A co-worker told me about the short film on youtube called "Validation". If you haven't seen it already, I recommend it. Just google "validation short film". It's about 15 minutes long and totally charming. It reminded my of a picture book I read years ago by Jon Agee called "Ludlow Laughs" (1985). I love the opening sentence:
"When Ludlow was born, everyone immediately noticed this shape:" [picture of down turned curve]
Ludlow was born grumpy, but one day he has "the funniest dream in the world". How the plot and pictures develop are charming validation that Jon Agee has incredible talent. Check out his palindrome books...letters same forward and reverse...like his "Sit on a potato pan, Otis!" You'll want to create palindromes of your own. He's also done illustrations for Tor Seidler (Mean Margaret) and William Steig (Potch and Polly). Funny how it worked. I saw the short film "Validation" and ended up putting six Jon Agee books on hold at the library.
Denis Streeter 2/20/13
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Saturday, February 9, 2013
oblique
The desk shivered shut
Open shadows jamming drawers
Shifting letters dream.
Denis Streeter 2/9/13
Open shadows jamming drawers
Shifting letters dream.
Denis Streeter 2/9/13
Friday, February 8, 2013
cyrano de bergerac twist
No it's not a drink. It's a plot twist in Aidan Chamber's book "Dying to Know You" (2012)...young adult fiction at its best. The writing rings true...funny and profound. It starts out with an 18 year old boy visiting a famous 75 year old author...not because he likes to read, but...I'll start with the conversation between boy and author:
"Could I talk to you?"
"Why?"
"You're a writer?"
"And?"
"I need your help."
"You see the sign on the door?"
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
"No visitors without appointments."
"Have you an appointment?"
"No."
"Then I suggest you make one."
"Could I make an appointment?"
"When for?"
"Now."
I couldn't help laughing. Anyways, there was something
about him, an indefinable quality that instantly appealed.
"What sort of help do you want?"
"With my girlfriend."
"I don't know anything about you, never mind your
girlfriend."
"I can explain."
"Young man. I'm seventy-five. Happily married for over
forty years. What would I know about girls these days?"
"You write about them."
"You've read my books?"
"No."
"So how do you know?"
"My girlfriend told me. She's a fan. And I looked you up
on the internet."
"Really? Well, at least you're honest. But in any case, the
girls in my books are fictions. I made them up. They don't
have minds of their own. Real girls do."
"The help is just for me, really. Not for my girlfriend."
"Look, if we're going to continue this conversation,
which it seems we are, you'd better come inside."
Room are a fixed size, which can't be altered without
pulling down walls and building new ones. They should be
unchanging in shape and proportions. But sometimes they
do change depending on who's in them.
I led him into the sitting room. He was tall, well built
but not bulky, not overbearing. I was surprised, because the
room didn't shrink as it usually did when visitors came in.
It got larger.
When we'd sat down, he on the edge of the sofa, leaning
forward, elbows on knees, eyes looking at his hands clasped
as if in prayer, me in the armchair facing him, I asked again
how he thought I could help.
"My girlfriend wants me to write about myself," he said.
"And?"
"About myself. Inside."
"What? You mean your feelings?"
"My inner secrets, she said."
"Why?"
"She quoted something at me."
"Can you remember it?"
"'How can you call them friends when they do not
know their mutual feelings.'"
"That's good. Did she say who said it?"
"Aristotle."
"Aristotle? She's read Aristotle?"
"No idea."
"Maybe she picked it up on the internet."
"She does read a lot. She'd like it here," he added,
looking at the shelves of books.
"How old?"
"Seventeen."
"She's some girl, if she's read Aristotle."
"Well, yes, she is."
"Or maybe she's just good at finding quotes." I let that
sink in before I said, "So what do you want me to do?"
"Help me write the stuff she wants."
"Why can't you write it yourself?"
"Hate writing."
"Then don't."
"She says she'll only go with me if I do. She's made a
list of questions she wants me to answer. And I have to do
it in what she calls full-dress English."
"'Full dress'?"
"Yes. Proper punctuation, spelling, and stuff. And
printed out. I hate doing that. It's torture."
"Not that bad, surely?"
"Yes, it is. And, anyway, I don't know what to write."
"What do you want me to do, then? Make it up?"
