Hosho McCreesh's Blog, page 23

Wonders Never Cease...

So, how about women the world over getting together in peaceful and purposeful protest of any and all threats to their progressive and inclusive platform and suddenly being responsible for the biggest one-day protest in U.S. history? As ever, you ladies amaze and delight me with your strength, poise, and unconquerable spirits.

In other news: Chicago's most beloved rapscallion, Ben Tanzer was kind enough to put And Turns Still the Sun at Dusk Blood-Red... on his list of stuff he loved in 2016. He's got a new book out soon, Be Cool. He'd be happy (& I'd be happy for him) if you gave it a try!

My name came up when Jared Carnie interviewed Joseph Ridgwell about his ever-growing body of work. You can read all about it HERE. Joe has a new short story, "Mexico," out in a beautifully hand-made edition from Pig Ear Press. It's the third such offering from them, and only 50 copies can be had, so get yours while the gettin' is good.

And lastly: I woke Monday to a unique email, from a kind woman, Leslie, in Tupelo, Mississippi. She said:

"I am in a play this weekend...titled Cicada..."

Those familiar with my work know that my poem of the same name, originally published by The Guerilla Poetics Project (newly rebuilt website HERE!), has bounced around social media in many surprising ways. As it turns out, Leslie found it while looking for a small gift "for the cast and crew for their opening night."

"I immediately saw your poem with the drawing of a cicada," she said, "and I fell in love with it..."

So, after a quick back and forth, she decided to print the poem "on a 5x7 tan-colored card stock" and "put in a frame for each of my theater cohorts on opening night, along with a little package of Fig Newtons, because my character, Granny Duvall, met her death by choking to death on half of a Fig Newton, 'because no one was home to fish it out of her throat!'"

Now if that's not a fine, fine way to start a work week, I don't know what is! So if any of you are in/near Tupelo and in want of something to do, why not take in a show?

Cicada• By Jerre Dye
Tupelo Community Theater
http://www.tct.ms/
January 26-28, 2017

Written by Amory native, Jerre Dye, this highly acclaimed drama set in rural Mississippi is a coming-of-age ghost story deeply rooted in the life of a small southern family on the verge of transformation. The unrelenting July heat presses in on seventeen-year-old Ace and his mother Lily as they dig their way out the past. It’s a story about letting go and shedding what is no longer necessary in a world full of secrets, ghosts, and memories that hold on tight.

Okay, okay -- enough for now. Until next time,
Hosh

Toxic Masculinity

With recent films like Goat, and Moonlight, and so much pre-election discussion of the real world dangers of toxic masculinity, I felt sure that now was the right time for my debut novel, Chinese Gucci. It seemed we were finally on the verge of a meaningful cultural examination.

Post-election, though...not so much.

After the election, I stopped submitting queries to agents, and seriously considered shelving the project indefinitely. It seemed that the mindsets the book set out to indict (toxic masculinity, flippant racism, sexism, white privilege) had not only re-emerged but were once again running rampant. America's history is stained by exactly these same mindsets -- a fact that deeply compromises our nation's otherwise glorious aspiration (however imperfect) of democracy and greater equality.

In short, I didn't feel like fighting.

Hell, it didn't feel like it was a fight that, as a species, we were actually interested in winning. Humans, I think, don't actually care about the "pursuit of happiness," or "liberty, and justice for all." No, no...most just want "happiness" and "liberty" and "justice" for themselves...and maybe a few other folks they know.

And that's dogshit.

I foolishly expect better of us. So, like it or not, feel up to it or not, we have to fight. Not eventually...we have to do it now. And however that fight looks for you, embrace it, do it, push yourself beyond your comfort zone, and help out...do your part. Lock arms with those who share your vision, and stand up for the world you foolishly believe might one day exist.

To that end, I sent out another query last night. I'll keep pushing on Chinese Gucci, and everything else -- hoping to offer up something new for you all to read in 2017 and beyond.

Okay.
 

P.S. -- For anyone interested, here's something of a sneak-peek at the kind of kid Akira (the character at the center of the novel) is. Or at least who he pretends to be...

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Ephemera

One of the real strengths of the small press is the kind of attention to detail presses and publishers can give their work because, instead of putting out a glut of books, they put out limited numbers...and can give them a more personal touch. For example, the EPHEMERA that I've managed to amass over the years.

Special editions of books, broadsides, promotional stuff from THIRST -- these are the kinds of things I love to do, and small press publishing makes possible! That, on top of the fact that, by being able to take bigger chances they are KEEPING BOOKS DANGEROUS...and it looks like SOME FOLKS are starting to notice!

 

The Novel as Cultural Criticism

The first thing I want novels to do is entertain. Ask the Dust. Post Office. Hangover Square. All terrific. I smile as the pages flip.

