Bad Blogger

I don't have much time left in New England, and that's why I haven't been writing as much. Instead, I've been spending an enormous amount of time with my uncle and his friends. They put the ladies from SATC to shame. I think my uncle's bloodstream has been replaced with cosmo juice - he drinks about 5 a day. I can't keep up with them.

Still in New England?

My apartment is cramped - it's filled with boxes and the floors are covered in a blanket of books. I'm obviously beginning to pack. Still haven't heard back from a potential agent, but that's okay. My mantra right now: "No news . . ." Le' Drum Roll, "is good news."

More lata'

I'm gonna miss Cambridge and the Cape.

I'm moving to NYC and just got a job!

I'm surprisingly upbeat today, but that's because I'm (finally) moving to NYC. I'm taking another year of leave from my graduate school (sorry, Proust texts), and will be working for a literary agency this coming year. I'm shocked that I actually landed this job, but when you're close to being an expert on Proust, you have some things going for you in the field of literature. (At least, I'm going to convince myself of that).

While I'm a little sad to be leaving Cambridge, I've wanted to live in NYC from the time I was 4, perhaps even as early as 2.

As for my book, I'm still waiting to hear back from an agent (sigh). It takes them a long, long time to read manuscripts, and this is when you understand that whole patience being a virtue saying. Oddly, I'll be on the other side of the fence, judging queries, rummaging through manuscripts and so forth as an assistant. It's not that glamorous, but I've socked away a lot of money from freelance writing and somehow inherited a little piece of somethin' somethin' from my Aunt Lavender's estate, so I should be okay. I have a good friend who's wrapping up his Ph.D. at Columbia (Russian history), so I'm moving in with him for in August. For now, I'm gonna try and see as much stuff in MA as I can - once you leave a place like this, you suddenly realize you have to be a tourist and actually appreciate the shit around you.

I met with my newish advisor last week at Hi-Rise Bread Company on Conchord Ave - I'm a frequent visitor of Hi-Rise, and I'm gonna miss it, particularly in late Spring when it's filled with families during the late afternoon. The place is always packed, but given the quality of their food and the laid back ambience, there's a reason for that. After that, I hit Grendel's with my pal, "Mercy" (that's her nickname, her real name is Martha), and then wound up at Daedulus. I adore Daedalus - I'll miss the late nights we spent there, hanging with History of Science kids and Literary Theory types. Mercy made it clear that she's gonna miss me. I'm gonna miss her, too. She ordered these fabulous Mai-Tai drinks (I'm not a fan of "chick" drinks, but I'll say, they were phenomenal). We shot the shit about mundane things, you know, like Rabelais, Proust, and the yucky tube tops being sold at the Urban Outfitters just off Harvard's campus.

I have an uncle who lives down in Providence, and since I've pretty much packed my place up, I headed down there after I saw Mercy. She started to cry when I said good-bye at the Harvard Square metro stop. It made me sad, so I rushed down the squeaky, oily escalators. Providence sucks. My gay uncle disagrees, and I'd never say that in front of him. But it's true!

Well, onto NYC, and pretty soon. As I said, I'm spending most of my time in "Provy" until August. For the time being, I'm just acting the part of a tourist. It's pretty fun.

E-Queries: Quick remark(s)

Since I recently posted a blog on literary agents and queries, I thought I'd say a few more things about that today. I like agents who accept e-queries. Why?

It's green, people. I know that term has been murdered by celebs, politicians, and all the other folks you see on the T.V. or read in a newspaper (do people still do that?).

Anyway, I'm not sure why some agents cling to the old form of querying. Save some friggin' TREES already! Plus, AGENT X (if you happen to be reading this here blog), you can reject us authors way faster! See the lady agent to the right? Although she's suffering from mental pain, reading yet another crappy query, at least she didn't have to risk getting a paper cut . . .

Think about switching to e-queries only, 'k?

Love,
Chastity

Thinking about agents and gazing at slush piles

First of all, I wanna say that most of the agents I've encountered have been superbly polite. For the most part, when I began querying a few months ago, I found that most agents responded. Even if it was a flat "no, I'm gonna pass," at least the agent was acknowledging my existence. (Oh, and even Ms. Snark implored fellow agents to politely decline, and I know for a fact that Nathan Brandsford responds to every query. Literary agents could learn a lesson or two from Mr. Brandsford - he's a super nice guy. I just know it).

Then there are the agents who are apparently too cool for skool, and ignore you. It's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit. Haven't these people heard of friggin' courtesy? Sheesh. Didn't these kids learn anything in skool? Or did they missed the etiquette train in first grade? I mean, perhaps I'm naive, but I just think it's about human decency to correspond. And don't give me that "I-m-just-too-busy-to-even-say-no" line. That's bullshit, too. You're telling me, that you can't click, RESPOND, and type out, "No, I pass - Sincerely, Ms. Polite Lit. Agent?" If you can't do that, you're a lazy you-know-what.

