Ordinary Horrors: A Blog - Lowell Mick White

Office Archive: Blocker 220C

9/18/2020

This was my office at Texas A&M for graduate school and a couple of years later, more or less from 2004 to 2012….

It was cramped, it was dark—it was fun.

I shared the office with several good people over the years—Rachel Nikolaev, Julie Groesch, JeFF Stumpo, Olympia Sibley, the great Olivia Burgess.

Furniture for grad offices—the lamps and chairs, at least—was whatever you could find left out in the hallways. I went through a lot of chairs before I snagged one that wasn’t excruciating.

I like that comfortably cluttered desk.

I moved the Alfred Jacob Miller print with me to Kansas in 2012, and brought it back with me to Texas in 2015, and it hangs over my desk at home right now. The masks are downstairs in my apartment now. The clip-on lamps are in my current office at A&M now. The xmas lights are in my A&M office (yes, the same string of lights!).

(I haven’t been to my nice big windowed A&M office since March 9. I keep threatening to go down there and collect a few books I need, but I’m too terrified of the goddamn virus!) (But some day…).

I don’t tape things to my door anymore—one of the custodians when I was in Kansas said it was very hard to scrape tape off doors. So—I’m sorry about how I left that door, Blocker custodial staff.

Behind the door some sad grad student had scrawled a line from Melville: "Hold fast to the dreams of your youth."

Overall memory of this office: good, positive, would cocoon in there again and get some work done if I had a better chair.

Pandemic Status VI

9/18/2020

All indices up.

Covid Remembered and 911 Too

9/11/2020

This is a little flag I got on the first anniversary of 911, September 11, 2002.

I was driving a cab in those days, and I didn’t have a personal car then, and it was time for me to turn my criminal history into the cab company (yes, unlike Uber and Lyft, Yellow Cab tried to make sure their drivers weren’t criminals). So I had to take a bus all the way up to the DPS office on North Lamar, and a bus back, with multiple changes each way—and the bus back got caught up in the 911 ceremony. We all had to get off the bus north of the capital at 15th and Trinity (I think I remember). I had to walk all the way down to 6th and Congress to catch the next bus. What a hassle. Speeches were being delivered—I don’t know who was speaking. I pushed my way through the crowds, very annoyed, and somewhere along the way someone gave me a flag, and I still have it.

(Here's what I wrote about the 10th anniversary of 911).

So much for that day. Maybe next year, on the 20th anniversary, I’ll post my memories of what I experienced driving a cab on 911—memories which, as you might expect with me, have a heavy dose of stupid tragic absurdity.

This photo below is from our current tragedy.

This is a beer I drank during my last visit to a beer joint. February 26, 2020. Johnson City, Texas, just after I did a workshop at the wonderful Johnson City Library.

At the time, I didn’t know it was my last visit to a beer joint.

On February 26, President Trump said of covid victims, "...if you look at what we have with the 15 people and their recovery, one is—one is pretty sick but hopefully will recover, but the others are in great shape."

Yeah, right. I mean, no one really believed that at the time. Few people. I pay attention to the news, and while I sat in the beer joint I was figuring out what I might need to stock up on.

Of course, Trump himself didn't believe what he was saying. (Does he ever?) Three weeks earlier he told Bob Woodward, "It goes through air, Bob. It's also more deadly than even your strenuous flus. This is deadly stuff."

Me, I like beer joints. I like hanging out and drinking beer in them.

When will I again get to hang around a beer joint safely?

A thousand people a day are dying of covid—and those people did not need to die.

I think about those dead people—dead and not coming back—and I think of their families, and I think of the dead people to come, and I think of the Trump cultists who are just fine with the body count. It will take a generation to fix (maybe, sort of) the damage America has suffered the last four years.

All indices up. Rage especially and Heartbreak especially.

I Answer Some Questions About Writing II

9/4/2020

In a face-to-face class I get to talk to the Young Scholars about writing and what-all—but!—now that we’re all on Pandemic Zoom, basic interaction is more limited. So I have the students post written questions about writing or about the readings. Here are some of my answers from this week….

(Yes, just the answers—no questions).

