As an aspiring novelist, I like to read about other writers and how they found success. But in books and magazine that write this sort of swill, I often find an implied assumption that an aspiring writer will, as a matter of course, enter an Master of Fine Arts program to get his or her graduate degree in Creative Writing.

Since I have no intention of embarking on such a course — how long would a talking pig last in a creative writing class? — I thought I would defend my intention by finding out how my favorite writers got their start and how many of them had MFA’s.

I think I’ll attempt this in chronological order, beginning with the first writer who made an indelible impression on my life. I was five years old. The writer was Thornton W. Burgess, author of about a million animal stories for small children. I’m willing to assume that, in addition to creative writing, he studied wildlife management and child psychology too. I know he was pretty successful at what he did. In fact, while I was still in kindergarten, I taught myself to read so that I could devour more and more of his tales of the animals of the Smiling Pond and the Green Meadows. His characters acted like real animals except they talked to each other and had to solve little moral dilemmas that I could understand. When Hooty the Owl caught Danny Meadow Mouse and lifted him up over the snowy fields in the moonlight, I was, not exactly terrified, but unbearably excited to see what would happen next. One thing I knew for sure: Danny would escape. Thornton Burgess’ animal world was that kind of world. And that was just the way I liked it. Burgess wrote over seventy of those little books and I wanted to devour every one.

OK,let’s see what Thornton’s credentials are…hmm,what’s this? According to American Writers for Children, 1900-1960, after high school he went to business college for a year to try learn accounting. Didn’t like it, and quit. Got a job in a shoe store. That’s it. That’s his entire advanced education! What gives here?

When he was twenty-one, he snagged a job as janitor/office boy at a publishing company. The publishing company put out magazines for farmers. Burgess didn’t know anything about farming, but he knew the editor, so he tried submitting a few little pieces. One thing led to another. He became a part-time, then a full-time reporter. He learned by doing! Found out what worked by bashing away at it day after day.

Well, that was a long time ago. Let’s pick somebody more current. How about, Ken Follett, the thriller writer? His stuff doesn’t thrill me with delight, but neither do I despise it. I’ve read my share of Ken Follett thrillers and enjoyed every one. And, since he’s one of the most successful writers out there, so let’s see where he got his MFA in Creative Writing.

Well, according to British Mystery and Thriller Writers Since 1940: First Series, Follett went to University College in London, where he took his degree in… philosophy. Philosophy? Well, he probably wanted to get his moral bearings in an ambiguous universe so his characters could agonize more about their despicable deeds, after he finished his advanced writing degree, right?

Actually, he went home to Wales and snagged a job for the South Wales Echo, writing their rock music column for three years. Then he became a crime reporter and started writing thrillers on the side. If he ever took a writing class, there is no record of it. Just kept bashing away to see what worked.

I know, you’re probably saying Pig, you’re only picking writers that you know never went to graduate school. What about those high-toned guys who write literary fiction? The kind that critics like and wins awards? They must have MFAs!

Listen, don’t get me started on critics. I wish they would all go shoot themselves.

Listen to what The Oxford Companion To Children’s Literature says about Thornton W. Burgess stuff, the man who opened the wide world of books to me forever: “an undistinguished mishmash in imitation of The Wind In the Willows…Beatrix Potter…and Uncle Remus, but (sniff) very popular in his time.” And please don’t mention that undistinguished name in my critical presence again. Hmmpf.

Frankly, I find it hard to open a novel that promises long pages of careful introspection and Scandanavian angst. A novel about a husband and wife not discussing their marital problems for 300 pages in their middle class kitchen in Connecticut only gets interesting to me when pirates suddenly leap through the kitchen window, kidnap the wife, and the husband has to rescue her before it’s too late! But that mostly doesn’t happen.

However, there is one literary writer I actually enjoy. He was a Southerner by the name of Walker Percy.  I’ve read two of his novels and they both were about alienated Southerners walking around the South not thinking about things.  But, for some funny reason, I really like the guy’s work and want to read more.   So let’s look him up.

