Writing Process Blog Tour 2014

Last month I went to my first Vermin on the Mount reading in San Diego. It was excellent. Now that I’m trying to curate a reading series I’m really interested in how each creator/host puts their own spin on it and this one definitely had its own vibe, like how Dirty Laundry Lit has its own distinct vibe. I learned a new phrase: Mexi-goth (courtesy of Lizz Huerta). Now I want to live San Diego.

My friend Maggie met Vermin creator Jim Ruland that night  (author of “Forest of Fortune”) and he tagged her in this blog tour. Then she tagged me. Here are my answers. Scroll to the bottom to see who I tagged!

1) What are you working on?

I’m working on a linked short story collection called “Torches In The Ashtray.” The stories revolve around characters who have all had their early adulthood disrupted in some way. Unplanned parenthood, mental disorders, sobriety, etc. It’s not as heavy as it sounds–I’m still learning how to talk about my book, it still feels awkward.

Most of my characters are female and they’re all really raw. It’s a wild group of girls to follow around, lots of self-sabotage and attempts to pick each other up after.

2) How does your work differ from the other works in the same area/genre?

My book is probably most similar to Victoria Patterson’s collection “Drift” and Lisa Glatt’s novel-in-stories ”A Girl Becomes A Comma Like That.” There’s a lot of thematic overlap but while Glatt’s book takes place in Long Beach and Patterson’s takes place in coastal Orange County, my characters are from working-class neighborhoods in what I like to think of as the forgotten cities of OC: the cities by the cities-by-the-sea… if you will. The collection is also punctuated by a series of flash fiction pieces that are more experimental, most of which are in second person, though they are probably the first thing an editor will make me cut.

[Other more recent books in the same realm are: “Normal People Don’t Live Like This” by Dylan Landis & “Blueprints For Building Better Girls” by Elissa Schappell and “I Want to Show You More” by Jaime Quatro.  These are my heroes.]

 

My boyfriend snapped a picture of me stomping to the library the other day. Super grateful to live where I do.

The boyfriend snapped a picture of me stomping to the library. Screw the beach! It’s all about Huntington Beach Central Park & Library.

3) Why do you write about what you do?

I pretty much write for the same reason I read. When I pick up a book, I’m looking to have an emotional experience with a character. I write because I like the idea of being on the other side of that exchange. So I tend to write about things that I’ve seen friends and family grapple with and things that I’ve struggled with in one way or another. It’s the only way I know how to tap into that emotional landscape in a way that doesn’t feel contrived.

4) How does your writing process work?

Um, so I have no life. No kids. So I have a lot of rituals when it comes to my writing routine. First, I walk to the library. It’s like a 20-minute walk and it gives me a reason to get dressed and leave the house, which is crucial. I write better when I have pants and shoes on. On the walk, I listen to music and don’t look at my phone and focus on fiction.

When I get to the library, I always allow myself about ten minutes to browse the new release shelves. It’s silly but I do this every time to remind myself that this is what it’s all about. This is why I’m at the library: because I love books and want to write one. That takes pressure off in a weird way and it also lets me cool down from the walk and like literally stop sweating. Yeah, It’s gross.

I work for a few hours and then walk home–again sort of meditating on stories and characters. Then when I get home, I read my work aloud over and over like a crazy person.

As far as rewrites, I take long breaks in between stories. I send work to friends and then sit on their notes for a while and think about their suggestions on my walks. Then, going into a rewrite, I go back over the notes in a systematic way and put together a loose list objectives/things to address. I think the long breaks allow me to be ruthless in a way that is necessary for the editing process to work but I do hope I get faster at writing and rewriting.

Still pretty new at all this.

Okay I would like to tag…

Cheryl Klein is the author of “The Commuters” and “Lilac Mines.” Her fiction and essays have appeared in The Normal School, Mutha Magazine, Literature for Life and The Whistling Fire. She enjoys the internet and carbs. http://breadandbread.blogspot.com

Douglas Wood hates writing bios. So I didn’t ask him for one. This month he’s reading at the first ever Tongue & Groove Orange County (for which I made him write a bio). http://www.douglaswood.net 

Orange County, Red Neck

I am on my knees scrubbing black residue off of jacuzzi tiles at condo complex on Pacific Coast Highway. My hair is pulled back in a bun and I can feel the sun beating down upon my neck. I forgot sunscreen.

I’m scrubbing the tile because this month there’s been record heat in Orange County and relentless Santa Ana winds. Record heat means more swimmers and the wild winds mean there’s more debris in each pool, which can double the time it takes for my father’s employees to finish their daily routes. Being strapped on time, our guys have to prioritize. This means skipping the tile brushing and that’s where I come in.