And after that, I want them to make me think...call it novels as cultural criticism. It makes for a pretty fascinating lens to read a yarn through. Beyond the narrative, Catcher in the Rye can be seen as post-war distrust of "traditional American values," or a rally-cry of individualism in the face of conformity; Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath as an anti-capitalistic screed; To Kill a Mockingbird as the not-so-color-blind scales of "justice"; On the Road as the bellwether for the American counterculture; The Sun Also Rises as a study of PTSD and the wounded masculinity of life post-war.

So, without overplaying my novel's hand too much, let me just say that THIS INTRIGUING ARTICLE has much to do with some of the underpinnings in what I hope is Chinese Gucci’s subtle cultural critique. It was a pleasant surprise, moving from draft to draft – learning that I’d started out writing about someone fake, only to discover just how much it all had to do with me personally and my life’s experiences. See, when I first tried writing novels, I figured you just made up a bunch of stuff.

Not so.

If you're doing it right, I now think there’s no way to avoid writing about yourself. Hopefully not in an obvious way – as the characters in the book are nothing like me. And yet: there is something familiar in all of them...something my Jungian shadow responds to, those rusty little hooks hiding in the subconscious! Novels are nothing if not an extraordinary vehicle for both learning about ourselves, and for exacting revenge in some literary way! On the surface, hopefully it’s a story that is unique and surprising enough to keep you turning pages – and beneath that, a deep, cold ocean. Think of it as a long-form debunking of all those lousy things about the world that I’ve foolishly always hoped I could fix!

Turns Out We're All Unreliable, Unlikable Narrators...

A confession: I am not an objective voice in this.

My novel, Chinese Gucci, has an insufferable little shit at the center of it, and I think books that use this approach allow for a terrifically dissonant reading experience. You gut-laugh and guffaw, you scoff and scorn...spit-take, if things are working really well. You, as the person reading, look at the character and think, "what the hell are they thinking?!" And yet, like a trainwreck, you don’t want to take your eyes off the page for fear of what you’ll miss. That, to me, is a kind of narrative wizardry: part Schadenfreude; part empathy; part judgment – all from a safe remove. It allows writers to plumb the deepest recesses of the human animal, to skewer cultural norms, and as readers, allows us to live other, possibly dangerous realities without suffering the actual consequences. Which means that stories accomplish their most basic goal: connecting disparate people through shared experience.

There are, however, readers out there who conflate their feelings about a book’s characters with the overall worth of a book, take the narrator as a surrogate for the book’s writer. And, as a way to read, and as a measure of a book's objective quality, that's a problem.

There are PLENTY of GOOD ARTICLES written by folks wiser than me addressing UNLIKABLE CHARACTERS including those many female leads of many recent novels-turned-blockbusters. I encourage you to read the articles.

But it does make me worry, a bit, about our culture at large – the blurring of the line between creator and art. Maybe it's because we’re fairly self-involved, Narcissistic even...because there’s the "selfie generation," or the redemptive/destructive power of social media, and everyone's highly curated digital faces – all carefully scrubbed of obvious flaws and insecurities. Maybe we prefer simplicity...prefer taking things only at face value. Maybe it's because we're all unreliable narrators but don't want to admit it. Ah, but do we want to manufacture a world so perfect that we never see any discomfort, any disagreement, and experience only things that reaffirm our current façades and prejudices?

Or is there still value in willingly subjecting ourselves to the snow-blind blizzards of complexity, uncomfortablity, and imperfection for the many unexpected virtues they will teach us?

Anyway, I think so. Maybe it’s because Banned Books Week 2016 is ending, or because ten years ago, they closed CBGB – where THIS was said. Culturally, it’s hard to say if things have improved in the decade since. Anyhow, go read it, re-read it – take it in. Our cultural vibrancy hangs on these very freedoms and ideas.

Embrace complexity.

Defend what offends you as a stop-gap for our own lazy thinking.

Then go make something beautifully weird.

Calling All Independent Filmmakers!

It seems, in big publishing, the book itself is a big, beautiful product and (unless we're talking one of writing's giants) the writer is just the means. As The Atlantic wrote recently, publishing is paying more and more to it's own 1%, putting all its eggs in fewer baskets. It's the same mindset responsible for the blatant rehashing of familiar franchises we see lining the interstates of American life, packing the shelves at big bookstores and choking the gigaplex with more god-awful summer movies. To put it bluntly: big publishers must stick to the formula if they hope to break even -- or so the thinking seems to go.

Independent presses are, according to the article, the place where biggest risks are taken. I very much agree. Of course almost none of the independent presses I know get the same coverage as even the most tepid rehashed chum. Which is a crying shame...but there it is.

So it's abundantly clear: we cannot make many waves alone. However...

I'm certainly close to last to this party, but if you haven't seen it...I've recently been really jazzed by Vimeo. Filmmakers of all stripes, cranking out all kinds of work (of various quality - to be fair), makes for a pretty great rabbit hole to fall down! From live-action, to animation, to documentaries, there's certainly something new and interesting to see here. And if you dig independent filmmaking, you should find a way to see some of this stuff.

