1.14.2008

Writers' Dojo Launch Party: A Herb Cain-Like Post-Party Reflection

1) To the woman who said to me, "oh, you're the guy with the blog," that cracked me up. Blogs are funny things, you think no one reads them, and then you get into a room full of people and find out that people not only know you, but they also know about your dog's bowel movement problems...

2) Like 3/4ths of the population (yes, I made up that stat) I have a tremendous fear of public speaking, and so what I did, before I got up on the "altar" to speak to the hundred or so gathered at the Writers' Dojo reading, was to consume a very large pour of red wine. This led me to tell the crowd gathered that every single one of them should thank Jeff Selin for the amazing thing he did for Portland by opening the Writers' Dojo. I said this very eloquently and smoothly, without the nervous stammering that usually accompanies anything I say without notes. I was proud of myself for having done this--it was only a little later when someone pointed out how swamped Jeff was with thank-yous, that I realized I'd gone slightly over-the-top. Ah, liquid encouragement...

3) I realize this wasn't some sort of competition, but Doug Lain noted that the women writers kicked the male writers asses on the stage, and he was admittedly right. Both Allison Clement and Chelsea Cain wowed the inebriated crowd with some seriously funny shorts. That was fun. Oh and nice red velvet shoes, Chelsea.

4) Speaking of shoes, oh never mind, let's not get into that again...

5) OK, I have a beef with the people bitching about the $120/month cost of the Dojo. This is a far better deal than ActivSpace or, god, CubeSpace, and you're surrounded by writers, rather than, say, walls. Yes, a lot of what the Dojo has to offer you can find at a coffee shop, but if you're not already a part of the Portland writing scene, the Dojo gives you an entry into it. Plus, you don't have to listen to the real estate agent sitting next to you talking up the latest 400K-for-a-studio "green" ass-ugly condo development. Jeff Selin took a huge risk by opening the Dojo, and I admire both him and the folks who are taking a chance on it by joining. Plus, I love the way he's actively engaged the local writing community. I think every single Portlander should go over to the Dojo and shake his hand…

6) Yep that's me on Melissa Lion's Metroblogging page. Can you say, dork!

7) Has anyone seen Diana Jordan's shoes? I think they're missing.

Labels:

1.07.2008

Reading at Writers' Dojo Launch Party

I'll be reading alongside Kim Stafford, Alison Clement, Tom Spanbauer, and Chelsea Cain at the Writers' Dojo Launch Party on January 12th. The event is open to the public, with free food and booze. Doors at 7, Readings at 8, and Partying until the wee hours. I don't know how late I'll stay, being a family man and all, but I imagine I'll be there long enough to say hello to anyone who wants to say hello...

Labels: ,

9.26.2007

The Writers' Dojo and My Unhealthy Attachment to Shoes

So last week I rode my bike over to St. John's to check out Jeff Selin's new writers' space the Writers' Dojo. Writing communities have always fascinated me, from fabled writing groups like the Algonquin Round Table to the Grotto in San Francisco to my own writing community here in Portland, so I was excited to see what Jeff was starting.

The space is absolutely beautiful. It has an Eastern theme, as its name suggests, with bamboo flooring, polished wood beams, and grounds with a well-manicured garden. When I walked in, Jeff asked me to remove my shoes, and I could feel the perfect spring of the spotless floors.

With all due respect to Jeff, and his vision of bringing a writing community to St. John's, which I completely support and think is a great idea, well, I didn't like it.

This says far more about me than it does about the wonderful space Jeff created. I have an ongoing debate with my wife about wearing shoes in our house, and the last thing I want is to have the same issue in an office space. To me it's just one more thing to have to remember to do. Like I walk in the door, all excited to see my kids, and then I get, "Jim! Take off your shoes!" and I'm completely deflated and grumpy.

And then, I don't know, I just like my work space to be a little grungy--my office space in the Periscope Studio is full of the tchotskies of comic artists. I loved it. Crap everywhere. And God, you should see the mess in the Baby Wit garage.

