⫹DESKSPACE⫺ 003
Photo: Georges Simenon, author of more than 500 novels, seen here ignoring one of his children while he cranks out (in longhand, no less) another Maigret mystery. From the NYT in 1997: “Simenon fathered four children, whom he adored, but he was always a distant presence in their lives.” Not distant enough, it appears.
Hello from the National Capital Region, where, no joke, there were flurries the other night. I had to brush two inches of snow off the car the next morning. (Reminder: it’s April). At this point, all I can say is: this viral marketing campaign for the final season of Game Of Thrones has gone a little too far.
⫹On My Desk⫺
1.
I continue to spar with the next draft of The Screenplay, which will be going back to our script consultant in L.A. at the end of next week. This is the fun part: connecting dots, refining details, setting up/paying off all the little narrative threads. One’s sense of a project’s quality seems inexorably tied to how pleasant it feels to sit down every day and work on it, and I can say, right now, that I think this script is getting pretty good.
2.
I’ve somehow found some time to return to The Second Book (it should be noted, here, that there are actually three different Second Books, all at different stages of gestation and/or completion, but my lack of focus and self-discipline is a topic for another time). Right now I’m just strolling around inside it, appraising, taking notes. I’ve been away for a while and need to get my bearings.
Years ago I read an essay by Zadie Smith on the craft of writing in which she identifies two different kinds of novelists: Macro Planners and Micro Managers.
Macro Planners have their houses basically built from day one and so their obsession is internal—they’re forever moving the furniture. They’ll put a chair in the bedroom, the lounge, the kitchen and then back in the bedroom again. Micro Managers like me build a house floor by floor, discreetly and in its entirety. Each floor needs to be sturdy and fully decorated with all the furniture in place before the next is built on top of it. There’s wallpaper in the hall even if the stairs lead nowhere at all.
Like her, I’ve always been a Micro Manager, but I wrote this particular (long) draft in a misguided attempt to try my hand at Macro Planning, and now find myself stuck somewhere in between those two worlds. To continue her metaphor, I’ve built three-quarters of the house, but I’ve hung drywall over the windows, wallpapered the ceilings, and there’s a toilet in the kitchen.
In short: it’s a mess. But a mess with potential. And I’d rather be looking at a mess than a blank page.
[You can read Zadie Smith’s full essay at The Believer—and you should, because it’s one of the all-time greatest things I’ve ever read about the craft of writing.]
⫹Something To Listen To⫺
“Bad To Worse” by Ra Ra Riot. Just a good springtime tune; winter synths + jaunty summertime piano + a little falsetto. Listen all the way to the end—there are, like, three songs in this song.
⫹From My Desk⫺
1.
Late last year, I reviewed Adrian Michael Kelly’s debut short story collection, The Ambassador of What, for Canadian Notes & Queries. It was quite good (the book, I mean). Stylish, but never precious. At one point Kelly describes a hole in the bottom of a rusted-out car as being the size of a medium pizza, and for some reason that phrase has lodge itself in my brain. I caught myself plagiarizing it just the other day.
2.
You can also read my review of the new Netflix action flick Triple Frontier at Dear Cast & Crew. In the course of writing it, the review somehow turned into a love letter to Ben Affleck, who I didn’t even know I loved (but apparently do). He really is the best part of the movie. Especially the way he tucks his plaid shirt into his pleated khakis.
⫹Something (Else) To Read⫺
“Tell Me It’s Going To Be Okay” by Miya Tokumitsu
If you’ve ever wondered why there’s such a huge market for self-help/self-care in the contemporary world, this article will shed some light—and also probably turn you into a communist.
Given that we spend most of our waking hours in an alienated, desperate grind to obtain or maintain a life-sustaining job, blaming ourselves for every snag along the way, gospels of reassurance and self-care are precious cargo. We are denied the ability to seek comfort from colleagues, neighbors, or—heaven forbid—comrades, because neoliberalism has turned them into our competition. Instead, disaffected souls are relentlessly steered back into the thrall of a marketplace where we can access, individually, little hits of succor.
⫹Something To Look At⫺
Check out the backgrounds in these panels by Marco Checchetto in Daredevil #1. So much detail, so much depth, but it never clutters the characters in the foreground. The whole issue is like this. It must have taken him five years to draw it. Note, too, how the second panel is a reverse-shot of the first. There’s a whole cinematic logic to the way modern comic book pages are laid out that few people appreciate and few artists are able to master; Checchetto is pretty good at it.
That’s all for now. Just made a terrible error in judgment and looked at the forecast for the coming week: freezing rain tonight. That’s just—terrific. I’d really like this winter to end, if only so I can stop my incessant complaining.
Thanks for reading, see you in a few weeks.
//JY