Tom Clark Recovering from Accident

I'd noticed two weeks ago that poet Tom Clark wasn't making regular posts at his blog, Beyond the Pale.

I hoped he was simply on vacation or engaged with other projects, but the thought crossed my mind that something bad might have happened.

Indeed, Tom suffered serious injuries when a car struck him while he walked near his home in Berkeley on April 3. His wife Angelica writes that he is better now, but also faces an ongoing series of medical appointments on his way to a full recovery.

You never know, folks. You never know.

I'm a little out of the loop with this.  I've never met Mr. Clark in person, so I'm obviously reporting something that his close friends already know about.  We have on a few occasions written short e-mail notes to one another regarding literary matters.  His praise of the Deemer brothers' poetry was one of the best things to happen to RBP last year.

From those communiques and his work, I gather Tom has a great spirit and understanding of how things are--and just as importantly, how things could be--in the world.  He has a view I admire, in other words.

Luckily it wasn't Tom's turn this time. Here's hoping for the best and Tom's full-time return to masterminding one of the most thought-provoking blogs on the Internet.


TS

Mixed Bag

(Stott Field, PSU)

Running a publishing empire like this one can be a tad stressful at times, but I have to say that today has drifted past with great ease and a sense of calm.

A rare day in that regard (and I know this isn't an empire, but I thrive on my lame jokes). I feel relaxed.

Generally I'm grinding, bursting with insecurities and confusion, and a sense of not knowing.

Today? Just living the life and hoping for the best.

Saturday evening, I took a number of long strides in learning the new RBP editing system that I eventually plan to use to produce what I hope are videos a notch-step above what I've created in the past.

A broadcast television pro who, as he describes it, works in the "belly of the beast" helped me enormously. We'll see what transpires with my new-found understanding, or what I hope is understanding and not another dead end.

Additionally, I'm editing the third book in K.C. Bacon's trilogy of New Rotterdam tales, which should be ready for publication by late summer.

That's going well.  I think I'm a good editor, not of my stuff of course, but of other things that pass under my nose.  This part of the job always levels me out somewhat.  The nuts and bolts stuff that clears my head and makes me think I'm contributing something of value to the world.

I like to think RBP has published some quality books to date (do tell me otherwise if you want Buddy Dooley to smack you upside the head), and I believe Bacon's latest will fit comfortably into the oeuvre.

What else is a man to do, I ask you? This is a racket after all, not unlike attempting to sell small figurines to equestrian-loving damsels.

Or a stack of baseball cards to a Cardinals fan.

BTW, I went over to Stott Field on the Portland State campus the other day and took in a Viking spring football practice, as has been my habit since moving into a nearby neighborhood  a couple of years ago.

Maybe I'll post a little practice video here next week, like a football blogger.

I'm liking what I see from the Vikings in the third season of Nigel Burton's coaching tenure. Burton has his players and system in now. I look for PSU to make the playoffs next November.

Burton has the team playing fast and focused. I'm not a big fan of Chip Kelly at Oregon, but his influence on the college game is readily apparent. Kelly is a big-time practice coach and his methodology has spread throughout the college landscape.

His mantra is "play fast, hard, and finish."

That's what we say here at Round Bend as well.


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Tutorial

My DP on "the project," a video-telling of my memoir, A Marvelous Paranoia, came over yesterday and worked with me on RBP's new video editing program.

People pay good money to tech institutes to learn what I received for free yesterday (Note: I'm not claiming I retained all of it, but it was a fantastic opening).

After 30 minutes of familiarizing himself with the system's terrain, Terence turned into a magician in front of my eyes. That's what it was like, watching this pro go to work with the tools at hand, the first time he'd ever seen them.

To an editing pro, a concept is a concept. All editing systems are not equal, but editing is more than the available tech. The convergence of tools and artistry make the editor. A million dollar system won't help an editor who hasn't imagination and vision.

