I’m Not Making A Single Resolution

2015I don’t believe in resolutions. I’d like to say I don’t believe in New Year’s at all, since the calendar is a human construct, but that’s not really true (the earth does revolve around the sun after all and we’re just measuring that passage) and I’m not remotely that cool. As humans we need milestones, we need reminders about the passage of time, and because we are complex, we need to celebrate them, and because we are social, we need to celebrate them together. So here we are. On the cusp of another calendar year. Thinking about things. We always do.

Personally, I think each of us should make resolutions around our birthdays. Our birthdays are not arbitrary at all, they are facts on a calendar, facts written on our bodies, hardwired into our brains, facts to be celebrated, we’ve stayed alive another year, made new friends, accomplished new things, discovered a new bourbon, tasted a new and deeper umami. (Or, here’s someone saying make resolutions monthly, which is, like, literally a 12-step program.)

Of course, December in general, but the holiday season in particular, is as much about looking back as looking forward. I don’t like that either. I’m not into nostalgia. I used to accuse my son, when he was much younger, of “instant nostalgia” – that is, he seemed to be in a constant state of nostalgia and could wax poetic about something that had just happened. Literally a second ago. I don’t like looking back. The view behind is full of building blocks, granted, the past is what makes us, the present makes no sense without the past, but history is all about context while nostalgia is context free on purpose and is presented as something outside of time.

Here’s the thing: nothing exists outside of time. Not even Elvis.

I don’t make resolutions. But if you do, and if you stick to them, and if those resolutions point you in the direction you want to go, and if that direction makes you a better you and in so doing makes the world a better place, well, I’m with you. I most certainly am. I promise this. Just don’t use the word “abs.” I don’t want to hear how great your abs are, or your workout, or, I don’t know, do people still say “burn” as if it’s a good thing? Because you shouldn’t say that around me. Don’t tell me about your workout. Either you are still high on endorphins or you’re a member of a cult but either way you’re being unreasonable. Otherwise, I got your back. I promise.

elvis

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The Day North Korea Outdid Itself

ced5a2aced2e254030084a5d7dd07c34Dennis Rodman went to North Korea and became friends with Kim Jong Un, a despotic – and short – heir to the world’s longest running…something. North Korea is something but it’s hard to describe. It is an odd world indeed when “Denis Rodman” is not the strangest word in a sentence but that’s the power of North Korea’s epic weirdness. Of course, calling them weird doesn’t make them any less dangerous. The Kim family has the power of a state behind them. And, sure, it’s the kind of state where starving people have to eat grass but it’s still a state. (Guy Delisle’s fabulous Pyongyang is one of the better introductions to North Korea’s epic weirdness – and a movie based on it, starring Steve Carell! – has been shelved because of what I’m about to describe.)

Dennis Rodman was sent to North Korea by Vice.

This is all seemingly unconnected to what has recently happened. Maybe I see a connection because Vice was started by a bunch of smart but quite stoned Canadians (with Canadian government funding, which seems to be a whole other rabbit hole). The Stoned Canadian seems to be fuelling a lot of the weirdness to follow.

Like right here: Seth Rogen, a certified Canadian, got really stoned with a friend (who also happens to be a Canadian….). They obviously had a discussion about Kim Jong Un. I bet they were having this discussion because in their stoned state, a state where free-association is funnier than an actual state like, say, Minnesota, they imagined, for a second…that Dennis Rodman had been sent by the CIA to North Korea to fuck things up.

Seth Rogen

Lots of giggling. Lots of it. Like losing your ability to breath giggling. Endorphin-releasing amounts of it.

And this thought became scribbled notes or audio recordings or however it is that Seth Rogen takes notes and remembers things.

James Franco called, said “sup?” and Seth Rogen reached for his notes and James Franco came over and then they got really really stoned and laughed their way to the kitchen and James Franco watched Seth Rogen eat an entire tub of vanilla ice cream and felt a contact munchie contentment because James Franco gets empathy (what is his performance in 127 Hours but 100% empathy?)

And somehow Seth Rogen sold an idea to Sony.

An aside: Sony lost its way when it lost the Betamax/VHS war. Playstation, ok, that’s good. But this is a company that invented portable music delivery – I am of that age where a Walkman was the height of awesome – and then….what? Their TVs? Like what is Sony good at now? Speakers? No. Computers? Sony tried that, they really did, but none of that has worked for them because they are still bleeding from losing that Betamax battle. They probably still have employees who remember that battle and who still live with the resentment and/or disappointment of being on the losing side of that. So what else does Sony do? They own a movie studio. They were probably thinking “convergence!” when they bought it, but I can’t imagine the old Japanese men at Sony HQ really understand WTF they’re doing with a big Hollywood movie studio. Some accountant in Tokyo is approving big cheques to the likes of the eternally schlubby Seth Rogen. That image is funny.

you-must-be-this-tall-to-start-a-nuclear-war

Kim Jong Un has a Napoleon complex. He can’t help himself. He’s short. Apparently, he wears lifts (he also takes lifts – hilariously). He kills members of his family. This guy is serious about proving he’s not short. And when he got wind of this movie, maybe from his friend Dennis Rodman, but that makes a lot of assumptions about Dennis Rodman who was just a great rebounder with a lot of tats – I mean he’s no Michael Jordan of anything except maybe he’s the Michael Jordan of being Dennis Rodman, Kim Jong Un did not see the humor in a film that climaxes with his own extravagant death.