The Writers' Dojo was simply too clean for me. I mean, where would I put my shitty, old, spray-painted 500-pound Steelcase? And what about my pile of wadded-up notebook paper?

Anyway, I'm going back to my trash-ridden hovel. The space is great, please ignore me...

Labels:

6.13.2007

A Yearning for Community

Those of you who have read my writing probably know that I am both strangely obsessed with and oddly divorced from the notion of community. I have always wanted to start "something"--to lead a group of people to do "something"--and yet I have always been completely petrified when it comes to fulfilling this dream.

Well, over the last few months I have been scheming to start a writing community here in Portland, and for the first time in my life this scheming has led to something, a group of published writers who operate under the moniker PEW!

(PEW! stands for Portland Emerging Writers, despite the fact that most of us emerged quite some time ago. We're working on a new name for the group...)

The PEW! members include Monica Drake, Cheryl Strayed, Justin Tussing, Ellen Urbani, Paul Neilan, Sara Ryan, Heather Sharfeddin, Kassten Alonzo, and Yours Truly. The group hasn't done much--we meet once a month over drinks and gossip about the publishing industry--but I am glad that after much pained writing about the yearning for community, I have finally reached out to start one....

Labels:

4.11.2007

Kevin Sampsell

4.10.2007

New Digs; Or, A Method to My Madness

On Monday, I moved into my new digs as part of the Mercury Studios in Portland. A quick glance at this website will reveal that this studio I have joined is full of comic book artists--last anyone checked I'm a novelist. What does a novelist intend to do crammed into a very tiny office with a whole bunch of comic book artists?

Well, first of all, I frickin' needed to get out of my house. After 3 years holed up writing novels, I've lost all sense of normal human interaction. How do normal people talk to each other in a working environment? I have no idea, so I joined the studios.

Secondly, this second novel I'm supposedly writing about a zinester--well, I've never spoken more than 2 minutes with a zinester, so I joined the studios to help gather material. (Although, as I'm discovering, zines are a whole different beast from comics.)

And thirdly, Holy Bankruptcy, Batman, I need work...

Labels:

3.15.2007

Joe Sacco's Incredible Comic Journalism in April's Harper's

Fellow Portlander Joe Sacco has an incredible comic spread in this month's Harper's on how the Marines are training (or rather, terrifying) the Iraqi National Guard. And one wonders how we lose wars...

Labels: ,

3.14.2007

Frost vs. Vollman

As could only happen in Portland, Oregon, my book reading tomorrow happens to coincide with another book reading half a block away. If I had to choose between the two readings (and unfortunately, I don't get to choose), I would, no doubt, attend William Vollman's.

(I have a sneaking suspicion that the Portland Mercury is going to say the same thing tomorrow in its weekly shrine to snark. Oh well, at least they're paying me some attention.)

This isn't self-deprecation either; this is cold fact. William Vollman is the king of experiential writing. This is a man who travelled with the muhjadeen in Afghanistan (this was way back when the muhjadeen were "good," as they were fighting off the Soviets), who has ridden box cars with hobos up and down the West Coast, who has passed around a crack pipe with prostitutes in the Tenderloin, and who has just published a book in which he has traveled to the far corners of the earth on a mission to interview the poorest people he could, and ask them the question "Why do you think you're poor?"

What to me makes this more noble, is that he has done this solely out of an overdeveloped spirit of inquiry. Vollman is no Keruoac. This isn't some adventurous Dharma mission he's on that ropes in the chicks. There is very little sense that he does these things out of fun. Vollman himself is not the dashing, thrill-seeking sort--he is short, stubby, and wears very thick glasses. Like all great writers, Vollman has a desperate need to answer the question "why?," and in his quest to do so he puts himself in precarious and dangerous situations, far beyond what I would ever be willing to do for a story.

