On Dan Pope's "The Bard Crichton"

Dan Pope’s “The Bard Crichton” takes quotes about William Shakespeare and Michael Crichton, substituting references to either name for Crichton’s name. The result is not only hilarious, but it also sharply criticizes the “high” and “low” literature. 

As you read the quotes, a process of understanding occurs that shifts the way the quotes are perceived. One can not directly say to whom the quotes are originally attributed to (with the exception of ones that would be deemed anachronistic in the current form), but the original sense, that it is silly to say the things we normally say about Shakespeare in regards to Michael Crichton, is a notion that itself becomes dispelled. There is no language reserved for Shakespeare. By the time we get to a quote such as “There’s so much we don’t understand about Michael Crichton. His inner life. We know nothing.” It becomes apparent that that is true of anyone at anytime. It demystifies the idea of Shakespeare as that God beyond the common man’s comprehension.

One of my favorites is, “There are people who live all their lives and never read Crichton. Crichton is in them. It can be a deep humiliation when we realize that our own emotions are actually Crichton’s.” The first sentence is true of both Crichton and Shakespeare. And further, it is likely true of the person who wrote it (likely about Shakespeare), that he hadn’t read Crichton.   The distinction is a gulf that opens wide between the classes, with those who read Crichton and those who read Shakespeare. But lastly, the rest of the quote assigns to Shakespeare a status as of a god, as if the emotions he depicts belonged to him, and he were not drawing from the human experience, and we are drawing from his ideas rather than the whole of human existence.

On Jeff Noon’s “Needle in the Groove”

Might be a remix / rehashed sentences put in a new order / order is something that’s questioned / or during interrogation these questions fall apart / These slashes are musical measures / denoting a the rhythm and sep / arating lines to create a time/

Location is key at the outset / a club and a place to stay / perhaps a code at the door

--I’m not welcome

--because you’re different

--I thought I was cool enough

--You’re not cool enough

--I make music

--You make muzak.

Identifying the music through text / not easy to do / outside of sheet music / but this store identifies the / rhythm snare bass / but also the un-notated feeling of song / what comes out when that’s not signaled by / half-note quarter note forte mestizzo / Alto Forte bang the fucking drums

Remix the remix in words / an interesting experiment/

Shake the music sphere / like the earth with all its different sounds / spinning and turning and shaking us all up / like a musical globe/



And on a less playful note. It might be important to know that this story was released along with a spoken word album of the same name. The story is a musical experiment, as well as a literary experiment, though it is interesting to note that the musical experiment is literary and the literary experiment is musical. 

Critique of an Excerpt from Michael Ondaatje’s The Collected Works of Billy the Kid

A number of elements in this story make it seem unconventional. The best way to examine them might be from two separate categories: stylistic and thematic. The stylistically experimental elements involve methods of grammar, punctuation, medium, etc; while the thematic elements are those elements embedded into the story that in one way or another disorient the reader.

Stylistically, Ondaatje utilizes incomplete sentences, unattributed dialogue, onomatopoeia and an eclectic yet calculated mixture of poetry and prose which disorients the reader. The first sentences, “Sound up. Loud and vibrating in the room.” are devoid of subject (with the exception of the room), but still evoke imagery in a the larger context of the nighttime search for Billy the Kid by Pat Garret.

As a side-note, I went to Billy the Kid’s hometown of Lincoln, New Mexico on my way out here this Summer. I saw the bullet holes in the wall where he shot a shotgun full of dimes at Sheriff Farley.

Thematically the story shifts to different narrative perspectives, leaving the reader feeling as much in the dark as Garret and Billy the Kid. This story is Cowboy Poetry for the literati.

Workshop Critique: 911 Emergency

“911 Emergency” is modeled after the transcript of multiple calls to an emergency dispatch. An emergency plays out from the perspective of multiple witnesses, each unaware of the other callers, describing a pedestrian hit-and-nearly-run of a mentally handicapped kid seemingly from a low-income housing project. The situation escalates through retaliatory acts until finally it ends with what seems like the death of an unarmed civilian by a police officer, followed by rioting.

I like the defracted method of story-telling involved here, where we get all of the action second-hand. It reminds me, sort of, of the song “Shades of Grey” by Robert Earl Keen. The singer relates the story of getting drunk and driving to Oklahoma with a couple of friends, where the steal a cow and sell it at an auction. then they get busted by the FBI, but the agent’s last line of dialogue is “These are just some sorry kids, boys. They ain’t the ones.” The last line of the song is about them going home “that morning, mid-April, Oklahoma ’95.” In other words, they were mistaken for the Oklahoma City Bomber, Timothy McVeigh. Just an example of how one can relate a story from outside the events.

This story effectively develops the plot, though I think it could use some riskier turns. Every escalation is one that could be reasonably expected. Therefore, there is nothing about the situation which would seem to make the 911 Dispatcher lose her cool (I imagine it would take a lot). It could turn into a hostage situation. They could have the people in the car surrounded while they threaten to light it on fire. Or they could all be upset, but actually turn out to just be trying to take care of the body, and all of these callers are asserting stereotypes, mistaking anguish for violence. There are many possibilities that could be explored. 

On a more technical note, Dispatchers and police would relay messages using call-numbers like 187 and 11-80 in progress. Look into this code, and that would make this piece come off as more authoritative and authentic. Then, any breaks from the normal code-talk would become more important. What this piece could use is some sort of unexpected emotional arch from the dispatcher, who is the central character.  

Workshop Critique: Thirteen of These Thirteen of These Thirteen of These

Whenever I try a Gertrude Stein related exercise or when I read on, I am reminded of the other factors that constitute language. We ask, what tone does this story have, what literary devices does the author employ in this scene? And in lessons we identify these same things in sentences and learn what they are. We put the legos together, but we rarely play with them one by one. 

