002023-12-04T17:28:03.347-05:00Annick Smith - It's Come to This<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUEBGDJuNnF464ePfXjGGeHUIEZdvE6ky0P4R8rNU3xGWMDHi8HFPpXkNLttLGbyE1v8XA6SrnVczN5MIAgmj4n1azw3SjZSbb2zO98V-dXt1kr0a-zdCDQpqUOCMkex9li03SGgtUQiRNYV4cKGCYE2DOVwMR_wsZijBVKp-5XnhUb5ovlCe8ai0/s619/Annick%20Smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="428" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUEBGDJuNnF464ePfXjGGeHUIEZdvE6ky0P4R8rNU3xGWMDHi8HFPpXkNLttLGbyE1v8XA6SrnVczN5MIAgmj4n1azw3SjZSbb2zO98V-dXt1kr0a-zdCDQpqUOCMkex9li03SGgtUQiRNYV4cKGCYE2DOVwMR_wsZijBVKp-5XnhUb5ovlCe8ai0/s320/Annick%20Smith.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">In most of my reflections on these stories, I write about
how they provide an outlet for discovery – mostly self-discovery. This story
did just that during the reading and thinking about it, but it was in the
research of Annick Smith that there was additional discovery. Nothing earth-shattering…just kinda cool.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the “Contributor’s Notes” at the end of the anthology,
it’s casually mentioned that Annick is a writer and filmmaker who lives in
western Montana. Additionally, “She was the executive producer of Heartland, a
feature film about a woman homesteader’s life on the Great Plans, and helped to
develop Robert Redford’s forthcoming film, A River Runs Through It, based on
the novella by Norman Maclean.”…”this is her first published short story.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Okaaaayyyy…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Smith writes: “The heart of “It’s Come to This” is true to
my life; the rest is fiction.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s worth your time to read this story. I struggled through
it but was rewarded at its conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Honestly, I’ve found it very difficult to get through these
stories, and this one really threw up a huge speed bump in my path. I had such
high hopes for the stories of the early '90s<br />…but I think the problem is not with
them but with me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have lost my way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">As I mentioned above, one of the purposes of reading these
stories and the writing that I place here following the readings has been mostly
about self-discovery. Looking back to the introduction of this volume, I see
that I uploaded it to this site on Feb. 20, 2020. Since beginning this volume, I’ve
only read and written about 15 stories. I’ve found it hard to focus and
concentrate on reading fiction over these past three years and nine months. I
haven’t stopped reading, but I noticed that most of my reading has to do with
work or current events. I’ve paid close attention to make sure that this
reading hasn’t impacted my mental health. I believe that I have been able to
pull away from the news when I need to, and there are times when I can go a
couple of days without reading it (weekends) and not miss it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now, I do feel that there has been a huge impact on my
attention span and the ability to focus on reading at length – both fiction and
non-fiction. I have started to adopt some behaviors that I hope will allow me to
regain my focus. One of those behaviors is an attempt at picking this writing
back up on a more regular reading and writing schedule. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I need to get back on the path. </span><o:p></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-27135004278740068232023-02-27T17:46:00.001-05:002023-02-27T17:46:44.144-05:00The Fare to the Moon – Reynolds Price<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqJ9sDZT3KYSSHkQ9C73kMHZ95jjSXlHLn-MCiCGmPGvs8WiFJJYOZfyeJSJdyxVM7d2rufk1JXkWikSmJIjmmz9CU-j3oapcJBaCPpvzcr9T8GEseYYjzwd6fbttdr3Fj-885dn9WaZyuaIXPOFLC4zgNITc34x1zRIz10xNAueNC-JY2T7NrA/s1280/https___dev.lareviewofbooks.org_wp-content_uploads_2014_01_reynolds-price1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="1280" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqJ9sDZT3KYSSHkQ9C73kMHZ95jjSXlHLn-MCiCGmPGvs8WiFJJYOZfyeJSJdyxVM7d2rufk1JXkWikSmJIjmmz9CU-j3oapcJBaCPpvzcr9T8GEseYYjzwd6fbttdr3Fj-885dn9WaZyuaIXPOFLC4zgNITc34x1zRIz10xNAueNC-JY2T7NrA/s320/https___dev.lareviewofbooks.org_wp-content_uploads_2014_01_reynolds-price1.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Spanning pages 230-269 in the anthology, and with my battle
to regain my attention span, I found this story to be a mountain to climb. In
preparation for writing about the story and researching Price, I think this is
one of those entries on this blog that will be short, revealing more of my
discovery of the author and the publication that ran the story. Having lived in
the south my whole life and knowing that Price was just a few hours away in the
next state over – both now and before we moved, I always feel a special
connection to these southern writers. This story first appeared in The Southern
Review – a perfect host. I once had a nice collection of this particular
literary journal and found that it featured stories worthy of its reputation. The
story was written in the early 90s, with its genesis springing from an encounter
Price had at a grocery store, witnessing the interactions between an
interracial couple during his adolescence (1940s?). The story shines a light on
race relations, an issue that remained and evolved from the 40s to the 90s and remains
today in the 20s. It always amazes me where authors can find inspiration. According
to <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HszkxVBxjQvXJ6R_ClYngNwUWOuwB4sMR6nRXzmeZvo/edit#gid=1" target="_blank">my spreadsheet</a>, Price made four appearances in BASS, but only one will be
reviewed in this project.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The Names and Faces of Heroes – 1964 <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Night And Day at Panacea – 1975<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Broad Day – 1976 <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The Fare to The Moon - 1992 <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It has also been said that Price did not receive a great
deal of scholarly attention …less than other members of his generation, such as
John Updike, Philip Roth, Thomas Pynchon, Joyce Carol Oates, Toni Morrison,
John Barth, Sylvia Plath, Susan Sontag, Don DeLillo, and Cynthia Ozick. Admittedly,
this is the first time I’ve heard of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Of course, if I had made my way through my reading at a regular
pace, I might have encountered his story before his death. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Price died at the age of 77 on January 20, 2011.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-67631551123451067592023-01-09T11:45:00.004-05:002023-01-09T11:45:54.285-05:00Joyce Carol Oates – Is Laughter Contagious?<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH4X53F4XUUYm8At69rXFYBL9gxucysIfkdRGFSErox1Q7_1feS2Gy5CsozuWdyYMz03HKyXNZVIvBNANbpc9B985C4TmEfeRiJpdilEfSfb6rLAB8fyMZkJxcnmT1H9QzANe05zY6zk_X8jHijIh93REBpQdD9QA35YveFXCjY22Z7bw_BlBrg/s500/joyce_carol_oates_by_marion_ettlinger_hires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="500" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH4X53F4XUUYm8At69rXFYBL9gxucysIfkdRGFSErox1Q7_1feS2Gy5CsozuWdyYMz03HKyXNZVIvBNANbpc9B985C4TmEfeRiJpdilEfSfb6rLAB8fyMZkJxcnmT1H9QzANe05zY6zk_X8jHijIh93REBpQdD9QA35YveFXCjY22Z7bw_BlBrg/s320/joyce_carol_oates_by_marion_ettlinger_hires.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">What a feeling it is. Gently resting on my lap, the opening a
book, the paper cover and inner pages under my dry fingers. I rub the pages
feeling and listening to the noise they make. A sort of groaning. A swooshing
sound as I flatten the pages with my hand to look closer at the ink on the
pages. Real ink. Real paper. I move the sticky note that I’m using a bookmark
to reveal the title of the story that I read so many months ago and that I’m finally
getting around to writing about. I take comfort in reading that it’s by Oates –
perhaps she can propel me back into this project as I’ve been corrupted by
digital devices. Phones, laptops, tablets, TV. Giving my brain what it
unconsciously calls out for—inflicting damage that will only surface over
time. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I’m sad that I have fallen so deeply into the pit of digital
distraction – and isn’t it funny how I find myself typing out these characters
to be posted on precisely the medium that I concern myself with. Perhaps I can
find a happy point of coexistence. Discipline myself enough to exist in the
real world and enter into this digital world to conduct this bit of
record-keeping. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">That’s what this exercise is about. It does serve a greater
purpose. Someday, my children will find it…and in doing so, they’ll find a
little bit more about me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">It’s now the second week of 2023, and I’ve found the mental
space to begin writing here again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">How I love to encounter an Oates story in anthologies from
the late 80s and early 90s. She does such an excellent job transporting the reader.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The world I encountered through this particular story was
one that I found very familiar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Back in my early 20s, I encountered middle-aged women,
mothers, wives, that fit the description of Mrs. D, a wife and mother in the
90s - perfectly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I saw them mid-day with their children at a country club
pool – passing those last few hours of the day before their husbands came home.
