Today is Memorial Day, so it occurs to me that this may be an appropriate memory to haul to the surface. I resubmit it for your perusal.
It seems like pirates in are in the news every time I turn around these days. But when this story popped up a while back it really caught my attention:
You can probably imagine my interest in the report but my association goes deeper than simply being an author who writes about pirates. Almost twenty years ago, you see, I was U.S. Marine Sergeant “Pete” Peterson and I served on the USS Dubuque for a while.
Luckily, the time I spent on the De Puke (as we called it) was almost entirely taken up by sleeping, playing Spades, and reading Michael Crichton novels rather than fighting pirates or saving the free world. I remember a tattered copy of Jurassic Park making the rounds from jarhead to jarhead throughout the berthing area and it ignited all sorts of lively debate about how well Steven Spielberg had (or hadn’t) interpreted it. Crichton was considered high literature to us in those days. If I remember correctly, a copy of Congo was being passed along not far behind it.
[Stephen Lamb (no stranger in these parts) recently had an essay featured on the Art House America blog and it's too good not to share. Is it a record review? Yes, sort of, but it's also a lot more. The opening paragraphs are posted below; click over to Art House America and read the entire piece. It's great.]
The day I turned thirty, I met some friends for drinks and celebratory cigars at a smoke shop across the street from one of my favorite restaurants, an Asian bistro where the sushi bar offers a roll that uses raw filet mignon instead of rice to hold everything together. After a couple of beers, and halfway through my cigar, I responded to the question someone had posed, asking what I wanted from the future. For one, I said, I hoped I’d be married before another decade had passed. “I’m not looking for someone to take away my loneliness. I know another person won’t do that. It’s just that sometimes I think I’m ready for a different kind of lonely.”
* * *
I listened to Leonard the Lonely Astronaut seven times in a row the first day I heard it. A concept album from Andrew Osenga, it tells the story of a man named Leonard, set in the year 2365. While in the process of finalizing his divorce, his wife and child are killed in a car accident. Crippled by grief, Leonard decides to volunteer to pilot a transport shuttle to a distant planet. The trip will take a year—six months there, six months back—but due to the laws of relativity and such, everyone he knows will be dead by the time he returns to earth. “I’ll make some new friends / maybe with their grandkids,” Andrew (Leonard) sings, ready for a new start, hopeful things will turn out differently this time.
I loaned Andy my old 60s Rogers drumset for the project and helped him build the spaceship in which to record it (yes, you read that right), so he sent me a copy of the record as soon as he had the final mixes. A couple days after my first listen, still hitting repeat over and over, I read Terry Tempest William’s new book, When Women Were Birds: 54 Variations on Voice, in two sittings. A beautiful book, equal parts reflection on her own relationships and meditations on the ways women find their voice in a world that often says their voice is unimportant, she has this to say about her marriage: “I have never been as lonely as I have been in my marriage. I have also never been more seen or more protected.” That night, I e-mailed the quote to Andy (one of the friends who had been around the table when I’d answered that question), saying I didn’t think I could come up with a better short summary of Leonard, no matter how hard I tried.
We’re both excited and honored to announce that the special guest for Hutchmoot 2013 is author Leif Enger. Over the past decade, Enger’s two novels, Peace Like a River (discussed here in 2007), and So Brave, Young, and Handsome (discussed here in 2008) have found their ways into what many might consider the hallowed halls of American classics. They’re the kind of books whose voices settle in and stay with you like welcome friends inclined to linger. They’re the kind of books that you find yourself still talking about and recommending years after you first met them, the kind of books you pull off the shelf time and again to smell and smile over and reread. Good books, like good folks, are glad company, and we couldn’t be more pleased to have Leif Enger at the Moot this year.
My wife, Jennifer, and I sat down and watched the film Sunday night and I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. I’m going to throw out a few things that jumped out at me and from there the floor will be open. Feel free to jump in and join the conversation. Let’s try to keep the discussion away from technical critique and aimed more toward an examination of story, character, and theme. Here we go . . .
Mark your calendars. Hutchmoot 2013 will convene on October 10-13. That’s a holiday weekend so we’re hopeful that travel plans will be simplified for return trips and everyone will be able to stick around for the closing session this year. The Hutchmoot website has been updated with preliminary schedules, dates, and (final) pricing. Look for registration to begin in early March.