You've dedicated your life to prose, or so you claim, so the least you can do is correspond with frigging writers, and even the ones you reject! Even worse, the agents who themselves are writers and don't respond to your queries! Gimme a break already! OK, this is getting out of hand. I just used three exclamation points in a row. You see, this stuff gets me pretty worked up.

Since we're on the subject of queries, I'm gonna eventually post the one that lands me an agent. As I said earlier, I'm not there quite yet, but my pitch is solid, and has gotten a lot of positive feedback . . . now, if only I can win the heart of an agent with my actual manuscript. That's the biggest hurdle. I'm almost there, and am anxious to hear back from the agents who have the partial piece of my book.

THE SLUSH PILES PICTURE TO THE RIGHT: The one below is an impressive lookin' slush pile. It's neatly organized, compared to the one above it. If you can make it out of a slush pile, you're headin' somewheres . . . at least that's my own delusional thinking, but who knows?

Werner Herzog and my now all time favorite quote

So there's the man, Herr Herzog. This photo was obviously taken when he was in the heart of the Amazon jungle, perhaps filming Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre, The Wrath of God, 1972). This film was the first time Herzog was to work with the tempestuous Klaus Kinski. It would, of course, not be the last.

I watched Aguirre for the first time last night. It's based on a true story. Set in the sixteenth century, Aguirre, a Spanish conquistador, is convinced that he will find El Dorado (the land of gold). Having become a renegade, declaring independence from Spain, Aguirre and his weary crew of men are doomed, as they float down the Amazon river on makeshift rafts. Driven by greed, the desire for power, and fame, Aguirre convinces his men to believe in the illusion of a land overflowing with gold and other spoils. Of course, these illusions quickly turn into delusions. Anyone who dares to challenge Aguirre is slaughtered mercilessly.

While it's gruesome, there are moments of hilarity. That's the last thing that you'd expect, given the subject matter. I realize that Herzog has a sense of humor, but these moments struck me as odd - it adds a type of campiness to the tone of the film. Herzog, I realized, is quite a ham. I won't go into the details, as I hope you watch it yourself, and enjoy a chuckle here and there. Hint: it's obvious when you're supposed to laugh.

The ending is masterful and highlights Herzog's adoration (mixed with a type of hatred) for the jungle, confirming his idea of the "ecstatic truth" in nature. The films he makes after this one, even expressed as recently in the tragic documentary, Grizzly Man, attest to Herzog's firm belief in truth expressed through chaos. In a word, the unpredictably of nature fully illuminates the Truth. We, as human beings, are forever doomed by hubris, foolishly believing that we can either conquer (Aguirre types) nature or peacefully commune (as in the case of Timothy Treadwell) with it. Although separated by centuries, both men radically different as a result of their given historico-cultural contexts, Aguirre and Treadwell are similar. Only Herzog could manage to convince his viewers, even one with a profoundly historicist perspective, that these two men can be divorced from historical specificity and reveal this universal truth: "man" is doomed to fail and nature wins out every time. We may think that by living in cities, surrounded by concrete and steel, we are somehow us impervious to the elements. But such assuredness, as the recent catastrophes in New Orleans, the tsunami of 2005, etc. demonstrate, is just plain stupid. (I know that a few of my scholar buddies, if they had the time to talk to me, would be up an arms about my usage of "nature," but I'm not gonna delve into tiresome and irritatingly, po-mo questions like, "what is nature?" or whatever . . . I leave that type of quibbling to the "real" scholars).

Of course, for both Aguirre and Treadwell, it wasn't nature alone that led to their untimely deaths. But if I even attempt to delve into psychological factors, this blog will devolve into its own form of chaos.

The picture below is from the last scene from the movie. Aguirre has lost everyone (all remnants of "civilization" disappear at specific moments as the story progresses). Here, he is a man devoid of his world, and yet he still thinks, albeit delusional, he's going to take over all of New Spain. Aguirre's men are rotting on the boat, which has now been overrun with dozens of little monkeys. (I get it. I really get it!).

On a funny, and equally, disturbing note, this monkey was pissed off when Kinski picked him up! It squirms in his hands and looks at the camera angrily. Kinski is quite violent when he tosses this monkey aside - he flings its little body so hard, one wonders if the creature lived. I don't imagine an animal rights activist was on set. Let's assume they had been on the set. By the time this final shot had been filmed (assuming that the movie was shot chronologically), they would've already been dead, as a result of the earlier scenes with the horse. It's pretty unnerving.