Swimsuit covers flowing, hats shade faces, and sunglasses shield puffy eyes. Gliding
through the hot, hazy summer days of south Jersey. Bestseller in hand, flipping
pages on the lounger, scolding kids between chapters. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I wondered if they were happy. I could sense that there was
some effort to mask the strain of their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I was only in my early 20s…what did I know of their lives? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I had it all figured out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Not- really though. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Written in the 90s, read by me in the 2020s, I can easily
see the strain (through their contagious laughter) burdening suburban homemakers
today traveling across time from beside a pool in south Jersey.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-3879775716445549112022-06-01T15:30:00.001-04:002022-06-01T15:30:08.779-04:00The passage of time<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCyTP1VlUEUWBoS81K0_K1jHd_haOk3JnK-6NLAof3Xf044U0fgBbQ0rk9ELyf7y6YXinPnWW-Iyg0MPT_pWPOnml4zWzsIa62TeqeCIwLu5Mf8V9PvjlsbTOQyUhQBXU3P3YxmLm0-BT-1spVrumAcHvsStQIoH9Hi43_1LrTZ4CrvTPNQqkMg/s768/BASScollection2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="768" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCyTP1VlUEUWBoS81K0_K1jHd_haOk3JnK-6NLAof3Xf044U0fgBbQ0rk9ELyf7y6YXinPnWW-Iyg0MPT_pWPOnml4zWzsIa62TeqeCIwLu5Mf8V9PvjlsbTOQyUhQBXU3P3YxmLm0-BT-1spVrumAcHvsStQIoH9Hi43_1LrTZ4CrvTPNQqkMg/w511-h161/BASScollection2.jpg" width="511" /></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This past weekend marks the passage of another year of this
exercise. I named the blog (exercise) and made my <a href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2008/05/introduction.html">first post</a>
on this platform on May 29<sup>th,</sup> 2008. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I remember holding the 1978
volume in my hands as I spoke to my father on the phone from a vehicle service
shop in Norfolk, making plans for our trip to the island. Fourteen years have
passed, and I have recorded some of the changes in our lives (M and I), having
our lives transformed from us to them and us when children arrived. I have
faced many challenges in this exercise. Writer's block, having my attention
sucked away by distractions online, my inability to focus, my lack of sleep,
and I can go on and on. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I suppose that the passage of time also contributes to
this exercise as it allows me to encounter the stories at points in my life
where perhaps they would hit me differently if I had discovered them earlier. I
suppose I wouldn't know unless I reread one or two that had the most impact. I
do know that the anthology made me love the authors of the late 70s and early
80s. I would have never discovered them without this exercise – and perhaps I
wouldn't have appreciated them now as I did then – wouldn't have come to love
them. The foundation was laid, and now new loves are arriving on scene as I
move into the early 90s and reflect on a significant developmental period. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">These
stories will act as a match to ignite old memories, and fortunately, I still
have many of those memories kicking around in my head. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Let's put this little
entry aside now and get back to our regularly scheduled lack of reading and
writing as we move into the 15<sup>th</sup> year of this exercise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-83521936817444333152022-03-14T19:10:00.002-04:002022-03-14T19:11:39.468-04:00Community Life – Lorrie Moore<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheAankENgvfCOisdICn9VYf3A4NEattN7uZHqJ0Rfi6qF0q-daQ1TfzUz25l4-RNNDcKOQFr3eOglxMTZlp4gRkqgtb0cvTXRoqQA546n_N0aS9At_g2roEh8JNPleUBQg6xvvHO4iLn5_6b6RH4vZTLS0563mp1Yl_QLEa3wHcI_qE8smeHNP0w=s800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="800" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheAankENgvfCOisdICn9VYf3A4NEattN7uZHqJ0Rfi6qF0q-daQ1TfzUz25l4-RNNDcKOQFr3eOglxMTZlp4gRkqgtb0cvTXRoqQA546n_N0aS9At_g2roEh8JNPleUBQg6xvvHO4iLn5_6b6RH4vZTLS0563mp1Yl_QLEa3wHcI_qE8smeHNP0w=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In the early 2000's we took a trip to Vermont. Coincidently,
it was almost ten years after the publication of this anthology, and as I pause
and look back on that coincidence, I realize that time was so much shorter and
closer back then. I'm so far from the 90s and early 2000s now related to progress
on this reading adventure, but I'm so fortunate to be able to continue on it
with my reading and thinking.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It was just the two of us, and there wasn't a purpose for
our getaway – it was just that. We made our base camp at the offseason
Killington resort hotel and explored the various attractions within 50 miles.
Of course, Norwich was a highlight, and we had a wonderful time walking around
the campus and spending some time with some old friends there. And as these
stories and this project does, it allows me to drift back to visiting Ellin and
reflect on her sudden death several years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">One afternoon, as we strolled through a typical Vermont
small town, we happened into a small bookstore, and I picked up a collection of
short stories. I was still a few years away from truly loving and appreciating the
short story form, but the book's subject matter was more aligned with my
interests at the time. It was a collection of stories all taking place in or
about libraries.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgpUfbgFE--G28MjX8k8yZuZwnWo4bhP80n1oYXkngU07BoE-tsTsSudwOhunk1mM-7K8TVJjYXexN3DkONY27eNitf5lsFNFjwDGzzYuBYDYRh0VgCIP4SVWklPaf0upRxATd8UmnUjKgYqbIhaHVqh1QpSg5ISv_N8ZQu_bOAnYhrxx8WPRsdg=s475" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgpUfbgFE--G28MjX8k8yZuZwnWo4bhP80n1oYXkngU07BoE-tsTsSudwOhunk1mM-7K8TVJjYXexN3DkONY27eNitf5lsFNFjwDGzzYuBYDYRh0VgCIP4SVWklPaf0upRxATd8UmnUjKgYqbIhaHVqh1QpSg5ISv_N8ZQu_bOAnYhrxx8WPRsdg=s320" width="194" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At the time, I was considering making library work a more
serious occupation than my work as a library clerk at the newspaper. Of course,
library school was on the horizon, but my lack of interest in engaging in any
additional schooling at that time was preventing me from moving forward.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Contained in this collection of short stories was the story
that BASS 1992 brought forward, "Community Life." Here we are, reunited
with this story in BASS 1992, read some 20 years after first coming across it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Now, I struggle to recall if I read Community Life in the
other collection. I would have remembered it since there is a Romanian aspect
to it, and to put the icing on the cake, portions of the story occur in
Vermont. So, we have libraries, a Romanian and Vermont. The closest I ever came
to matches like that was Donna Tartt's "The Secret History" novel. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Given that I felt so close to the main character, Vermont
and libraries, I think these story ingredients are what pulled me through it.
