busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Saturday, November 3, 2018

    theres two ways to write 

    the first is you can pretend that the whole world is going to pay attention to what you are saying

    and they will change their minds when they read your incredible insights

    and rainbows will appear and bunnies and butterflies and fireworks and the cubs will win the world series

    that is not how i write.

    the other way is to pretend that nobody will ever read it and there is no audience and it’s just you

    and the Good Lord above and all of the angels and saints

    and they’re probably too busy to look closely, they are just happy youre not out in the streets.

    occasionally someone reads it and i am genuinely surprised because i have tricked myself into believing that not even the sweet angels who root me on will read it

    and sometimes someone will ask me, why are you being so mean with your writing

    and i will literally have to read it again because when i write i just let it out and commit zero of it to memory.

    but then i will reread the masterpiece in question and i will usually surmise “you call that mean?”

    heres what i think mean is. i think its mean to bore your readers.

    i had a teacher in college once, and he was legendary in our school, which doesnt mean he liked me, im pretty sure he thought i was overrated and to be honest i dont remember ever writing anything great in his classes

    but i did like one thing he said. he said the worst thing you can do to your readers is waste their time.

    do not bore them.

    thus, if i criticize a writer for doing the worst thing a scribe can do, that is not mean.

    whats mean is not passing along the sentiment and working with that writer, despite how veteran he may be

    despite how many stupid awards he has “won” and despite what emails come in or dont come in.

    whats mean is letting someone who you know or work with or are close to slide into mediocrity.

    we are all in this together.

    some of us more than others.

    dig deep and get it together.

  2. Wednesday, May 2, 2018

    it’s been a stressful week and it’s all my fault 

    when you’re a writer, an editor, or someone like me who pretends to be those things, you find yourself making work for yourself.

    you see something or you think of something and you say, “that thing oughtta be written about.”

    but that means you have to research it, talk to people, watch things, learn things, talk to more people, read and read and read and then finally write.

    as if the writing is the easiest part. IT’S ACTUALLY THE HARDEST.

    then you have to edit and if you’re lucky you get to watch someone else edit it. and if you’re super luck two people will edit it. and then you collect all that sweet sweet praise on twitter.

    the other day i interviewed a very very smart man and i asked some very dumb questions. because i am not smart. the good thing is the smart people Still have to answer your questions and when they do smarter things pop up.

    and if you can sit down with them long enough you will eek a smart question out and they will smile and amaze you with their brilliant answer and that will be the centerpiece of your story or it will be completely over looked by the audience who just came there for the pictures, but who cares you got paid and now you can go on to your next assignment which will be harder, scarier, and if you’re unlucky someone else has assigned it so now you gotta do their thing.

    it’s always better when it’s your thing but it’s also very hard. it’s like college and high school never ended. research, write an essay, hear the feedback, scribble in your Trapper Keeper, repeat.

    right now i have finished my first draft of what i wanna send to my editor. it’s good. it’s not great. and this was my scribbling into my folder. but time is money so hi bye.

  3. Thursday, February 1, 2018

    you’ll never feel at home in LA unless you keep moving 

    LA is huge.

    imagine the biggest place you’ve ever been in and quadruple it.

    that will just be the Valley, which you need to know if you are really to get LA.

    then quadruple it again and you’ve got South Central,

    which is where the secret soul of LA is. the actual heartbeat.

    the fakers fly right over south central via overpasses or freeways , but if you live here long enough

    and if you start meeting the right people you will go to a house party off Crenshaw

    you will get your haircut on Florence,

    you might even find yourself at a sample sale near Carson.

    LA goes all the way to Long Beach and inside the weirdest dead ends of downtown.

    everyone hikes Runyon, but if i was the failing New York Times and their laughing stock of an LA bureau here’s what i would do:

    there is a stretch of LA from Santa Monica to DTLA thats as wide as Pico to the south to Sunset to the north.

    i would refuse to run any stories from that stretch an zero from downtown.

    i’d also ignore anything happening in the upper crust of Malibu, Manhattan and Redondo Beaches.

    why? because unless we are talking about crime, 90% of so-called news and features by the mainstream press happen in that narrow band.

    the Pulitzer Prize winning Jonathan Gold is beloved in LA because he uses the entire canvas, not just the same beaten path

    he ventures, he explores, he speaks Spanish, he talks to people of all skin colors and religious beliefs.

    LA is the home of more religions than any other city in the world.

    it is the 2nd largest Spanish speaking city on the planet.

    if all of your sources and all of your stories are about white folk, if all of your touchstones and goals and ideals are based in Caucasian ideals of the 1960s

    then you aren’t really telling the story of LA of today.

    i once dated a girl from canada who was blown away that so many billboards and handmade fliers were in Spanish

    and how many brown skinned people there were on the streets

    and Asians

    and Jews.

    she said, this isn’t what it looked like in “Clueless”.

    if you truly want to cover this city, and most of all, if you really want to love this city, you have to move out of West Hollywood

    you have to break up with your boyfriend,

    you have to stop taking taxis

    and most of all you should start driving for Lyft.

    then you will start to see the real story that is this beautiful city of angels.

