Saturday, November 28, 2009
READ THIS BOOK: An Uncommon History of Common Things
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Read This Book: My Father's Bonus March
I think that one of the most important lessons I learned from writing this book was not to settle for or even seek definitive answers. Throughout the majority of the book, I struggle with the question of why my father wanted to write this book and why he never did. But towards the end, I come to realize that the process of searching for answers is much more rewarding and informative than any single answer could be. Was it because he never intended to finish the book? Was it because he ran out of time? Was it because the book was only ever a dream? Was it because the definitive history of the Bonus March, published in 2004, made his project no longer necessary? Through asking these questions, I know more about my father than any yes/no answer to any of those questions could provide. As for why it was important to me, I think it ultimately has less to do with my hopes for what we could have done together than it has to do with images and myths I had about my family that have turned out to be only images and myths. I grew up with the idea that my father could do anything he wanted to, anything he put his mind to, and the fact that he didn’t complete the book seemed to contradict this idea. But the truth is that we’re all limited and the fact that my father didn’t complete his book doesn’t or shouldn’t detract from everything he did accomplish in his life.
How difficult was it to make the transition from writing fiction (the superb Ellington Boulevard, The Washington Story, and Crossing California) to writing nonfiction? How did the process differ?
I started out as a journalist, so it wasn’t much of a transition. I started writing for newspapers and radio stations when I was in my early teens and worked for more than a decade in Chicago in journalism. A lot of my fiction has been informed by journalism and my attention to detail, my sense of dialogue and interaction comes from stories I have written and people I have encountered as a reporter. What made this a bit more difficult than other journalism projects was the fact that it was my own family history that I was investigating, and I felt a responsibility to honor the relationships and friendships that my father had made over the course of his eighty years and to accurately capture the voices that informed his world. The process was a bit more painstaking than it usually is for my novels, which are usually written in some sort of euphoric burst of energy. It’s a lot easier to write while blasting Bob Dylan and Nirvana than it is to write while blasting “Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?”
You traveled all over the place for this book and dipped into the past, but while trying to understand your father, I wonder if you can talk about the revelations you had about yourself. (For example, I was fascinated that your brother tells you this project means more to you than it probably did to your father.)
I think I’m more conscious of the reasons I want to write, and of the stories I want to tell. But that’s not only because of what I learned about my father and the Bonus March, but also because I am aware of my responsibilities as a parent of two young daughters. I take a very different approach to parenthood than my dad did. I don’t’ plan to become some deadly serious writer without any irreverence, but I do need to interrogate myself every now and then to ask why I’m writing what I’m writing, which is something I didn’t always consciously do beforehand.
I was impressed by the narrative structure. Ostensibly about the Bonus March and understanding your father, the book becomes a meditation on human connection, complete with some oral histories, and some documentary scenes. Was this a conscious decision or did this structure simply evolve because the narrative demanded it?
My initial intention was to do a shot-for-shot remake of CITIZEN KANE with every scene corresponding to one of the DVD Chapters. I was going to begin with a documentary scene, move to an aerial shot of Xanadu, cut to a scene in a library, cut to a death scene, cut to a reporter (me) doing research. The reason for this was because I think Orson Welles’s film is the ultimate film about the ultimate unknowability of mysteries that vex us. Also, because it’s my mom’s favorite movie. Ultimately, this structure became unwieldy and gimmicky and I needed my own structure and couldn’t suppose another’s on it. The structure has the appearance of being somewhat freewheeling, but it’s actually been very deliberately planned. It’s less about a chronology of events than a chronology of understanding. One of the things I came to learn as I was writing the book was how understanding doesn’t happen in one smooth narrative arc; it happens haphazardly, with pendulum swings, flashbacks, contradictions, and so forth. I could have written a much more straightforward book beginning with how the idea for the book developed, how I went about my process, how the individuals I met and the research I did changed my perceptions, ultimately ending with some revelatory moment. But that would have been a lot less honest of an approach.
What I also love is the history of your becoming a writer, from the melodramatic early plays to the early stories about linebackers. Although you thought you would be a doctor, it’s clear in this case that writers are born. I’m wondering if the writers desire to make story of what we don’t understand or to fill in the holes in our lives (in this case, your father) was the main impetus for your being a writer?
Not so much with the stories of linebackers, I don’t think. I’m not sure if that was my initial motivation, particularly because a lot of what I used to write had little do with family history or my neighborhood. I always had a love of stories and of theater. From a very early age, I remember sitting with my mom and reading such books as THE PLANT SITTER and THE BLUEBERRY PIE ELF, seeing productions of everything from PINOCCHIO to A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. I don’t always write to fill gaps or out of some great longing. There’s some of that, but I approach writing much as I do reading, which I pursue for so many different reasons—to learn, to escape, to change my own perceptions, and so on. As for my main impetus, well, I don’t think I’m much better at knowing my own self definitively than I am at knowing my father. But it’s the process of the search for answers that’s exciting and rewarding, and that’s what I pursue through reading.
What question should I be mortified that I forgot to ask you?