There is a more profound message that Moore points out in the Author's notes
contained at the back of the anthology, and I recognized those messages…but if
it were not for my connection to "the three," I would have struggled
through this story. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Let's be honest… I'm struggling through all of these stories
anyway. I wrote the introduction to BASS 1992 back on February 20, 2020. It's
now March 2022, and I still have nine stories to read and write about in this
collection. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At this pace, I'll finish the book sometime in 2023? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I've read and listened to a lot of writing advice, and most
of it encourages reading and writing to get better at writing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I'm trying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I run to get healthier and to be a better runner. I lift
weights to get stronger and to be healthier. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I need to work on my reading and writing to be a better
writer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I'd also like to bring my writing about these stories back
to what they once were. I invested much more research into the authors and a
deeper analysis of the story. I'll work on doing that moving forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, as I make this effort, I see that the next Author
is Alice Munro…one of my most challenging authors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Fortunately, this is the third time we've run into Lorrie
Moore in this anthology, and <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HszkxVBxjQvXJ6R_ClYngNwUWOuwB4sMR6nRXzmeZvo/edit#gid=1" target="_blank">it appears</a> that I'll encounter her several more
times as we move through the project – Moore has a total of seven stories included
in the BASS.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-38080320087184021522021-09-07T20:36:00.005-04:002021-09-07T20:36:42.144-04:00JunHee - Marshall N. Klimasewiski<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKUdYRNtcVhZEyCgVj195OLvVKgzuFge_zMMNIA2RccQsjPRhvj4i8x_EwBIbfbLPJcmBplv0S17H-byi5qapVhIRfWSkzkQfxfQ-9RmYfUSKlVWPeMuxYiDrwHVmwAlbcZx9sCpvkw/s507/190463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="507" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbKUdYRNtcVhZEyCgVj195OLvVKgzuFge_zMMNIA2RccQsjPRhvj4i8x_EwBIbfbLPJcmBplv0S17H-byi5qapVhIRfWSkzkQfxfQ-9RmYfUSKlVWPeMuxYiDrwHVmwAlbcZx9sCpvkw/s320/190463.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So much can be said in silence. I forget this, but when I'm
reminded of it, its truth is familiar, and it stings because I work on living a
listening life but too often fail in this effort. When considering the silence
between two people, what isn't said can be dangerous – depending on the
situation. I know and always push hard for openness in communication – again,
in some instances – but yes, the power of silence, applied in the right
environment, says so much more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Citing the power of the short story again, and this
anthology and this project, I doubt that I would've ever intentionally picked
up a story about a Korean émigré woman. If I did, I doubt that I would have
finished a longer story/novel about her and her life. Even if I ran across this
story in the New Yorker, where it originally ran, I doubt that I would have turned
all the pages to finish it. Which, to their glorious fault, stems from the fact
that they publish too much good content. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But, because of this project, I am committed to reading
these works of art and commenting on them (sometimes just rambling), but the
learning comes from consumption and digestion of them. Sometimes, I read them,
mull them over in my mind for a day, a week, a month, or more – and then, all
the pieces fall into place, and their message appears to me, and I can write
about what it has given me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">With JunHee, Klimasewiski allowed me into the mind of this
young woman, to see the world through her eyes, her mind's eyes. To hear and
not to hear her husband. To hear the harsh words spoken to her by her father
across the miles. To hear her dead mother's words come to her at night in
dreams. And finally, to experience her loss and her grieving. A good author can
create a character, set them in a story, and formulate their setting so
powerfully that it allows the reader to honestly experience the character's
life. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As a distraction and to take a trip, I often browse the archives
of The New Yorker and check out what they published alongside the story that I
just read. JunHee ran in the January 14, 1991 edition of The New Yorker… I was starting
my second semester as a freshman at Norwich. Glancing at the table of contents,
two entries catch my attention. "Report from Moscow" by Robert Cullen
and "Books" by my man…John Updike. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You'll have to bear with me as I fall down the hole of nostalgia
and interest in the Soviet Union as I completely veer off writing about JunHee
and switch over to writing about what was happening in Russia in December of
1990. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In Jan. 1991, there was still a USSR, and Cullen wrote of western
cigarettes still being used as currency. Soviet citizens still waited in long
lines for basic food staples. Eduard Shevardnadze also resigned his position as
Foreign Minister taking Gorbachev by surprise. Cullen's conversations with his acquaintances
detailed that many had lost faith in Gorbachev and his campaign for "openness"
and reforms, and they felt that the "revolution" Gorbachev launched five
years before would soon reach its "Thermidor." </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I became restless with
my studies and struggled to decide exactly what I wanted to focus upon. Events
in Eastern Europe and the then Soviet Union captured my attention, and I began
to explore shifting my major away from Economics and focusing on International
Studies. Norwich also offered Russian as a modern language, and I decided that
when classes started in August of 1991, I'd embark on a new course of study. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Summer
break in 1991 allowed me to unplug from the traumas of freshman year at Norwich,
and when I returned in August, a new world was unfolding in the Soviet Union.
Predictions from December of 1990 were correct. Events accelerated in August
with the Coup, and by December of 1991, we see Gorbachev resigning and turning
the launch codes over to Yeltsin. At the Kremlin, on the evening of December 25,
the Soviet flag was lowered as the State Anthem of the Soviet Union was played
for the last time and the Russian flag raised in its place. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In the Fall of 1991,
I can't recall my Russian professor's attitude or thoughts about events taking
place over there during these events. We had a pretty decent-sized class, and I'm
sure he was working hard to drive the basics of the language through our thick
skulls.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> After returning from Christmas break, the USSR no longer existed, and I'm
sure we had some discussions…but again, they seemed to be erased from my memory.
I recall that my fascination with the
Russian culture and language continued to grow during this time. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was
fortunate to experience this atmosphere of learning during these pivotal
events. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-38185992456762045142021-01-26T14:48:00.009-05:002021-01-26T14:48:46.746-05:00The Pugilist at Rest – Thom Jones<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FDBQZxTH-KAnvwYPwuEeERvSSdr22ldsnu0OhA7VimpGrRvXIY1PZ6YIyxW5_ScIVOlRXljBcLXs1Ik-mDigFWoVoiNtYI9SpOKR1EMUaAQrpMUGBrWx_VHdpNji7rHyV4FLOvRzjA/s2001/Oates-Thom-Jones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2001" data-original-width="2000" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FDBQZxTH-KAnvwYPwuEeERvSSdr22ldsnu0OhA7VimpGrRvXIY1PZ6YIyxW5_ScIVOlRXljBcLXs1Ik-mDigFWoVoiNtYI9SpOKR1EMUaAQrpMUGBrWx_VHdpNji7rHyV4FLOvRzjA/w270-h270/Oates-Thom-Jones.jpg" width="270" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br />
</span><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I encountered this story not knowing anything about the
author or the story itself – the way I experience most of the stories in these
anthologies. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Discovering these types of stories is terrific – knowing they are
great and then researching them and the author and developing a greater
appreciation of the work. I'm intimidated now, writing about this story because
I feel that this post will get a few more eyes on it because of its popularity.
Not that I don't appreciate people reading what I write, but I think that what I'm
writing about here really isn't what most people will be looking for when it
comes to doing research on this story.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">This bit of reflection brings me back around to the
"why" of this blog. Since I started this writing back in 2008, this
place has offered me a reliable location to get thoughts about life on record.
I suppose it's also a bit of a recording for my children – a hope that someday
they will take the time to learn a bit more about me after I'm gone. I'm
confident that they'll be able to find these words and make another connection
with me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">There's another thought – a connection. I've made a few
connections in this space over time—some fascinating ones – relationships that
have educated me and enlightened me. You know who you are, old friend – and I
think of you often.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">This is also a space where I can practice my writing
without being "graded" on the writing. I can use the story as a
jumping-off point and just write.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Again though, the eyes that'll be drawn to this post just
because of the story…</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Onward – this story…</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">This is another New Yorker story – honestly, though, I
don't think it fits into the typical New Yorker mold for that period. In </span><a href="https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/postscript-thom-jones" target="_blank"><span style="color: #4a6ee0;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true">this
piece by JCO</span></span></a><span data-preserver-spaces="true"> – for the
New Yorker, about Jones after his death, she details how this story landed on
her desk at the Ontario Review – and how her husband at the time ultimately
rejected it – (because of its length) and how Jones had submitted it to several
publications – one was the New Yorker, that eventually published it. She
acknowledges his good fortune for having it picked up there and the fact that a
few more of his stories finally landed in that publication's pages again. We'll
encounter him in the BASS anthology in later '90s collections.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Jones seemed like a writer's writer. When this story was
picked up, he was in his 40's working as a janitor – granting him the chance to
read several thousand books during that time. Earlier in his life, there was
time spent at the Iowa Writer's Workshop – so between his reading and his
workshop experience, he found the code for producing the perfect publishable
short story. He also struggled with substance abuse – eventually overcoming it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Yes, I do think that there is a code/formula for
producing this type of story – of course, it has to land on the right desk at