So he called his friends, or associates, the Hackers. And they hacked Sony. They massively hacked Sony because of course in this story Sony has inadequate tech security and, yes, blame Betamax. Just do it. (More: here is an interesting history of North Korea and how it is the “last holdover of Japanese fascism” which would mean, my god, history has come full circle!) And now what was surely a minor movie is a cause celebre of free expression/censorship, Sony looks bad, we hear that “the terrorists have won” and I keep expecting someone to pull either a New Coke and yell “Haha, tasteless marketing stunt!” or Suzanne Pleshette or, hey, Bobby Ewing – why not? – saying “It was all a dream!” and then we can go back to wondering how a giggle inducing, drug-fuelled idea about James Franco and Seth Rogan going to a weird and backward country to kill a weird and stature-challenged basketball loving supreme leader ever made it past the guardians of whatever kind of guardians exist in the rarified air of Hollywood and imagine the talk around the dinner table in Tokyo when Sony’s CEO has to answer the question: “How was your day, dear?”

japan-japanese-family-at-dinner-antique-print-1892-200202-p

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I Haven’t Written Anything Here for a Long Time

captobvious-738633-747223There. I just changed that.

More to come.

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The Unthinking: der Giller Part Two

Pluto

The thing about getting nominated for a major award but not really getting nominated is the potential of it. The glimpse it affords to the other side. Being longlisted for anything is like the Pluto of nominations. One day you’re a planet and the next day you’re not. You’re not even considered a planet anymore. And worse, you never were. The whole thing had been, quite possibly, a misunderstanding. An invitation sent to the wrong address.

poor-pluto

Getting nominated, for anything, is an honour, sure, and an achievement, there is no doubt about this. But it’s also a crapshoot. A look at any list any year shows what a crapshoot the entire affair of awards are. All awards. The most predictable thing about a nomination list is the immense harping that follows about the nomination list. Like night follows day. Which happens. Even on Pluto (where a “day” lasts 6.4 earth days or 153.3 hours FYI). But the thing about getting nominated is this: you start to think about things you didn’t think you had a right to think about before.

And then you have to unthink that stuff. You have to unthink all of it and move on. Because that’s what you need to do. Until the next time.

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Fidgeting My Through The Ottawa Writers Festival

From last spring. I shared the stage with Miriam Toews and Jonathan Bennett. Despite my ticks, I had a lovely time.

Arjun Basu, Jonathan Bennett and Miriam Toews – Where You Stumble – April 28 2014 from OTTAWA INTL WRITERS FESTIVAL on Vimeo.

This was my reading. Watch me annihilate my forehead:

Arjun Basu reading from “Waiting for the Man” – April 28 2014 from OTTAWA INTL WRITERS FESTIVAL on Vimeo.

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der Giller

You don’t write to be loved. Or remembered. Or compensated. I mean, all of those things are nice, but that’s not why you write. It is not a career one recommends too often if your goal is wealth. Or simplicity.

No. But if you do happen to achieve something when you write, even when you don’t expect it, especially when you don’t expect it, at that moment you start to wonder whether your views about the nature of the universe are in line with the reality you are currently living.

I know these things are crap shoots. They always are. I’ve been on juries and you can see how quickly something of value can vanish from a list. At the end of the day, this stuff doesn’t mean anything. Except that it does.

Screen Shot 2014-09-20 at 4.07.43 PM

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So You Want To Be Cool?

home-aloneThe Giller Prize longlist was announced today. I’m on it.

It was announced in Montreal. My son goes to school across the street from where it was announced.

I am in a hotel room in Anaheim, California. My phone started buzzing. I was on the list for Canada’s richest literary prize.

My reaction? I did a jig in my hotel room. In my underwear (I’d just gotten out of the shower).

You always say you don’t care about awards. And you like to think you don’t. Until they happen to you.

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Does Size Matter?

Size

It appears now we are entering a phase when a lot of talk about writing can be lumped under “size matters.” Or doesn’t. This depends on who you talk to. Because, as we all know, from another, more tittilating conversation, one involving more giggling but also more humiliation, size is important no matter what. Look at the race to build the world’s tallest building. Look at the height of the new World Trade Center. Size matters.

Ever since Alice Munroe won last year’s Nobel, and then Lynn Coady won Canada’s Giller for a (great) book of short stories, and probably way before that, writers who write about writers have been writing about writers writing short stories, look at the shelves of bookstores flooded by books of short stories, look at the quality of short stories, look at the quality of short story writers, as if great short stories haven’t been with us, since, well, when didn’t we have short stories out there? I mean, it’s the novel that is relatively recent (though that is being debated a bit more now).

The conversation is, frankly, annoying. It allows journalists to write about something other than quality. About how short stories “don’t sell” (but, like, what does these days?). About, what exactly? What is the point of pointing all this out? A story is a story.

