Beth Kephart's Blog, page 249

Tina Fey/Bossypants: Reflections

This is not (for those of you who might not be, um, in the know) the cover shot for Tina Fey's phenomenal (but I'm getting to that) autobiographical/how-to-succeed-in-show-business/delicious-spring reading-of-a-book, Bossypants.  It is, instead, an image produced by my artist-husband, who, for the record, drew every single one of those bricks by hand before doing some mod Mac digitizing magic to transform them into the architectonics presented here.  But do you see the building that has just yesterday fallen down?  The slantwise one?  That's is me reading Bossypants on my new iPad.  No matter how you twist and turn the tablet (and even if you don't splurge for the expanded edition, yours-truly style), Fey's book will fell you with its clever, twisted lines.  It will win you over with its heart.



Where I live (in these here parts), we like to claim Tina Fey as our own.  "Yeah, she went to school right down the street from here," we'll tell anyone who will listen, even if we haven't ever actually set foot inside her old school, and even if she would recognize neither me nor that other claimant at any of the fast-food joints at which she professes to sup along a certain Pennsylvania turnpike. 



Still, I read Bossypants with an odd sense of You go, girl familiarity.  Or maybe the pride I was feeling was pride in my own gender—the smartness of Fey, the intelligence of her voice, the fluidity of her prose, the sense you get that she wrote this whole thing on her own, without the intercession of a hired pen.  In Bossypants, we get the down and dirty on Fey's growing up, her funny friends, her appealing parents.  We see Fey at work as a young comedienne, as a young comedic writer, as the super nova force behind 30 Rock.  (As a side note, once a client, rejecting my work, explained that I didn't have the "sound" the company was looking for.  "We think of our readers as 30 Rock viewers," I was informed, over e-mail.  "You're work sounds a little, well, old, especially with all its attention to grammar." I would have decided to forever hate 30 Rock after that, except that we're talking about my almost-next-door-neighbor, my practically best friend Tina Fey.  Besides, web sites, schmeb shites.  I teach at Penn.)



Amidst all that is so funny, all that sings so smoothly along, we get Tina Fey as the non-Celeb celebrity. She's just a person—kinda like you, kinda of like me.  She's wowed by her good fortune, she's annoyed by her critics, she's amused by photo shopping, and she's not going to judge your parenting style, even if you choose to judge hers (but please don't; she seems entirely decent and, at the very least, committed to throwing her daughter a Peter Pan-themed birthday party in the midst of winning Emmys, entertaining Oprah, and miming a certain former governor from Alaska). 



Tina Fey even has some beauty tricks to share; consider buying the book for those.  Or perhaps you'd like to know what it's like to go on a photo shoot with Fey?  I leave you with these only-Fey-could-write-them words:

Some photographers are compulsively effusive. "Beautiful.  Amazing.  Gorgeous!  Ugh, so gorgeous!" they yell at shutter speed.  If you are anything less than insane, you will realize this is not sincere.  It's hard to take because it's more positive feedback than you've received in your entire life thrown at you in fifteen seconds.  It would be like going jogging while someone rode next to you in a slow-moving car, yelling, "Yes! You are Carl Lewis! You're breaking a world record right now. Amazing! You are fast. You're going very fast, yes!"

Bird Song, Carpenter's Woods, and a Moment with Gerald Stern

I left the Big Blue Marble Bookstore Saturday afternoon seeking a little time alone (it is my habit) and a walk through a day that was slowly gaining shimmer.  If you get the chance, go down into the Wissahickon near the Kitchen's Lane entrance, a friend had written.  It's quite lovely, if you've never been.



I wasn't at all sure where I was, but I did begin to walk and soon was up on Ellet Street, across Sherman, and into Carpenter's Woods.  It was quiet there; the blue tips of brown butterflies were rising and falling like leaves in a wind.  I had a big bag with me and the wrong shoes.  I was wearing a white-as-winter jacket.  Nevertheless, I walked across the stony paths and the still-deciding trees until I came upon a woman with a hat, a serious walking stick, and an appropriate dark coat.  Which way to the stream or the springs? I asked, and soon she was telling me all about these woods—their woodpeckers, warblers, thrushes, owls; the fat toads that sing; the migratory habits of its birds.  She had, in fact, some literature with her—a map, a brochure with pictures she had taken—and she took her time explaining.  Come back in a month, she invited, and you will hear this place sing.