the right time, and the first reader of that story has to be in the right mood
to ingest that story (hopefully they are focused enough – not distracted by
their own lives) to drive it through to eventual publication.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Of course, you can fire and forget your
submissions…hoping to hit that right combo. Was Jones one of the lucky ones? No
– I don't think so – he did enough groundwork before setting off on his quest.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Of course, as it happens with these stories in this
collection, he died recently – in 2016.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I enjoyed learning about this story because Jones wrote
and created a reality that he never actually experienced – the mark of a true
master. He took his own life experiences, friends, and family members'
experiences – refined them through the knowledge gained by all his reading and
developed this incredibly convincing fiction. Sometimes you can see through the
fiction – not with Jones.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">It was true fiction.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-13021339632655973152021-01-26T11:05:00.009-05:002021-01-26T11:06:23.289-05:00Emergency – Denis Johnson<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZLDhMbCIr1l97tuOUyt7mfGks9qHCJAFx6HgekU4KpsPm8RiH-J6HWZNaDIltOscaqLuAopNwX121GcFnfVYZk_n_G-kohoLTFlopjm258zZnLZpWHztF-pOtyGvo9LRI5uh7wQ5aw/s348/Denis_Johnson.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="267" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZLDhMbCIr1l97tuOUyt7mfGks9qHCJAFx6HgekU4KpsPm8RiH-J6HWZNaDIltOscaqLuAopNwX121GcFnfVYZk_n_G-kohoLTFlopjm258zZnLZpWHztF-pOtyGvo9LRI5uh7wQ5aw/s320/Denis_Johnson.png" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><p><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: times;"><br /></span></p>All the leaves are now off the large tree in our
backyard. When I first set up this home office back in August, the tree was
filled with large dark green leaves. I would occasionally look up from the
computer, resting my eyes and watch the leaves twist and turn in the late
summer sun. </span><p></p><p><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: times; font-size: large;">Fall settled in, and the leaves remained a dark green, and I
wondered daily when they’d begin their change. As the days passed, they
eventually turned, and the change seemed to accelerate through November. </span></p><p><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: times; font-size: large;">The
beginning of December brought out the best colors, and strong winds and
rainstorms forced the leaves off the branches. Now, here we are in
mid-December, and after yesterday’s rain, all the leaves seem to have been torn
off the tree.</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">As fast as they disappeared, I’m sure I’ll think their
return in spring is premature.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I value the opportunity to have this view of this tree at
this point in my life.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">View and perspective.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I loved this short story by Denis Johnson. Without
physically ingesting any sort of conscious altering substance, I felt that my
consciousness was on a bit of a trip while reading this story. This is, of
course, what happens so many times when we read good fiction – we get lost in a
character or scene, time melts away, we are transported to another realm – we become
someone else.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Johnson does a beautiful job of altering my consciousness
through this short story. I was taken out of my room, away from my window,
looking out on the leafless tree, and joined the characters in their own
chemically altered world. I suppose it should come as a surprise that Johnson
was so skilled at relating an experience through a chemically altered state of
mind. After reading bout him, it appears that he spent some time addicted to
substances. Write what you know.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><br /></span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Perhaps it has to do with the simple way life and time
moves. Still, it seems that with a greater frequency, more of the authors that
I encounter in these anthologies pass away within a few years of reading them –
or just a short time before I meet them. I first encountered Johnson back in
2015 when I read and wrote about his story </span><a href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2015/01/denis-johnson-car-crash-while.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #4a6ee0;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true">Car-Crash
while Hitchhiking</span></span></a><span data-preserver-spaces="true">. It was
featured in the 1990 anthology of BASS. I remember the story well. I read it
during one of my overnight shifts at the ODU library. I wrote about it soon
after reading as I felt that what it stirred in me need to be recorded. Part of
the reason why I enjoyed Johnson so much was the similarities in style that I saw
between him, Carver and Updike. I went deeper into those in the earlier post. I
feel the need now, more than then, for authors like Carver and Updike, and my
reading of this anthology has suffered as I seek out stories by those two
authors. Sorry for the little aside there. Anyway, between the time I first
read him, and now, Denis Johnson passed away. Looks like it was in 2017. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true">He was
an incredible author. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true">Perhaps if I read and wrote faster, these sorts of things
will happen less often.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-44566412512939856832020-12-09T09:17:00.000-05:002020-12-09T09:17:24.302-05:00Same Place, Same Things – Tim Gautreaux<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV_QHIO5gfMo5XzukbDaiG3SNO33QnxZgqEby7Toa7vVA31PUEFbl_DuvdOYoLps5IFUpuhyXzZ1nrKi3TRSsg3dciRq78XzqDf6q5U7-vYmoBuSsuP1IYT2obCIx02eSKgwaHhUumw/s267/090408gautreaux267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV_QHIO5gfMo5XzukbDaiG3SNO33QnxZgqEby7Toa7vVA31PUEFbl_DuvdOYoLps5IFUpuhyXzZ1nrKi3TRSsg3dciRq78XzqDf6q5U7-vYmoBuSsuP1IYT2obCIx02eSKgwaHhUumw/s0/090408gautreaux267.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The leaves
on the large tree outside of my window turn from green to yellow, red, and then
brown, and today, without a wind, they seem to be falling faster than I’ve ever
noticed. It’s beautiful and comforting knowing that summer has retreated, and
we are moving well into a new season.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Pre-pandemic,
I found myself at times, falling into a routine that could provide comfort one
day and uneasiness the next. Wake up, run/exercise, shower, drive to work, work
9-5, come home, spend time with the family, watch a little TV, sleep – repeat.
It was nice, but there was some staleness to it – especially the 9-5 portion of
the day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In February,
I left my place of employment after a 20-year run. I settled into an
interesting few weeks, where I searched for other jobs and had some down-time
to relax and reflect on my next moves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">March
arrived, and so did the national shut-down as everyone tried to figure out how
to live in the new normal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Summer sets
in, and we develop a routine as a family to provide the boys with a sense of
normalcy in the middle of this crisis. It was a pleasant routine – wake up
without an alarm, run/exercise, eat breakfast together, head out for a walk
together, sit outside for most of the day, eating, lounging by the pool in the
backyard. The evening would come, we’d head out on another walk, have dinner
together and perhaps go on a third walk. We ate a lot of watermelon and ice
cream. Listened to music and goofed off. It was a great summer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">August
arrives, and I started a new job. Wake up at 6:00, run/exercise, make
breakfast, shower, but the time clock and the timeclock is punched when I sign
into MS Teams at 8:00 in the morning. Spend a good part of the day in front of
a computer working from home. I am fortunate. We are all able to be together
during this time, and I think that one day when we’re old and reflecting on
this time, we’ll have very fond memories of the time spent together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I don’t know
if I find routines comforting or not. I value the knowledge that there is the
predictability of a routine, and I know it’s suitable for the boys. I do
wonder, though, if there is a loss that I am experiencing without the
unpredictability.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The main
character in this short story finds himself going through a routine of fixing <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">farmer’s
water pumps and his routine life take s a turn for the worse after an encounter
with a lonely woman on a dusty farm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Disruptions
in my modern life seem to consist of car trouble, internet connectivity
issues…that sort of thing. Pretty minor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But what
lies just below the surface of this thin reality of everyday life is the chaos
of uncertainty that will poke through and cause quite the most unpleasant
disruptions on rare occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The chaos
visited us in March…we’re still living through it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What will
happen the next time chaos pokes through our thin reality? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">How will we
react? How will it alter our lives? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-61305638418123294282020-09-17T15:43:00.000-04:002020-09-17T15:43:07.470-04:00 Across the Bridge – Mavis Gallant<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge7YobMnzsYNG1_7bumWNeFNuwFZuXTotyvDNTqRzVSEP-LU7rVySu56DGqxm7cQ2g_7tqnA47DtTSjL9yEOX_hkzDi6i8LpBwte4kg4-PqlWmR2Nbkj89l4R0ZQtf3y2rDs-emtybw/s749/BN-PO331_bkrvfi_P_20160825092616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="749" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge7YobMnzsYNG1_7bumWNeFNuwFZuXTotyvDNTqRzVSEP-LU7rVySu56DGqxm7cQ2g_7tqnA47DtTSjL9yEOX_hkzDi6i8LpBwte4kg4-PqlWmR2Nbkj89l4R0ZQtf3y2rDs-emtybw/s320/BN-PO331_bkrvfi_P_20160825092616.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Across the Bridge is the ninth and final story by Mavis Gallant to be featured in the Best American series.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Gallant is a master storyteller.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There’s just one problem for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I don’t like her stories.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I believe I gave her a fair shot in my early treatment after my first exposure to her writing. But as I read more of her…I just found that she wasn’t to my tastes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">That’s about all I have to say about that. </span></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-4964195619537299892020-09-17T15:13:00.003-04:002020-09-17T15:13:41.774-04:00 A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain – Robert Olen Butler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarhMWp_Vy-w2_-kAqxqJdGClqAsT5Tz1pxkbgBUKpuBUVNFfrX_73W-2c6ANz98i563vaMBAPqSBxdg8cU383xzPdwTAGmbfwgZ2EtE67B6g6PsmT6laFZXwk8XWjifFpRtn7Qn0AWg/s600/robert-olen-butler-in-saigon-1971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="599" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgarhMWp_Vy-w2_-kAqxqJdGClqAsT5Tz1pxkbgBUKpuBUVNFfrX_73W-2c6ANz98i563vaMBAPqSBxdg8cU383xzPdwTAGmbfwgZ2EtE67B6g6PsmT6laFZXwk8XWjifFpRtn7Qn0AWg/s320/robert-olen-butler-in-saigon-1971.