For me, the editing program is a maze of technical chicanery; in his hands it was notably simplistic. He was already off on jags of creativity while I sat gaping at the possibilities.

I've done some editing in my time, but not to the level I witnessed in Terence's smooth operation.

Terence and I are shooting the first video scenes for the memoir project later this month.

With this fellow as my DP and editor, I project a winner.


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Progress

Playing with the new video editor this morning, I was able to make a very simple instant movie.

I shot two scenes of Buddy Dooley's crib, imported them, added a title over in two places, and opted for one of the installed closing credit clips to finish.

Haven't figured out how to use the effects functions or how to import music and narration yet; perhaps I'll learn something more later today when my tutor works with me.

Slowly but surely, this is progress.


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Baby Steps

I've been squirreling around all morning with a new video editing program.

Naturally, it has me flummoxed for the most part, but little things occasionally occur to me as I play with it.

This stuff, never mind computing in general, doesn't come easily to this old VHS and typewriter guy. I seem to be compelled to do this, though.

God knows why! A sensible man of my age and demeanor might rethink the entire proclivity for self-imposed headbanging.

I really need to stop hyperventilating at this time, and get on with other concerns.

Fortunately, I'll have some help with the new program tomorrow. My teacher is a much more intuitive video pro. If he can't help me, perhaps I'll bundle everything in a blanket, tie it off, and drop it in the river.

Wash my sins away.


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Round Bend Tribute

I consider this to be somewhat of a tribute to the authors who have made Round Bend Press such an adventuresome and rewarding experience over this past year.

My friends, your words and pictures mean everything to me.


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A Good Read

As Carlton "CJ" Jones might say, I've been doing some "heavy reading" of late.

Well, heavy reading in my mind anyway.

I read Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air when it first appeared in 1997. The story of the infamous May, 1996 Mt. Everest climbing disaster is one of the most riveting tales I've ever read. I was pleased to discover over the past two evenings that it has not lost any of the luster I remember from my first entranced encounter with the book.

Krakauer wrote in the book's introduction, "In March 1996, Outside magazine sent me to Nepal to participate in, and write about, a guided ascent of Mount Everest. I went as one of eight clients on an expedition led by a well-known guide from New Zealand named Rob Hall. On May 10 I arrived on top of the mountain, but the summit came at a terrible cost."

In May, 1996, a record-twelve people died on Everest, the worst stretch in history. Krakauer informs his readers that prior to the disaster he'd never seen a dead person before, or even been to a funeral.

Among the many sides to this book is a tale of innocence lost.

The book created a stir, to say the least, and became a bestseller. However, the author's painstaking reconstruction of what happened on the mountain that May is disputed in some quarters even today.

Krakauer and Russian guide Anatoli Boukreev, a friend, had a highly visible falling out over their differing interpretations of what happened on the mountain from May 10-13, during a sudden rogue storm that enveloped Everest with one-hundred mile an hour winds and whiteout conditions.

Boukreev's ghostwritten account of the disaster, The Climb, forced Krakauer into a protracted defense of his account. The two were still estranged by 1999, when the Russian suffered another climbing calamity and died on Annapurna.

If you are my age and interested in good adventure stories, you've no doubt read Into Thin Air, or you have wanted to but haven't gotten around to it yet.

If you are younger and haven't heard of this book much less read it, you owe yourself the favor.


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A New RBP Author?

I spent the afternoon reading a batch of essays by a Tacoma writer recently introduced to me by regular Round Bend contributor and fellow Puget Sound denizen, K.C. Bacon.

Michael Huffman is a chef, and a writing teacher at a community college in Tacoma.

I'll tell you, I am extremely impressed by his passion for cooking, his interpretation of the meaning of food in our lives--or in his life in this case--as well as his literary style.

He writes really, really well.

The essays are entertaining morsels, as savory-sounding as some of the food Huffman writes about. They are funny, learned and anecdotal.

Above all else they are deeply honest, unless Huffman is one hell of a good liar, which is never a bad thing for a writer.

The author will be a nice addition to the press if he chooses to publish with us.

Here's hoping he does.


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Dooley Reads "The Bright Ones Run Alone into the Night"

The Bright Ones Run Alone into the Night

the lights come on at
six-thirty every morning
but you don’t care because
you’re already gone in your mind

you were up at 4 a.m.
gulping the swill coffee

you’ve taken a piss and shaved
and counted your money

you haven’t slept
but getting out of this place
is more important than sleep
and you want fresh air

you knew what it would
be like here
before you arrived
your back stooped
all you own in a shoulder bag
your empty pages
stuffed in a single side-pocket

at check-in you
gave them a name
but you’re uncertain whether
you have spoken
your name or the name
of a dead man

they want to know who
sent you and where you’re from
but they don’t care
how you got here or why

looking around
you realize you’ve fallen
into a trap

the snoring is a coded message
a riddle you must solve
on your own—but your life
has become an unanswerable lie
as you walk out the door

tonight
returning to your bed
amid the stench and piles of
cheap crime novels
you will see the bright
ones run alone
into the night

from Cello Music & Other Poems


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Glory Days

With spring football practice in full swing at Oregon and Oregon State, it's time to relive the glory of the 2012 Rose Bowl, wherein Nike U. beat Wisconsin in a thriller.

OSU unfortunately did not play well enough last season to go bowling, but they'll bounce back soon, I believe.

Oregon has lost a few stars from the Rose Bowl champs, but of late they've been able to reload at key positions--so perhaps Darron Thomas and LaMichael James will not be missed too much.

The most interesting aspect of the competition battle in Eugene this spring is at quarterback, where two kids vie to become the next big thing: Soph. Bryan Bennett, who played a little last season, and R.S. Frosh Marcus Mariotta, a big kid with a big arm who hasn't been on the field yet as a Duck.

Edge to Bennett. A little experience helps.

Both of these guys can run as well as throw it, something Darron Thomas couldn't do last year. Thomas was a leader, a sharp kid who knew the intricacies of the spread Oregon thrives on, but he wasn't very fast and had an erratic arm at times.

In coachspeak, reps will bring the new QBs up to speed.

Oregon has a light opening schedule; I expect the the QB situation to settle nicely by the time the PAC schedule begins in week four.


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Woody Allen & Barbara Hershey (Seagull)

Dianne Wiest chews up this scene as a struggling would-be actress/writer in Hannah and Her Sisters, the 1986 Woody Allen classic. As stunning as she is, it is the presence of the irritable and undernourished youngest sister, played by Barbara Hershey, who sends this scene over the top.

Hershey was the greatest of the "hippie" actresses of the 1970s.

Note the movement of the camera as it relentlessly circles the sisters' lunch table, capturing the hideous banality of their privileged, spoiled lives.

Lunch transformed as Hades.

In my estimation, Woody Allen has never made a bad movie. Even his early slapstick adventures, such as Take the Money and Run and Bananas have lasting and silly appeal.

Venturing finally into grownup movies, Allen revealed a mocking, clairvoyant sensitivity that defined the American social drama/comedy genre in his image, starting with Annie Hall (1977).


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The Horse's Mouth

There are books and movies that are so indelibly scratched into your brain that it is risky to try to establish the experience of meeting them anew.

I suffered this odd realization again last night when I tried to re-watch The Horse's Mouth, the movie (1958) based on the English writer Joyce Cary's novel (1944), directed by Ronald Neames, with a screenplay by the star of the film, Alec Guinness.

The story, in case you haven't seen or heard of this book or movie (you kids), concerns Gulley Jimson, a London painter who is so obsessed with his work that he'll stop at nothing in order to finish a canvass, including associating with a menage of swine and uncomprehending boobs who he thinks may be able to help him finish his vision.

