Elizabeth Dutton's Blog
October 12, 2017
So this happened…
Fantastic news! Seems I’ve win the Morton Marcus Poetry Prize! I am incredibly honored and surprised. There are too many wonderful and synchronous things about this to explain; I’m just savoring this moment.
For more information about the prize, the poem, Morton Marcus, and other fantastic facets of all this: please click: HERE.
July 5, 2016
souvenirs, novelties, party tricks
random:
The new novel is coming along nicely and undergoing progressive shifts and evolutions. I am pleased. I am doing more percolating than actual writing this last week or so, but that’s how I always work.
I hate VW buses. I have my reasons.
I picked 4.5 pounds of blueberries today while my dogs ate a fair amount off the low branches of the bushes. We barely made a dent in this year’s crop.
East coast thunderstorms are no joke.
awesome:
Korean dumplings
really good reading glasses
memories attached to pleasant scents
songbirds
the paper edition of the New York Times
fake names
fresh, blank notebooks
Joe Biden
fireworks fireworks fireworks
non-awesome:
shitty reading glasses
global tragedy fatigue
chronic fabulists
bands who talk too much between songs when playing live
unsettling dreams that haunt the next day
xo
June 6, 2016
The Odyssey
Over Memorial Day weekend, I was lucky enough to attend the Los Angeles screening of The Odyssey, a film by Vincent Haycock to accompany/expand the Florence + The Machine album How Big How Blue How Beautiful. It was magnificent.
As you know, I adore cross-media projects, specifically blending music with visuals or the written word. I also love artists who defy genres and labels. That could only mean I would enjoy this film, but it has been far greater than that.
I went with a dear friend and as we left the venue that evening, we both struggled with words and agreed that what we’d seen would take some time to process, and that is the truth. It has taken me time to really digest and process this masterwork.
The videos for the album and the film are filled with incredible choreography. The dance is very elemental and real, almost primal. The movements are chaotic yet precise, if that makes any sense. The screening began with live dance performances to two songs from the album. Seeing dance in person is so far removed from watching it on screen. The energy and emotion of it all was overwhelming, and it wasn’t just me feeling that way. Everyone around us in the theater was in what felt like a held breath for much of the performance. People’s eyes welled with tears, and it wasn’t a put on. It was cathartic in a very authentic sense; actually the film is, as well. There was very specific and personal emotion conveyed that was masterfully universal (THAT is the art sweet spot). I listened to conversations around me involving the most diverse participants that all said, in essence, the same thing: we all related intensely (in our own ways and perspectives) to what the songs and the images and the movement were saying, and we all felt understood and validated. I’ve not been in a situation like that before. I have seen some performances (music, film) where I knew I was in some sort of transcendent moment; in those cases, though, I wasn’t sure that everyone around me was feeling the same thing. It always felt very private, that connection to the artist and the art in the moment. This was different. It was a collective connection and it was beautiful.
The film is sublime. It is gorgeous and atmospheric and intelligent. The imagery is insanely layered and rich — shit, I know I am not doing it justice with words. Just go watch it. {HERE} Basically, there needs to be more Vincent Haycock work in the world. His eye and vision are genuis.
There was a question and answer session after the screening where my friend (who works in and lives for fashion) informed me that Florence was wearing custom Gucci and we marveled at the vulnerable perfection of everyone involved with the project. It was a necessary cool down after the emotional workout of the project.
So what did I have to process? I have been working over and over in my head the stories told and the messages conveyed. This is an album and a film about having many selves, about resurrecting one or more of those selves, about traveling to hell and back, about trying your best to get a message across, about feeling tossed about by the four winds, about sacred spaces, about generations and histories, about real and invented identities. All of these things spoke to me on a very personal level. I loved the album when it came out, but the film just made it more. I always carry so many uncertainties about myself and so much damage around with me, and after the screening I felt like I had a kindred spirit, as well as reassurance that we come out of things on the other side (oh, the very end of the film is just so perfect). I felt lifted and understood and it felt really fucking good. To the core.
And I knew I’d seen true, beautiful art.
Receiving such art inspires me as an artist. I can’t explain to you (well, I guess I tried to above) how thankful I am to have been so inspired and energized. I hope you find art that does the same for you.
xo
June 2, 2016
a favor to ask
[ ↑ that’s the knocker on my kitchen door — welcome to my idea cookery]
I know I have been going at this hard, so please forgive me:
My novel, Driftwood, is out now in paperback. I’ve learned that in order to rise to the ranks of recognizable on Amazon, one must have a minimum of 50 reviews. I am 15 shy of that right now. I know I’ve sold more than 50 copies, so I ask of you dear readers to please head over to Amazon and review Driftwood. I don’t care what rating you give it, just be honest. It would be immensely helpful to have more reviews on the site and I will, in some way, make it up to you one day.
Here is the link to the Amazon page for the book:
Again, I know this may be Driftwood overload right now, but a gal’s gotta hustle.
Please do me a solid and leave a review. Yes, I am begging you.
In other news, the new novel is coming along swimmingly. I am clocking a couple thousand words a day and having a blast researching character details (I know a lot about West Oakland lofts and where the few remaining TGI Friday’s are in California…). Fingers, toes, and eyes crossed that I can get a draft done by the end of summer.
Love you, mean it.
xo
March 21, 2016
my aim is true
It’s time again for awesome/non-awesome, a couple of people’s favorite list show.
awesome
Teaching Creative Writing class is always the highlight of my week (2x!)
I will see my brother in less than a week and I am simply over the moon about it.
I was reminded recently that I used to press flowers all the time. I miss that and intend to get back at it.
I am also getting ready to plant some succulents and get back to the gaaaaardennnn.