  4. Saturday, July 2, 2016

    chuck klosterman was on tv, talking about creativity 

    art

    he said in order to induce creativity he gets himself bored.

    he said our problems is that are instantly entertained within seconds thanks to the internet.

    he said the best ways, though, to get your mind going is to

    go on a long boring walk

    with no music in your ears

    and no phone in your hand.

    what will happen is you might write a little song, you might think of a good topic for a book

    you might think of all the things you shoulda said to that one babe

    right before she cut off the light

    and i thought maybe thats why i think of so many good things in the shower

    its the one time when theres not a phone in front of me.

  5. Thursday, November 5, 2015

    the problem with kids in america 

    mary and her friendlook at me. i seem mild mannered. i look reasonable. im sanitary. i read the bible. most of the crimes on my record have been expunged.

    but inside im a dirty filthy man.

    i relate to mr charles bukowski and drunkards and druggies and losers and rejects and scumbags because if i hadnt caught a few lucky breaks i would ragtagged and imprisoned and probably dead by now.

    gone and forgotten.

    narry a headstone in a forgotten field in the middle of nowhere.

    but God has blessed me and looked out for me and surrounded me with friends from sea to shining sea. and i am grateful, make no mistake, i am.

    but i do my best to keep it real, especially when i write things down, because this is whats going to last more than the memory of me or any tomb marker or some jackhole’s biography of my “life”.

    so when i was invited to read at a rock show book reading i breathed two breaths. one, the inhale was “oh shit” and the other, the exhale was “just write the dirtiest thing you can, swear a lot, and no one will realize youre a disgusting fraud.”

    but then the host wrote an email just the other day saying that kids might be in attendance so make it PG-13 or PG and you should have heard the cursing that went on in my head.

    because once again children have ruined everything.

    i love my friends, and unlike many, my friends have the most beautiful intelligent talented kids alive. but they just ruined the greatest poetry reading i was about to give.

    i havent read in front of people in this entire century. i happen to think that poetry readings should be outlawed. nothing good happens there other than it is a fine remedy for insomnia. if the author’s lucky he’ll get a few phone numbers afterwards but even that will end poorly. but for friends i’ll do anything.

    but now, alas ive gotta do something for the kids?

    my whole life has been a struggle with people telling me i cant do things. not really, but it feels that way. dont ride your bike on the roof. dont swallow all of the cough medicine. why are you driving strangers around in your car?

    but i love my friends and id probs be homeless without them so i will accept the challenge and do the impossible and write something compelling and interesting and violent and sad and inspiring and it will be safe for an innocent little child to overhear.

    mumble mumble mumble mumble.

  6. Friday, September 18, 2015

    the lesson of charles bukowski 

    charles bukowski

    friend of the busblog, heather the rabbit havrilesky aka ask polly got a great letter this week and responded to it in the perfect way.

    someone wrote to her and said that shes a freelance writer and shes done ok but some of her friends have done better and she hasnt really gotten over the hump yet and oprah hasnt shined her light on her yet and well “Should I Just Give Up on My Writing?“.

    and heather, writing in new york magazine answered perfect and said YES FOOL! (jk) but the one little minor thing she left out of her otherwise sparkling incredible response was the lesson of charles bukowski.

    bukowskiamericas greatest poet WAS NOT DOING OK when he was 50. he wasnt living in silver lake, he wasnt living with a spouse who supported him emotionally, he wasnt any freelance writer, he was struggling, he was living in east hollywood working for the post office. he hated the post office. he was drunk. he was ugly. he was overweight. he had anger issues. he smoked. he gambled. he got in fights. he won zero fights. he was being rejected over and over and over.

    but he kept writing. sometimes for money. sometimes because he was a horny middle aged man and some sex papers would let him write out his bizarre fantasies for beer money. but he kept writing.

    it wasn’t UNTIL he was 50 that a rich, visionary publisher from santa barbara discovered bukowski and said dude whatever the post office is paying you i’ll pay you just write and i’ll split the royalties with you.

    the lesson of bukowski is keep doing what you love. who cares that your friends are on tv or writing for new york magazine or married or have a house or two houses or three houses. or fourteen wives. or all their hair or the hair of fourteen sheep dogs.

    keep doing what you love.

    or if for some reason youve never gotten around to start doing what you love: start. because. thats why. start! some people never get the chance to start. they fool around with fireworks and their hands get blowed off. or they get involved in a dead end job or a super sexy woman and their lives get destroyed.