Who are the characters? Are you going for comic or tragic?
The answers to each of these questions will lead to an ultimate answer....
But don't be afraid to change the outline when you get better ideas! It's not a contract!
Once you figure out what might sort of happen, start—writing.
It might help to think of the story as a photograph—a moment caught in time.
This exercise really is writing practice—it's to get you used to thinking in words and images.
Like with any skill you're practicing (and writing is a skill, not a talent), you will get better at it.
I love it when students relate their writing to the world around them.
What's the world around us like right now? It's sadly messed up, with a lot of material.
Just keep moving forward. (Until it’s time to revise).
You are going to live a long time—you have time to write all the stories. For today, just choose one.
Too much information will kill your story. (Creative writing teachers have a term for this: "the page two info dump" though often the info dump will take place about halfway down page one).
Does the reader need all the background info? Really? Probably not.
People have been trying to figure that out for a long time!
People are individuals and respond individually to what appeals to them. But—time moves on, the culture moves on, and what appeals to people moves on.
The libraries are full of books by excellent writers who are totally forgotten now....
I like to know where I'm heading—on a trip or in a story—but I have free will and can change my destination at any time.
Still I start with an objective in mind.
I'm not especially witty, but some few people think my writing is funny. I just put people in incongruous and difficult situations and let everything fall apart for them....
I wouldn't worry about it too much...?
Your personal style will develop over time—and change over time, too.
There are a lot of things at stake for all of us, all the time. Look out the window—we live in an increasingly dystopian society in the midst of a pandemic. What's at stake?
Sure, you can put a Dad character in there wherever you want. A good dad, a bad dad, a drunk dad, a sad dad—all these different dads would add depth to your story...
Clichés are popular because they are often true were maybe at one time satisfying. But you probably don’t want to write a cliché.
We live in a world where all the stories have been written except the one you’re about to write.
Try turning a stale idea around. The buzzer beating shot clanks off the rim….
It might be a very difficult story to write. But give it a try—ambition counts!
For our stories, you're limited by a very tight narrative space. So you might want to hold back on all the subplots.
Love your writing! But always read it like a writer. Don't be afraid to cut and cut and cut….
(And when I say cut—I don't mean delete. Save those words—you might want them later...).
Do you care about your story? If not, find a way to care about it.
Pretending to care about it will work until you really do come to care.
The real danger is not making any forward progress because you go over and over the same passages trying to get it "perfect."
If your characters cuss, then use real actual cuss words.
I'm thinking romantic love. You can do a lot with human emotions.

Pandemic Status IV

9/4/2020

Up and up and up. Thanks, Trump.

Where I Lived Then Now V

8/28/2020

Heathercrest.

(It was Heathercrest then, called Sixth Street West now).

I lived there from January 1985 to June 1988. My apartment was small and cramped and there were roaches (this seems to be a theme in my early Austin residences). I sadly don’t have any antique photos, so all I have are these more or less recent shots from Google Streets.

Those big hills at either end of the parking lot were kind of cool. During ice storms—and especially during the big snow of January 1985—cars were wiping out all over the place! (That snow was magical—I went for a wonderful walk past all the stalled or wrecked cars down to the Deep Eddy).

My apartment was on the west side, looking down into a tree-filled ravine. The property line was about two feet from my door—the ravine belonged to the University of Texas, part of some married student housing that was further down the hill.

The ravine—a problem. The people on the second floor of the unit next to me were too lazy to take their trash to the dumpster, so they just tossed bags of trash out their window. There were bags of trash dangling from tree branches and busted on the ground spewing all sorts of nasty shit and attracting rats and raccoons and various vermin.

One night I was leaving with a friend to go see the True Believers and just as we went out the door a bag of trash shot out the upstairs window and tumbled down through the branches to the ground.

“Why are they doing that?” DY asked.

“Assholes don’t need a reason,” I said. One of the few philosophical truisms I’ve ever uttered.

I complained about the trash to the apartment manager, who said the trash was on UT property, so the trash was UT’s problem. I called UT, and whoever I talked to told me that the trash was coming from Heathercrest, so it was Heathercrest’s problem.

The trash tossers eventually moved out and were replaced by a couple of nice young women, Zoe and Caroline (?? I think). One time we were up all night being bad and I was complaining about the trash, and Zoe said—“Let’s go pick it up!” And so we went out at about 430 in the morning and filled five or six bags of trash and took it to the dumpster.

Good citizens, we.

Heathercrest was crime-ridden.

Every now and then the Statesman would run a crime statistics story, and Heathercrest was always this red dot of violence in the middle of a safe part of town.

Domino’s stopped delivering pizzas there because the drivers got robbed so often!

And I got robbed one night. One evening I came back from the laundry room and literally bumped into some asshole who was leaving the apartment with my jambox.

“Hey!” I said.

“Fuck you,” the burglar said. He took off running.

I didn’t catch him. I called the cops. They came and looked around my apartment. “Wow,” one cop said. “They ransacked the place!”

“No,” I said. “It’s pretty much always like this.”

More crime, and worse: I got jumped and sucker-punched by some thug in the parking lot. Again—coming back from that fucking laundry room. Just some drunk thug. Damn. That hurt—cracked my jaw. I stumbled back to my apartment and got my deer rifle and sat pointing it at the door, but the thug never came after me. I never saw him again—not that I got a good look at him before he drilled me.

That was at the end of April 1988. I moved out in June. Good riddance.