Michael Pollan’s Cooked on Netflix is really wonderful and everyone should watch it.
I am still in love with my novel-in-progress.
I spent the weekend doing heavy duty yard work all by myself and I am proud of how freakishly strong I am.
I wake up before my alarm goes off in the morning because of the song birds singing away outside my bedroom window, like I am Cinderella or some shit.
non-awesome
There’s a strange little dog (with a large electric fence shock collar thing on — spoiler alert: the electric fence doesn’t work) who somehow sneaks onto my property every night. He power walks around the outside of the house, and this drives my dogs insane. I can’t seem to catch him; either my dogs are already out and are busy trying to escort him out with no luck, or the dogs are in and the interloper ignores me and keeps walking with the purpose of an enthusiastic mall walker. Last night, he pranced back and forth across the back lawn and my dogs had total freak outs at 1:45 am, 3:15 am, and 5:30 am. I am exhausted.
I don’t keep well without adequate sleep.
I am inundates with and have zero tolerance for political advertising or rants.
I am already trying to formulate agent query letters.
xo
March 2, 2016
I got somethin’ to say…
Sorry, no Danzig here.
BUT, there is an interview I did with Ross and Marcio of BRIDGE THE ATLANTIC, a really cool podcast with interesting people that I snuck onto. I talk about music and writing and Driftwood and Emma Roberts and whales and Urban Outfitters and Office Space. Good stuff.
You can listen to it HERE.
Be sure to check out their other interviews. All very good stuff.
Enjoy!
February 16, 2016
try to be sure right from the start
As a Neil Young obsessive, I couldn’t resist a book with this title. My only worry was that it wouldn’t live up to expectations. Fear not, loves. It exceeded them.
I just finished reading Only Love Can Break Your Heart by Ed Tarkington. It’s beautiful and the type of well-crafted novel that leaves the reader feeling satisfied and still yearning by the end. I can’t seem to separate storytelling and music in my own work and life; I say with all sincerity that I need music in order to live, really live. This book and its author understand that.
Now I am going to go listen to some Neil. If you feel like it, give the book a read.
xo
February 8, 2016
where to find what no one reads
I have created a page just for the poems I write.
You can find it HERE.
It is also on the link list to the right.
Poems. It’s just poems.
This site will just be other stuff relating to novels and souvenirs, novelties, party tricks (high five if you get that reference).
xo
February 4, 2016
feel electric
I am in a blissful state right now, working on a new novel that I love. This is the excitement that was missing from the other project. I feel energized. I’ve addressed it in a backwards sort of way, creating characters and conversations first, which lead to the formation of a plot, which clarified a theme. In this muddy, gray winter, I am feeling like the bud on the branch.
Soon enough I’ll get to take a break from my rural idyll and visit my brother and the people I love in the place that made me. I get to touch that and then return. That is a gift. As I think about themes for my work and the work of others, I’ve also started thinking about what gets in the way and what I have learned thus far. The other night as I drove home from work, I thought about how to express this new (to me) way of seeing things. Maybe this has been obvious to all of you all along. I am slow. I am a late bloomer. And since my interpretive dance skills are really lacking, here’s a poem. C’mon. It’s the only way I know how to do things.
It Means Living without Fear
The heart
the metaphorical heart
(not the bloody engine racing and braking in its cage)
The heart
isn’t the shape of those candies,
those satin boxes of waxy chocolates,
those doodles in junior high spiral notebooks.
It is circular.
It is a circular magnet.
I don’t know if this is scientifically possible;
I don’t care.
Metaphors exist beyond all this,
beyond reason.
Reason is overrated.
Anyway.
The heart is a circular magnet.
It is open.
The open heart cannot break
because the good stuff is metal,
heavy fucking metal and micro-rolled shavings.
It sticks.
The good stuff runs at you and slams into your heart
and stays there.
Stays there.
Makes you strong.
Makes you vibrate higher than before.
Each bit adds up.
The bad stuff
(the negatives, the pain, the slings and arrows)
are not metaphorically metallic.
They flow right through, straight in and out.
That pain comes at you,
the headlights bearing down in the dark,
paralyzing and making you
think you belong in the dirt, the tarmac, the grit.
That pain makes you believe things that simply are not true.
No, but.
That garbage slips right through you and continues on its horrible way,
a way that isn’t your concern.
Your open heart is full,
full of loving metal shavings,
full of reflective elements.
Reflecting
Reflecting
Reflecting
January 24, 2016
This bud’s for you (groan)
Native Daughter of the Golden West
In the Morcom Rose Garden
they call it something else now
It is 1937 again
It is 1937 always
Lines are sleek and features grand, dramatic.
Everything in its right place.
***
“Thought upon the living tree”
It says so on that plaque.
I memorized it once.
It’s gone from me like so much else.
***
The living tree so secret in winter,
A stubborn machine working under leafless cover of gray skin.
The living tree so alive in spring,
So alive with fragrance and colors obscene
So alive to draw a heart from inside a chest
Send it soaring
Send it up
Send it back and forth in time or understanding.
***
These fucking roses. All these fucking roses.
From one to almost eight thousand.
The own-root, the bud union, the ramblers.
The sweet rotting mulch of protective decay.
The spray I want pinned in my hair.
The sucker to be ripped away.
The sucker to be ripped away.
***
When the benches are cold, like
Cliché tombstones
When the sky is coated
In the dense gray flannel of fog
And the roses
The roses
Run riot underneath,
Electric eddied current in acres of cupped earth all its own.
When this happens
Almost every day
When this happens
I’ll put your hand in mine
Wait patient
For electric current to show itself
Go leafless to plush jagged green
Wait patient for our basal break
Our growth determined.
I’ll wait.