Ah, Walker Percy. Went to college back in the thirties where he studied…chemistry. He eventually became a pathologist, and while autopsying tubercular corpses, contracted TB himself. Through his long sanatorium convalescence he started reading — French and Russian literature, philosophy, psychology, anything to keep his mind going. Made him start wondering about things. How come if science is so great, men and women tend to be so unhappy and confused? And lead such shallow lives?

So he recovers, but doesn’t want to be a pathologist anymore. He decides to try writing books about this dilemma that has become real to him. Quits his job, moves back to Louisiana, lives off an inheritance from a relative, and starts bashing away to see what works. His third novel, The Moviegoer, wins the National Book Award. So he never set out to write literary fiction. He set out to use fiction to solve the problem that gnawed at him.

I am not totally convinced that going to graduate school is the best way to learn anything in the creative line. Has jazz noticeably improved since musicians started getting degrees in it? Actually, no. It’s gotten more boring.  Today, jazz lovers are still listening to the guys like John Colrane and Miles Davis who learned from bashing away in the clubs ever night.

What about movies? What film school did Francois Trauffaut or Frederico Fellini go to? I think it was called the school of life. They learned their trade by making movies all day. Did that school close down? It turned some pretty good guys.

So, in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, I think I’ll just sit here and bash away until I finally figure out what works.

Good thing I have stopped writing this blog.  Daily visitors have tripled since I quit to devote more time to my novel!  What’s going on?  Now that I’m gone people can’t get enough of me. 

The novel is going much better since I’ve begun working on it five days a week.  I’ve completed four or five more chapters and hope to have the first draft finished this year.  Pig fanciers will appreciate it, I fancy.  Set in the pre-Summer of Love Haight-Ashbury, it follows the comic adventures of three young hippies as they fight to right a fifty year old wrong, get even higher, figure out the meaning of life if any, fall in love, and save the world from giant snails.

Like always, I try to be as silly as possible on the outside, and as serious as possible on the inside. 

Keep reading books!  There’s not many of us left.

I was checking over the terms of my contract last night and I noticed that, after writing the blog for three years, I am now eligible for an all-expense paid trip to Kerguelen Island.  I think we’ll go.  Of course it does get a little cold down there but – hey – it gets a little cold up here.

Besides, Patrushka wants to go somewhere where she can wear her furs.  Don’t worry, they’re all heritage furs.  The original ermines were accidentally shot by Prince Kropotkin one morning in 1911 while he was out as usual  trying to trying to assassinate the Czar.  The Czar, riding by in his sleigh,  noticed the little guys lying in the snow and brought them home for his little daughter to play with.  My Princess Patrushka inherited them along with all the other truck – the Faberge eggs and stuff she leaves lying around the house right where I’ll stumble over them when I go out for a glass of chocolate milk.

So, where was I?  Oh yes, my sabbatical.  I want to focus more on my novel-in-progress, The Syndicate of Eternal Friendship, which had been proceeding at a snail’s pace lately.  Plus I want to organize my autobiographical pieces on the blog and see if they might hold together as a book.

So we’re heading for dear old Kerguelen.  The French Navy says they’ll have a launch waiting for us on Reunion Island, so we just have to figure out how to get there.  It’s going to be great.  No more distractions.  Just Kerguelen cabbages as far as the eye can see.  And the rabbits of course.  And the scientists dropping by every five minutes for coffee with the Princess.

Oh well, you just can’t find perfect solitude any more.  When it gets too noisy in our Quonset hut I’ll just go  for a walk and watch the albatrosses carousing up in the grey sky.

As a public service, we at the Pondering Pigsty want you to survive until we all get rich again.  If I had a car (and hands to steer it with, of course) I would keep this article handy:

How To Live In Your Car

Odetta died in New York City on Tuesday.  That big, rich, powerful voice will thrill us live no more.  She was a mighty rod and an inspiration.  She could turn simple words into an epic declaration of insufferable injustice and give us some spirit to fight it. She made me want to sing the big kind of folk music.  May sweet Jesus ease her passage.  Her like won’t be seen again.

Another man done gone
Another man done gone
Another man done gone
From the country farm
Another man done gone.