So. Does size matter? Do we care about the length of a story? I say this as someone who writes all sorts of stories of all sorts of lengths. From very short (here I am being called a “Twitter-based story teller”) to actual novels. I might even be in the process of writing a long one. I’m not sure yet. It feels like it will be and if I’m having a problem writing it right now it is this fact that feels like it’s getting in the way of things. The length is intimidating me. Like maybe a lot. Make of that what you will.

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Post Vacation Thoughts – and The Types of People Who Should Buy My Book If You Haven’t Already Done So

MaineI went on vacation. We went to Maine and ate a lot of things from the ocean that once lived in shells. As in, if it was in a shell at some point, I ate it. Or tried to. And pizza. Don’t ask me why, but pizza in Montreal is mostly bad. Maine isn’t quite on the Pizza Belt but we found enough good pizza to wonder if perhaps Maine shouldn’t be included. Perhaps it’s on the periphery. Or the shadow. Or the shadow of the shadow. The Pizza Shadow. Sounds like a bad noir involving a hard-bitten Italian gumshoe. Pizza and shell fish. One day, I ate a one pound crab roll as a snack. As a filling crazy delicious snack. It was a good vacation. I read a study about how productivity rises post-vacation and I look forward to that because I have some things to finish, including the first draft of my next novel. Which is, maybe, a third of the way done (first draft only so…), if I’m being charitable. And not beating myself up. (Waiting for the Man went through 9 drafts just to put the above in some kind of perspective.)

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I went to some lovely bookstores in Maine. None of them carried my book. This bugged me. I want to be more than a chain store guy in the US (and I know that a large number of Barnes & Nobles carry the book). Then again, the book has hardly been reviewed in the US. I’m published by a smallish Canadian press so I’m not surprised. Even though 98% of the book takes place in the US. So this got me thinking: who would like my book? I thought even of making a Venn Diagram, or any kind of diagram, because diagrams make difficult things more palatable (or pretty), but this isn’t a diagram thing. A look at the list below will tell you why.

These are the groups of people who might enjoy my book:

People who like reading books.
People who are heading to the beach.
People who need a summer book.
People who live in New York City.
People who live in any of the places along this map.
People who have had sex in public restrooms. In Wyoming.
People in Montana.
People who work in marketing.
People who work in advertising.
People who work in social media.
People who think about marketing, advertising and social media.
People who kind of liked Joshua Ferris’s three books and want to kind of read all three in one place.
People who drive a Honda Odyssey.
People who have been to a dude ranch.
People who have been to especially fancy dude ranches. Like four star dude ranches. With spas.
People who eat food.
People who have picked up Japanese hitchhikers.
People who have wondered what it would be like to pick up a Japanese hitchhiker.
People who have eaten at a family-style restaurant.

I’m not surprised the book isn’t in as many stores as I’d like. There are a lot of books out there. I walk into a bookstore and I freak out a little. Because the marketplace of ideas is crowded. The marketplace of entertainment is crowded. The marketplace of diversions is crowded. The marketplace of time is crowded. We never have enough time. Even when you’re going up and down the coast of Maine stuffing yourself with lobster rolls. Or crab rolls. Or both.

And then you realize, well, your season’s over, your publisher has other books to publish, other deserving writers to pay attention to, bookstores need to stock up with more new books, because there are always more new books, writers keep writing, and as a writer, unless you’re someone like Stephen King (to stick to Maine for now), your book is “so last season” very very quickly and then, bang, you better be coming up with something else to remain new. Because if you’re not new, you’re old.

Our economy is based on growth, right? Even if eternal growth is a BIOPHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY. (a great turn of phrase I picked up here). I’ve always said no one writes because they want to. I feel that every time I visit a bookstore, whether it be an enormous chain, a quaint indie in a quaint town, or, well, Amazon.

Carb Roll

I’ve also been told that my first rights sale took place (while on vacation!) to a Montreal house who will publish for the Canadian (french) market. That thrills me. I can’t tell you how much that thrills me. (It hasn’t been announced yet officially but this is the publisher – they publish great looking books). To be able to discuss this en français at some point in the future, chez moi – did I mention I’m thrilled?

I am also going to be appearing at Writers Festivals in both Winnipeg and Vancouver this fall. More fun. More details to come. And more things to announce, as always.

Young's Lobster Pound

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Farming and Bestsellers…

The first rung on the ladder…have nothing in common. But that passages from Waiting for the Man are being quoted in the most unlikely of places fills me with an odd kind of joy. In this case, a line about farming. I know, like I’m some expert.

farm1

This a day after my local bookstore, the great Drawn & Quarterly, the place where I launched Waiting for the Man back in April, listed their 25 bestsellers so far in 2014 and…look: my neighborhood loves me. I don’t know how booksales are going overall but that the book is doing well at my bookstore, well, icing. Whatever else has happened, that’s icing on the proverbial cake. Not sure what that cake is made of, but it’s still cake, and cake is good. Because it’s cake.

Mmmm.....cake

Mmmm…..cake

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