I may just do that. For it is peaceful there, in this tip of Fairmount Park, this century-old bird sanctuary.  And besides, as I later read in the literature, Carpenter's Woods is rich with legacy.  In the early 19th century, for example, the land belonged to the gentleman-collector George Carpenter, who built his own natural history museum, not to mention greenhouses, among the springs and trees.  A century later, in the wake of grotesque plume hunters and, at last, the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, the land was fiercely loved by a certain school principal named Caroline Moffett.  The Carpenter's Woods brochure tells us this:

Every spring from 1921 to 1936, as part of her mission to educate the public in the protection of bird-life, Moffett and the teachers and students of Henry School staged Percy Mackaye's Sanctuary:  A Bird Masque, a grand pageant in Carpenter's Woods with many children in bird costume.  In the pantomime the children and birds are saddened when a cardinal is shot by plume hunters, but the Spirit of Education persuades the hunters to throw down their weapons.

Gerald Stern, the genius poet, has written a poem, "In Carpenter's Woods."  I share its final lines with you here, in honor of this month of poetry and of the Woods themselves:

... I tell you that world is as large as the one you sigh and tremble over;

that it is also invulnerable and intricate and pleasurable;

that it has a serious history;

that it was always there, from the beginning.

Presenting Lenore Reads Dangerous Neighbors (in the midst of huge news for her)

I spent part of yesterday, as readers of this blog know, with Kate Milford, whose first book, The Boneshaker, I'll be writing of here in weeks to come.  Kate's work has been compared to Ray Bradbury's work and is described as a fusion of steampunk, historical fantasy, and magical realism—all of which got us talking about dystopian fiction. I boasted a bit about my friend, Lenore, who has supported so many writers out here in the blogosphere, designed contests and participated in them, read religiously, introduced us to her cats, and kept us informed about the travels of her talented illustrator husband, Daniel (not to mention their travels together).  In the midst of all that, Lenore put her words where her heart is, penned a dystopian novel, and sold it as both a book and film project.  And no small book/film project either.  Here's what Publishers Weekly had to say:



Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers has acquired a YA novel called Level Two by Lenore Appelhans, in a joint acquisition with CBS Films. According to S&S, this is the first time the company has coordinated a deal so that an author received a simultaneous book and film offer. In Level Two, the liminal place between our world (Level One) and heaven, Felicia spends her days reliving her memories from the security of her pod—until she gets broken out by Julian, a boy she met on Earth. Appelhans writes the popular YA blog Presenting Lenore. Level Two will be published in either fall 2012 or spring 2013, with a 200,000-copy first printing.



Since I'd been telling Kate this story, I had it in mind to stop by Lenore's fine blog and let her know that she'd been with us in spirit in a Mt. Airy bookstore.  Stop by I did, only to discover this post, from Lenore, about Dangerous Neighbors.  Which made me happy and quite in awe that she had the time to do this with all the other things that are going on in her life.



Thank you, Lenore!  (And, again, congratulations.)

Almost Eponymous

This photograph is imperfect, and I regret that, for this little girl is anything but.  She was among those gathered at the Big Blue Marble Bookstore yesterday; she was, indeed, the star.  For this is Allison, and Allison and Elle is the story this young lady's own grandfather wrote about Allison's neighborhood adventures with her golden retriever, Elle. 



Yesterday afternoon, Allison, who goes to school one block from the bookstore, got a chance to read her story to her crowd.  She dressed impeccably for the part.

The best audience member ever

 Is he not precious?  And wasn't he sweet to sit so attentively while the delightful Kate Milford (The Boneshaker) and I sat chatting at the Big Blue Marble Bookstore earlier this afternoon.  I learned about steam punk today and all manner of bicycle-powered things.  I grew nostalgic for dirigibles.  I walked Mt. Airy afterward—through the wide streets and down into a tip of Fairmount Park. 



Thank you, Maleka Fruean, for being our most gracious host.  It was a lovely (superbly sunny) afternoon.

Just This

What a mess I make

at the start of each new book. 

In the slow steep of a rainy day

my son calls.  Writer to writer, we talk for a while.  Just like we used to.  Just like I hope we always will. 

How Philly Moves: this is my city, dancing

Tonight marks the opening of the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts, and as part of that celebration, a 45-foot digital projection mural will animate the face of the Kimmel Center over the course of the next few weeks.  From the Philadelphia Mural Arts Program notice that just appeared in my in-box:

This constantly changing mural, created by photographer JJ Tiziou in collaboration with PIFA and Mural Arts, will showcase photos and video of 174 dancing Philadelphians—including 26 who will also be featured in Mural Arts' 50,000-square-foot How Philly Moves mural currently being installed at Philadelphia International Airport.

I have dreams of someday writing a book that sells, really sells.  If that happens, I will buy a small apartment in the heart of my city and live closer to the pulse of its renaissance, closer to people who dream this big and see these sorts of ideals through.  For now I'm just sending this out to you—proof that the nation's fifth largest city has a whole lot of good going on.[image error]

Take it for what it is

 yellow and untetheredalive in this instantfor this instant.

Nonetheless and still:I am a flat line.Losing the sound of the pause in the music.