Apr 11, 2008

Gordon Lish

Posted by Rick Neece under Rick Neece, memories, writerly notions | Tags: , |
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Gordon Lish.

Where would I be now, had I “worked” with Gordon Lish? He was an absolute amazement for me. I think I’ve recounted briefly “literally sitting at his feet,” at a fiction–oh, shit, what would we call it? retreat? in Indiana. Three days. We met at a woman’s house. Sat in her living room floor around him. He said he could talk for hours, and we were free to get up and go to the bathroom, or if we had to indulge in the nasty habit, smoke, but he made it clear we would miss something if we did. I never got up to smoke, but I think I did get up once to go to the bathroom. Who knows what I missed?

I never worked for Lish, except for working hard on the “stuff” he proposed. Somewhere in this house, I have a blue canvas notebook with my notes of my time there. I sat with Lish two times. The time I just partially described, the second in a classroom at the University in Indiana. I think I mentioned before, across the aisle from me, Gary Lutz, and on the other aisle and one seat forward, Barton Allen. I think Michael Kimball was in my first sitting. I think he may have been 17 or so then.

Jesus, jesus, jesus! Just to sit there! Just to hear Lish talk. Honestly, his words came into my head, into my heart. My experience there colored every writerly notion I had inside me. And his admonishment: Do you have the sand to dare stand the test of time? You’re up against Shakespeare! You’re up against the Bible!

In little moments I try.

I did have a conversation on the phone with Gordon, when I was in NYC my first time with Saks. I was terrified to try to call him. I sat while they passed it through. He talked for several minutes, said things like, “if you need directions, ask anyone, we all love to help folks find their way around.” He was right. Toward the end of our conversation, he said, “What must you do? You must go to (I may not get this exactly right, it has been many years) Portabello Road, a little Italian restaurant on Thomas in the Village. You must order “Sole Bocca Des,” it isn’t on the menu. Tell them Gordon sent you.” I did. I still remember the taste and feel of it in my mouth. Honestly, the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

The thing I most remember? In a short, short note rejecting once again something I’d sent him, he said, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you can’t have your speech.”

I think that may have been the day I started talking.

 

Mar 13, 2008

Remembery from Clusterflock

Posted by Rick Neece under Rick Neece, coming out, memories, memory | Tags: , , , , , |
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On the occasion of my 50th birthday a couple years ago, Danny and I went to New York, got ourselves all dressed up and met friends at the Odeon for dinner. After cocktails then wine with dinner and after dinner drinks and the subway ride back uptown in the wee hours of the morning, I stumbled a little on the stairs as we were coming up out of the subway station. Danny took my hand. We emerged to streets dampened by a sudden brief shower. Still holding hands we began to trot toward our hotel two or three blocks away. In my memory we looked for all the world like Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, hands clasped, outer arms up and out for balance. We hardly touched the ground, toes gracefully pointed at every step.

 

Feb 24, 2008

Colors

Posted by Rick Neece under Rick Neece, home made fun, memories, memory, school days | Tags: , , |
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I remember a teacher, when? First grade? Second grade? A substitute.  She handed out a sheet to color, I don’t rightly remember the subject of the sheet, though I have a vague sensation of it, I think it had to do with bunnies and Easter eggs. She instructed us to “Color, being careful to stay inside the lines.” Now I had a particlar way I preferred coloring to appear on a page. I especially loved the soft, lightly nappy feel of the paper of certain coloring books and I loved the way the color took to the paper in a very even, albeit ”surfacy” way. I was skilled with keeping all my marks the same direction. In certain coloring books my marks blended into a pleasing “field” of color. Hardly a mark line could be seen.

Now, the paper on this handout? Slick, hard, the lines mimeographed. The “color” didn’t take to it.  All my marks on this paper were completely visible, blending was not possible. There was no way to even it out.

So, the substitute made her way around the room, looking over shoulders. When she happened over mine, my coloring technique didn’t meet her exacting standards. “Fill up the holes,” she said. “Make the color solid,” she said.

I hated coloring that way, it always involved criss-crossings and messiness. It meant “leaning into” the crayon, rather than my rather delicate technique of “lightly rubbing” the crayon into the paper.

Still, I tried. I’m nothing, if I’m not aiming to please.

