Category Archives: American popular culture

Infernal Regions Report: Scribe in Purgatorial Revision Spirals

Let us now praise the gods & goddesses of revision.

Long accepted is the law of writing, reading, rewriting…putting away…(after a period long enough for amnesia to set in, reopen the text)…read, rewrite, read again till sick of it again…repeat ad nauseam…[test the manuscript on poor “friend” victims, get feedback, please be patient with good readers]…and so on it goes, until the Author gives the creature a push out of the lab and good luck to that orphan…but always remember, authors in their heart of hearts love all their children, however suspect in terms of ideal standards of literary finesse.

By way of prologue, this is currently a period of revision, two novels in advanced revision yet not quite ready to release into the sink hole of despair & hope. Yes, Authors must dream too about their creatures of the imagination.

In brief, two novels in final prep…and a clamor from the Idea Pile…for new works to start. Meaning, the Author is in a betwixt & between (liminal) state. A most delicate transition between imaginary worlds. Steadying this uncertain phase to the next work in progress are those tortured texts under final tweaking. You get the point I’m sure, especially if you’re an obsessive compulsive writer who must scribble or type something everyday or else you start to suffer withdrawal nausea usually accompanied by rock emotional swings. Strange business. Don’t wish this scribe habit on anyone. Count your blessings if you can write and put it down for a few weeks, months or years. Please, I hear you, enough.

Oh, almost forgot, I’ve joined up with Author Central out of the Amazon Tribe of Scribblers. They’ve given me a very nice website with great links for the tentacles in a postmodern writer’s life. Check it out my twelve current works of fiction, hopefully a little something for everyone (what a nice man, the author is):

 http://amzn.to/AatpAl

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Filed under American popular culture, erotica, fiction, first thought, prose poetry, works in progress

Follow us at Witts Inn Writers Retreat: Summer 2010

On foggy Monkfish Island somewhere off the Maine

Coast Near Portland (sometimes adrift it’s thought) is

Witts Inn Writers Summer Retreat (2010):

follow the fun goings on of a scribe tribe on a spooky island

 & listen to the gossip as they learn how to battle their uncertain

writing & social skills.

 

Go to: http://twitter.com/StallingsJim

Begins May 27/Memorial Day weekend & ends after Labor Day

******More to come here on blog after Labor Day

a spontaneous Twitter novel by Jim Stallings

 

 

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Filed under American popular culture, best thought, erotica, fiction, first thought, flash fiction, flash poetry, literature, literature and movies, poetry, prose poetry, troubled people, works in progress

At Witt’s Inn: Twitter novel-in-progress

So just by accident I happened to start a narrative on Twitter from the phrase overhead “at wit’s end”. But I heard it also as “at Witt’s Inn.” And so, for a while at least, I’m having some fun improvising installments or dispatches from this island writer & artist retreat on mysteriously foggy Monkfish Island. It’s exact location off the coast of the U.S. is in question as it seems to move about along the various coastlines. The important thing is that we seem to overhear the meditations and concerns of resident writers & artists in Twitter’s 140 character frames.

The experimental dispatch novel is now only a week or two old but we’re hopeful our link to the island will remain viable and that we may learn a few things about the introvertive universe of writers in residence. Below are a sampling of recent communiques into the cyberspace void. Drop in at

http://twitter.com/StallingsJim

and read the latest.

Here on the Weblog we’ll continue to post other works-in-progress & literary commentary.

JS

Samples:

 

At Witt’s Inn Island Retreat, literary writers clean communal bathrm; news fr NYC: vampire novel earns 6-fig advance. Gnashing of eye teeth.

Male residents of Witt’s Inn artist retreat think Al Gore’s breakup aftr 40 yrs of marriage is only way to reclaim unsown oats. Go Al!

At Witt’s Inn female residents argue Peace Prize went to Al Gore’s head & drained his tiny bit of Jack Daniel charm & thus estranging Tipper

At Witt’s Inn Island Retreat when the fog lifted & the sun emerged, writers knew the island was all too real w/ absurd real estate prices.

At Witt’s Inn on foggy Monkfish Island, rumors started w/ resident writers that the “island” was really a boat & they were being shanghaied.

On Monkfish Island at Witt’s Inn for Writers & Artists, guests sit in small rooms & listen to rain tapping a hideous message fr the Gulf.

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Filed under American popular culture, best thought, erotica, fiction, first thought, flash fiction, flash poetry, literature, literature and movies, poetry, prose poetry, troubled people, works in progress

Poem: “My Old Friend”, fr. Notebooks 2003, Jim Stallings

My old friend

Lover playmate

Joy person

We skated

On the frozen canals

And drank libations

At parties on the shore

We hugged

We kissed

We united

Till your boat

Rock solid

In ice tied

We entered

The cozy warmth

Of naked embraces

Under your covers

Kept secure in arms

Loving smile

Tender laughter

Nights passed

In spring thaw

Freed from ice

We bade loving farewell

A kiss & a ring.

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Poem: “Island Pond Has Frozen”, solstice poem, Jim Stallings

Recently published on Monhegans Common on their poetry site in celebration of the island at winter solstice. (www.monhegan.com)

ISLAND POND HAS FROZEN

Island pond has frozen
But not enough for skaters.
Weather says:
Three to five inches
Of white stuff,
Rain and sleet.

Hunker down, Hearth Huggers,
Bolster forth, Brave Hearts.

Yes, we are dreamers
of winter full,
Still shy the solstice
When time hangs still
Twixt shorter nights
And longer days to come–

And Lo! Our bonfires
Beckon the sun
From the dark ocean,
As our faces turn
East in faith.

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Poem: “Mash Potatoes”, fr. notebooks, Jim Stallings

Mash potatoes

Puddin’ pie

Got a fish bone

On my plate

And a hanger

In my suit

Sure, dress to kill

And lay down your bets,

Tomorrow’s nearly here

And the demands

Never go down

Until you’re buried

In your costume box

With your best suit & tie—

Ready to meet the Big Man

(Or Woman)

(Or Thing)

That started this

Meals on Wheels.

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Poem: “Try Me He Said”, fr. notebooks, Jim Stallings

Try me he said

And slid the pistol

Across the bar

As if this were

A Wild West show

Or B movie re-run

When in fact we were

As moderns in suits

Atop a skyscraper

In a penthouse

With city lights ablaze

And a Pollack copy

On the wall

Where the literati paused

With canapés mid flight

To mouths agape,

Aghast.

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Filed under American popular culture, flash poetry, literature and movies, poetry, prose poetry, troubled people, Westerns, works in progress