He had a long chain on
He had a long chain on
He had a long chain on
From the country farm
Another man done gone.

I didn’t know his name
I didn’t know his name
I didn’t know his name
They did him just the same
Another man done gone.

Here’s the link to her obituary in the Los Angeles Times:

Odetta Holmes dies at 77; folk singer championed black history, civil rights

Thanks to If Charlie Parker was a Gunslinger, Ther’d Be A Whole Lot of Dead Copycats for the heads up and photo.

Posted in Art Matters, Important Information Tagged: folk music, odetta ]]> http://ponderingpig.wordpress.com/2008/12/03/odetta-done-gone/feed/ 1 ponderpig odetta1 http://ponderingpig.wordpress.com/2008/11/30/shadows-of-the-spanish-civil-war/ http://ponderingpig.wordpress.com/2008/11/30/shadows-of-the-spanish-civil-war/#comments Mon, 01 Dec 2008 00:00:47 +0000 ponderpig http://ponderingpig.wordpress.com/?p=1515 ]]>

I received the following today from Eva Wilson and I think it’s important. Eva and I have been friends, despite great gaps of years and miles, since the fall of 1961, when I first met her on the foggy lawns of San Francisco State.  She was Eva Bessie then, and I didn’t know yet that her father was Alvah Bessie, Academy award nominated screenwriter and member of the blacklisted Hollywood Ten.  He was beaten up pretty bad by the House Unamerican Activities Committee, but never asked forgiveness for being a man of honor.  He went to prison for a year (”contempt of Congress’) and, when he got out, he couldn’t get work writing anymore.  Then he found a job stage managing for the old hungry i nightclub in San Francisco, working lights and sound for acts like Mort Sahl, Lenny Bruce, and Professor Irwin Corey.

PILGRIMAGE

I had the great privilege of taking a dual pilgrimage in October to Spain and France with my brother and sister-in-law.  We attended a 70th reunion of the leaving of the Spanish Civil War Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade from Spain in Barcelona. Even though their cause was defeated by the fascists, their spirit was a flame to encourage the determination to defeat fascists coming up in World War II. Our father, Alvah Bessie, was a member of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, and we followed some of his rigorous and perilous journey, with inadequate gear, freezing weather, and very little food, in our comfortable little car, stopping at sights and cafes along the way. If anyone would be interested in a great tale of this war, read my father’s book, “Men in Battle,” which is considered a classic in his genre. There were brave and strong soldiers, mostly untrained, from around the world, and some are still alive. “Spanish Notebooks,” also by my father, is another great journal of his experiences, edited only slightly.

After the grandeur of the Pyrenees Mountains, complete with snow and chalet villages, we went to Lourdes, France, to visit the grotto of Saint Bernadette, where she saw visions of the Virgin Mary on many occasions. She inspired me at age 13, through the Hollywood movie, and I choreographed a ballet based on her life. I was an official card-not-carrying mystic, in a family of lefty, cards-lost agnostics! Oh, well. I am still a mystic, and am proud of and delighted that I was raised in a free thinking family, devoted to good causes.

I enclose some meaningful snapshots of the journey, for those curious about this incredible trip. There are some Vets still alive, and I was able to get a snapshot of one, Jack Shafran. The event was in beautiful Barcelona and Sitges, a resort town.  People came from all over the world.  Music of the Spanish Civil War played and flags were flying from that period. The sixties was not the only time of inspiration!

And now we have Obama. Trust him; he’ll do the right thing, I believe. I hope.

Eva Wilson

Men in Battle: A Story of Americans in Spain

Alvah Bessie’s Spanish Civil War Notebooks

More Books And Films By Or About Alvah Bessie

Well, I finally finished Chapter 39 of The Syndicate of Eternal Friendship and it will be in the email to my reader’s list soon, probably Monday.  Or should I call it ‘The Light From Clara Bow’s Lips’?  Readers may understand why they could both be relevant.  Decisions, decisions…

In an exciting development, President-elect Barack Obama today announced, “At this defining moment for our nation, the old ways of thinking and acting just won’t do. They call for us to seek fresh thinking and bold new ideas from the leading minds across America.”  That’s why he’s decided to hire 81 year old new thinker Paul Volcker to honcho his new Economic Recovery Advisory Board.  Paul joined the staff of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York in 1952, so he’s had a lot of time to use up his old thinking and come up with new ideas.