Though I’d say that legos are a good analogy, since they can be connected to each other out of context and still be something. Weldon Ryckman’s Thirteen of These Thirteen of These Thirteen of These takes structure, tone, theme, imagery and sound to craft a literary work. 

The piece takes thirteen distinct, well, not things, but these’s, and brings out ideas of loneliness, fear and meditation. This is done through repetition, rhyme, wordplay and structure. I tried to find any single thing that ran through the whole piece. As the title suggests, there are thirteen sections. In the first section, you can add up all the written numbers and they will equal thirteen. But reading on that was not apparent for the rest of the sections. What does come up throughout is isolation, loneliness, body parts and cinema and art references. Perhaps there could be more of a theme running through the whole piece. It’s certainly there, but going over it again perhaps emphasizing certain notions that call out to the reader. However, I might be imagining that those notions even exist.

Reading Response: The "Kak My Pishem" Questionnaire

The Kak My Pishem Questionnaire

1. Preparatory period. Duration.
   Sometimes I find myself sitting on a story idea for a couple weeks, but I don’t write anything or say anything. I just start noticing things related to that subject more, and I stick them in the back of my mind. At some point, a certain critical mass accumulates and it makes sense to write something. Sometimes it works and sometimes it does not. 

Alternatively, if something happens to me, something traumatic or frightening or absurd, I put it away in my back pocket and try to get enough distance from it so that I can write about it with some amount of hind-sight.
2. What kind of subject matter do you use most (autobiographical, literary, observations and notes)? 

Most of my ideas do come from things that have happened in my family. But sometimes I pull the stories just from random ideas. As I said, a subject can build in your head for some time and take on meaning.

3. Do you generally use living persons as models for your characters?
Generally, yes. I don’t know how to write from the perspective of a dead person.

4. What provides you with the initial impulse for a work (anecdotes, commission, images, etc.)?
This feels like the same sort of question.
5. When during the day do you work—in the morning, afternoon, or evening? How many hours a day at most?

I suspect that there is a right time of day for me. I just could not say what time that is.

6. Average productivity—pages per month.
Modesty forbids.

1. What sorts of stimulants (narkotiki) do you use, and in what amounts?
   I wish I could be an alcoholic writer like all of my heroes, but it makes me sleepy. Same with weed. I like them both, but I use them when I don’t want to be productive, and for that they are incredibly effective.
   
   8. Do you write with a pencil, pen, or typewriter? Do you sketch when you’re working? How heavily is your work revised by editors?
   Pen, if on paper; macbook, and I’m trying to adjust to an old typewriter my friend fished out of the dumpster.
   
   9. Do you work from an outline and does it change?
   I take a piece of paper, or open a new word document, and I type little scenes. If I’m inspired the scenes become longer. I do this until I am out of ideas. Then, I take scenes that I like and develop them, and see if there’s a place for things I’ve written. Once I’ve exhausted those possibilities, I do it all again.
   
   10. What do you find most difficult? Beginnings, middles, or endings?
   Everything is difficult. I do it because it is difficult.
   
   11. Which senses most often generate images? (visual, aural, tactile?)
   Do the non-visual senses constitute images. Can you have nasal imagery?
   
   12. Do you insist on some sort of rhythm to your prose?
   The more I insist on a rhythm, the less effective the story becomes. It’s the departures that are powerful to me.
   
   13. Do you proof your work by reading it aloud (either to yourself or to others)?
   All the time.
   
   14. How do you feel when you have completed a work?
   Like a boss.
   
   15. Do you revise your work for new editions?
   When I get something released in multiple editions, I will let you know.
   
   16. Are you affected by reviews?

        Yes.

Critique: Notes on a Kitchen Table

     What I like most about "Notes on a Kitchen Table" is how it utilizes forms in ways that both define and alter the relationship between the two characters, Danny and Ally. Through notes and flowcharts it becomes apparent that Danny has come home drunk again, which has caused Ally to stay up all night creating a flow chart that Danny just has to fill out rather than feeling stifled by Ally's inquiries about where he's been.
      What stems from the flowchart is the predictability of Danny, and his apparent alcoholism. The end of the flowchart is a heart-felt vignette which describes a recurring moment between the lives of Danny and Ally, and the very final bubble asks "where do we go from here?"
        What's impressive is that Ally's voice comes through in a profound way through the flow-chart. This can either be attributed to Ally's note in the beginning, or to the snarky subtext of a flowchart that accurately describes a person's day. Every day. Still more telling is that the red lines that Danny fills in, answering each question and going down the trail, has a voice unto itself. I would attribute that again to Danny's short sweet note in the beginning, but also to the fact that he actually took the time to fill it out.
        The story's ending is written in the unfilled lines at the end of the flowchart. Of course this leaves the story on an ambiguous note. It brings us back to Danny's letter being the final action of the piece, while Ally's is the first. As such, we read Danny's letter differently, and less optimistically upon completing the flowchart. He's probably out drinking again, and he is not answering the only question Ally cares about.
        I really enjoyed this. It is strong, concise, properly utilizes form, and develops two distinct characters. It's hard even to identify what you could do to change the piece. You could always fine-tune the flowchart. The more specific, the more humour the reader will find. Things like "did you put your shirt on inside out?" or "did you choose matching socks" would be the sort of intimate details that dig deeper into the relationship. The less generic, the better. The scotch, is it a particular brand. What type of cigarettes does he smoke? I would definitely consider turning this into part of something larger, but it is excellent on its own.