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As these short stories allow us, and for a reader to fully take advantage of them, one must trust the author, suspend reality, surrender yourself and become someone else. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A great author can take you out of your "body" and drop you into a character of their choosing. Of course, you have to play along, fully immerse yourself in the story, and not throw up any obstacles to the immersion. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And what is terrific about this is that you can close the book and return to "your life" but still retain the life of that character if you feel the necessity.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The written story really is an incredible device – as is the mind that absorbs and translates the strange symbols printed on the pages.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Through this story that first appeared in the New England Review, Robert Olen Butler invites you to slip into the mind of an elderly Vietnamese man nearing death as he reflects upon his life, visiting departed relatives and acquaintances…even the restless ghost of Ho Chi Minh.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I've often wondered about my final days. Morbid? I don't think so. These thoughts allow me to refocus on my life's priorities – to live in the moment with the people I love. It also allows me to take stock of my life is/was and alter my course, if necessary. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I also wonder if I'll be of sound mind at my time of death to even reflect as this character does. Will I have my memories? Will they torture me in my last minutes, or will I just simply fade away? What purpose would be served as I lay there, torturing myself with these thoughts?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Perhaps, when it is my time, there will be the option to customize your last days. To make sure that your last breaths are comfortable and that you are at peace. That would be wonderful. </span></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-66215373441887599602020-09-16T16:13:00.002-04:002020-09-16T16:13:20.492-04:00 Silver Water – Amy Bloom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNsHih-_0WQYXcY7_INiPEx82WAGLe7UYbfw_6cK1h5ztqnyi1F1hBsJQxaefKAfBn1EVvPz2JuZkRhJVprgFbjHtlnN-InGscvqUCx7yuaxTFCDAns0EyWV3hZhwp3WD5iY5-AQwqg/s266/115220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNsHih-_0WQYXcY7_INiPEx82WAGLe7UYbfw_6cK1h5ztqnyi1F1hBsJQxaefKAfBn1EVvPz2JuZkRhJVprgFbjHtlnN-InGscvqUCx7yuaxTFCDAns0EyWV3hZhwp3WD5iY5-AQwqg/s0/115220.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Silver Water first appeared in Story magazine. I once had a nice collection of Story magazines, and it pains me to write the word once in this sentence. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I believe they were all “donated” to a local thrift store. I like to imagine that they were snatched up by another lover of the short story, but in reality, they probably sat on the shelf in the store and were dumped after not selling.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> I suppose they were only valuable to me, purchased from a used book store in downtown Norfolk in the mid 00’s with birthday money from my grandmother. I remember writing that down in the cover of one of the editions. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They stood in formation on my bookshelf for several years, and I’d pull one out every so often, thumb through it, read a story and return it to its home.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Amy Bloom makes three appearances in The Best American anthology. Her first appearance was in 1991 with </span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #4a6ee0; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a class="editor-rtfLink" href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2017/04/love-is-not-pie-amy-bloom.html" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #4a6ee0; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;" target="_blank">Love is Not a Pie</a>. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We will visit with Amy again in 2000. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Love is Not a Pie is a beautiful story and compelled me to write one of my favorite posts that detailed a past spent with my father—the post that was made in April of 2017 – just a few short months before he died.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Silver Water tackles the too important issue of mental health and, more importantly, how a family copes with it when it strikes and completely cripples one of its members. I remember discussing schizophrenia with my father – he, of course, supervised a few of them over many years. I was baffled at how this disease could completely ravage a person – and their family.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Having a loved one suffer from such a debilitating mental illness is one of my greatest fears. Your mother, wife, son, or daughter could be completely “normal” one day…and then, the disease creeps in, grabs that portion of their brain, their soul – and takes them from you. It’s so heartbreaking. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Once again, we are shown, life is suffering.</span></span></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-51110535607959715842020-09-16T15:23:00.000-04:002020-09-16T15:23:19.726-04:00 A Different Kind of Imperfection – Thomas Beller<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFLTatUz3ksqkUWyovL2h8Ok_i6NyfrL_9BA1Pd6zn6e5KWYuC5PHibmUGYmbBms3UavtLYNSfO4IGbHKVC3s2Qqb04_9MMV1s2U3X3sPzFz3aBxAGs03m6pbw3Lf-lD3i1m3L7Em2w/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFLTatUz3ksqkUWyovL2h8Ok_i6NyfrL_9BA1Pd6zn6e5KWYuC5PHibmUGYmbBms3UavtLYNSfO4IGbHKVC3s2Qqb04_9MMV1s2U3X3sPzFz3aBxAGs03m6pbw3Lf-lD3i1m3L7Em2w/" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>"Nothing is bothering me. It’s just odd to be back. You know, like, when you go away and then you come back and it’s, like-"</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A Different Kind of Imperfection was first published in The New Yorker, fittingly, is a New York story ( I wonder if there were short story writers that purposely wrote New York City stories in an attempt to get them in the New Yorker with the thought that they would actually get published there and then propelled into literary stardom…).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As I do with these stories, and especially with the stories published in the 90s, I travel back to those days and reflect on my life and draw parallels between the story and what I was going through then...and sometimes now. This one is very easy to do as it features a character that has returned home to NYC on a break from college. He lives with his single mother (father died when the boy was 10) and lazes about the house reading a book from his father’s collection, wondering what an underlined phrase means to the now deceased father, contemplating the lives of his younger parents and his father’s life as he learned that he had cancer and was dying.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I’m pretty sure I just summed up the story well enough - of course without getting too deep into the underlying meanings...etc. – it’s beautiful – several sentences are just straight-up art. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thomas Beller appears only once in the BASS anthology, but what an incredible writer he is - and incredibly faithful to NYC.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I have done this story a disservice though. This disservice is keeping with my track record on these stories, so it’s not entirely unfair to this story. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I read this story earlier this year. Perhaps it was April…May or June. One should remember, though, what year it is…2020 in the year of the forever month of March. Having read the story so many months ago and now it is mid-September, yes, I re-read it…if you call speed reading it an actual read. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I am once again playing catch-up with these stories. I’m about 5 stories into this anthology and have only posted about 2 before this one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Life once again got in the way. I enjoyed the summer with the family without having a job. Summer began to fade, and I was fortunate enough to secure employment. School has started for the kids (virtual), and I am working from home too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I am once again turning to this blog to provide some stability in what is a boat in churning seas. I am not threatened by the waters, I just need that stabilizing tool this blog provides.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This outlet, this blog has been here for me for the last 12 years, and I am happy to turn to it once again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember returning home several times during university breaks. I had grown, and the distance between my mother and I had grown too. She so desperately wanted to know what was going on in my life, for me to open up, but that pleading, those requests shut me up tighter against her. I don’t suppose that many young men feel too inclined to open up fully to their mothers concerning their exploits when they are between 18 and 25. We were still boys though we like to believe we were men.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This story and the relationship the main character has with the memory of his father and his (living) mother allowed me to reexamine those trips home and my behavior back then. It’s sad to think about the way I acted – and I need to be realistic in thinking that my children could also not feel the need to share their lives with me no matter how much I wish them to. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Lessons learned? Yes - once again, from the best teacher - these stories. </span></p><p><br /></p>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-22297876449291893502020-06-18T10:55:00.000-04:002020-06-18T10:55:21.274-04:00Days of Heaven - Rick Bass<font face="times" size="4"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsThaPFtcKgKHRmwVxw94B_AUWwCJ2DKduM8Uct_7hBJLkISqyQyXbDTB0mPERiqLjMwJV8S9FskxDyJpGN4mM9k3oYgEnLb6_tPc3j1vuQoLZxu4wIxoo54SKFmwAEDVlTreHWpr2g/s1500/bass-nicole-blaisdell-53394631a55ba.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1208" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsThaPFtcKgKHRmwVxw94B_AUWwCJ2DKduM8Uct_7hBJLkISqyQyXbDTB0mPERiqLjMwJV8S9FskxDyJpGN4mM9k3oYgEnLb6_tPc3j1vuQoLZxu4wIxoo54SKFmwAEDVlTreHWpr2g/s320/bass-nicole-blaisdell-53394631a55ba.jpg" /></a><br /></font><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">So happy to encounter Rick Bass along this journey once again. I was first introduced to him in 2012 with <a href="http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2012/04/rick-bass-cats-and-students-bubbles-and.html">Cats And Students, Bubbles And Abysses</a>. Looking back at that post, it seems that I enjoyed the story but had a bit of trouble fully understanding it. Meeting </font><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">him again in 2017, through </span><a href="http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-legend-of-pig-eye-rick-bass.html" style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The Legend Of Pig-Eye</a><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> was welcome and I really had a great time reading about the publication of the story and and thinking about the message. </span></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">When I saw that Bass had a story in this collection, I was really looking forward to reading it - and more so after reading the first story in the collection that I wasn't especially fond of.</font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><i>Days of Heaven</i> is a beautiful story. Well, perhaps <i>beautiful </i>is the wrong word - but I can't seem to come up with another word right now that fits how I felt after reading it. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">I suppose what I enjoyed most about this story is that - well, it's a story. It didn't force me to seek something out within it (not that I don't mind the challenge). Bass simply, through his composition told a great story. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">A large part of what endears me to a story of course is how well I can relate to it - this seems obvious - right? </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">I could see myself in another life, as a 20 something living as a caretaker in a cabin out west. I could see myself sharing the perspective of the main character, behaving like him and thinking of others, as he thinks of them. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">In the Contributor's Notes section at at the end of the collection, Bass writes quite a lot about the creation of this story and the multiple drafts and edits it went through with his editors (13, if I remember correctly).</font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">In my <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HszkxVBxjQvXJ6R_ClYngNwUWOuwB4sMR6nRXzmeZvo/edit?usp=sharing">spreadsheet of BASS authors</a>, we will encounter Rick Bass again in 1996, 1999 and finally in 2001. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">I look forward to spending more time with him.</font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"> </font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-62945813270366885432020-06-02T21:41:00.000-04:002020-06-02T21:41:04.565-04:00The Last Lovely City - Alice Adams<font face="times" size="4"><br /></font><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxsl1btcVWwcrMlVxSHdlQqDlZq3kAGkpsAoLR3k74mwX6gKN6aItKyBb2As5Y4EsiJDsNYFWAqibmbrVJEXTIxLYJexfKqzDUbMgS1N7YGqpuqToJcf4iGMGCap1tHoCBV4_ZJ1PXA/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="times" size="4"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxsl1btcVWwcrMlVxSHdlQqDlZq3kAGkpsAoLR3k74mwX6gKN6aItKyBb2As5Y4EsiJDsNYFWAqibmbrVJEXTIxLYJexfKqzDUbMgS1N7YGqpuqToJcf4iGMGCap1tHoCBV4_ZJ1PXA/s320/102.jpeg" /></font></a></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">The last time we had the chance to spend some time with Alice Adams was a <a href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2017/02/katrina-kenison-alice-adams-i-like-to.html" target="_blank">couple years ago</a> when we were introduced to her as the editor for BASS 1991. </font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4">I mentioned that she <span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">first appeared in The BASS in 1976 so I missed her by a couple of years as this project started with the 1978 collection. She is featured again with two stories after the guest editor spot in the BASS ’92 and ’96.</span></font></div><div><font face="times" size="4"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adams appears first in the 1992 collection simply because of her last name. It seems that the editor and guest editor of these volumes have consistently agreed that the easiest way to order the stories is alphabetical by the authors last name - with the exception of </span><a href="http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2010/02/best-american-short-stories-1982.html" style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">BASS 1992</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"> guest edited by John Gardner.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4">The Last Lovely City takes place along Stinson Beach California. With the incredible technology afforded to us in these times, I was able to visit the same beach town Alice did and decided to make as the setting for her story.</font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4">This story first appeared in The New Yorker in the March 11, 1991 issue. The U.S. had just finished active hostilities during Operation Desert Storm. </font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Personally, I felt that this story gave the anthology a bit of a rough takeoff. It's a story that still has the feel of the mid-1980s. I had to push myself through that time barrier to find a message that resonated with me - understanding that as with all of these stories, there is a very good chance that I would not find one.</span></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And then, a simple paragraph tucked in towards the end made the connection. </span></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><i>"...the doctor finds that those giants from his dark and tangled past have quite suddenly receded: Delores and Tolliver have shrunk down to human size, the size of people accidentally encountered at a party. Such meeting can happen to anyone, easily, especially at a certain age."</i></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4">I have reached the age - and have been the age to have the above happen on more than one occasion. The encounters cause quick butterflies to rise in your heart, quickening its beat and upon reflection hours later, perhaps at home after the meting, laying in bed reflecting, you realize how silly your mind was, building these people up from your past into "giants".</font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4">Time, once again has taught you a valuable lesson - a lesson that you will forget probably forget and replay several times more throughout your life.</font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"><br /></font></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="times" size="4"> </font></span></div>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-50971834388755447632020-03-09T17:51:00.001-04:002020-03-09T18:01:55.132-04:00Intermission<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78DJ7Zo-xN4v5aJR98VLqyWUNsOa0NB3vpg1qcSyYLE0LWtWRqYlpqLkqyiETf2so1kWjAdsMHAjQkbRvcB2WNOiesaqC9vubxF4XkMVNDfLaNmO7wHigUpqe0109HdEGlqaiAr1MzA/s1600/miller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78DJ7Zo-xN4v5aJR98VLqyWUNsOa0NB3vpg1qcSyYLE0LWtWRqYlpqLkqyiETf2so1kWjAdsMHAjQkbRvcB2WNOiesaqC9vubxF4XkMVNDfLaNmO7wHigUpqe0109HdEGlqaiAr1MzA/s320/miller.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm pretty sure the algorithms synced across a few platforms to bring <i>In the Land of Men </i>to my attention - and just like that, I downloaded it last night, and I'm primed to start reading tonight. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm excited about this book mainly because I think it'll offer some additional insight to the lit scene of the 90's. We've just breached the 90s in this BASS exploration project and BASS 1992 is the first time we encounter David Foster Wallace - a major part of Miller's book. Additionally, according to my <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HszkxVBxjQvXJ6R_ClYngNwUWOuwB4sMR6nRXzmeZvo/edit#gid=1" target="_blank">spreadsheet,</a> during her time at <i>Esquire</i>, Miller edited four authors that landed in The Best American Short Stories. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'll be sure to circle back around in a few days with my thoughts. </span>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-82265161035694379722020-02-20T22:06:00.001-05:002020-02-20T22:06:10.015-05:00The Best American Short Stories 1992 - Introduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y7aFsbm5lgbo8ZQfvcu9F2dvbs0xcLAr7Vp2MAGi_eDpHeuOlPWFd9m0LauzCjrynde9E1J3UMXSJKhdae1sxs9HK2_dqAiNsz9_MUfO-8dvFDW7-Y_tNgD9EC9yGTN45yBIZXCgiQ/s1600/IMG_5837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y7aFsbm5lgbo8ZQfvcu9F2dvbs0xcLAr7Vp2MAGi_eDpHeuOlPWFd9m0LauzCjrynde9E1J3UMXSJKhdae1sxs9HK2_dqAiNsz9_MUfO-8dvFDW7-Y_tNgD9EC9yGTN45yBIZXCgiQ/s320/IMG_5837.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Start the clock. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm notorious for taking years to read these anthologies. We are 15 books in to this series starting with 1978 back in 2008. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Back when I started this project, I worked at a newspaper in Virginia. Two weeks ago, I voluntarily left the newspaper (my second home for 19 years). It was a difficult decision, but a move that was necessary. I'm sure in the years and posts to come, I will dive deeper into everything surrounding my departure. These stories have a way of prying out details over time - this is the purpose of this project - it's a bit of therapy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've written several times about the various stages of my life and here we are at another. It'll be very interesting to see what develops.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, here we are, finally reading the BASS 1992. I loved the 90s and the editor of this volume, in his introduction, touches on one of the reasons why I found that decade so special.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2012/10/helping-robert-stone.html" target="_blank">Robert Stone </a>made his first appearance in The Best American Series back in 1998 which I read in 2012. I found his introduction to this volume a little rough - of course perhaps I am out of practice (reading that is). The following passage did catch me though.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"In their variety, these stories reflect what is probably the most significant development in late-twentieth-century American fiction, the renewal and revitalization of the realist mode, which has been taken up by a new generation of writers. This represents less a "triumph" of realism than the obviation of old arguments about the relationship between life and language. As of 1992, American writers seem ready to accept traditional forms without self-consciousness in dealing with the complexity of the world around them."</span></i><br />
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This final paragraph from the introduction nails it perfectly for me. It's why I found love for the short story in the early 90s.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">During my time at Norwich University, I worked as a work study student in the library. I was assigned to the periodicals department where I received incoming magazines and journals. I cataloged the new arrivals and at times, when needed, I assisted in the weeding of older journals from the shelves. Because Norwich was associated with Vermont College at this time, we received copies of important literary journals. When I found a few minutes of down-time between my duties, I would flip through these journals, journals with odd sounding names, Black Warrior Review, Ploughshares, The Southern Review, Missouri Review, Paris Review and the Virginia Quarterly Review just to name a few. I can't readily recall what story or what journal pulled me in, but I was hooked. It was in these journals that the stories I am now reading in the BASS are resurfacing. No doubt, I will run across one or several that seem all too familiar...the years softening my recollection of having actually reading it so many years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now, the publications and number of stories featured in BASS 1992.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ploughshares - 1</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Story - 3</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">New England Review - 1</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The Atlantic Monthly - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Harper's Magazine - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The Southern Review - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fiction International - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Black Warrior Review - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">American Short Fiction - 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The New Yorker - 9</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, as you can see, and it shouldn't come as a surprise, stories from The New Yorker heavily outweigh the others.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Stone has this to say about the stories from that publication.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"The large number of New Yorker inclusions I think results from the fact that while The New Yorker is still able to attract first-rate submissions, the days are past when there was such a thing as a "New Yorker story." </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, lets see about that. I'm very excited to start this new journey - both in my life and with this volume. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The 90s were my decade - I have faith that these stories will hold up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Onward!</span><br />