What’s your next project? A novel. What’s it called? The Thieves in Manhattan. When’s it being published? In July. What is it? Probably the closest thing to a thriller I’ll ever write. What music have you been listening to while answering these questions? Elvis Costello’s “Pidgin’ English” and “Lighthouse” by The Waifs. What’s for dinner tonight? Pizza. Are you making it yourself? Yes, the dough is rising now. What’s in the dough? Flour, olive oil, yeast, salt, and corn meal. Corn meal? Yes, it makes the dough much crunchier. What kind of tomato sauce? Fairway brand Marinara. You bought the sauce? Yes, sorry to say.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
in praise of work
Totally swamped. Writing constantly. Finishing a script (gave myself a 6 week deadline), pushing forward on a new novel I'm calling The Missing Ones and in the midst of this, buckled my knee while lifting weights. How can this be? So I hobble forth and am off to the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow, but will have something interesting up here in the next few days, I promise.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Read This Book: Ghostbread
Actually looking forward to the next best thing does make things easier when you’re in a tough spot. Projecting yourself forward seems like a natural and healthy way to deal with situations over which we have little control. The problem is, of course, that I still find myself looking forward too much, versus enjoying the beauty of the moment. I have to remind myself that this is it! That said, I truly believe that there is beauty to be found in even the most ramshackle places. Learning to mine reality for its treasures was good training ground for writing!
It’s clear that the writer is born in you early, as you struggle to find reasons for what is happening to you, and as you are forced to make up stories to creditors who call. When did you begin to write and to realize that your past was something worthy of writing about?
I always enjoyed writing and language. As a high school kid, I wrote poems full of high drama and churned out story after story about runaway children and lost puppies. I didn’t start to seriously write until I had a graduate degree and a solid job in hand. I wrote about my past at first as a way to sort it all out, but when I began to share my personal writing, people responded and asked for more. But because of my past, and growing up with a mother whose energy went into painting murals on our walls at midnight versus say, meal planning; my idea of what art is and the value of things like writing was skewed in favor of gaining stability. In fact, that tension between stability and being open and risking still tugs at me.
Good question! What a great idea—to end the book when I began to write, because really that’s when I began to shed the old life to make room for the new. I should have known you when I was writing it! I ended it at graduation, because early readers didn’t seem satisfied with the ending I had. The book didn’t seem “finished” and indeed, it still isn’t in many ways. I mean, how do you pick a moment of transformation? I tried. But it felt forced. And the truth is that many people who grow up like I did aren’t “transformed” in the way of neat endings. In that way, ending the book with the future hanging in the balance seemed more real to the situation. But for a personal ending, writing is perfect; a natural ending that could have worked beautifully.
I suppose fashion was beauty to me. I love nature and artwork and poetry as an adult, but as a girl, fashion took the place of those things. I’m not sure how or why I cared about clothes or hair.No one in my family seemed to care. But I did, and it was another bridge to people and ideas that took me outside of my surroundings. And actually, those who know me will laugh because I rarely wear makeup and dressing up to me these days simply means choosing darker jeans, but back then, how things looked was important. French-braiding my hair or whipping together a 1980s-Madonna-tube-skirt were things I could do to make my world nicer. A small thing I could control. I remember debating at one point whether I should become a nun and try to save the world, or a fashion designer who could jazz up nuns’ attire, thereby improving the looks of those who save the world!
Imagination helped. And my sister Stephanie. We imagined together. And what is stronger than sharing your dreams? I cannot give enough credit to my resourceful sister. I still struggle with understanding how to transcend poverty. It seems so obvious, but we know poverty is about much more than a lack of money. Something else is missing. It has lots to do with trading in shame and invisibility for the right to feel worthy. Worthy of existing. Worthy of writing. And so on.This is a struggle for many people, of course, not just those who come from poverty. And I do believe it’s tougher for girls to break out. Not just emotionally, but physically. All too often, girls inherit the physical burden of children and caretaking which makes it easier for them to get trapped in cycles of despair and poverty. That said, boys from disadvantaged backgrounds face huge challenges. Changing a life in any meaningful way is really hard work. For anyone.
I’m working on a novel about a Niagara Falls Daredevil. Western New York has a rich history of stunting and feminism. It’s an interesting combination! And as I mentioned earlier, the idea of living dangerously (or at least audibly) versus playing it safe intrigues me. The novel is allowing me to explore what it means to put yourself out there. Literally!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
So, wait, are you telling me women can't write?
Thursday, November 5, 2009
what's in a name, part nine
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Amy Koppelman and Is It Contagious
I'm writing today to ask for your help. Please understand, I'm not asking you to purchase a book. I'm asking for ideas and introductions. If you have any marketing thoughts, magazine, television or radio connections, friends who work at pharmaceutical companies or own and operate retail stores, any ideas you can think of to help get the word out, please let me know.
This is more than just a business to me. My mother-in-law died a little over a year ago. Walking through the hospital hallways and seeing both children and adults stricken by cancer and various other diseases made me realize that I had to do more with my life than just write novels about unhappy women. My hope is that these books will help dispel fear and enable better dialogue between family members, doctors, and friends. In truth, there is no explaining the inexplicable. My mother-in-law was a vibrant, loving, devoted mother and grandmother. Is Cancer Contagious? couldn't explain her death, but it certainly would have made it easier to answer some of the complicated questions my children asked.
Please know that while Is It Contagious? is set up as a business, a substantial percentage of each sale goes to a like-minded charity.
So if you have any ideas please send them my way. Thanks for taking the time to read this and for always being so supportive of me.
Amy Koppelman
646-773-3300
amykoppelman@gmail.com