"I Want To Write...But!"

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Blackademics Do the Dozens

Blackademic A: Your mother is morbidly obese.

Blackademic B: Really? Although my mother and I are quite close, I was not aware of that. How morbidly obese is she?

Blackademic A: Ah, now that’s an excellent question; I’m so glad you asked that. Your mother is so morbidly obese, or “fat” if you would, that apparently she jumped out a window and was stuck in midair. Apparently.

Blackademic B: You don’t say. My mother?

Blackademic A: Well, that is what I was told. Although I do admit, if she is so obese one wonders how she could of managed to “jump” at all.

Blackademic B: Indeed. Also, assuming that my mother is so horribly obese, so incredibly heavy that her girth distorts the very laws of gravity in its wake, one wonders how she could have managed to fit out of the afore mentioned window in the first place. And again, I see my mother quite regularly and I must admit that I never noticed she had an eating disorder. But it is possible that I’m too close to the subject to make an objective observation.

Blackademic A: That would seem to be the most logical explanation. Perhaps you could repeat the experiment, when the opportunity presents itself.

Blackademic B: Perhaps.

Art I Jock

I saw this artist in a show at the Tate Modern called "Popular Painting" in Kinshasa a few weeks back and haven't been able to get his stuff out of my mind.

Chéri Samba, I officially jock you.

Uncle Ralph

It's impossible to overstate the impact that Ralph Ellison's legacy has on African American literary writing, and African American male literary writing in particular. Even if there was a hypothetical black male writer who never read Invisible Man in his life, his writing would still be interpreted through the shadow of Ellison. Every black male who publishes a literary fiction novel deals with the promotional mantel of "The Next Ralph Ellison," and has reviews that judge it against the critics' understanding of Ellison's text. That's just the way it is.

It's not that I see Invisible Man as a perfect creation: it takes too long to get out of the south, you don't even get to see Ras's final battle firsthand, and of course there's that ending. But with Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison created the idea of the black intellectual novel. Ralph Ellison is the patriarch of black literary fiction. One of the most enjoyable conversations in my life consisted of Percival Everett and I quoting scenes and characters in Invisible Man back in forth to prove our points as if it was a biblical text.

One of the attractions of the literary life is the chance at immortality, that by creating works that endure, a writer too can endure in the minds of readers long after his or her lifetime. Admittedly, this is a pretty pathetic form of immortality: even if you become a legend you're still dead, and even Shakespeare will one day be dust when the blink of human existence is over. But it's better than just dying, right?

Maybe not. Unfortunately, living on through your work means that your life remains fair game for investigation, analysis and general use in the public discourse. No matter how unflattering or personal your issue or secret, if your a big enough author someday a dusty academic might be pulling out your dirty laundry for all to see. And the deeper and more personal they go, the more that biographer will be heralded. And now it's Ralph Ellison's turn for literary exhumation, in the first major biography of the man since his 1994 death.

Stanford's Arnold Rampersad, an extremely gifted historian best known for his two volume biography of Langston Hughes, has spent the last few years turning his attention to the equally large figure on the prose side of 20th century African American literature. The result of Rampersad's efforts are reviewed here in The New York Times, as well as dissected here in great detail by New Yorker staff writer Hilton Als. From both accounts, the image that results of Ralph Ellison the man is largely unflattering: a narcissistic, selfish, philandering snob obsessed with the white elite to the point that it tragically distanced him from his own blackness.

I'm sure the Rampersad book is amazing; I enjoyed his Hughes work. But I don't know is if I'll be able to bring myself to read it. It reminds me of that infamous diss of Martin Amis's last novel: "It's like your favourite uncle being caught in a school playground, masturbating."

And people wonder why writers are always writing memoirs and autobiographies. It's not lesser writers telling our stories that we fear. It's less sympathetic ones.

Plantation Pride

"The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the slaves the Great House Farm. Few privileges were esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up, came out--if not in the word, in the sound; --and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:--

'I am going away to the Great House Farm!
O, yea! O, yea! O!'

This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do."

-From The Narrative and Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. Written by Himself. Boston Anti-Slavery Office, 1845

How to Write the Gordon Ramsay Way

One wonders about the nasty nasty Brits. They have become ubiquitous in American Pop culture. Whether you're talking about the cruel criticisms of American Idol's Simone Cowell, the acerbic snicker of Dancing with the Star's Len Goodman, or the caustic cackles of the fascist fashionistas of What Not to Wear, the British have turned being sadistically blunt into a national export. It’s not just popcorn culture either, this phenomena is just as present in more refined circles as well, where Martin Amis brings a distinctly English form of bitter decay to the world through his novels, and Christopher Hitchens makes an entire intellectual career out of being a contrarian asshole. (Forgive me, I meant arsehole.)