Thanks to Nathan Willis and William Aughtry (makers of the “Rest Easy” video), here’s a couple of short videos from Hutchmoot 2012. I got a little teary-eyed the first time I watched them. Enjoy (and please share them with your friends).
And then there were was “The Epic.”
Tow’ring tall as titans old o’er lesser vessels wrought of clay, shaped by strength of learnéd hand, and long by kiln-fire glazed and made, this massive* stein may well inspire deeds of heroes fell and fair, songs of skald and bard alike, meter bold and rhythm right in e’en the poorest poet’s mind.
The Epic comes in two varieties: Dante (top) and Milton (bottom).
These and 4 other mugs styles are now available in the Rabbit Room store. Supplies are limited. Get them while they last.
One of the projects I was most excited about last year was The Molehill Vol.1. Putting it together was exciting and challenging and, in the end, hugely rewarding. I’m proud of it and I hope readers have enjoyed it.
We’re now beginning the process of putting together The Molehill Vol.2, and I thought it might be fun to collect some feedback that could potentially give us some guidance. So I’m turning to you: the readership. What did you like about Vol.1? What do you want to see more of in Vol.2? What do you want to see less of? If you didn’t buy Vol.1, why not? What would make you interested in Vol.2? Did anyone decipher the elvish and dwarvish quotes? Did anyone wonder where the Governor of Ohio’s leg lived?
The floor is open. Let us know what you think.
I’ve had a long-time fascination with and love for stand-up comedy. It’s every bit as much an artform as songwriting, painting, or swordsmithing. In this short video, Jerry Seinfeld (one of the great ones), pulls the curtain back and shows us a little of how the machine works. (If you enjoy the behind-the-scenes of comedy, you might also enjoy the 2002 documentary Comedian, which follows Jerry on his first stand-up tour after leaving TV.)
Rabbit Room Movie Night? Yep. Find time to sit down and watch (or re-watch) 1984’s Best Picture-winner, Amadeus. Then on February 19th drop by the Rabbit Room to join in the discussion. Don’t forget popcorn, and don’t miss the chance to come to Nashville and see Blackbird Theater’s live performance of the stageplay on March 9th. (Tickets available here.)
I love animation. Here’s one good Oscar-nominated reason why, courtesy of Disney studios.
We’ve secured tickets for opening weekend on March 9th in Nashville and are making them available in the Rabbit Room store at a discount. Pick up yours early; we don’t expect them to last. We’ve also got some fun stuff planned between now and opening weekend that we hope will generate some good discussion, and there will be a special Q&A with the cast and crew after the show.
Great music, great storytelling, great theater. We’ll see you there.
I go to the movies for a lot of reasons. I love adventure (John Carter, The Hobbit, The Avengers). I love watching another person’s imagination work its way out in light and color (Life of Pi). I love the way that movies use sprawling images and wild tales to wrestle with intimate, personal questions (Tree of Life), and eternal mysteries—even if they don’t necessarily succeed (Prometheus). But if I had to narrow my love of movies (or stories in general) down to a single defining factor, I think I could make a good case for “moral complexity worked out to an honest end.”
What the heck does that mean, Pete?
We hope you all have a great Christmas.Thank you to everyone that signed up to be a part of the 2012 Rabbit Room gift exchange. Once you’re done tearing open presents, laughing with family, and eating way too much pecan pie, we’d love for you to drop by here and say thanks to your Rabbit Room Santa. Some stayed anonymous, some spilt the beans, no matter. Feel free to share as much or as little as you like. I’ve already seen some of the pictures on Facebook and I hope we’ll see a few more (note that you can post images in the comments with basic tags—if you know how to do that). I hope everyone had fun. Merry Christmas.
Today was a hard day. Ben Shive’s “A Last Time for Everything,” kept running through my head as I watched the news updates from Connecticut. In Ben’s book, The Cymbal Crashing Clouds, he tells the story behind the song and I think it’s especially appropriate today. I’ve excerpted it below in images to maintain the unique formatting of the book.
“A Last Time for Everything”
by Ben Shive
If you were at Hutchmoot you may have noticed an odd gray book hiding on the merch table. It was a strange little thing filled with bizarre portraits and sometimes funny, sometimes poetic, sometimes inscrutable captions. It’s a book that’s almost impossible to pick up and not be drawn in by. I’ve got one lying here on my desk. It’s been here for a couple of months now and almost every day I pick it up and thumb through it utterly mesmerized (even though I’ve read it in its entirety at least a dozen times).