I “leaned” into the crayon. I gave up my “rules” about keeping all my lines the same direction. I caked color layer upon color layer. Still I could never fill “all” the holes. I got high praise for my efforts. But I stifled my own opinion of the piece, it’s lurid color, heavily flaked with much too much wax for my taste. I accepted her praise. And felt dirty for doing so.

By way of further reference to colors and coloring books. It seemed, every year for Christmas for the first several Christmasses of our lives (my siblings and I), we received coloring books, and new boxes of colors. There’s something magic about a new box of colors, the colors inside so beautifully arranged, all the points sharp. Such possibility! Anything could happen. Every year when I got several new coloring books, I’d vow to myself to finish one from beginning to end, as beautifully as possible coloring every page one after the other until I colored the last page. I have to confess I never finished that self-imposed task.

 

Feb 22, 2008

Coloring Book

Posted by trelvix under family, memories | Tags: , , , |
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I was working furiously on a coloring-book Earth while my father fried biscuit-donuts and side-pork crackles across the room.

At the time I tended to ponder notions of Heaven and Hell more than I should have, given my pedigree. Indeed I had little reason to accept either as anything less than metaphysical certitude.

Hell was buried somewhere on page 23. Heaven was probably just beyond the table’s edge.

“Dad,” I paused, “how far would I have to dig to get to Hell?”
“I guess that depends on how deep of a hole you’re in to start with.” he answered without even looking up from the stove.

I hated it when he pulled that shit.

 

Feb 19, 2008

stork | transitive verb | to alter radically that which is imperfect so as to ruin it irredeemably

Posted by Sheila Ryan under friends, memories | Tags: , , , , |
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When Melanie was a little girl, she bought a coloring book expressly because of the picture of a stork that it contained. When she saw the drawing of the stork, Melanie thought to herself that it would look very beautiful if it were glossy and black, and so she bought the book and went home to color the stork with wax crayons. Well, you know what generally happens when you press very very hard on a wax crayon to produce a glossy effect (especially if you are very excited and eager to see a shiny black stork). But as she worked and worked on the picture, the stork came to look less and less like her imagined ideal and more like a mess till finally she grew so angry that she took her black crayon and drew a big black ‘X’ across the entire page. From that day forth Melanie (and I) came to speak of ’storking’ something when our ambitions exceeded our capacity and we got so furious that we felt driven to mutilate our work beyond redemption.

Cross-posted at clusterflock and memorycemetery.

 

Jan 25, 2008

Mewling and Puking

Posted by Sheila Ryan under Sheila Ryan, school days | Tags: , , |
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Fifth grade. Music class. Teacher: Mrs. Shields, who was our music teacher throughout grade school.

Class just commencing; kids still jawing — when what does Mrs. Shields hear but a fragmentary eruption ” . . . urp — and wipe it on Dennis . . . “

A gasp from Mrs. Shields. “Who said that?”

“I did.”

“Well, Sheila, I wouldn’t have expected that from you.” (Mrs. Shields never quite knew what to make of Sheila, a well-read little girl who enjoyed serious music — Bach, Mozart, et cetera — almost as much as she liked playing the fool for an audience.)

“Class, who can think of a nicer word for what Sheila just said?”

And so the fifth-graders offered their family’s preferred terms — throw up, vomit, be sick . . . (Sheila just naturally had to say ‘regurgitate’.) Dale Blair raised his hand and allowed as how, “My daddy says ‘puke’.” Another gasp from Mrs. Shields. “Well, he shouldn’t say that in front of you and your sister.”

But none of the children guessed the very best word, Mrs. Shields’s favorite word, the nicest word for what Sheila said, and this seemed to please Mrs. Shields, as it gave her the opportunity to not quite stifle a coy smile and announce:

“The word is . . . up-chuck.”

Cross-posted as Sheila Asks (on Behalf of Mrs. Shields) at clusterflock.

 

Jan 19, 2008

Cold

Posted by Rick Neece under uncategorized
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I was just outside smoking a cig on the patio, and this came to me. Background: We lived in Minneapolis nearly 5 years, 1989 to 1994.

I remember winter nights there like the night tonight here in KC. Single digits, a breezy wind from the North. Largely, I remember it being dark when I went to work, dark when I came home at night. In the coldest part of winter, in my office (between two of the display windows at street level) at Saks, I could see my breath. If it was above zero, I would just tie on my hood, grab my mittens and walk about a mile (10 minutes? 15?) to work. If below zero, I’d ride the bus and it actually took longer than walking.

I remember how my feet never really got warm in restaurants when we’d go out to eat.

I remember how the first warmish day of Spring, 40 degrees or so, boys and girls alike would peel off many layers and go running or walking around the lakes in the city.

Summer there, even if only 30 minutes long, was a celebration of survival.

 

Jan 9, 2008

From the Comments

Posted by Rick Neece under Brother T, family, memories, memory | Tags: , , , |
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Brother T writes:

“Come here. You’ve got to see this!”

My mother called me out of the house and pointed to the boiling, green sky. The radio chirped about tornadoes to the west. As with you my recollection predates Super-Mega-HD-Mine’s-Bigger-Than-Yours radar and the jockeying for position to translate tragedy to Nielson up-ticks. When we had a storm we turned the television to channel 1. If the screen lit up with snow then the legend was that the tornado was already on top of you.

“Come here. You’ve got to see this!”

We took my father’s truck out of the river valley and up to the high ground south of town where we could see forever. There’s a particular truth in this cliché . What I saw in the distance I will most certainly see forever. A massive, indifferent wedge inching its way across the horizon – silent and black as coal.

As we drove to church the following morning we crossed the tornado’s path and saw chaos where homes had been for generations. Such random and violent devastation.

“Dad?” I asked. “Why would God do this?”
“I don’t know boy.” he answered. “Just sit back.”

We continued on to church where my father delivered his sermon to a numbed congregation and did his best to address my questions as I was not the only one asking that morning.

The truth of the matter was that he really, really didn’t know.

“Come here. You’ve got to see this!”

Indeed.

 

Jan 9, 2008

Tornado 1967

Posted by Rick Neece under family, near-misses, realizations | Tags: , , |
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I had to google a little bit to remember this.

When I was twelve, if memory serves, a Friday afternoon, for some reason our whole family was home in Cherry Valley, IL. We were watching the clouds outside the house. Dark gray, roiling. A tornado warning had just been issued on the television. The air smelled. As I recall, wet, rainy, metallic. I don’t remember seeing images that day like images I’ve seen since of what tornados look like.

Still the clouds. Roiling. It was exciting!

At some point, Daddy said, “Everybody in the basement!” We went the back door, and down the stairs. We stood near the washer and dryer. We stood there, as near as I remember, just a few minutes. We came back up to see sun peeking through the western clouds.

I remember seeing, later that evening, the news. The tornado in Belvidere. Just six miles away. Destruction at the Chrysler plant. Kids died at a school. I don’t remember talk of it being an F4 tornado. This, before such things were a topic of conversation on television. We can put names on things we don’t understand these days and we think we know more.

 

Jan 2, 2008

New Year’s Eve 1983

Posted by Rick Neece under memories, memory, music | Tags: , , |
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Living in married student housing at Arkansas State University. Living in a mobile home, 10 x 40 ft. I don’t remember all the circumstances, how I came to be the only one up at midnight. Joni was asleep in bed. I had the Sony on. There was a show with 1984 as the theme. Thank you Mr. Orwell. You brought us the future once. I was living when it came to be.

Three things I remember. A choir of saxophonists walking, in white robes with hoods, down a street in a European town, Venice, I think. They walked up the street playing a single low note. A drone. They walked and played the note for what seemed like a long time. It might have been three minutes. Then a commercial I don’t remember.

John Cage played a piece of music. His instrument? A guitar pick and a seed pod with a long tail that splits when it dries. I’ve since seen this pod fashioned into “roadrunners.” Bamboo skewers for legs glued onto smallish roundish stones. Feathers were painted on, and eyes. I’m sure such as they can still be purchased at Hillbilly Junction. Mr. Cage was slowly plucking the split tail tips, making a plunky music. I scarce knew what to make of it.

The last thing I remember that evening?

 cd-1982-big-science-sm.jpg

Laurie Anderson, the first time I’d ever had the opportunity to know of her. Was this the evening she played the violin with the LED in her mouth? I don’t remember. I was mesmerized. I was astonished. She has been a staple in the repertoire of the JenseNeece household all these years hence.

The passing of the old year always brings nostalgia for me. The coming of the new? Great desire for more strength to do what needs to be done and more grace in moments of trial.

 

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