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<br />Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-27394890353483992562020-02-11T11:43:00.001-05:002020-06-01T21:51:47.253-04:00A Conclusion<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZUhHA_Yi1cpCn3n_B5faNKyccu088j3CDs3EIfYodPODu_BE9k1joyWN1XrFFu8Cpn1UdpRqvyolEcyCiiIGXz-bhZd52jlJUOY4hIQ_DBZ2pJ9g80T9tEy2iSOGVswzBTy1hGzNZg/s1600/33001376996_680465ff89_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZUhHA_Yi1cpCn3n_B5faNKyccu088j3CDs3EIfYodPODu_BE9k1joyWN1XrFFu8Cpn1UdpRqvyolEcyCiiIGXz-bhZd52jlJUOY4hIQ_DBZ2pJ9g80T9tEy2iSOGVswzBTy1hGzNZg/s320/33001376996_680465ff89_o.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can’t count the number of times I’ve started this entry in my head. I finished the last story in this edition quite some time ago so why deviate from my normal behavior of waiting to post an entry?</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I made the introductory post for this edition back on <a href="https://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2017/02/katrina-kenison-alice-adams-i-like-to.html" target="_blank">February 27, 2017. </a></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That was 2 years, 11 months and 3 days ago…or 1067 days.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This project suffered neglect due to my inability to remain focused on it and due to the many other wonderful titles, that surfaced and caught my attention. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">These occasional entries are good though to shame me into posting more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, what can I say about The Best American Short Stories 1991? </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">An overview of this volume wouldn’t be fair. I have trouble recalling the good/bad/ugly of these stories. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So – with that, let’s put this volume behind us. </span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-61ef5159-7fff-697b-5a77-b46dd5d8024a"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After all, I have started a new volume in life (more on that later) so it is only appropriate that I do with this project.</span></span></div>
Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-46126919314070592262019-11-18T11:38:00.004-05:002020-06-02T20:59:03.135-04:00A Sandstone Farmhouse – John Updike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxkrk_w8fnZ0poQANQ-2eafBHT1DK9cX0Fet7w-zK22OU8c92wshsdUR54A17moEBGaHjEgoPM22d4CNvblfHFIMxfXhGe_VFOWM2TmbPbbMGPHsF1cGqgrra6XIphUfdjracMsQZZw/s1600/john-updike-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;"><font color="#ffffff"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxkrk_w8fnZ0poQANQ-2eafBHT1DK9cX0Fet7w-zK22OU8c92wshsdUR54A17moEBGaHjEgoPM22d4CNvblfHFIMxfXhGe_VFOWM2TmbPbbMGPHsF1cGqgrra6XIphUfdjracMsQZZw/s320/john-updike-3.jpg" width="320" /></font></span></a></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Well hello there Mr. Updike!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Our society has changed quite a bit since we first met back in <a href="http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2010/01/gesturing-john-updike.html" target="_blank">January 2010</a>. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">You were in 1980, and your story was featured in Playboy and I was reading it across time 30 years later.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">For many, then and now, your work appearing in that publication would be a natural fit. There were quite a few opinions of your writing back in 1980 and into the 90s (plenty of hate) the early 2000s as well as in 2010 – and now, when you are discussed/studied, their opinions are colored by our societal shifts…as they should be. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I loved your writing back in 2010, and now almost 10 years later, I still love your writing.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">It was this anthology that brought me closer to you. I saw you develop and it allowed me to explore the critical discussion of your work. I learned so much.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">And now, you are back in my life.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I rushed to this story, not only because it is the last one in this edition, and I’m so over this particular year, but it had been some time since we last had some time together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I finished your story well over a month ago and I fell down the rabbit hole of researching you again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">That was a mistake.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I should have left well alone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I climbed out of the hole, lessons learned, and here we are.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">So, this story…</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">About three years ago, my sister and I cleaned out my mother’s house. We moved her into an apartment. It was the house that I moved into when I was 5 and my sister was 2.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">We disturbed dust and pulled pictures off the walls that hadn’t moved in close to 40 years.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Curtains were pulled down and light shined in corners that were dark for a lifetime.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">We did the cleaning in the summer and it was hot and sweaty. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">We piled boxes on the curb that were picked through by strangers. What they didn’t scavenge, the city trash collectors picked up with a giant claw truck.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">We held an estate sale allowing strangers to tromp through the house and pay cents for what we and she spent good money on years before.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">The house was too big for her and physically, she was too small for the house.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I thought a lot about that move and my mother while reading this story.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">On occasion, I’ll drive past that house, my mother’s the one I was raised in and the memories come flooding back. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Playing in the front yard, riding up and down the block on my bike, my skateboard. The early mornings - pushing my bike past the parked cars in the driveway so I could deliver the daily newspaper. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sitting on the front porch with friends. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">I look up at the attic window, my room, my refuge from age 13 to 18. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">The days I spent lying on my bed looking down at the street where I now sit in an idling car looking up at the empty windows.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">So, Updike’s Sandstone Farmhouse took me back to my house, to those memories of EVERYTHING that happened there. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Updike does that to me - and I appreciate and love his writing for this. </span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-005e047e-7fff-7a15-7eb5-380e4b2afc9b"><br /></span>Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-72496337432280975362019-11-05T18:30:00.000-05:002019-11-06T07:15:10.754-05:00 Dog Stories – Francine Prose<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cJpmtNCxGWWaomgo0f9q_t1RMht-5r-XIaQyzNaHO9bXmvp7ie41_lfgR9DBjmSW-LkUfBz3qN3BZMgHI8uHmTEyafVCKIDUrER6APnCojbFdMkFqSl7nYwi4HhBwrwM6XdsHa5_ag/s1600/Francine+Prose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cJpmtNCxGWWaomgo0f9q_t1RMht-5r-XIaQyzNaHO9bXmvp7ie41_lfgR9DBjmSW-LkUfBz3qN3BZMgHI8uHmTEyafVCKIDUrER6APnCojbFdMkFqSl7nYwi4HhBwrwM6XdsHa5_ag/s1600/Francine+Prose.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“Dog Stories” comes partly out of my continuing interest in
the way people tell their stories – in this case, stories about dogs. … People
never talk about nothing, not even when they seem to. There are always secret
and interesting reasons for the stories they decide to tell and for the moments
at which they choose to tell them.” – Francine Prose<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I don’t find myself in the position much to be on the
receiving end of a good dog story. Most stories that come my way are through
work, and I can’t really call those “stories”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I suppose a reason that I’m not on the receiving end is that
I’m rarely in social situations that allow others to tell me stories. I don’t
have a large social circle and most stories that come my way are told to me by
my children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The advice that Prose gives above though can be used with
those stories because my kids are great at choosing the times to tell me their
stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Through this BASS reading exercise, I have found a great
spark to tell some of my stories. The story randomly finds its way to me across
time and provides the spark to ignite the process of thought. Sometimes this
process can last days, weeks or months. Sometimes I can relate to a story
immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What is unfortunate though is that I find myself falling
into the habit of not reading and in turn, not telling my stories. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-77091914385141757132019-09-16T18:40:00.000-04:002019-09-16T18:40:00.944-04:00American, Abroad – Joyce Carol Oates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OSMjHrG9ZlqgljzSUO0JTvSE6uQcKKgb2J0FSpXhNv3l6p3NZgtlGlUJx7xk2oOwZV1U6nGfQm-bAPzA8a5LD9FvMSSG1M7uMYy1pdb0w7J_6PUX6OUUo6hit-woGc1XAdJNAVoWNg/s1600/20GORDON-articleLarge-v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OSMjHrG9ZlqgljzSUO0JTvSE6uQcKKgb2J0FSpXhNv3l6p3NZgtlGlUJx7xk2oOwZV1U6nGfQm-bAPzA8a5LD9FvMSSG1M7uMYy1pdb0w7J_6PUX6OUUo6hit-woGc1XAdJNAVoWNg/s320/20GORDON-articleLarge-v2.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sitting on this book again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Work and life continue to get in
the way. How many times can I use that excuse? I can’t keep using those as
excuses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can’t wait to write the wrap-up of this volume to see how long
it took me to finish this volume. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s going to be redic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I finished reading this story over a month ago and I’m finally getting
around to writing about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I read that JCO is included in a BASS volume I’m pretty
excited to plow through the stories to reach and read it. This story was featured
towards the end of the volume and I was similarily excited to read it…but unfortunately,
it did not deliver what I <b>expected. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Thinking of my expectations, and all the changes that I have
experienced in my life over the lifespan of this project I wonder if my