This necessary neglect, combined with the influx of bathers, results in a thick black residue that builds up on the tiles along the spa’s waterline. It is a stubborn film made of human sweat and oils, as well as sunscreen and tanning lotion and the only way to get rid of it is with elbow grease. Lots of elbow grease.

Before pic. It doesn’t look like much but it’s really stuck on there I swear!

Over the weekend I went to a writing retreat and the whole time I felt like an outsider. About 80% of the group was middle to upper-middle class white women in their 40’s. They were all very polite, most of them were blonde and pretty and seemed like they were enjoying a much needed break from their hectic lives, lives that I can only assume were filled with children and husbands and careers.

Feeling like I had little in common with these women, I ended up spending most of the four days hanging out with an old writer guy named Mike. Mike is a retired bricklayer/stone mason with the same leathery brown skin and friendly bullshit-detector as my father and every other blue-collar guy I know. He also had a great laugh.

At the retreat the hot tub was a big deal. There was lots of drinking and hot tubbing but I never went in. I tried to be social anyway and spent most nights watching the hot tub crowd from the comfort of a patio chair set near the edge of Jacuzzi. The bright moon and yellow spa light were the only sources of light so I was sort of in the shadows of the pool deck talking to Mike about writing and the perils of working for your old man.

“Why don’t you come in the hot tub!”

I was asked this several times.

I shook my head and scrunched my nose and shrugged. “I just don’t like it.”

But in my head I was thinking: Ugh, because it’s fucking gross!

photo 2

After! (The calcium deposits need bead blasting that’s not my job)

That was Saturday night and now here I am Monday morning on my knees in front of another hot tub (this one’s unfortunately twice as large) scrubbing off stains.

It’s kind of funny right?

I’m back to working for my dad to save up for yet another writing retreat, the next one is the Squaw Valley Writers Workshop. I’m working on an essay for Lit Central that gets into whether all this stuff seems worth it or not. I do sort of feel like a sucker doing this shit when I just buried myself in debt from the whole MFA thing. We’ll see how it goes.

This week I reviewed Jim Gavin’s short story collection Middle Men for The Coachella Review. It’s a book that is mostly about working class guys living in southern California, guys whose lives haven’t quite met their expectations, who are usually trying for something more but often come up short.

It was really refreshing to read because there were a lot of similar themes that I’ve been trying to wrap my head around since working for my father again. I’ve been working on this sort of jovial flash piece called “A Day In The Life Of Your Pool Man,” as a way into some of these concepts.

Here’s the part I wrote that gets at some of the stuff I identified with in Middle Men:

“Though you may never suspect it, there are times when your pool man contemplates the inconsequential nature of his life. How he’s spent day after day, year after year, picking debris out of water knowing full-well that the wind will blow and undo an hours worth of work in a matter of seconds. He wonders if this is the way life was meant to be lived or whether he should have wanted something more. Other times he feels comforted by the same simplicity.”

It’s probably bad luck to post a piece of a story that isn’t finished yet but there you have it.

photo 4

Random Classic Pool Guy Truck Parked Near My House

I think growing up in a working class family has always made me feel inferior to people that have more professional jobs. People who have to wear nice clothes to work, who sit in meetings and cubicles all day sending memos and shit.

Neither of my parents went to college and it seems like my father and most of his peers wanted something more for their kids. They wanted us to go to college and get jobs that would require us to use our minds–jobs that would keep our hands from becoming as torn up, coarse and weathered as theirs were.

They associated office jobs as the first step toward moving up in the world. Expected us to full take advantage of opportunities they’d missed. So my brother and I did end up getting degrees (the first on both sides of the family) but we both kept working with our dad anyway. So much for that idea… (though I know he secretly loves it).

I guess this whole class thing is just something small that has made me feel a little bit different than a lot of writers I’ve encountered lately. Something that makes me seek out Mike the bricklayer instead of the ladies in the jeweled sandals and maxi dresses.

There were actually some of those same types of women by the pool while I was scrubbing that tile. When I finished, I ran the jets to make sure the jacuzzi’s foam wouldn’t overflow (without defoamer that stuff will bubble over like that car in Willy Wonka).

That’s when one of the ladies addressed me in a friendly voice:

“You should’ve brought your suit girl!”

I smiled and tried to think of something equally friendly to say but I just nodded and stared at them behind my giant sunglasses. It was so hot all I could think about was how relaxed they looked laying there all slathered in tanning oil. And conversely how ugly and gross I must have looked sweating in my stained Pool Perfection t-shirt.

I could already see the nice even tans they had going. Then I touched the back of my neck, which was already starting to burn. I couldn’t see it of course, but I knew it was already bright red — burnt by the same sun that had kissed their skin so beautifully.

And I thought: I can’t wait for June Gloom.

Here's a random sign I saw near Lit Camp at Mayacamas Ranch near Calistoga

Here’s a random sign I saw near Lit Camp at Mayacamas Ranch near Calistoga