Once the film was over, I flipped through the extras. Overall, these "extras" were pretty lame and paltry. I own a box collection of Herzog's films, and the other DVDs have way more added stuff. I realize that that's not entirely crucial, but I've enjoy these additional tidbits. I find Herzog fascinating and he interviews very well. In any event, this particular DVD only had brief bios about Herzog, Kinski, etc. Sadly, I wasn't able to satisfy my hunger, as the other sets allow me to eat up the tones of Herzog talking about the "Juuu-ngla" in his weird, mellifluous Bavarian accent. No such luck with this one.

But I did find my now all time favorite quote, so I can't be too critical of the dearth of extra information. As I mentioned, Kinski had a reputation for being insane. While he was making Count Dracula (1969), with director Jess Franco, Kinksi exploded; he was enraged that certain scenes weren't being filmed in an actual sanitarium. The director retorted, "I had planned to shoot it in a real cell but then it occurred to me that they might not let you out!"

Kinski and Herzog had a "love/hate" relationship, too. It's documented on film, as they had outbursts on set constantly. (Wish I had been Kinski's make-up artist. Sheesh. That would've been one of the worst gigs in modern labor history - hey! Somebody should write a labor history of people who worked for Kinski. Now that's something I'd read. You see, I don't read. I'm actually illiterate, and that's why this blog is extra special. It's a miracle that I'm even writing). As I was saying, Kinski and Herzog had this weird relationship, justified by the we're-fucking-crazy-intellectual-artist-types-so-what-do-you-fucking-expect? attitude. Naturally, both of the men spoke quite openly about this fact. But Kinski always had the most outrageous things to say about Herzog. This quote, as I said, is now my all time favorite. When asked about Herzog, Kinski hissed:

"I absolutely despise this Herzog . . . Huge red ants should piss into his lying eyes, gobble up his balls, penetrate his asshole, and eat his guts."

Whoa! In one sentence, Kinski refers to red ants, piss, lying, balls, innards, and (my favorite) Herzog's asshole! While I bet that sounded way funnier auf Deutsch, I laughed so hard, I peed my pants.

I should wrap this discussion up with a decent conclusion, but it's a blog, and I've spent too much time perfecting conclusions. Again, that's amazing, too, given the fact that I'm illiterate, can't/don't read, have managed to get through grad school, and am wrapping up my first novel. What can I say? God works in mysterious ways.

On mundane note, I'm sick of looking at Harvard's cupolas. When the sunlight hits them, they really do look like Ivory Towers. Blech. Maybe I should go back to my grad school prison. I'll think about that over another cup of coffee. Although I hate reading, and just confessed that I neither comprehend writing, Proust is calling for me. He's obsessed with memory.

Why am I inside?

It's sunny and seventy degrees outside. Those of us in Cambridge know too well that this weather is rare -- God must love Harvard very much today, as He rarely let's the sun shine here. (Given Harvard's endowment, I think God shows His loves this institutions in other ways).
But enough about God.

Alas, I am inside. Why? But to write of course!

I'd kill to be a wealthy Harvard undergrad today. The term is almost up, the sun is out, and we have Urban Outfitters down the street from the main quad. Man, if I were an undergrad, I'd hang out on the green grass, laugh it up with my other Harvard undergrad pals, and then head over to Urban Outfitters. I'd buy some ueber-hip tank top and stop off at Grendel's den for a beer.

That would be grand. But I ain't an undergrad. Even worse, I ain't even an official grad student anymore. That means I'm nothin' . . . at least to other grad students and my ex advisor.

Therefore I must become an author, not just a writer, and fast! If only I hadn't been seduced by great philosophy and literature as an undergrad. If I had had any sense, I would've focused on becoming a doctor or something useful. But now I'm cursed. I'm too "educated" to work as a receptionist (nobody will hire me, otherwise I'd gladly answer phones) and too cynical to go back to the Ivory Tower. Admittedly, since I've been unemployed ever since I left grad school - that was last summer - the thought of going back is enticing.

I've survived off of my writing. Lemme tell you something about that: freelance writing sucks. Why? Let's make a list:

1) you have to wait to get paid
2) while you wait to get paid, you fear that you'll NEVER get paid
3) you have to wait to get paid, worry that you won't get paid, and ignore more important (insert novel here) stuff
4) most gigs pay like crap
5) the gigs that do pay well suck - you're hired to write papers for lousy undergrads
6) it's not "real" work - nobody you know (even you) believes it's legit
7) the pay sucks

My sissie likes writing for College Candy, and they treat her well. I'm glad about that. She won't tell me, however, if they pay her. Whatever. Maybe she's working there for free. Who knows? Who cares? As long as she enjoys contributing to their site, I'm supportive of her. Besides, I like that place. It's pretty fun.

OK, I'm gonna look out the window, imagine the kids tossing Frisbees around, and then bury myself in some books about Proust. Yippee.