Now lest the syrup get too thick, I find Vollman's writing to be overly philosophical, and I've never been able to finish an entire one of his books. (This may say more about me than about him...) I love the essays that appear from time to time in Harper's, and he's a sharp cultural critic, but his novels tend to lack plot and I have too short an attention span for his sort of writing.

I'd love to sit down with him over a beer one night, though, and ask him just how he does it. I can subject myself to the guilty pleasure and nasty addiction of online gaming to write a novel, but gun-toting religious nuts and crack-whores? I don't know... they're harder to escape.

Labels: ,

2.16.2007

If I Had Pasted World Leader Pretend Stickers All Over Town, This Is How I Would Do It

What I would do is go out on a particularly rainy night on a bike, wearing mostly black with a few reflective devices so I didn't get killed, put a bunch of queued up stickers underneath my jacket, and ride around to all the bookstores in town, pasting stickers on bike racks and newspaper stands and the backs of stop signs.

I didn't actually do this, of course. The glove doesn't fit.

Labels: ,

2.01.2007

Claustropobia and a Good Reading

The wife and I went to Monica Drake's book release party last night at Mississippi Pizza. Man, that is one popular writer. The place was packed.

Unfortunately, the wife, being five months pregnant and all, had a wave of nausea run through her, and not wanting to ruin the reading with a jet of vomit, we exited stage left. We did stay long enough to hear Monica tell a comedic story about arriving in a hospital in a clown suit, and being subsequently carted off to the Psych Ward. This fits into the Things Authors Write About That You Really Want to Know If It Really Happened category.

Labels: ,

1.17.2007

I Heart the Willamette Week

I love, love, love that I live in a town where the city's weekly magazine will publish the entire first chapter of a local author's debut novel in its pages. Check out Willamette Week to see an excerpt from Monica's Drake's Clown Girl. Thank you, WW!

(Now me, next!)

Labels: ,

12.29.2006

My Favorite Place to Buy Books in Portland

If this blog were more popular, I wouldn't give this one away. While there are many wonderful bookstores in Portland, my favorite place to buy books in Portland is not a bookstore at all, but rather the Goodwill on Grand St. The prices are relatively low ($3.50 for a used paperback is f------ ridiculous, but it's still better than Powell's), but most importantly, whatever employee organizes their books is a genius. The classics section is four shelves--you can browse through it all in fifteen minutes and get an incredible overview of English literature. They also seperate hardback fiction from paperbacks, so if you're cheap like me you don't have to see all those hardback titles that you don't want to spring for. Their non-fiction organization is great, too. My brother Dave has an obsession with birds and he found a single shelf devoted to them, chock full of old prints.

Labels: ,

12.15.2006

Reading at Powell's on February 26

I'll be reading at Powell's on Hawthorne on February 26th. Stay tuned for more details!

Labels: , ,

12.08.2006

Your Local Totally-Ignored Portland Authors Happen to be Immensely Talented

I was invited by a friend to go to an author reading last night at the Portland City Club. There were 15 authors on the reading list, and I confess that I attended with some degree of trepidation, vaguely recognizing a few of the names on the author list.

My trepidation grew worse when I arrived 10 minutes early for the event, poked my head in the window, and discovered that the place was empty except for a woman setting up a microphone with one of those giant puffy heads from the 70's and a crate for the readers. There were no chairs.

Fortunately, Powell's was a few blocks away. I took a peek at the new fiction, the typical chick lit and tragic relationship stories, all set in different eras to somehow make them more enticing, and came back to the City Club lamenting the state of modern literature and wondering if V.S. Naipaul was indeed right about the novel being dead.

And then the reading blew me away.

First of all, the organizers of the event had a very smart format, where they gave the readers only 3 minutes to read. The authors, being authors, all went over by a few minutes, meaning that the 5 minute snippets were all the perfect length--I even enjoyed the poetry. The organizers arranged it so that 5 readers would read and then we would take a 30 minute break. There was also a bar, which happened to be selling my favorite winter beer at a cheap $2.

