Q: Any further proof you weren’t a racist?
A: Looking through a list of the titles of the
books of my stack, I saw that I didn’t have a K, a Q, an X, and a Z.
I wrote down the
titles ZIP COON, X-RATED, QUEER STUDIES, and KERATODONTALISM FOREVER.
I decided to
write a series of books called Racist,
Sexist, Homophobe, Shirker: A Book a
Month, Posted Online, Daily.
I had just given
myself a web site.
I had only posted
one book on it. WHAT I CALL MY
EXPERIENCES.
So here I was,
going online with my racism, sexism, homophobia, and accusation that I was less
than a 100%er at work. That I was a
slacker.
ZIP
COON. Started book on March
26. The
Daily Bugle is up and running. The
search engines don’t list me yet, and I’m not hearing back from journalers I
send email to. Brenda gardens with her
Radio Flyer wagon. I buy a push mower,
and keep the small yard mowed. We go to
see Back Azimuth at Rocky Mountain Pizza.
When, out of the blue…Brenda is laid off. Oh, dear.
Not planning on that. Ask Emory
University if they want to buy the
original manuscripts of my stack. They
don’t. Either the publisher who asked to
see SILENCE rejected it, or he rejected another “proposal,” and is still
considering SILENCE, I can’t tell from the form letter rejection slip. We go to hear Back Azimuth play at the
Sweetwater Brewery 420 Pub Crawl, in Little Five Points. Put photographs on the Web. We go over to Balder and Matt’s, for an
Easter weekend pig-roast. Balder comes
to see us, for Easter dinner. I read Seeing Mary Plain, a biography of Mary
McCarthy. Salon isn’t interested in my letter to the editor about a Stanley
Crouch column on the image of African-Americans in the media. What they need is an Art Brew column. Which any reader with an Internet connection
can get, free of charge. That’s what has
them scared, Podjo. You’ve got them on
the run: keep it up. Finish writing ZIP COON April 25.
X-RATED. Begin writing X-RATED April 25. Post I
Only Read It for the Ads, my account of attending Glamourcon '99, with my
throwaway camera-person, Brenda (the camera is a throwaway, not Brenda), at The Daily Bugle. Glori-Anne Gilbert has no britches on. I am fully clothed. I look like the rube behind the curtain at
the sideshow. The hick. Country Mouse goes to the Bold New City of
the South, Atlanta. Ted Turner and Jane Fonda Field, right in the
center of colored town. Brenda and I
drive to Wewahitchka, for a Flynn Brown mullet-fry, where we see relatives, and
picker friends. I post Potter’s Ashes and Taint at The Daily Bugle. We drive to Signal
Mountain, Tennessee, for Owen
and Jeannie's wedding, where we see picker friends, and relatives. I post the short screenplay Scenes From the Cube Maze at The Daily Bugle. Fill out my black, insatiable MAW (Management
Appraisal Worksheet), tying my performance to Suent HONK objectives. I read Charles Willeford’s Writing and Other Blood Sports. I read John Baker’s Writer’s Guide to Literary Agents and Pat Holt’s Holt Uncensored, on the Internet. Brenda and I drive down to the edge of Florida
to get a U-Haul truck full of household goods, and the original manuscripts of
my stack, from two rental storage sheds.
We can’t get into the second shed, but come back with a truck full,
anyway. Balder and his roommates help us
unload the truck. We drive to Cochran,
Georgia, to a bluegrass
festival, where the James King Band is playing.
A fan gives Owen a ham off a 400 lb hog and 21 squirrels. We drive over to Athens
to help Owen and Jeannie eat the hog. We
stay at home Memorial Day weekend. I
build Brenda a chicken pen. Our
air-conditioner goes out. I read Bad Girls and Sick Boys. Finish book May 31.
QUEER
STUDIES. Cracker Studies. I called the book QUEER STUDIES because I
needed a title beginning with Q, to complete the alphabet, in my list of
titles. Besides, you can publish a book
called Queer. William S. Burroughs did it. But don't try to publish a book called Cracker.
A cracker is prima facie a
racist. No, wait. A sexist.