"No!...But that wouldn't be such a bad idea, come to
think of it."
He looked at me and smiled for the first time and said,
"Only joking. But still..."
"Still what?"
"Dunno...Well, I do, to be honest. There's a problem."
"Which is?"
He examined his hands again, fiddled with his fingers,
took in a breath, and gave me a defiant look.
"I'm dyslexic."
"Ah!" I said. "I see."
From Aidan Chambers "Dying to Know You" (2012), pages 1-4
This is a smart, funny, and wise book with resonant meaning. Highly recommended!
Check out Aidan Chamber's bio for more info...it will add depth to your reading.
I also highly recommend his "Postcards from No Man's Land" and "This Is All: The Pillow
Book of Cordelia Kenn." I plan to read all his books.
Denis Streeter
"Could I talk to you?"
"Why?"
"You're a writer?"
"And?"
"I need your help."
"You see the sign on the door?"
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
"No visitors without appointments."
"Have you an appointment?"
"No."
"Then I suggest you make one."
"Could I make an appointment?"
"When for?"
"Now."
I couldn't help laughing. Anyways, there was something
about him, an indefinable quality that instantly appealed.
"What sort of help do you want?"
"With my girlfriend."
"I don't know anything about you, never mind your
girlfriend."
"I can explain."
"Young man. I'm seventy-five. Happily married for over
forty years. What would I know about girls these days?"
"You write about them."
"You've read my books?"
"No."
"So how do you know?"
"My girlfriend told me. She's a fan. And I looked you up
on the internet."
"Really? Well, at least you're honest. But in any case, the
girls in my books are fictions. I made them up. They don't
have minds of their own. Real girls do."
"The help is just for me, really. Not for my girlfriend."
"Look, if we're going to continue this conversation,
which it seems we are, you'd better come inside."
Room are a fixed size, which can't be altered without
pulling down walls and building new ones. They should be
unchanging in shape and proportions. But sometimes they
do change depending on who's in them.
I led him into the sitting room. He was tall, well built
but not bulky, not overbearing. I was surprised, because the
room didn't shrink as it usually did when visitors came in.
It got larger.
When we'd sat down, he on the edge of the sofa, leaning
forward, elbows on knees, eyes looking at his hands clasped
as if in prayer, me in the armchair facing him, I asked again
how he thought I could help.
"My girlfriend wants me to write about myself," he said.
"And?"
"About myself. Inside."
"What? You mean your feelings?"
"My inner secrets, she said."
"Why?"
"She quoted something at me."
"Can you remember it?"
"'How can you call them friends when they do not
know their mutual feelings.'"
"That's good. Did she say who said it?"
"Aristotle."
"Aristotle? She's read Aristotle?"
"No idea."
"Maybe she picked it up on the internet."
"She does read a lot. She'd like it here," he added,
looking at the shelves of books.
"How old?"
"Seventeen."
"She's some girl, if she's read Aristotle."
"Well, yes, she is."
"Or maybe she's just good at finding quotes." I let that
sink in before I said, "So what do you want me to do?"
"Help me write the stuff she wants."
"Why can't you write it yourself?"
"Hate writing."
"Then don't."
"She says she'll only go with me if I do. She's made a
list of questions she wants me to answer. And I have to do
it in what she calls full-dress English."
"'Full dress'?"
"Yes. Proper punctuation, spelling, and stuff. And
printed out. I hate doing that. It's torture."
"Not that bad, surely?"
"Yes, it is. And, anyway, I don't know what to write."
"What do you want me to do, then? Make it up?"
"No!...But that wouldn't be such a bad idea, come to
think of it."
He looked at me and smiled for the first time and said,
"Only joking. But still..."
"Still what?"
"Dunno...Well, I do, to be honest. There's a problem."
"Which is?"
He examined his hands again, fiddled with his fingers,
took in a breath, and gave me a defiant look.
"I'm dyslexic."
"Ah!" I said. "I see."
From Aidan Chambers "Dying to Know You" (2012), pages 1-4
This is a smart, funny, and wise book with resonant meaning. Highly recommended!
Check out Aidan Chamber's bio for more info...it will add depth to your reading.
I also highly recommend his "Postcards from No Man's Land" and "This Is All: The Pillow
Book of Cordelia Kenn." I plan to read all his books.
Denis Streeter
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