Matthew Dicks

Adulthood overrated

Blogger Jason Kottke recently wrote about the differing approaches to "being an adult." In his post, he establishes two kinds of adults:

A: Those who have set aside their childish ways

B: Those who rebel against the lack of freedom of childhood.

“Basically opposite approaches,” he writes. “Responsible adulthood and irresponsible adulthood.”

Kottke continues:

The A people feel that being an adult means eating healthfully, being financially responsible, dressing to meet the expectations of others, flossing regularly, servicing your vehicle regularly, etc.

Folks who take the B approach feel that adulthood means that you can eat candy for breakfast, drink too much, fail to keep careful track of your finances, stay up late, play hours of video games a day, skip dental cleanings for three years, order the steak instead of the salad, etc.

This issue is actually at the center of my current manuscript, so the post appealed to me a great deal. But I don’t entirely agree with Kottke’s distinctions.

I tend to be someone who constantly wonders where all the rebels have gone. What causes the adolescent hellion, the twenty-something non-conformist and the teenage idealist to suddenly accept, embrace and surrender to the traditions and mores of modern society? I marvel at people who are my age; former activists, dreamers, militants and all-around challengers of authority, who have become so thoroughly invested in suburban conformity, expectations of appearance, the etiquette of the masses, and an overall concern with the opinions and values of the majority that they have begun to resemble the conservative, staid, judgmental, risk-free nature of their parents.

Have they forgotten the vows made as teenagers and young adults? Have they chosen to ignore the disdain that they once felt for the rigidity and formality of the adult world? Have they failed to remember the anthems of their youth?

I think so. And it makes me crazy. I thought that I would be a member of the generation that would tip conformity and convention on its head. I have been disappointed. Once again, the majority of people my age seem to have eased themselves into the stream of the compliance and traditionalism. This is why clever websites like My Parents Were Awesome even exist. As the site says:

Before the fanny packs and Andrea Bocelli concerts, your parents (and grandparents) were once free-wheeling, fashion-forward, and super awesome.

I agree, but look at the majority of them now. Free-wheeling? Super awesome? That’s starting to become a hard thing to say about people my age, and I’m still in my thirties.

I tend to lean towards non-conformity. I challenge conventional wisdom whenever possible. I question the most basic rituals and procedures of society. I dress for comfort and personal preference rather than the expectations of others. I refuse to wear any item of clothing (save sneakers) that that is adorned with a designer label. I no longer wear ties, finding them to be little more than decorated nooses with no discernable purpose. I don’t drink coffee, tea or alcohol. I still write embarrassing comments in the Memo sections of my checks when presenting them to a friend as payment. When I guy shakes my hand with excessive force, I whine like a little girl, asking him why he’s so mean. When someone knocks on a locked bathroom door, I respond with Monty Python quotes. I still play video games with my friends from time to time (and would do so more often if I had the time). I think that dessert can be a part of breakfast and long for the day when I am still hungry enough to enjoy a slice of pie after my eggs and toast.

If you were to ask my friends, they would all identify me as one of Kottke’s type B adults.

Yet I floss regularly. I like to think that I am financially responsible. I may not eat as well as I should, but I try, and I work out at the gym almost daily. The distinctions that Kottke makes, responsible versus irresponsible, are not quite right when describing these two forms of adults, but they are close.

I believe that a type B adult, the kind who does not conform to society’s expectations and challenges convention, can still be responsible when it comes to taking care of him or herself. Despite my desire to tip the world on its head, I don’t want my teeth to fall out, my house to be foreclosed upon, and my heart to explode at the age of 45. I would argue that a person can reject the traditional construct of adulthood while still maintaining a healthy, financially independent lifestyle.

One does not need to live in sloth and destitution in order to be, as someone described me recently, “interesting but difficult.”

A person can reject the trappings of adulthood and still floss regularly.

I wish more would. In both respects.

Busy!

I’m in the process of debating over the multiple careers of protagonist Wyatt Mason in THE CHICKEN SHACK. Wyatt is the owner of The Chicken Shack, but he is also a part-time English teacher at a local community college, an occasional freelance magazine writer, a member of the Town Council and the local vigilante. I’ve worried that this might seem like too much, and that Wyatt’s life will come across as convoluted and unrealistic.

