Yeah I guess. I'm going to try anyway. Nanowrimo is when you write a novel in a month and that month is November--see their website. It's a short novel and it's allowed to suck. It's sort of like a writing exercise. I'm actually having trouble just typing this answer right now so I am not sure I can write a whole novel but I will try. If anyone else is doing it, my writing name (and my porn star name) is Bunny Meadowbrook and you can list me as one of your writing buddies.

Yes you should do it. I am afraid too. Failure is an option.

Oh yeah, also, my novel is supposed to be about the history of the entire world and probably will have aliens in it. You are welcome to use/steal this brilliant idea also.

Hi Candice. Though I'm not sure I totally understand your question, I'll give it a shot. Fiction is important in regards to the memory of the nation because our brains process events as narratives and stories give drama and shape and texture to what might otherwise be dry or abstract facts. This kind of fiction isn't my favorite kind of fiction because sometimes it feels like it's trying to teach me a lesson. But when it's done well, it can be truly great, and the story that comes to mind for me in this vein is Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried."

tuesday

I had to go to Wikipedia to look up dirty realism-what a great term! Like a dirty martini! I'd actually always heard that kind of writing referred to not as dirty realism but as minimalism—80’s era stripped down prose, often with working class characters, usually in realistic though heightened situations. Drinking is often involved. Though I really like a lot of dirty realism—it’s hard to beat a Raymond Carver story—I think the emphasis here is on the realism and I’m a really bad realistic writer. I simply don’t have enough intellectual curiosity and simple love of the texture of everyday life to write about it at length. In a way, I don’t even believe in everyday life—I mean, I believe it exists but I don’t believe in it in a metaphysical way. I’m much more devoted to the idea that the world is a giant metaphor waiting to be gobbled up and digested by our minds, and that the reality inside our minds is much more interesting than the trappings of the objective world.

As for magic realism, I recently read a whole bunch of Garcia Marquez and man, I would totally join up if I could write like him. But honestly, I’ve never quite understood the term. I can’t really tell the difference in reality levels between Garcia Marquez and Kafka and Isaac Bashevis Singer and Henry James’ ghost stories and Carl Jung’s autobiography. As far as I can tell, fidelity to everyday life has never been a requirement of literature. Some of the most enduring stories—Bible stories, fairy tales, origin stories—are totally strange, wild, and dreamlike. So I probably wouldn’t use the term magic realism for my own writing. I’m not sure what term I’d use. But one of the great things about not being an academic is that I am not obligated to use any terms at all.

You know, it’s hard to describe humor. I think that’s kind of the essence of humor—it slips between the cracks in categories and logic, which is what allows it to be so subversive. In fact, it’s so hard to describe humor that I can only think of a handful of adjectives commonly used to do so—satirical, slapstick, subversive, dark, and stupid. Can anyone think of any others? Scatological? Of those, I’d pick dark to describe my writing because I’m sort of obsessed with the connection between funny and sad. But I think there’s also a bit of satire and slapstick, and whenever there’s slapstick there’s going to be stupid. That’s everything but scatological, and I admit that I don’t find poop funny. Well, maybe dog poop. And bird.

I'm sure you're sexy enough, all drunk and waiting for him to rip your clothes off, jeez. And since you say you're past the "taking it slow" stage, I assume you've tried kissing him. That actually almost always works to get things going. If it doesn't, something else is probably going on--he's a dud, he's got a girlfriend, he's got a boyfriend, he lives with mom. But if you still really think further action is required, try this last ditch test: put on a sexy bra under your adorable top. Then, when he comes over, say, "Can I get a man's opinion on something?" Then take off your shirt and say, "Does this bra make my boobs look too big?" If he can't figure out how to take if from there, he's retarded.

Sorry I haven't gotten to this. I'm thinking about it...but not that much. I'll try harder.

Oh God, what a terribly sad thing! It's just wrenching to see someone with so much take themselves out of the world. I didn't really realize until he was gone that I was counting on him to be around--as someone to admire, amuse me, be jealous of, and make me angry. All which strike me as normal reactions to true talent. I wish he could have stayed.

She seems toxic, but I really don't know much about her.

Update: okay, now I know more and I'm afraid. I hate her political views but it's not that. I'm afraid because she isn't even a little bit qualified to be the vice president. And there seems to be some weird Republican swirl of rhetoric where her gender somehow gives her a pass to be stupid and smart at the same time. Somehow I don't think she'd get away with avoiding the press if she were a man. And is there some law now that politicians can't speak in full sentences? It's not that hard. Oh, I just remembered I had a bad dream about her last night. She wore a red suit.

I'm reading The Collected Stories of Isaac Babel, and I'm reading them twice, because I have two translations and I'm reading each, which is driving me crazy. Why am I doing this? Good question. At first I was bothered by one translation but now I'm bothered by both. The stories are weird and great and almost unbelievably violent, especially considering when they were written. I'm not going to recommend them exactly, because I don't quite understand them. I can't tell to what extent Babel was condemning violence, and to what extent he was celebrating it--like the Quentin Tarantino of his day. Maybe I'm just going to have to learn Russian.

But recently I read a couple of great Jim Shepard collections: Like You'd Understand Anyway and Love and Hydrogen. They're awesome, I loved them--they're strange and funny and addictive. They're sort of like boys adventure stories written by an extremely sensitive person. Those are really good.