Maybe they are the inevitable by-products of a culture in decay, maggots on the corpse of the fallen empire. Maybe their success in the States is more of a reflection of modern America than Britian, that they fulfill the role of truthsayers in a culture enveloped in fake smiles and convenient lies.

To be honest, I don’t understand. How can you be so sad, dear Englishmen, when you have Amy Winehouse to sing for you?

Regardless, there is one nasty Brit I really enjoy (perhaps because he’s a Scot, and they are considering dropping out of the Kingdom). I’m speaking of Gordon Ramsay, particularly the version of the man presented in Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares, which can be seen in the USA on BBC America. I have been addicted to the show for quite a while: I love haute cuisine, I love seeing the workings of careers other than my own, and the Calvinist in me loves seeing people learn to improve their lives through hard work. Ramsay may be a hard bastard at times, but what makes him brilliant is that he is so passionate about his craft. And even more important, he seems to genuinely care about the people he's trying to help. As a teacher, it's a hell of a lot easier to smile in someone's face and tell them that everything is just fine than to tell them the truth when it isn't.

But several viewing hours in, I realized that there was another, even more central reason I love watching Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares. Surprise: it reminds me of the struggle to become a writer as well. It's just one more bit of evidence that the quest to become a successful craftsman, to elevate one's art and self, is universal. As proof of this theory, here are some lesson’s from Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares that apply to the aspiring writer just as well as the aspiring chef:

Just Because You Think You’re a Superstar, Doesn’t Mean You Are
It's amazing how many of the restaurants that Ramsay goes to are failing because the cooks think they are talented chefs, when in fact they are completely incompetent in the kitchen. It reminds me of all the would-be Shakespeares I've met over the years who talk a great game about their writing skills, then I pick up their books and see that they are barely capable of constructing a grammatically cohesive sentence. Any one can call themselves a master, but to become one takes years of development, education and dedication. The act of self-crowning does not make one a king, but believing that it will does make one a fool.

Listen to Criticism
One of the reoccurring scenes on Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is the one where the chef (whoever it is that week) resists the criticism of Gordon Ramsay, insisting that they know how to cook properly despite the fact that they are invariable failing at that task. If you get the chance for expert, seasoned advice, listen to it. Don't just listen: be open to changing accordingly. Talent isn't enough, and even the best can be sidelined by their own ego, rigidity, or fear of change. I teach would-be writers who are resistant to criticism all the time, people who decide that they know better than everyone who reads their work. Some give in eventually and learn to change for the better, and some don't. Of those that don't, I have never seen one go on to success as a writer.

Build Your Palette
It's amazing how many of these inept chefs Ramsay encounters, so-called professionals who have no concept of how to prepare fine cuisine, don't even eat the type of food they're trying to create, instead ingesting only fast food. Actually, it's not amazing; it's obvious. In art, you really are what you eat. In order to build and maintain a palette, you have to ingest the type of product that you seek to produce. If you're not interested in consuming sophisticated work, you shouldn't bother trying to create it. If you don't want to read literary fiction, don't try and write literary fiction. You won't have the aesthetic understanding necessary to pull it off.

Don’t Make Things Unnecessarily Complicated
Even those chefs that do know what they are doing get tempted to overdo their food in an attempt to seem unique or prove their sophistication. But the best haute cuisine is at its essence simple: fresh ingredients cooked expertly to highlight their flavor. Likewise, a good story told expertly has no peer, and no amount of over-reaching language or pretentious narrative structuring can beat a story consisting of fresh observations on humanity presented in a way that they can resonate fully.

Keep the Kitchen and the Dining Room Separate
One of my favorite episodes of Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmare is the one where he visits a soul food restaurant in Brighton run by an African American expat (coincidentally Ray Shell's ex-wife), Momma Cherri's. This episode is one of the only ones where the food is actually really good. The problem is, the maître d' is always in the kitchen barking orders at the chef, and the dining room is going to hell. For the chef to be successful, he or she has to focus on the food; everything else comes a distant second. For the dining room to be successful, the maître d' needs to leave the food preparation alone and worry about the people, specifically selling them the product. Likewise, writers should worry about their writing. Don't let commercial concerns into your kitchen. Let the agents and publishers worry about running the business, you just worry about the product itself.

Creation is an Act of Love
Love what you do. Love what you create. Love the act of creation. Love those you create for. Because when you love, you will respect. When you love, you will prepare yourself fully and love that too. When you love, you don't cut corners or produce work that is just good enough and nothing more. When you love, you aim for perfection, and do the work necessary to get as close to that goal as possible. When you love, you don't become cynical or despondent or bitter. And the people who consume what you create will be able to taste that love and in turn they will return their love back to you.