The best part of the event, though, for me, was the almost total lack of an audience. I am sure the authors who were there will disagree, but I had access to these authors whose snippets I had just heard and enjoyed for over an hour and a half during break times, and I was enjoying my favorite beer, and I was with my friend Peg who is less shy then I, and I had a great time hob-nobbing with some very eccentric writers without having to worry about some signing line that was a mile long.

I met David Oateswho wrote City Limits, a set of essays about his walk around Portland's Urban Growth Boundary. While walking, he invited several political figures to come along with him to discuss the plusses and minuses of the boundary, and the book is the result of the conversations he had.

David speaks with a fire in his eye, and has an obvious passion for his subject, and I have to admit I wasn't entirely sure whether he was serious or not when he told me he invited dead people along with him on his walk. (In the book, he imagines himself walking with John Muir and Italo Calvino, and what they would have to say about Portland's Urban Growth Boundary if they were alive today.) David is a great speaker, so I was surprised when he told me that Powell's wouldn't give him a reading at their store. Damn you Powell's, give us something meaty.

I also spoke with Monica Drake, whose novel Clowngirl is coming out about the same time as mine through Hawthorne Books. Monica was in the same writing group that produced Chuck Palahniuk of Fight Club fame. In the introduction to the book, Chuck talks about how Monica was the star of the writing group, not him. It's funny how fickle fame is. Her book sounds fantastic--it's about a girl who takes jobs as a clown to pay the bills. The snippet she read had me laughing inappropriately loud, which is what I do when someone reads something uncomfortable funny: in this case about how the only books she could find about how to be a clown were written by Christians, and so at her first gig she made Jesus and Mary figures out of balloons.

I also picked up Peter Rock's book The Bewildered, published through one of my favorite publishers, MacAdam Cage, and edited by Kate Nitze, who I adore. The book is set in Portland, and the prose Peter read in his snippet set me right on the Eastside of the Waterfront in a heavy mist, underneath the tangled freeway above. It's so lovely to read a book about a place you know...

All of this set me to thinking about the publishing world. All these folks are struggling authors, and all of them are talented enough that if they lived in New York, they'd be big names. But we live in Portland, and our books are published by MacAdam/Cage and Hawthorne Books. And the books are lovingly edited and beautifully presented. But not that many people read them or know about them.

At the City Club last night, talking to all these eccentric, yet egoless folks, I can't say for sure that this is a bad thing. I feel like someone with a wonderful secret.

Maybe it's best to be totally ignored...

Labels: ,

11.14.2006

Reading Frenzy

I don't have the dates yet, but I set up my first author reading today. It's at Reading Frenzy in Portland. HOORAY!

Labels: , ,

11.08.2006

A Patch of Blue

Just a patch in the Oregon sky today, a narrow sliver...

Labels:

11.07.2006

The Pineapple Express

The weather in Portland has been freaky--natural disaster weather was what I overheard a patron of my local coffee shop say. Yesterday, we broke a rainfall record by a full inch, AND we broke the all-time high. What was even weirder was the low for the day was only four degrees colder than this all-time high. It was sixty-three at 2 a.m.! It's November and it feels like Florida

Anyway, apparently this is part of a phenomenon called the Pineapple Express, in which the jet stream carries moisture to us from Hawaii. (Incidently, Hawaii is the bluest state in the nation--so let's all pray that jet stream dumps all over the U.S. today. Heaven knows, we need a change...)

Labels:

10.20.2006

The Negative Consequences of Gentrification on Clowns

Last night I had opportunity to talk with Dingo, who, after taking a brief break to place a ball pump in someone's butt crack, informed me that the clowns can't make their rent. (It jumped from $1200 to $1500--ouch.) It's going to suck to see such a bastion of weirdness disappear from my beloved Alberta Street. Live/work lofts! Hooray! *sighs*

Here's a more intelligent blog on their demise.

Labels: