September Sightings

Hi all,

I would love to see you this September. I have a ton of activities. Please join.

September 3

Sunday Jump, 5-7pm

Pilipino Workers Center

153 Glendale Blvd

LA  CA  90026

September 16

Book Party, 3pm

Skylight Books

1818 N. Vermont

LA  CA  90027

September 25

Canisius University, 5:30pm

Andrew L. Bouwhuis Library Learning Center

Buffalo, NY 

September 26

PEN America Reading,7pm

Earth, Wind, Fire, Music:

A Celebration of New Work.

Second Home

1370 N. St. Andrews Pl.

LA  CA  90028

Oh, Joshua Tree

I had to get away for a bit. One of the places that I love in all of the world is the desert, specifically Joshua Tree. What an incredible piece of earth that place is.

I wrote about it in my second novel "Talking to the Moon." Jory, the father of character, loves Joshua Tree because he adores the moon. Joshua Tree looks like the moon, a far away, enchanted place.

I found spots to meditate and simply relax. The desert is deadly in Summer, but nine months out of year, it's pretty amazing. 

 

WRITE EFFORT Realized!

Last weekend, I completed my first full course of WRITE EFFORT: Creative Writing Through a Buddhist Lens. Yes, it was exciting to work with a wonderful group of writers. I see you Kate, Beth, Lizzy, Fred, Doug and Jonathan! Yes, I loved working with the fine literary organization Beyond Baroque, especially Emmitt Conklin. Yes, I loved integrating Buddhist thought with the craft of storytelling.

But what I really loved were the stories that came about. We are filled with an incredible amount of ideas and themes and characters. Inside each and everyone of us is at least one book. However, I think we need effort, mindfulness and concentration--elements of the Buddhist Eightfold Path.

It will be hard, there will be suffering (The First Noble Truth), but one can persevere.

Greater in battle

than the man who would conquer

a thousand-thousand men, 

is he who would conquer just one--

                                     himself.

                                 Buddha

                                           Dhammapada 

                                  VIII; 103

WRITE EFFORT at Beyond Baroque

I am absolutely thrilled to be working with the fine literary institution Beyond Baroque. I became familiar with them in the 1990s as I began my literary career. I am over the moon that I can teach WRITE EFFORT: Creative Writing Through a Buddhist Lens. Classes begin via Zoom on May 23.

Thoughts on a Virus

Self-Portrait, Lotus Festival, 2017

The Coronavirus would be my second plague. My first was AIDS. Back then, I'd heard the average age of death for a gay man was 45. I felt middle-aged in my twenties. Middle-age can be startling--forcing me to ask serious questions of my life: Am I doing what I should be doing? What makes me happy?

Now, I am middle-aged again. Amidst Covid-19, I ask similar questions: Am I doing what I should be doing?  What makes me happy?

Today, I add these questions: Am I being helpful enough? Has my creativity helped anyone? Have I served?

I don't know the answers, but this new virus is making me think. The worst case scenario is two million Americans will die.    Will I be one of them? If so, would I be okay with that?

The short answer is: Yes, I would have to be.  I recognize that at 52, I surpassed the old estimate of dying at 45.  I published books, something that I didn't know was possible for me. I got an MDiv in Buddhist Chaplaincy--also another surprise in my life. So many surprises.

I wonder what surprises are left?  Maybe I die--surprise! Yet, there's a part of me that still might have a bit of survivor's guilt.  As a gay man, did I cheat death? Will Coronavirus even the score? I don't know.

I just know that I'd been gifted with 52 years on earth so far. Whether I get another year or decade or several decades, I can't say. I guess, for now, I get to see another spring. If I'm lucky, maybe summer. If I'm really lucky, another fall.

Write with Me!

I'm teaching the short story form at UCLA Extension. Please join me.  Classes begin on October 3. I'm working out of the downtown Los Angeles campus. More information HERE.

Headshots

I haven't had acting headshots in nearly 15 years.  If I'm going to start acting again, I decided to finally get them.  The photographer is the amazing Alexis Rhone Fancher.

I was fourteen when I got my very first headshots. I got my first agent at 16 and got into the unions by 17.  I got my BFA in acting. I thought I would be acting forever. However, the roles were few and far between, and the roles pretty much sucked.

I did my own performance work, which I loved, but found my creative urges could be quenched through writing.  Leaving acting to write was one of the best decision I made.

Now, I feel the urge to go back to my first love of acting.  We'll see what happens.

Literary Meditation

From my previous post, you may have picked up my lamenting of a wasted life.  Ten years working on a novel and I didn't want to spend time on it anymore.  From some gentle nudging from friends and colleagues, I decided to spend ten--fifteen minutes at most--doing rewrites. After those minutes I was going to live my life.

Those minutes turned into an hour, and what a wonderful hour that was.  I was in the zone of writing and caring about this novel again.  I might hate it again, but at this time, I cared.

That hour was not about wasting my life.  It was a deep, creative meditation.  I didn't waste ten years of my life, I grew creatively and spiritually.  For ten years, I was sitting at my own banyan tree. The sentences I wrote were my mantra.  The resistance I felt was Mara sending arrows toward me.  Writing turned those arrows into flowers that fell at my feet.

I meditate.  Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad.  Whatever the "sit," it aims for my overall piece of mind.  Once I finished writing, I went for a run--something I hadn't done in awhile.  I felt jazzed.

Not a single story is wasted.  It may not find publication, but it help pad the meditation cushion where I sit.     

Literary Choices

I was asked to work on my novel Miraculous Boy.  My agent is asking me to do rewrites.  My agent is rare.  He won't give up on this book.  MB has been on the market on two separate occasions and hadn't sold.  Frankly, I'm tired of this book.  I've put in ten years into writing and rewriting this book.  I swear in all the time I'd put into it, I wondered about the job opportunities I didn't take up or the relationships that passed me buy.  I chose art making over everything else. 

Writing a book means that there are other aspects of my life I had to give up or did not pursue.  We are our choices and I chose to write.  This is not a bad choice.  I don't regret the creative process during the last ten years, but I'm nearing fifty.  At what point should I just give up and find other ways to grow my life?     

Literary Again

I'd been updating my CV. A great way of documenting my work was to go through this blog. It was wonderful seeing my posts from the last 10 years. I'd grown a lot. When I started this blog, there was no financial meltdown, I had a new novel coming out--things change.

At some point, I stopped focusing on literary stuff and opened it up to all sorts of stuff.  I was exploring my world, I guess. I wrote on my blog less--as I had other writing projects that took up my time. 

Now, I think I should just focus on the writing. And go back to looking at the world purely through a literary lens. 

Literary is back.

Remembering Ayofemi, Remember Why

Ayofemi Folayan passed away recently.  She was my first writing teacher, and I owe her a tremendous amount of gratitude.  In the early 1990's, I was a few years out of acting school, and not acting.  Creativity had always been a strong tool in dealing with the world, and I needed to be creative.  As any actor will you, you're never acting enough and you're usually waiting for someone's permission to act. 

I started her writing workshop, a space she had for LGBT people of color.  She wanted space for young writers to say whatever they wanted to say.  She encouraged writing exploring issues of being a double minority.  I had been in creative spaces before--I had a degree in Theatre.  However, her class was different.  She asked us to travel deeply within ourselves, uncork our thoughts on truly difficult themes: racism, homophobia, immigration.  She helped me become a person who could comfortably speak my mind--with tact and generosity.  She helped developed my Voice. 

One day, she said she was selling her computer for a newer one.  I bought it.  And still have it.  I typed out stories on this old clunker.  I dug it out to look at it and remember my joy of writing in the first place. 

It's been twenty years, and I may have become a little jaded.  I'm being asked to consider "the market" when I write.  Can I sell whatever story I'm writing.  I must confess I had been having some frustration with my current novel.  I feel like my Voice had been muddled.  I'd been choking on what to say.

With Ayofemi's passing, I'm reminded as to why I started writing.  I wanted to do something honest and true.  I wanted to put something out in the world that was valuable.  I wanted to be the kind of writer Ayofemi would have been proud of.  And I still do.

 

 

Thank you, Ayofemi, for your service.

Hope and Inpiration at Jury Duty

Last week, I had to be at the Van Nuys courthouse by 10am to report for jury duty (JD).  I've done JD many times.  I was usually assigned a courthouse in downtown Los Angeles.  The drive into the San Fernando Valley on a weekday morning was not something I looked forward to.  However, I wanted to do my civic duty.

I brought stuff to read.  I brought my laptop to the jury waiting room.  I'm doing rewrites on some creative projects.  The work never seems to be ready.   

I was prepared for a long and dreadful day.  Then I saw a stack of New Yorkers.  I used to be an avid reader (when my boyfriend subscribed to it).  I hadn't been with him in many years, but always enjoyed an issue when I saw one lying around, say in a doctor's office. 

On this day, there was a stack of them.  Thanks to the kind soul who left New Yorkers around for jurors to read--Good Housekeeping was not something I would have picked up for reading material.
 

I believe that things happen for a reason.  If sending me to Jury Duty was the only way the Universe would get me to read the April 29, 2013 issue of the New Yorker, I offer prostrations to all of the Gods in Heaven.  I stumbled across John McPhee's "Draft No. 4," which can be previewed here. 

The article basically talked about getting the first draft done of any writing and how the fourth draft usually looks like the most presentable.  It was this letter to his daughter, that inspired me.

Dear Jenny:  The way to do a piece of writing is three or four times over, never once.  For me, the hardest part comes first, getting something--anything--out in front of me.  Sometimes in a nervous frenzy I just fling words as if I were flinging mud at a wall.  Blurt out, heave out, babble out something--anything--as a first draft.  With that, you have achieved a sort of nucleus.  Then, as you work it over and alter it, you begin to shape sentences that score higher with the ear and eye.  Edit it again--top to bottom.  Chances are that about now you'll be seeing something that you are sort of eager for others to see.   And all that takes time.  What I have left out is the interstitial time.  You finish that first awful blurting and then you put the thing aside.  You get in your car and drive home.  On the way, your mind is still knitting at the words.  You think of a better way to say something, a good phrase to correct a certain problem.  Without the drafted version--if it did not exist--you obviously would not be thinking of things that would improve it.  In short, you may be actually writing only two or three hours a day, but your mind, in one way or another, is working on it twenty-four hours a day--yes, while you sleep--but only if some sort of draft or earlier version already exists.  Until it exists, writing has not really begun. 

Meeting Jeanette

I met Jeannette Winterson, a true icon of mine. She came to Skylight and I had the honor of introducing her at her very first reading in Los Angeles. I read her novel The Passion some years ago, and it stuck with me. It wasn't until later that I discovered that she was a lesbian or that her work had been snubbed by some of the literati in her country (She's never won a major prize in her country). She has no problem attacking a literary male hero like Henry Miller. She called out the sexism in Mr. Miller's life, like using his girlfriends to prostitute themselves so he can sustain his life as a writer.

There were two things that she said that really meant something to me:

1. Trust the chaos. Writing can be an emotionally wrenching experience. Sometimes you just don't know which way is up in a story. That's ok.

2. This is your time. She said we can change alot about our selves. We can change where we live, what we look like (including our gender), but there is one thing we can't change: the time we were born. This is the hand we were dealt. We can not change the time we're living in.

This resonated with me, because I do think I was born in a rich, textured time (1968) and currently live in interesting (not necessarily the best) times. My time on earth is what I get to leave behind for others to read.

I'd been writing about the 1980's alot...great! It reinforced that I'm writing about what I need to be writing about.

Journey to Akumal

Most of my writing life is kind of dull. I'm by myself, filled with dread and awe. I wonder what will happen with my creativity, if something will come out of a writing session I commit to. Some writers call it drudgery. And, sometimes, it is.

Every once and awhile, I'll get to do something cool though. Like get a writing fellowship. Which I did! I'm heading off to spend ten days in Akumal, Mexico with a bunch of other writers. All of this with the generosity of RADAR Productions.

I have definate goals for this trip. I'm bringing a ton of research material, an old draft of my third novel, a newer draft which needs some revising. I intend to rewrite 25 old pages and write 25 new pages. Of course, I'll still be on a beach in Mexico--I hope I can focus.

Here's a recent interview.

Thanks, Phyllis. Thanks a Whole Bunch

Today I went to the memorial for Phyllis Gebauer, a writer and well loved writing teacher. I took a class with her in 1999 at writing conference. It forever changed my writing life. She gave me hardcore literary techniques on how to write. She was a dear friend to the amazing writer Thomas Pynchon, and gleaned writing advice from him.

From that class, I also bonded with several other writers. Phyllis created a safe, unifying space for us to learn. Recently, we had a gathering and toasted her memory.

