Knowing Who to Call
If you’re in Mississippi or Florida, I’m coming to you this weekend for events in Pass Christian, Gainesville, Tampa/St. Pete, and Venice. We will talk about my book but also we can talk about whatever you want.
There’s now a mess of signed copies of my new novel over at Octavia Books, if you’re looking for a nice gift for someone. You can also give a paid subscription to this newsletter as a gift.
Hi friends,
Everyone who feels like they are working too hard or doing too much, let’s all take a deep breath now, OK? Do you need to call a friend? Do you need a moment of quiet? What do you need to achieve that feeling of calm for just a moment? (Is it possible, I know. But I hope it is.)
Good morning from New Orleans, where, as I type this, the overhead fan in the back office is click-clicking, and the smooth wave of morning traffic flows in the distance, and the air conditioners around the neighborhood have all seemed to grind on at once. An occasional bird chirp breaks through. My heart is beating. I am thinking. I am alive.
I have not read the news yet, but I know it’s there, looming in the background. Still I pull this noise to the foreground instead. This is my soundtrack for the morning, and nothing else. This is how I wake up, how I choose to wake up. In a sudden burst of anonymous, soothing noise. Before anything else can fill my head. And in that way I make room for my own words.
This is my own deep breath.
My early morning view needs a trim
When I was in London, I saw Nathan Englander’s sharp and witty new play, an adaptation of his classic short story What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, which came out in 2011 in The New Yorker. I went to the play with the great writer Francesca Segal, who I first met at an event we did together in London in 2013. We saw Katie Kitamura there, too, who I also haven’t seen in years and who is always a delight in person. (I can’t wait for Katie’s new book.)
It was inspiring to see something that was published so long ago take on a new form. People always talk about the long tail of fiction, that novels and short stories get read long after they are published. Knowing something I’ve written is still getting read years later is meaningful even if people are tussling with it, though of course we always hope to get read in the moment of publication. But it was extra rewarding to see this beloved and memorable story of Nathan’s evolve into something brand new. A good story stays relevant over time.
I’m also always interested in how writing creates opportunities. How writing one thing—truly anything!—leads to another thing: an invitation to read something new in public or perhaps to join the perfect writer’s group or, even if you throw whatever you wrote away, how it makes room for whatever it is that you need to write next.
Writing can open up doors for you you didn’t even know exist. Like meeting people you appreciate a dozen years before, only seeing each other once again, liking them a lot, and staying in touch. So that if by chance you’re in a city far away from home and have an extra ticket to a play, you know exactly who to call.
Here’s to knowing who to call.
Jami
p.s. I’m donating a portion of subscriptions this week to Doctors without Borders.
You are reading Craft Talk, the home of #1000wordsofsummer and also a weekly newsletter about writing from Jami Attenberg. I’m also on twitter and instagram.
