Wrtiting camp continues. Saw Charles D'Ambrosio today. He had a five o'clock shadow and a Crazy Guggenheim hat mashed on his head. He throttled the microphone like a strangler. Then he held on for dear life as if he were on a slippery deck in a storm. He writes wonderful stories. Here is an interview with Charley. Read his stories everywhere, or buy them in a book. see if I care.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
GETTING DOWN WITH CHUCK D
Wrtiting camp continues. Saw Charles D'Ambrosio today. He had a five o'clock shadow and a Crazy Guggenheim hat mashed on his head. He throttled the microphone like a strangler. Then he held on for dear life as if he were on a slippery deck in a storm. He writes wonderful stories. Here is an interview with Charley. Read his stories everywhere, or buy them in a book. see if I care.
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2 comments:
Yes, yes, it's all well and good that you are rubbing haunches with exalted pros and gifted amateurs. You really must tell us all about that someday.
But what we, your friends, admirers and readers of the Nine-Pound Hammer want to know is: WHAT ABOUT BOB? What are you writing, thinking, getting out of this clusterf- this workshop? Please give us a little meat!
Hey, Jim! Other than reading and writing one of the high points was singing Dylan songs with writing outlaw Denis Johnson. There are plenty of National Book Award Winners, but how many know all the verses of "Like a Rolling Stone?"
Reading a fragment of my writing at the an outdoor amphitheater was also a high point, especially after Rob Spillman, the editor of Tin House, complimented the piece. I'm sending him something soon.
My fellow students were an interesting group, and good writers. Some even teach writing. On a couple occasions we snuck off campus and one night we managed to hit Pok Pok for Asian street food, Powell's bookstore, and the infamous Voodoo Donuts, home of the bacon-and-maple bar, and some weird donut with a dollop of Nyquil. I shit you not, dear reader. Another high point.
Oh, and the Tin House Martini. A refreshing concoction of Tanqueray gin, dry vermouth, and some Pernod. They're like breasts; one is not enough, and three is too many.
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