Rhubarb Meringue Pie In Action

We were cooking.

USC Writing Program

Just before last little bear was born, I had started taking night classes at the USC Master of Professional Writing Program. I wasn't sure exactly why, other than I thought maybe I might finish it and.or someone might hook me up to an agent or a publisher. Herbert Selby was teaching then, and I thought it would cool to take a class with him, but I could never get in. Had a play writing class with a guy (who's name I can't remember) who had made an entire career out of being in the Actor's Studio at the same time that de Niro and Pacino and Hoffman were there. They were friends, so he wrote screenplays for them and the producers bought them. What this guy knew about stage writing, I don't know. I can't remember if any of his plays were put on. Anyway, I wrote a
soliloquy in the opening of mine and everyone in the class copies me.The teacher kept looking at me each time one popped up.

There was also a asshole who assigned you his books so you had to buy them and it was soon apparent that he wrote with his dick. A friend in the "business" told me he was known among TV writers as the machine. He typed, endlessly. He had nothing to teach because he didn't think. I was also dinged on my perfect 4.0 because I had to miss one of his classes.

And then I had Mr. Rechy (above) for a couple of classes. The first one was on campus. The second was at his apartment over by Griffith Park. He was intelligent and had things to say. He would not let you into his apartment until the exact time, so you couldn't come early. He had a coffee table full of crystal vases, and would put out a heavy fold out cover on his dining room table before we would sit down to work. I soon discovered that I had to edit my critiques and do them after him, because we were repeating each other. (And he was the teacher.) I had made casual comment about having a nice antique copy of The Temptation of Saint Anthony by Flaubert and he disappeared for a good ten minutes to check if the novel really existed because it was one he had never heard of. I think he thought I was bullshitting him. He did turn me on to an agent, but when I went to meet her, she was a real downer. I think because she thought I was too old. Rechy also made it very clear to all of us that he had a "Special" Writer's Group that only published writers were allowed in- which excluded all of us.
I got an autographed copy of one of his books.

The littlest bear was born and the issue of driving downtown for a couple of evenings a week was becoming impossible. The teachers weren't all that hot, to be honest with you. They were just doing it for extra income. But if you are an idiot, I'd suggest a class with Rechy. You could learn a lot.

He also had a story about meeting Faulkner in the NYC Central Park when he was young.

 

You Miss Me?

I been buzy. Rhubarb Meringue Pie played the Westchester Boy Scout Troop 915 Annual Pancake Breakfast Sunday morning- an hour and a half for compliments and a free breakfast. Then we ran off to my bear's Senior Recital Sunday afternoon.

She did wonderfully. Videos to come as soon as I load them up to YouTube.

Monday night, ran off to a little theater group in Santa Monica to see if they were interested in looking at my play. Turned out they weren't a theater group at all, but a group of writers that wanted to think about being a theater group. Only a couple of real actors and a lot of touchy feely stuff that I'm too old for.
They looked like this, and we know who these two are.

Been Square dancing and oh and Saturday went off to Santa Monica to play with a new meet-up group for bluegrass jam. I think I get to go home Thursday night.

More Writer's Education

David and I became buddies of a sort- we were the same age, single and writing, He was Jewish and a Texan, I was a tall Wasp from Indiana. Absolutely nothing in common in our backgrounds. I was friends with a writer actually making a living at it, and he was friends with someone he thought was talented, but also had "had" a life and was having one. I could sleep without a lot of women, he only had a handful of relationships in his whole life, He introduced me to a friend of his that was also a TV writer, and we went out. This was at the time when I was very cynical about popular culture and television. I hadn't had a TV in years. Anyway, I recall a discussion over dinner with this lady and saying "you know, that claptrap they put on television, the Love Boat school of writing."

And then I realized that this was probably the person he had meant when he was telling stories about a friend that had written for The Love Boat. It was. She had written for Mary Tyler Moore and Laugh-In and had wrote part of the pilot for Love Boat. Then things began to slide.

Anyway, she and David and I would have these dinners where we would pick apart each other's writing and everything else we had seen and watched and read. They both suggested Bob McKee (see below). Back then, his seminar was like a six class thing over several weeks and it was money. I took it. It was well worth it. It convinced me that a novel had to have as much structure as a movie or a play, Even if you are writing something serious, rather than a potboiler. I had thought that maybe he had died, but I guess not. This ad just came from Scripped, an on-line screen and play writing format for those of us who don't want to have to think about if it is the proper format. 

She and I started a screenplay together, but it fell apart like our friendship. I have always pushed and moved on with things. My characters (except for ole Joe Strong, in the lastest finished novel) have always pushed. David never would write with me. I offered him a partnership on the Robert Louis Srevenson screenplay, and he didn't want it. After I finished it, we were no longer in touch. I certainly wasn't going to ask him for help to peddle it. 

But that was a good time- at those dinners. It made me feel like a professional, even though I wasn't. At that point they treated me as an equal. I'd recommend this guy.

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Outside the Bunker

Outside the little bunker south of the Federal Building there was a tennis court. One day, when we were early, David and I and Bob (with CP, sitting as usual on his bad hand that he had no control over), were sitting on the bench outside watching some girls we didn't know play a game. It shortly turned into a leering giggling droolfest for the other two guys. I was embarrassed and got up and walked away and they got mad at me. The other Bob (who wanted to write like Mickey Spillane) was perpetually questioning me about who I was seeing and what I was doing at night. When Sita started coming to the group and it was apparent that we were seeing each other, he couldn't get enough of her and would provoke arguments just so she would talk to him. I left them arguing one night and went home alone on the bus. I was good to people until I wasn't. There's few I'd seek out to talk to these days- I suppose it was that way then. Who's on your list?

My spouse. Lorraine Levin. My kids. Lamont. 

There's a few I respect: Rex, Rosaline, Joel, my brother, Betsy, Bob (with CP), Dan & Rob, my backpacking buddies. Joe

Part of the writing, is being ruthless with the material of your life- maybe that carries over to be ruthless with your friends. There seems to be a point of diminishing returns for for me.
You know who I am interested in talking to is: Dom, and Mat and Justin and all the kids in Troop 915 and the bears' buddies.


You know who I am interested

UCLA Writers Extension Courses

They have these Writer's Classes at UCLA that several of my friends and others have taken. I did try it a couple of times, but for the life of me I can't recall the first time. So much for lasting impressions, The second time was with this lady, who I really don't recall either, but we were supposed to be reading Jean Rhys and writing for critique. These were the days when it seemed a lot of people were reading skinny little books and talking profoundly about them. "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" was out at about this time.

I have nothing against Jean Rhys. But I was left with a feeling of lightness myself. I couldn't see how her writing benefited me and the lady who was teaching the class wasn't particularly well versed in the craft herself. I decided to drop out and (the reason I remember it at all) was that the teacher begged me to stay and promised me an A if I finished the next 3 or 4 weeks. It was all very flattering. 

You know, the other part of the writing education that I don't think I've addressed, is the writing itself. One does have to write to be a writer. By the 80s, I had written three books and a pile of short stories and a pile of poetry- all of which, perhaps weren't very good. but you do need to sit down and write.

One of those days

When you come from a world where the worse was always what happened, you smell trouble even if it doesn't exist. When you are around uncommunicative people who are not very bright, it's easy to conceive that through no fault of their own, they will shaft you. The bright ones will sacrifice you at a drop of a pin. I've been reassured. I will believe it when I see it.