At the same time, I find myself justifying Wyatt’s multitude of career paths by citing my own.

At the moment, I am a fifth grade school teacher, the owner and operator of a mobile DJ service, a secular minister who performs marriages and baby naming ceremonies, an author who has published one book, sold another and is at work on a third, and a fledgling life coach.

In addition to these careers, I am a blogger, the writer of the occasional Op-Ed piece, and I am attempting to write the libretto of a rock opera. I have also been publicizing my book through speaking appearances at libraries and book stores throughout New England and am an avid golfer and poker player.

I am also pondering the possibility of hosting some writing clinics in the area for writers who are looking to improve their skills and get their work published. I met a photographer at a recent wedding who conducts about three seminars a year on wedding photography and seems to make a solid profit from her efforts.

I figured that I might be able to do the same.

Oh yeah, and I’m married with a daughter who is eight months old.

Does Wyatt’s life really seem so complicated in comparison?

Of course, I must also be careful not to justify the legitimacy of a character or an event based upon my own life or the life of one person somewhere in the world. “But I once knew a guy who did the same thing!” is a familiar refrain in writing workshops as writers attempt to explain away the improbable or fantastic, and even I have been guilty of this kind of justification in the past.

But just because one man once survived a fall from 10,000 feet when his parachute failed to open doesn’t mean that it will be plausible in your book.

So what to do with Wyatt? So far I’ve switched him to an ex-Town Councilman, but his job at the college, his ownership of The Chicken Shack, and his sputtering writing career will probably remain intact.

It’s who he is, like it or not.

Stranger than fiction

My new book, tentatively titled THE CHICKEN SHACK, is about a combined funeral home and chicken shack.  Since I began writing the book, combination business like fictional creation seem to have been popping up everywhere. 

In June, I attended a bookseller’s conference in Vermont, staying at a combination movie theater/hotel.

My own town of Newington, CT boasts a clever and constantly bustling laundromat/bar/restaurant combination.   

Now we have Dave Eggers, writer and educator who founded a publishing house/tutoring center/pirate supply shop.  Watch the video. It’s well worth the eighteen minutes of time that you will invest.

More importantly, a chicken shack/funeral home isn’t seeming so odd after all.

First sentences, now with ultraviolent zombie mayhem!

Back in March, I wrote about the first sentences in books.  I’m expanding on that post a bit here as the topic has recently been tickling my brain cells again:

I like the first sentence of THE CHICKEN SHACK, the book I’m currently writing, a lot. 

They tried not to receive corpses on the same day as chicken, but since it was impossible to predict when a logger might fall from his bucket truck and break his neck, the two deliveries occasionally coincided.

I like to think that it works because it’s unexpected, a little mysterious, but contains enough specificity to make the initial image real for the reader.  Why chicken and corpses would arrive anyplace on the same day is strange, but the specific image of the logger’s fall is enough to also establish the reader within the story. 

At least I hope. 

I also like the first sentence of UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO:

The moment that Milo Slade had attempted to avoid for nearly his entire life finally arrived under the sodium glow of a parking lot florescent at a Burger King just south of Washington, DC along interstate 95.

Again, the sentence contains that combination of mystery and specificity that I like.  The moment that Milo has been trying to avoid for his entire life is left undefined, but the setting is clearly established.  In doing these two things simultaneously, I like to think that I both intrigue and ground the reader in the story at the same time. 

However, this sentence was not originally the first sentence of the book.  Prior to the addition of the prologue, this sentence appeared closer to the end of the book than the beginning.  The original first sentence was:

When he spotted the video camera the first time, sitting on the end of the park bench beneath the dying elm, Milo didn’t take it.

While I like the new first sentence better, this isn’t bad.  The use of the phrase the first time lends an air of mystery, yet I again attempted to make the specifics of the scene (end of the park bench beneath the dying elm) clear to the reader. 

The first sentence of SOMETHING MISSING reads:

Martin opened the refrigerator and saw precisely what he had expected.

I don’t like this one nearly as much, but it accomplished the goal at the time.  Compared with the other two books, I put in significantly less thought into the first sentence of SOMETHING MISSING, but my intention was to begin with action, knowing how much of the story would take place within Martin’s head.  I also revised the sentence much later to include the words precisely and expected, knowing how appropriate they are to Martin’s character. 

