I recently attended a Q&A session/book signing for James Franco’s
book, Actors Anonymous with my friend Teresa (Hi Teresa!). I’m
not quite sure if I'm a fan, and I'm also not really sure the genre and I haven’t actually read it yet but something he
said during his talk I found interesting.
When asked how he is able to portray such a wide variety of people on
screen, he said he finally learned how to “relax into (his) character.” And I think that is what I have done with
this blog; relax into my voice.
When my friend Liz
Shellman (Hey Liz!) suggested I chronicle the life I would lead once my Dad
moved in with me, I tried to figure out just how I would say what I wanted to
say. She suggested that I “write like
you talk, dude; it’ll be all good.” That
right there is some sage advice from one of my favorite Texans.
People ask me if I’ve always been a writer and the
answer is…sorta, kinda, not really. I
have always been a story teller but I haven’t always excelled putting pen to
paper. While I may have entertained at
telling stories, I have found it difficult to have that same kind of connection
when writing. A writer has an edge
because they can stop and think of the perfect thing to say or to formulate a
brilliant quip. Storytellers just say
what they are going to say, for better or for worse.
And my “voice”
when telling stories has remained pretty consistent; my “voice” while writing
has definitely improved with age and practice.
Anyone who read anything I wrote in high school knows I was a very
dramatic writer. And not in the good
way. Were Nola Faye Boyd alive, she
could attest that my first foray into short stories, the ludicrously titled
“Forever, Meredith”, was a painful exercise for both writer and reader. I can’t remember the specifics but I do know
there was a jilted blind girl and, well, do I need to go on?
Although I
considered my first book A Gone Pecan (and if you haven’t purchased
it, why not?) as a way to capture the essence of my mother, I have summarily
been informed by innumerable people whomever’s voice is (the narrator) Cady
McIntyre, it is most definitely not my mother’s. I guess it’s mine were I to be a middle-aged
woman. When I sat down to chronicle my
relationship with my father, I finally felt, at age 41, that I could just be
myself, warts (or should I say, farts) and all.
It took me until the ripe old age of 40 to stop being
concerned with people’s opinion of me. I
would like to think it’s because I have become much more at ease with myself
and have settled into a comfortable maturity.
Although, full disclosure, it may be because I think I am fancy enough
to pass muster with anyone, should they be so inclined to ponder the wonder
that is me. Let’s go with the maturity
thing. It sounds better.
I have recently
been gifted with the newest novel from one of my favorite writers, Donna
Tartt. My best friend Christopher knows
the connection I have with her first novel The Secret History and he very
thoughtfully sent me a copy. It has been
sitting on my bedside table taunting me and I am, frankly, a bit nervous to
start as I was disappointed with her second tome, The Little Friend. Pondering that got me to thinking about other
books or authors that have excited, illuminated, saddened or affected me
profoundly and I thought I would share with you Uncle Dusty’s Guide to
Literature.
1.
Candide by Voltaire. The book that helped develop my cynical view
of “classics”. Seriously, overrated as
is most of William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald. The only positive outcome of publishing The
Great Gatsby was the Brooks Brother’s Gatsby Collection.
2.
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote was the
book that caused a fundamental shift in my reading habits to heavily
non-fiction. Other non-fiction favorites
include Isaac’s Storm and The Devil in the White City by Eric
Larson; although, I did not like his In the Garden of Beasts. Two other interesting reads are Fingerprints
by Colin Beavan and Jeffrey Toobin’s The Nine. Kim Powers’ Capote in Kansas is a
fictional take on Truman Capote while visiting Kansas writing ICB. It is excellent. Demonstrating how hysterical non-fiction can
be is Will Cuppy’s The Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody.
3.
A Confederacy of Dunces by John
Kennedy Toole. The first book to make me
actually laugh out loud. The second book
that caused a lot of LOLing was Yeah, I Said It by Wanda Sykes. The book that made me scream and throw it
across the room was The Amityville Horror. I
don’t care who wrote it.
4.
Nickel
and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich was the book that caused me to re-think
my views on the working poor. It also
made me able to admit without embarrassment that my family has, at different
times, been on food stamps and lived in a motel. The working poor, whose number increases
daily, is a shameful reality in this country.
5.
The
Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett and 84 Charing Cross Road by
Helene Hanff are the two reasons I appreciate the novella.
6.
The memoir that helped me realize that although
I am a product of my family, I am fully in control of the outcome of my life
was The
Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.
Other surprisingly good but not life-altering memoirs are My
Life in France by Julia Child and Vicki! by Vicki Lawrence. One that was absolutely hilarious but vulgar
in parts was Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson. The memoir I wanted to like but didn’t was Ali
in Wonderland by Ali Wentworth. I
only kept my copy because it’s autographed.
7.
Andy
Warhol’s Diaries edited by Pat Hackett was the book that started my
weird fascination with New York Society.
Interesting, funny and surprisingly down-to-earth, Andy Warhol was the
master of observation. Other Society-based
non-fiction I’ve enjoyed is Philistines at the Hedgerow by Steven
Gaines, The Last Mrs. Astor by Frances Kiernan and Empty Mansions by.
8.
The best book that made me uncomfortable was The
Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold.
Difficult subject; beautifully handled.
9.
Microserfs
is the book that introduced me to the genius of Douglas Coupland. The book that made me his lifelong fan was Miss
Wyoming. The book that he signed
when I met him in Alaska was Hey, Nostradamus! He brilliantly did a reading…of John
Grisham’s The Client and found a haiku about a hushpuppy!
10.
The best John Grisham book is A
Time to Kill. The next best is A
Painted House followed by Skipping Christmas. Yes, I know it was a terrible movie; the book
is excellent! Midnight in the Garden of Good
and Evil by John Berendt is one of my all-time favorites. Clint Eastwood’s massacre of the movie is
repugnant. You can’t blame the source
material, people. On that note, I think
the Harry Potter movies are the best example of my liking both the book and the
movie; all eleventy-hundred of them.
11.
The books that made me want to befriend TV stars
were Bossypants
by Tina Fey and Is Everyone Hanging out without me and Other
Concerns by Mindy Kaling.
12.
The book that began my devotion to all things
British and mysterious was The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie
by Alan Bradley. All 5 entries in his
Flavia De Luce series are exceptionally good.
The book that started my anglophilia was Gone With the Windsors by
Laurie Graham. Other books that have
fueled my obsession are Royal Sisters by Anne Edwards, Mrs.
Queen Takes the Train by William Kuhn and The Windsor Knot by
Sharyn McCrumb, although the last one is only remotely British.
13.
My appreciation of peeks at other writer’s journals
was sustained by Bill Bryson’s I’m a Stranger Here Myself, The Know-it-all
by A.J. Jacobs, Reading the OED (Oxford English Dictionary) by Ammon Shea and The
Unlikely Disciple by Kevin Roose.
14.
The book that tells you it’s awesome? The Book of Awesome by Neil Pasricha,
of course.
15.
The impetus for my lifelong relationship with
music trivia was The Billboard Book of Number 1 Hits by Fred Bronson.
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