And it got me thinking... I'd wager independent filmmakers are constantly looking for material, and probably gut-sick from hoping for a stray table scrap to fall from big publishing's lap. If so, I'd like to cordially invite them to plow the back catalogs of all the tremendous independent presses -- ones that have been publishing interesting and unheralded work and are certainly worthy of (and overdue for) some wider recognition.

Animators: you can EASILY FIND PIECES or SHORT STORIES  to put YOUR SPIN ON.

Surely some of the massively intriguing small press novels I've read over the years could be developed into longer scripts...COULDN'T THEY?

So, for anyone who hadn't yet figured out this angle -- VIMEO, meet the independent press; independent press, check out Vimeo!

It's a wondrous time to be creating, and the simple truth is, if we want to do work that stands out, we have to do professional-level work, and take risks the establishment can't or won't. This may well be the antidote to the all the CINE-MUCK.

Have You Joined the NOTIFY LIST?

If you haven't, well here's THE LINK you need to do just that!

What does that get you? Occasional emails (from my Mailchimp Account), news, and first crack at the special editions of new books before they're on sale elsewhere. And if you include you mailing address in your sign-up, the occasional freebie might just land in your mailbox.

Now how you gonna beat that?

 

What a Circus...

Small Press Day in Ireland & the UK...

In New Mexico, it's too hot.

I'm at work all the time (instead of having the summer off, like they taught me to expect as a kid!).

So, it's fair to say I'm in something of a rut. Hence the radio silence this past month or so. "If you don't have anything nice to say..." as the old adage goes...

However, the small press ain't in no rut! Happy small press day to my friends over the pond! I love discovering new books, the kind of thing that would never find a handhold in commercial publishing...just great books and voices all around, taking chances with either form and content. So, in that spirit, here are a few recent books and presses I think are worth a look. Only a couple are UK presses...but small presses everywhere need the love!

Two Dollar Radio's the Incantations of Daniel Johnston by Scott McClanahan and Ricardo Cavolo

Tyrant Books' Bad Sex by Clancy Martin

To Break the Heart of the Sun by William Taylor, Jr. from Words Dance

Lori Jakiela's Belief Is Its Own Kind of Truth, Maybe from Atticus Books

Ben Tanzer's Sex and Death from sunnyoutside

Russ Litten's Kingdom from Wrecking Ball Press

The People of the Abyss by Jack London from Tangerine Press

Wide Asleep/Fast Awake by Adrian Manning & Janne Karlson from Bottle of Smoke
 

Chinese Gucci and the Case for Reading Intentionally

File Under: Debating

Here's a decent ONE - TWO punch from The Guardian about why it's important to KEEP BOOKS DANGEROUS. Both articles are talking about Young Adult books, but I say it applies equally to literary fiction. I can't say I agree with the first article’s assertion that books shouldn't be “gratuitous or explicit” — as I think there is value in grit. So long as a reader can be shocked, I think they should be. Not simply for shock’s sake but because at worst it jars the mind of a lazy reader, and at best encourages a deeper internal conversation about the book and the nature of what’s shocking, and why. But the bulk of both articles agreed with me.

It's adorable to think that as long as we work tirelessly enough, we can “protect the children” from the unsavory world and its R-rated (or X-rated) ideas — that nothing will come along and undo it all in a blink. Adorable and unrealistic. I fear more the moment something does happen, and the painful realization that we’ve left them wholly unprepared for the complexity. If given the choice, I'll always take the physically and emotionally safe realm of a book, indeed of knowledge, of imagination, and the world of mind — over the actual danger of schoolyards and streets.

These questions are of tremendous interest to me in the middle of rewriting the first novel, Chinese Gucci, and have heartened me about some of my instincts and decisions. I believe very much in a visceral connection (even if it’s repulsion) with a book, believe that good books and good characters “contain multitudes.” The book is a hopefully clever indictment of a certain brand of adolescent hyper-masculinity, and as such, it has some pretty unpalatable stuff in it. Add to it the largely untested ideas about race and success that many young people start off with, and there are plenty of hot-button issues in the book that may well end up scaring off some readers and distracting from the book's larger intent.

And that's a terrifying concern.

It seems, in our race to never offend, never belittle or shame, never visit microaggressions upon another, we've become hyper-aware to the point of near mental inaction. By that I mean we've lost the ability to accurately parse intent from the larger mash-up of content. Someone says something that, on it's face, seems offensive — okay, yes, offensive ideas should offend. Ah, but why did they say it? Did I even hear it correctly? Did they accidentally tank what they meant to say instead? Is there another way to take it? Are we even talking about the same damn thing? This feels like something we are rapidly becoming either unwilling or unable to do any more. It’s much easier to simply fly off the handle, and launch into our own screeds and tirades. That feels perilous. Ideas, words, world views, differences — these can and should be evaluated — not just on their face, but through the lens of intent. If we lose that, why even bother with language?

So what do you think? What’s worse: a dangerous book, or a painfully safe one? An offensive book or an inoffensive one? Should anything ever be off limits for readers? For writers?

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