I have no shame in saying that in my own life as a teacher, I've stolen many of her techniques. I sat in a church in Pasadena listening to others memorialize her. I took it all in and teared up. I'll miss this lady.

She'd taught many writers, and her legacy will live on in us.

Coming Through

Some of you may have remembered how I went through the process of trying to get my third book published. Well, here we are, a year later, and no book contract in sight. I must confess that in the last year, I'd experienced some (alot) of depression over this. But, today, May 21st, I think I'm coming out of it.

Yes, some predicted the End of the World today. Well, part of my world had ended--that part of hoping, yearning, praying that someone will want to put my next book into print. I even started entering my collection of short stories into contests, hoping that it'll win a publication. Not too long ago, I got a rejection letter from one contest stating that I'm not the winning manuscript. Oh!

It's a tough time out there, and I'm not the only author getting rejected. However, it stings. It really does. Or rather, it really did!

I'm feeling back to my old self again. Welcome back, Noel. I missed you.

Difficult Writing: Eulogy

I had one of the hardest writing assignments ever! I was asked to write a eulogy. A friend and colleague passed away suddenly just before Thanksgiving. A handful of people were asked to eulogize him. I was one of them. I kept putting it off and putting off. Finally, I had to get down to it and write the best way I knew how. It's an emotional experience because it is ultimately a good-bye note.

The last time I wrote a eulogy was when my father died. To this day, my dad's eulogy was the most difficult thing I'd ever written.

Writing novels or plays is nothing compared to having to write one of these suckers.

Eileen Myles

Writer Eileen Myles read from her new book Inferno tonight at Skylight. I'd introduced her before and have always liked her. Read about her here. She's produced 20 books of fiction, essays and novels.

During her question and answer period, she talked about being lazy and how she tricks herself into writing. I thought, OMG, me, too! I'd been having a hard time writing. Well, I'd been writing in, but not putting thoughts on paper. Like these sentences that came to me while driving.

"You must break her heart," Mrs. Lomi told her oldest son. "Tell her everything a girl likes to hear, that you'll always love her, always take care of her. Tell her you'll never leave. Make her fall in love with you. Once she does, write her a note and tell her you found someone else. Tell her you never loved her afterall. She'll be devasted. You must do that. Break her heart."

"That's cruel, mom."

"That's nothing compared to what her family did to ours."

Frankly, it hurts to write. While my book of short stories is making the rounds, it's been painful. It was a relief hearing Eileen talk of her difficulties writing sometimes. Her latest book took ten years to write! I don't feel so bad now.

New York, New York

I'd been reflecting on the last several days. I went to New York for the purpose of dropping off my manuscript and reconnecting with my agent, Al Zuckerman, a man I hadn't seen in five years. He's the founder of Writers House, a literary agency. We talked about work, which seems to be going well for Writers House, a place that saw the wild success of two of their authors: Stephanie Meyer (The Twilight Series) and Michael Lewis (The Blind Side).

Then the conversation turned to me and my collection of short stories, which even Al had to admit would be a hard sell. Yikes. I'd been through this process before and know the dance. This dance might be a little harder to move to. The publshing industry has been hit hard by the economy and they're more picky about who to place into print. I know finer writers who didn't get their books published in the last two years and, well, that's just the reality.

My book will be read by my agent, then returned to me. I revise, then back to my agent. He reads it again, and more revisions. This process could take a year. Maybe by then the economy would have improved. We'll see.

Regardless, I had a blast in the Big Apple: sight seeing, catching a play on Broadway, hanging out with my friend Stephen (who was kind enough to host me--Thanks, Sir!). I hadn't been to New York in several years and was blown away at how Times Square has turned into Las Vegas. It was rather overwhelming. Hence, my expression in the photo.

Something tells me I'll be back in that town sooner than later.

Rush!

One week from today I'm going to be giving a draft of my short story collection to my agent. This book, tentatively titled "Laconic Messages of Love and Other Stories," will have eleven pieces that I'd been working on for years. About four of them are published, but most have never seen the light of day.

Of course, there is always that one story that won't allow itself to be finished. It feels like I'm nearly done. But I've been saying that for weeks.

I won't let myself even think about how hard it is to sell a short story collection, particularly now in this publishing climate. All I can worry about is getting this mother done!