Hi from Beantown

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I woke up rather groggily on a futon this morning, stumbled over to the window, and saw people sculling on the Charles River and gorgeous Autumn foliage. Last night I caught the Chinatown bus and 4 hours and 15 minutes later I was in Boston for the first time.

Of course some walking around, some brunch, maybe some clam chowder are on the agenda (although not chowder at brunch), but does anybody have any special recommendations? I was thinking the Gardner Museum would be good, and my host said the Museum of Fine Arts and the ICA were also excellent.

I’m excited to start exploring. Even late last night, Boston seemed so genteel compared to New York, with it’s clean streets and T stations. But everyone else in the house is still sleeping! Not only does this mean I can’t explore, it means no breakfast. The only comestibles in sight are a half-eaten dark chocolate and coconut bonbon and a bottle of Bushmills. So I suppose there’s plenty of time if you want to mention any favorite brunch spots too.

The Novel

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I can’t quite get up the gumption to finish this big project of a novel I have going on. I read it through, and made some notes, and even made a Post-it storyboard of scenes. There are definitely some changes I want to make, and some I’m not sure about. But what I’m really doing is putting off the challenge of sitting down to edit/rewrite the last half.

I believed in it enough to write 240+ pages of it. Hell, I believed in it enough to switch careers and am now contemplating an even bigger life change. But the project itself is stymied, and partly because I’m wondering if it is worth all this effort and time.

I know the answer to that one is yes, somehow it is worth it. (Even if all it does is teach me that I’m an inescabably bad writer.) And I was okay with that back in those golden days of yore when I actually enjoyed working on it. Have you ever gotten stuck on a project? How do you get excited about it again?

The Anthologist, a Plummy Read

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I can’t remember the last time I wrote about a novel, but then again I can’t remember that last time I picked up such a good novel. The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker is a simple story told in a great voice that is incredibly appealing.

Told from the point of view of Paul Chowder, a sometime poet writing an introduction to an anthology of rhyming poetry, the story unfolds into one of intimate, blind self-destruction. Paul narrates his lawnmowing, his girlfriend leaving him, cleaning up the office, and about the difficulty of writing the introduction. He is overwhelmed by the task and can’t write the introduction. Even when his girlfriend leaves him because of it, he can’t write the introduction. Yet in the process the reader hears him narrate about English poetry: about rhyme schemes and past poets and why it all matters. This becomes maddening because it’s the very stuff of an introduction.

It’s both about the history of poetry and the creative process; It has a great narrative voice; Of course I loved it in the first five pages. I love poetry, and this might be as close as fiction as meta-poetry comes. The author (lucky me!) has a backlist, so I think I know what I’ll be reading after Lolita. Next time you’re searching about for a good read, check it out.