He’s already been an under-secretary of the Treasury, a vice-president at Chase Manhattan Bank, and Chairman of the Federal Reserve under both Jimmy Carter and his successor Ronnie Reagan -  when, and I quote Wikipedia, “Volcker’s Fed also elicited the strongest political attacks and most wide-spread protests in the history of the Federal Reserve (unlike any protests experienced since 1922), due to the effects of the high interest rates on the construction and farming sectors, culminating in indebted farmers driving their tractors onto C Street NW and blockading the Eccles Building.”

Good luck, Paul.  I’m hope you’re the guy who can figure out how to get the bailout bucks from Citibank down to our neighborhood hardware stores and delicatessans.

Look, I try to stay away from politics, government, the financial bailout or lack thereof, the various wars and Kill For Peace.  I figure the net is awash with unsought opinion on these matters and I’ll do more good by spreading a bit of the old existential gloom.  With a few laughs along the way, of course.

Howsomever, I just have to rant for one minute.  I am so disappointed with Obama’s choices so far for his cabinet.  Is this what he means by change?  To bring in or leave in place all the same hacks that got us into trouble in the first place?  In the entire land of America, in the all the universities and junior colleges and plumbing firms, is there just one small club of rich people who could possibly advise Obama on how to run America?  Is this what he considers change?

Let’s see.  Robert Gates, our new Secretary of Defense.  Well, gosh, look what I just noticed.  He already IS Secretary of Defense!  How likely is this guy to suggest we stop the war and bring home the troops and the ten billion dollars a month that we’re spending to keep them pacifying the wedding parties of Afghaistan? And, this ten billion dollars a month is coming from the canny Chinese and Japanese who keep buying our bonds.  Because even if the interest rate is getting down to zero per cent – at least they’re still safer than their own bonds.  Too bad all the poor retired suckers depending on the income from their 401k’s stocks didn’t notice in time.

How about Tim Gaither, Obama’s choice for Secretary of Treasury?  In an amazing shuffle of the cards, Tim will be shuffled over from his job as president of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, where he had lunch and went to the cigar bars with all the Wall Street fat cats.  I’ll bet you much these guys like him fine.  But I don’t like them because they are out to get me and you.  And they’ll do it too.

Let’s see – US Treasury Bond rate: 0%.  Citibank Visa Card Rate: 28.9%.  Do we see a pattern here?

How many phone calls from guys with diamond-studded private jets did Obama field before he shuffled Tim?

Obama’s choice for top White House Economic Adviser?  It’s the Secret Agent of change, man of the people Larry Summers.  Hey, Larry Summers?  Isn’t he disco queen Donna Summers older brother?  No, but he’d probably have some fresh ideas.  No, this Larry Summers was Secretary of the Treasury for Bill Clinton.

What is this?  Some kind of expletive little fraternity and Barack passed the initiation rites?

Do I need to go on? What happened to Obama, the guy I voted for?   Did I get fooled again?

My capability for hopelessness, cynicism and despair is well practiced.  I grew up in this country.  I have watched every president from Harry Truman on vote for more greed, more power, more empire.

In these appointments, and I have only mentioned three – do you see one slight hint of meaningful change in this country?  Because I don’t.

This has been the shortest honeymoon in history.

Now back to our regular programming.

Tina Turner, The self-styled Queen of Rock and Roll, turns 69 today.  Congrats, you old Acid Queen, you. Not too many people know this and I’m not 100 percent sure it’s true, but I’ve heard Tina actually retired from show biz two or three years ago and bought a lovely little chintz covered b&b in Lake Tahoe, where she performs for her guests in the evenings along with her old friends Aretha and Diana Ross. Lookin’ good, guys!

That’s Tina’s doppelganger selling out the Prudential Center in Newark, New Jersey tonight. You can see she’s slightly transparent sometimes if the light is just right.