One of my favorite first lines of a book comes from CHARLOTTE’S WEB:

"Where's Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.

It’s probably my favorite because author EB White appears to have the same goal in mind as I do when writing a first sentence.  "Where’s Papa going with that ax?” is certainly intriguing, but White also firmly establishes character and setting in the second half of the sentence.

My wife’s favorite line is the classic line from PRIDE AND PREGUDICE:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

I recently attempted to challenge this line, claiming that it may have a foundation in sexism, patriarchy, and/or materialism, but my wife threatened to go out to the shed and get Papa’s ax if I said another word.

But still, doesn’t it?

I’m currently reading PRIDE AND PREGUDICE AND ZOMBIES, the retelling of the Jane Austin classic with “ultraviolent zombie mayhem!”  Expectedly, the famous first line of Austin novel was re-written for this retelling:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

No question of sexism there.

Do you have a favorite first line to share?  If so, please do.

Odd business combinations. Again.

In the spirit of odd but perhaps brilliant business combinations, The Spin Cycle Cafe in Newington is a laundromat/bar/restaurant. They advertise dry cleaning beside the lunch specials.  Happy hour alongside wash-dry-fold.

I almost wish I didn’t own a washing machine and dryer. 

First a movie theatre/hotel.  Now laundry, chicken wings, and beer.  Ever since I began my new book, which centers on a combination chicken shack/funeral home, these unusual business combinations seem to keep popping up in my life. 

A good omen? 

Or perhaps a warning to finish the book before someone steals my idea in real life. 

 

Product placement

In reading some of my Amazon reviews (I know I shouldn’t, but they’re still very good), I noticed that two people commented on the specificity to which I wrote about certain brand names in SOMETHING MISSING, wondering if I received money from the companies mentioned as a form of product placement.

Certainly a fascinating idea, and one that I wouldn’t mind pursuing in the future, but the reason behind my specificity is two-fold:

Martin, the protagonist in SOMETHING MISSING, is more detail-oriented than anyone I know, and though he doesn’t tell the story first-person, I attempted to imbue the omniscient narrator of the story (me, I guess) with his characteristic obsession for detail as a means of enhancing and infusing the story with his character. My friend, Shep, referred to it as Martin-speak, and he heartily approved of the decision. So the use of brand names (Subaru Outback instead of station wagon, for example) was an attempt to do just this.

Also, I like to think that the reference to a Subaru Outback paints a different and far more specific picture in the reader’s mind than the word station wagon. Having grown up in the 1980s in the “way back” of a long, wide, wood-paneled station wagon, the word station wagon paints a very different picture than a station wagon of today.

But the idea of product placement in a novel is an interesting one. Would advertisers be intrigued by this idea at all? Unlike commercials, the references to specific products in a book could not be skipped over, but then again, if taken to the extreme, stories might become a morass of brand names and commercialism.

But it might be something worth exploring. For example, in my current manuscript, my protagonist, Wyatt, will eventually be driving a car. Probably a pick-up truck. If Ford would like to pay me to make that truck an F-150, with at least six specific references to it in the book, why not? As long as it fit the context and original intent of the story, would this be bad?

The businessman in me says no, but the writer and artist in me is beginning to wonder…

Odd business combinations

I spent the evening at the Latchis Hotel in Brattleboro, Vermont, at a writing and booksellers’ conference. My publicist arranged the accommodations, so I was not familiar with the hotel when I arrived. It turns out that the Latchis, an art deco hotel according to its website, is actually a combination hotel and movie theater, and this unique redesign afforded some interesting architectural features.

For example, a square support beam, about two feet wide on each side, ran through my bathroom from the floor to the ceiling, nearly adjacent to the edge of the bathtub, which required me to walk around the beam in order to turn on the water for my shower, then turn and go back around the beam in order to get into the bathtub.

An odd but memorable feature.

I also had the pleasure of catching the final minutes of The Hangover, a film I very much want to see. Sadly, I only caught the muffled sounds of the film’s audio track emanating through the wall, so following the plot was difficult.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. The hotel was clean, comfortable, and was equipped with Wi-Fi. And it was just a block from the site of the conference, in the center of Brattleboro, close to many restaurants and bookstores. 