Heathercrest Pros: Interesting traffic during snowstorms.

Hearthercrest Cons: Thugs, trash, robbers, roaches, no pizza delivery.

Verdict: Stay away.

You might be interested in my novel of Austin, That Demon Life....a novel of lust and laziness....

“That Demon Life has got Austin in its sway, or at least this novel's motley crew of characters. A horny judge, a defense attorney with an attitude, an entourage of petty criminals, a dating service maven, a self made internet porn star and a boy toy or two—they're all slouching toward Sixth Street and beyond. This is a fast-paced, hold-on-to-your-bar stool satire, a hilarious, stumbling romp through law and disorder, urban ennui and its after-hour antidotes, Texas-sized lust and doom.”
—Alison Moore, author of The Middle of Elsewhere and Synonym for Love.

Read That Demon Life now!

Pandemic Status III

8/28/2020

All indices up, and the scale runs to--infinity.

I Answer Some Questions About Writing

8/21/2020

I often have students post written questions about the readings or the class or about writing in general. I did that this week, and the answers are below. Just the answers—not the questions. (I didn’t ask the students for permission to use their questions!)

If you like questions so much, you can make up your own questions….

Me, I go with a lot of dialogue—probably too much dialogue. But then I will slow things down with more exposition.
You're a young writer, so I would advise you to try different things, to not overthink the perfect balance, to discover how you see the world and what works for you....
Plot is just not that important. Writing is what is important. And most short stories do not have rising action, etc. That said, you can do a lot in six pages....
Six to eight pages is a very compact narrative space. Start by making a good outline before you write.
Character and setting are both far more important than plot. Come up with them first.
Name the place. Always (almost always) name the place. Use google streets. And google in general. Creative writers do research!
This might sound sarcastic, but I'm totally serious: try writing a romance story about two people who are clunky and awkward.
Observe your friends who are in relationships—what do they do? How do they behave? Use that material.
You're writing a story, not an idea. Nobody wants to read a concept.
The best book I've ever read on writing is The Midnight Disease, by Alice Flaherty.
I keep going hard because I know I won't live long enough to tell all the stories I know. Got to get them on the page while I can.
But also look at the stories we read—they are all fine.
You don't have to worry about those weird commas when you write an essay….
You can learn this. It just takes practice....
Me—I’m an oddball. I'm a writer.
My job is to bear witness to the world I was born into. I have to pay attention—I have to tell the stories I witness.
I assume my first drafts won't be any good—that's why revision was invented.
But that's me—everybody needs to find their own individual path.
Are you a better writer now than you were when you drafted the older stories? You probably are. Why not apply your steadily increasing knowledge and skill to new work?
Make every sentence 25 words or longer. Make every sentence 5 words or less. Do a story entirely in dialogue. Write a story with no dialogue....
My former teacher and friend, the late novelist Larry Heinemann, said that "revision is where the money is." Revision is your chance to make sense out of what you've written....
Try writing in the first person. And then just look through the character's eyes and see what they see.
The great crime novel writer Elmore Leonard said that he always cut anything that "sounded like writing."
You could try that.
Just write the way you talk.
My very first creative writing teacher was a novelist named Shelby Hearon. Shelby once told me, "It's never the book in your head." It took me years to realize how true that was! That the brilliant idea you have in your head for the story or poem or book, by the time it travels out your fingers to the keyboard, is not the idea that was in your head. It never is.
That's one answer to your question.
Another is really boring: treat your writing like a job. Ignore inspiration.
Do the work of writing and learn to take pleasure in the work.
This might sound boring, but it's real.
I know a lot of writers, and I've never met one who talks about inspiration.
But! We can take this in a different direction. Think about what inspires you. Then work toward filling your life with whatever the heck that is.
What you're feeling is normal. At some point your true writerly self will emerge.
(Hint: something BIG is always going on).
It takes time and practice. Be patient with yourself.

Pandemic Status

8/21/2020

All indices up....

Writing and Editings XXVII (Pandemic Edition)

8/14/2020

Whoa—I haven’t posted in a long time. Yet I live! And I’ve been doing things—teaching writing editing quarantining raging.

I haven’t been to my campus office since March 9. I get my groceries curbsided, get my beer delivered to my door. Pandemic life!

In late March I started a Pandemic Diary, my daily observations on the terrible condition of the world, which I’ve managed to keep up. I begin each day by updating the RAGE/TERROR/HEARTBREAK index:

The scale is open-ended. The ultimate number before this is all over could be—infinite.

I’d like to see all indices go down.

I’ve been teaching online, of course. My zoom room is busy and disordered, just like my brain.

And I've been doing other things, too. Mostly working on the sequel to NORMAL SCHOOL!

NORMAL SCHOOL has a special pandemic back-to-school price!

Buy it read it!