<b>expectations</b> have morphed as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps the “feelings” of <b>expectations</b> the correct
atmosphere to be enveloped in before during and after this story because there
is quite a bit of “<b>expectation</b>” in this story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The <b>expectation</b> of physical violence, the <b>expectation</b> of a
meeting – or a friendship…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Expectations</b> are a very dangerous thing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Set them too high
and you’ll find disappointment. Set them too low and perhaps, resentment, anger
jealousy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So…lesson from JCO – check your <b>expectations</b>. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-30455423439659094222019-07-22T18:12:00.000-04:002019-07-22T18:12:05.443-04:00Willing – Lorrie Moore<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbe1tqiktUYIlnWJHN5VtH6jJCKKhQSCLNEz3_fIQ0q6vwo2Tyk_tNkENFSTSABkFdGZcVT1OSpvVkIV38ZNdGmbj3PfSQdPrx_qqD6XSxRvRCB0rkqjng2F3zmPfgFGrVdKqvMGWew/s1600/Lorrie-Moore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="310" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbe1tqiktUYIlnWJHN5VtH6jJCKKhQSCLNEz3_fIQ0q6vwo2Tyk_tNkENFSTSABkFdGZcVT1OSpvVkIV38ZNdGmbj3PfSQdPrx_qqD6XSxRvRCB0rkqjng2F3zmPfgFGrVdKqvMGWew/s320/Lorrie-Moore.jpg" width="261" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">What I recognize and appreciate about Moore’s writing is
that I find it very accessible. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">In a story that Moore calls a “stray” on her steps, she does
a wonderful job of pulling me in and capturing my interest in a character that
I normally wouldn’t find an attraction to.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think that many can relate to this character as at some
point in our life we have felt that we were once “something”, or “could have
been something” but as our life moved forward things just didn’t pan out the way
that they should’ve. Perhaps those instances are just phases which land us in
uncomfortable situations – (not necessarily a Days Inn), but sometimes these
things can sink you for awhile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The story felt very early ‘90s...perhaps that aided in the
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Moore was in her early 30s when she wrote this story – a bit
outside of the Generation X label but perhaps this gave her the skills to
translate some of those all too familiar clichés used to describe the
generation about to get tagged with this label. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">But, as a story in a collection, wedged between other
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was given a taste, a few bites – but a few more would have
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Moore is a short story powerhouse as we will discover.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is the second appearance by Moore in The BASS, with her
first being in 1990 – <span> </span>with <i>You’re Ugly Too. </i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Moore appears 5 more times in The BASS – 1992, 1993, 1998,
1999 and 2013 with all the stories but one appearing in The New Yorker (outlier
is The Paris Review).</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Moore was the guest editor of The Best American Short
Stories 2004 and in 2015, and she served as the guest editor for a centennial anthology from the series, <i>100
Years of The Best American Short Stories</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>Willing </i>was
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was still in high school – about a month away from
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-44338149398446808232019-07-15T17:54:00.000-04:002019-07-15T17:54:09.664-04:00Viva La Tropicana – Leonard Michaels<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwxHNhELlQU3UKIe2EA_lulX59sX6Mr5mLpMBBnZ6QaX_WyV8gOSXKZrXZQZ5WhyEreg3D75Luv8LAB5PTvhtWJSKkX7xZjBLffN9g9ufHxt9CTWmjc9xQjZij2SsiyKgSeK7Mhdebw/s1600/laberinto-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="772" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwxHNhELlQU3UKIe2EA_lulX59sX6Mr5mLpMBBnZ6QaX_WyV8gOSXKZrXZQZ5WhyEreg3D75Luv8LAB5PTvhtWJSKkX7xZjBLffN9g9ufHxt9CTWmjc9xQjZij2SsiyKgSeK7Mhdebw/s320/laberinto-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> (January 2, 1933 - May
10, 2003)</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">What a fun story.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Michaels wrote in the Contributor’s Notes, that this story
wrote itself.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">You can feel it even before you read that. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This story is written with such authenticity but contains
such fantastical imagery in almost a double negative of reality that you have
to believe that most of it is…not fiction.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Make sense?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is the type of story that pulled me back into this
anthology – at least for awhile – and I could be so fortunate that the rest of
the stories in this volume measure up to its brilliance. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I see that Moore, Munro, Oats, Prose and my favorite, Updike
remain – so perhaps there is hope. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I hang my hopes that my ability to write again can be
ignited by these five authors.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">You see, I have found myself saying to myself many times
over the past year that “I struggle with original thoughts.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I believe that I have them but I have a very difficult time
voicing them. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">“How could this be?” you may ask as you read my original thoughts.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The struggle is real.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Take this project for example. It’s 2019. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I started this project and laid out a rough schedule of
how many stories I needed to read each week from the 1978 edition to the latest
edition of the anthology, it seemed very “doable”. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I figured that out roughly 4,000 days ago – yup, almost 11
years ago. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">So now it’s 2019 and I’ve only covered 1978-1991.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">A rough calculation of stories from 1991 – 2019 lands me at
around 570 stories. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ooouufff.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">That number hurts. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Is it out of reach? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">No.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">So why did I circle back around to writing about this
project and the mountain I must climb to catch-up (Do I even need to catch –up)?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Perhaps this story reassured me that anything is possible.
That even the most fantastic, off the wall, schemes can work – if you have the
drive and will.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I suppose time is a factor too – which plays in this story -
and I do have time. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Time is one of the most valuable commodities in my life
right now. I have found that I was wasting portions of it on meaningless tasks/pursuits. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Evaluating this project, I see the value in investing my
time in reading these stories. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, with that, I thank you Leonard Michaels and Viva La Best
American Short Stories!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3870592984822938495.post-74551791997088534052019-07-14T17:30:00.000-04:002019-07-14T17:30:06.150-04:00Glossolalia – David Jauss<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvA_8mX8Ybs-hSs1nUJQIqT6QNjM48Bw-A36zhM_5kjy7ictEh7HfMugB1bFOkM1-6tlPi1YExh9uCvO0wEK5VHzhYqw1rfBr0ZZot5chd9OSbi9Lj4gNXPYuDkarMaYkeqKWtSw3sQ/s1600/David_Jauss_headshot_2013-x_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvA_8mX8Ybs-hSs1nUJQIqT6QNjM48Bw-A36zhM_5kjy7ictEh7HfMugB1bFOkM1-6tlPi1YExh9uCvO0wEK5VHzhYqw1rfBr0ZZot5chd9OSbi9Lj4gNXPYuDkarMaYkeqKWtSw3sQ/s320/David_Jauss_headshot_2013-x_small.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve written about this several times before – so much so
that I am starting to tire of it - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>encountering a story at a certain time, a
perfect time in my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I doubt that this story would have had the same impact on me
10 years ago as it did today. I was living such a different life just 10 years
ago. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I might have read this story, thought about it and somehow
related to it through the lens of my relationship with my father. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now, I read the story and lay it across the relationship I
have with my sons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As with many of these short stories, the icing on the cake
is applied on the final page. I absolutely love this ending from David
Jauss.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That night, though, unable
to sleep, I got up and went into my son’s room. Standing there in the wan glow
of his night light, I listened to him breathe for awhile, then quietly took
down the railing we’d put on his bed to keep him from rolling off and hurting
himself. I sat on the edge of his bed and began to stroke his soft, reddish
blond hair. At first he didn’t wake, but his forehead wrinkled and he mumbled a
little dream sound.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am not a religious man. I
believe, as my father must have, the day he asked me to save him, that our
children are our only salvation, their love our only redemption. And that
night, when my son woke, frightened by the dark figure leaning over him, and
started to cry, I picked him up and rocked him in my arms, comforting him as I
would after a nightmare. “Don’t worry,” I told him over and over, until the
words sounded as incomprehensible to me as they must have to him, “it’s only a
dream. Everything’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps I am lucky that I, in this day and age, am able to
spend so much time with my children. Sure, I have a 9-5 but I am there in the
mornings and I am there to put them to bed – every single night. Is this
unusual? For some reason, I feel that it is. And I often feel fortunate to be
able to have this time with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My sons sleep together. It’s nice but I realize that it
won’t last long. The oldest will soon want to be in his own bed (which is right
above his brother’s – yes they have a bunk bed but both sleep on the bottom). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am able to check on them before I lay down at night and
their innocence, while they lay there together asleep, is almost too much for me
to handle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They live in a worry-free world filled with love and
laughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We work hard to provide that to them. I have found myself
standing in their room silently assuring them that everything will be all right
– of course, it’s more me reassuring myself that it’ll be OK.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Yes, it’ll all be OK.</span></div>
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<br />Jakonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06325309230582523776noreply@blogger.com0