What more could a guy want?

In fact, I found myself wondering if my publicist arranged this room on purpose, perhaps aware that my current manuscript centers on an equally odd combination of funeral home and chicken shack.

Wyatt of Rockport, Massachusetts

I spent the past week vacationing in Rockport, a seaside town on the north shore of Massachusetts. It’s a delightfully quaint and historic little town, its streets lined with tiny shops, each filled with tons of character and individuality. As we explored the town, dining in the restaurants and stopping in many of the shops, I came to realize that this was exactly the kind of town where I could one day set a story.

My newest novel takes place in the fictional town of Killingworth, Vermont and the protagonist of the story is a man named Wyatt. As my week in Rockport proceeded and I began to get to know the town better, I began thinking about the possibility of transplanting some of these tiny little shops and restaurants into my fictional Vermont town.

They were simply too good to pass up.

With this thought running through my mind, I entered a knickknack shop on our last day in town, planning to purchase a Christmas tree ornament as a souvenir. My wife and I pick up an ornament during each of our vacations as a means of reminiscing about our travels as we decorate our tree each December. The shop immediately appealed to me, with its eclectic collection of ornaments, trinkets, signage, and other odds and ends. An ancient, gold-plated cash register sat atop a high counter, and manning it was an equally ancient gentleman who was teaching a small boy to play dominos. It was just the kind of scene that would fit perfectly into my novel.

After choosing an ornament, I brought it to the counter in order to pay, anxious to see the mechanical cash register at work.

“Hello, sir,” the elderly man said, dropping his dominos in order to ring up my sale. “I was just teaching Wyatt here how to play dominos. A dying art, if you ask me.”

“Did you say Wyatt?” I asked.

“Yes, I did. This is Wyatt. My grandson.”

Wyatt?

Coincidence? Fate? Serendipity?

Weird if nothing else.

First sentences

I have a friend named Charles who is a biophysicist, a professor, a songwriter, a musician (guitar, bagpipes, and God knows what else), a poet, and a writer of short fiction. He reads James Joyce and Jose Saramago for fun. He’s been known to brew his own beer.

He’s not a great poker player, but he’s probably not trying very hard.

Charles is also responsible for the title of SOMETHING MISSING. Though he doesn’t know it yet, he also makes a brief appearance as a character in MILO, a novel that perhaps he will assign a title as well.

Charles is a methodical writer, often making me feel like a lazy, good-for-nothing vomiter of words (though I have not actually vomited since 1983). He has worked for weeks on a single sentence, ensuring that it is just right. When I ask him how a story is progressing, he says things like, “I’ve not four sentences now!”

Yesterday I sent him the first sentence to my new book, THE CHICKEN SHACK. I’m quite proud of this collection of words. I actually wrote the sentence a few weeks ago when the seed to this story was first planted in my mind, but I was waiting to finish MILO before committing it to digital print. Charles made one suggestion but otherwise approved of the sentence as well.

The story is now hundred, perhaps thousands, of sentences long. I’ll be finished with the first chapter by the end of today. But here is the first, which includes Charles’s minor revision:

They tried not to receive corpses on the same day as chicken, but since it was impossible to predict when a logger might fall from his bucket truck and break his neck, the two deliveries occasionally coincided.

in SOMETHING MISSING, the first sentence was designed to bring the reader immediately into the precision and minutia of Martin Railsback, whose life is predicated on mountains of precise minutia.   

In MILO, the first sentence describes the catalyst of the entire book.  It is the moment upon which the entire story hinges. 

Both are sentences in which the protagonist is taking relatively ordinary action that ultimately leads to extraordinary results.  The first line of THE CHICKEN SHACK is entirely different. 

But hopefully as successful.     

Just for the record, my wife's favorite first line comes from PRIDE AND PREGUDICE.  It is:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. 

I have no definite favorite, though I am partial to the first line of SLAUGHTERHOUSE FIVE:

All this happened, more or less.

Also, FARENHEIT 451: 

It was a pleasure to burn.

Lastly, CHARLOTTE'S WEB:

Where's Papa going with that axe?

Anyone want to chime in with your favorites?