    the lesson of bukowski is motor through all of that. we have so many hours in the day. surely there are a few of them where you could stop watching tv or stop reading books or stop sleeping and sleeping and sleeping and you will get off your ass and express yourself, madonna. surely there is an ounce of courage that you can squeeze out into the juice glass of life and share.

    surely you know that your friends are wonderful but they are not you and you have a unique story to tell that is all yours and no one elses and only you can deliver it. and if you dont tell it no one will, which is a lie, actually someone will but, spoiler alert: they will fuck it up royally.

    so you better write it down and quickly.

    the lesson of bukowski is god bless oprah but she’s dunzo and theres no one else whos gonna save your soul except jewel and shes happily married to a rodeo cowboy so you better work rupaul.

    that is what i learned from bukowski and i never would have learned it if he had given up on writing and just did his post office gig and drank and whined that he didnt have hella twitter followers. so you write your damn deal and f the haters in ur head.

  7. Wednesday, April 22, 2015

    she says she has writers block, but thats a crock 

    zuliekayou know who has writers block? the ugh percent.

    the over fed and over thinking.

    bukowski never had no damn writers block.

    the poor and hungry can write and write and write.

    ever kiss a girl who hasnt been kissed properly in a long time? she’ll kiss you all night. you’ll wake up and she’s kissing you. you leave for work and she needs to give you one two three four more kisses so you’ll miss yr bus.

    the words want to come out of you. you know you have stories to tell thoughts to express feelings to emote blushes to gush. africans dont get eating disorders or peanut allergies.

    this is all american bs that we thrust on ourselves to stop ourselves from being vulnerable and deep and interesting and magical. imagine if tolstoy and shakespeare and hemingway and twain said aw no one wants to hear any more stories about the mighty mississippi or fingering anna karenina or drinking in DTLA. imagine if van gogh listened to that little voice in his ear saying no one wants any more fucked up fields of weeds growing beneath the twisty blue sky.

    vincent van did the exact right thing, he cut off that voice in his ear and mailed it to his gay lover.

    part of the job of being creative is jumping over the obstacles that appear in our way to the goal: and the goal is to write down the dreams the angels are whispering. sure they could write it themselves but its better when it comes through us.

    its like when someone covers dylan. or when springsteen sings an old 60s tune during the fifth encore.

    it’s our jobs to write write write dance drink party write kiss rock fuck rinse and repeat.

    never forget.

  8. Tuesday, October 28, 2014

    the irony in this statement is ironic 

    cameron diaz something about mary

    “I remember seeing There’s Something About Mary in the theaters when I was in my 20s, and there’s Cameron Diaz, who looks like Cameron Diaz, but she’s also a doctor, and she also loooves hamburgers, and she starts out playing golf in the morning, and all she wants from a man is a guy who wants to take her to a football game, and she wants to eat hot dogs and drink real beer. Real beer! And I thought, Wow, that’s a cool girl! And then I thought, Oh, right. She’s been invented by guys.”

    – Gillian Flynn, author of Gone Girl
    via vulture

  9. Saturday, October 25, 2014

    the role of a journalist is to do things and go places 

    katie bain and bwhere most people dont get to go

    and talk to people that most people arent able to talk to

    and afterwards you tell your brothers and sisters what you saw and learned.

    i find it ironic that many of my friends who are (or were) professional journalists

    don’t readily blog or do their role despite the fact that they travel and talk with some of the coolest people in the world.

    fortunately katie bain is the exception to the rule. the other day she went into the woods and listened to that music the kids are all koo koo about and when it was over she omg came home and wrote it down.

    here’s an excerpt:

    The concept at this camp is simple and completely fucking genius. You arrive, take off all of your clothes, get inside a huge shower with a bunch of other people, get wet under the shower heads and then get sprayed with soap hoses by people standing above you on an elevated platform. You then dance around in the shower while accidentally (or not, I suppose) sliding up against the other naked soapy bodies around you. Then the people on the platform spray you down with a hose. When you are sufficiently rinsed, you leave the shower and move to the adjacent dance floor, where there is a DJ and an area to brush your teeth, slather yourself in lotion and drink cans of yerba mate while drying off in the sun.

    now you may not think that your lives are as exciting or as interesting as that, but im here to tell you you couldnt be wronger.

    there are subtleties about your life that are just as beautiful and insightful as anything dr. thompson or ee or ms bain has ever jotted down.

    and you’d be lying if you said there was no drama or breakthroughs or surprises that, after the end of the day, you didnt say omg i really need to tell my friend about that.

    we are that friend. and no one can tell it better than you.

    for once in your life ignore that annoying voice in your head that says your stories dont matter or the world will implode if you typed it up or blah blah friggin blah.

    it is the role of a journalist to tell their brothers and sisters what theyve seen and the catch is, we are all journalists.