When I saw this movie years ago, I thought it hilarious. Watching it last night, I was aggrieved to realize it hasn't held up very well.

I've changed. The times have changed. Art itself has changed, though the movie's major theme still rings true; the lone artist battling the odds, his critics, the very notion of a society that could give a damn what he or she is attempting to accomplish.

But none of that is wholly what bothered me about watching the movie again. In truth, and this is just one critic's opinion mind you, it is deadening. It is flat. It isn't nearly as funny as I remembered it.

I don't think Guinness' screenplay is very good. Much of the dialogue doesn't work, many scenes are actually quite boring, and overall it simply appears to have missed too many opportunities to, in reality, approach the reputation it has garnered as a masterpiece by Neames.

Like much else these days, it's overrated.  It was overrated in my mind.

Watching this movie was something of a research project for me (I stumbled across it at the library and felt a connection), for I am editing a comedic novella about a fixated artist right now. When I first learned of the subject involved in this book, I thought of The Horse's Mouth.

I wish I hadn't.


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Dooley Reads "I Know What You Went Through, Bukowski"

I think Buddy Dooley does a credible job reading this poem. Though I might have pepped it up a little. Had to find some suitable Dexter Gordon to match Dooley's forlorn delivery.

Not bad, Dooley. You should be commended.


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Trip Planning

I met yesterday with my DP for the Sweet Home video shoot. We mulled over a number of shots that we agree are necessary to capture the feel of the narrative. We also planned an itinerary and specific route through the portion of the state I'm concerned with in this segment of the shoot.

We'll stop in Albany first, where I attended a junior college for one year before transferring to the University of Oregon. There, we'll photograph a plywood mill where I worked coming out of high school and on two other summer occasions. I want to go inside to grab some shots of the machinery used in the plywood trade. I'll try to set that up for the morning of the first day.

From there, we'll drive over to Lebanon, where I lived in the summer of 1977 and briefly tried to sell cars before going to work in a mobile home factory. I see a few shots coming out of that environment as well.

Then it'll be on to my hometown, where we'll shoot some of the project's most crucial video.

I told Terence about the old, wooden-covered bridge on display in Sweet Home's city park, moved there when Foster Reservoir went in on the Santiam River. It is very iconic and odd-looking in a park without a river flowing through it.

A must image for this project. One of many.

We'll shoot as much as we can in Sweet Home and environs and spend the night there, camping if the weather suggests it.

The next day we head into the Cascades, which play an integral part in A Marvelous Paranoia. I lived, for the first year of my life, in tiny Cascadia, in a house adjacent to Cascadia State Park. The family moved to Sweet Home after my father's death, but in the ensuing years I spent a great deal of time in Cascadia among a throng of cousins and extended family.

A must stop for images.

The rivers, lakes and terrain after that are other important aspects of the story. We'll gather those images on the way to Sisters. It'll be an intense and grueling day-long shoot, so the itinerary calls for a second night of camping (or a motel) in Sisters before driving the following morning along the McKenzie River to Eugene.

In Eugene, we'll need to capture the university aspects of the story. Looking forward to that.

In fact, I'm looking forward to this entire project. I'd like to bring it out this time next year. That might seem like a long gestation period, but consider that the entire project will have to be taken piecemeal on select days that fit the schedules of those involved.

In addition, a lot of legwork and and gathering need be done.

Onward!


TS

Production Meeting Today

The production wheels officially begin turning this afternoon as I meet with co-conspirators to discuss the RBP video project based on my memoir, A Marvelous Paranoia (click on the book at the sidebar).

Our first shoot is three weeks away in my hometown of Sweet Home, Oregon, but I like the advantage of pre-planning the shots, the efficiency of knowing what you want, what you can use, etc. With that in mind, grabbing improv scenes and brainstorming shots in the field feels less risky.

Video is half logic and half inspiration.  Inspired logic, in other words.

At least that is my method.


TS