Moving to Texas

University of Houston's Creative Writing MFA is a program I've had my eye on for a long time. A decade ago when I was a grad student, US News and World Report ranked creative writing programs for the first and last time and the Houston MFA was ranked #2, behind only the legendary Iowa program and ahead of the school I was at, Columbia's School of the Arts. Houston's program is a three year writing MFA that offers full scholarships for most of those who attend, ample teaching opportunities, a PhD component, a well respected national literary journal, a closely associated and well-endowed literary nonprofit, and internationally renowned faculty in both poetry and prose. Admission is extremely competitive, only taking on a dozen or so students every year out of hundreds of applicants, and those lucky few are among the brightest hopes for the future of literature.

So a tenure-line job opened up last fall at the University of Houston graduate writing program and I applied, and then I interviewed, and then interviewed some more, and then I got the job. And now I'm packing up my family and moving to Houston, Texas to start a new life. I will begin teaching there this Fall.

I already miss several things about Bard: my students, my colleagues among the faculty, how beautiful the campus is in the spring, summer and fall (notice there is a season missing). Emotionally, it has not been as easy of a departure as I had assumed. But Houston offers the type of teaching future I have always dreamed of. And the city itself offers a very affordable, cultured, soulful environment that I think my children will thrive in. So off we go.

My wife and I are currently looking for the right place to live, vacillating between urban and suburban destinations, so if anybody has advice on the subject, it would be appreciated. Houston, Texas is a long way from Philly, the city that will always be my true home and heart, but soon as I saw that they had cheesesteaks down there, I knew we were going to be alright. Now, if we can just get a Rita's to open up as well, we might even try staying there in the summer time also.

Go Cougars!

Submission Call

[ A Request from Poet Honorée Fanonne Jeffers]


Dear Folks:

I am guest-editing a special black women's issue of the journal PMS: Poetry, Memoir and Story, to be published in Spring 2008. The issue will feature poems, stories and memoirs by black women writers, both established and emerging.

In case you haven't heard about PMS, it's a great little journal with (a funny name!) dedicated to all women's literature, edited by Linda Frost, and published out of University of Alabama at Birmingham. PMS is pretty unpretentious, but despite that, in just seven short years, PMS has published such writers as Ruth Stone, Carly Sachs, Remica L. Bingham, Allison Joseph, and Natasha Trethewey. And the journal has received several accolades as well: A reading “pick” by the Small Press Review; poems included in Best American Poetry 2003 and 2004; a story included in New Stories from the South 2005; memoirs included in Best American Essays 2005 and 2007; and a memoir included in The Best Creative Nonfiction 2007. In addition, work from PMS has also received special mention for the 2005 Pushcart Prize and work has been included on former U.S. Poet Laureate Ted Kooser's online weekly column, American Life in Poetry.

If you identify as a black (or African American) woman and would like to submit work to be considered for this special issue, the deadline is October 1, 2007. Please send up to 5 poems or 15 pages of prose (fiction or memoir) with SASE to:

PMS (Black Women Writers’ Issue)
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Dept. of English, 900 South 13th Street
Birmingham, AL 35294-1260

In addition to sending hard copies of your work to the snail mail address, please ALSO send an electronic copy of your submission (word format) to me at honijeff@aol.com.

Take care, and please spread the word!

All best,
Honorée Fanonne Jeffers


Honorée Fanonne Jeffers is the author of three books of poetry, The Gospel of Barbecue (Kent State 2000), chosen by Lucille Clifton for the 1999 Stan and Tom Wick Prize for Poetry; Outlandish Blues (Wesleyan 2003); and Red Clay Suite (SIU Press 2007) chosen by Dorianne Laux as second prize in the 2006 Crab Orchard Open Competition. Her poetry has been included in several journals and anthologies, including American Poetry Review, African American Review, Blues Poems (Everyman/Random House, 2003), Brilliant Corners: A Journal of Jazz and Literature, Callaloo, Gulf Coast, Ploughshares and Prairie Schooner. An advisory editor for The Kenyon Review, she has received awards from the Rona Jaffe Foundation and the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, and fellowships from the MacDowell Colony and Bread Loaf Writers Conference. She is a fiction writer as well, and her work has been published in Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora (Warner/Aspect 2000), The Kenyon Review, The New England Review, and Story Quarterly, and she was a finalist for the 2005 Zoetrope All-Story Fiction Prize. Honorée is a native southerner, but now lives on the prairie where she is an Assistant Professor of English at the University of Oklahoma.