No, wait. A homophobe. I read a biography of John Fante, Full of Life. I read Randy Wayne White’s Ten Thousand Islands. I post to a forum on the Next Big
Thing. Making the leap, as a writer, was
a big thing. Going online. Moving, in search of gainful employment. I divide QUEER STUDIES into sections on the
Next Big Thing. From the time I started
writing until now. I write an advice
column, “Ask Doktor Dork,” at the newsletter KorporateKulture.Kom. From Zelda Dork. What the old NCOs called an early Quality
Control program, Zero Defects. Dear
Doktor Dork. I am confused about my
sexuality. Aren’t we all, son. Aren’t we all. The air-conditioner just needed Freon. I take a career development planning
workshop, at work. I read Ianthe
Brautigan’s reminiscence of her father, Richard Brautigan. I read Larry Woiwode’s What I Think I Did, his account of becoming a writer, up to the
publication of What I’m Going To Do, I
Think, when he thought, I’m launched. If that’s how you do it—get a mentor,
network, write what the market wants—I am screwed. I think.
How to get around that feeling and take life as it comes. QUEER STUDIES makes 52 books I have written
since moving to Atlanta, 50 months
ago. We drive to Parker for the Davis
Family Reunion. Pick at Flynn’s, in
Wewa. Balder is working as an apprentice
to Chef Doug, in Seaside, for the
summer, and hanging sheetrock for Suzette.
He decides not to return to Georgia Tech in the Fall. Jeannie takes a job in Johnson
City, Tennessee, and she and
Owen prepare to move, from Athens. Brenda has leads on several jobs. A man asks to format QUEER STUDIES for an
ebook viewer that uses MS Reader. I tell
him go ahead. End book June 30.
KERATODONTALISM
FOREVER! How I went from
"Writing the Great American Novel on the IBM PC," Review of Contemporary Fiction, Bukowski
number, to "Writing the Great American Novel on the Worldwide Web," The Daily Bugle (www.thedailybugle.com),
online, daily. I wouldn't call writing a
book a month, in addition to holding a full-time job, shirking. I'd call it fighting tooth and nail for quality. I read an interview with Charles Bukowski, by
Fernanda Pivano, Charles Bukowski: Laughing with the Gods and a book of
Bukowski poems, What Matters Most Is How
You Walk Through the Flames. I read
Nicolas Freeling’s The Kitchen and Criminal Convictions: Errant Essays on Perpetrators of Literary
License. I read Earl Thompson’s Caldo Largo. Brenda and I go to the Mall of Georgia to see
Balder’s Army National Guard band play a 4th of July concert. Balder leaves Atlanta
for Santa Rosa Beach. Brenda and I go to see a Sam Doyle show at
the High Museum Folk Art and Photography Galleries, on the MARTA train. One of Brenda’s laying hens starts crowing
like a rooster. We have coq au vin. I read The
Hungry Ocean. Brenda flies to Tallahassee,
and drives to Howard’s Creek, to help Wanda and Melvin fix their computer. Wanda’s daughter works for Delta, and sent
her a buddy pass. I drive to Little Five
Points, where Susan Percy signs a book she has an article in, Our Time, Our Turn. I meet Paul Hemphill, Susan’s husband. I apply for a residency at the historic Jack
Kerouac home, in Orlando. I apply to MacDowell, I apply to Yaddo. Thinking about Penland. The historic Jack Saunders house, in Delray
Beach. I ask
the University of Georgia
library if they want to buy my stack. I
add the subtitle A Book a Month, Posted
Online, Daily, to Racist, Sexist,
Homophobe, Shirker. What a
feat! No wonder I’m a little shrill, a
little tense, a little strung-out, a little behind, at work. Brew is nominated for a seat on the APRF
Diversity Council. PRF (Product Realization Facility) is factory, in Oldspeak. That’s
like putting Frank Pitts in charge of the wild, gone-feral hogs on St.
Joe Point. I read Nick Catalano's Clifford Brown: The Life and Art
of the Legendary Jazz Trumpeter. I
read John Kruth's Bright Moments: The Life & Legacy of Rahsaan Roland Kirk. I read an interview with Joel Dorn, the
producer of Kirk’s A Standing Eight,
by Fred Jung. I finish KERATODONTALISM
FOREVER! July 31. That is, I finish Racist, Sexist, Homophobe, Shirker. A Book a Month, Posted Online, Daily. A representative series. Art
Brew’s Odyssey and Out of the South
Comes the Whirlwind were representative, too, and nothing came of
them. Maybe something will come of this
one. Or the next one.
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