June 25, 2005

On Being All the Way Out There

From an interview with Daniel Pinkwater:

Someone once said that no book has ever been written that could not be subtitled, "How to Be More Like Me." I am conscious never to write a book that could be so subtitled. My rules of writing are: Do not show off. Do not indulge yourself. Do not kiss the reader's ass.

I once got stranded on some rocks alongside the Hudson River. On the Jersey side of the Hudson River, there are these 450 foot cliffs, and I was hiking. I saw a sign that said "Danger! Do not proceed any further." But the sign looked old. I decided it was some old danger, so I proceeded further, and I found myself encountering a rock slide that I had to traverse. It looked quite easy, but as I got into it, I realized that the shore curved away and it got into a really complicated bit of mountaineering where there were boulders as big as houses that I had to haul my fat body over. I was all alone. You could lose your footing and fall into a hole, or you could break your leg and be drowned by the tide. No one would ever know you were there. In fact, I half expected to find somebody's skeleton. It took me all day to work my way down to a place where there were stairs cut into the cliff. There were pleasure boats on the river. All I had to do was call to a boater to come close to shore, jump in the river, swim over, and make it to safety. I couldn't do it.

As I finally came off this tortuous rock slide, I was in an area of trees and greensward. It was like a Disney movie; all the little animals came right up to me. I had spent all the aggression that was in me and the animals - chipmunks and squirrels and birds and things, said, "Here's a chance to look at a human close up. He's not going to hurt us." They were all gathered around my feet. I felt like Snow White or something. Each step I took, they'd move over and hop along with me. It was eerie. I contend that you can do this as a writer. And it's safer. Which is why I don't outline. The pleasure for me is to be all the way out there.

Posted by Dr. Frank at June 25, 2005 01:28 AM | TrackBack
Comments

Okay, Frank, now I'm trying to picture you, humming a tune and dancing through a shaded glen in a floor-length gown, with Wes and Zaphod flitting around your head chirping little bird songs.

Posted by: Nick at June 25, 2005 03:15 AM

"Mr. Zaphod's on my shoulder........."

I can't see it.

Posted by: Rich at June 26, 2005 05:21 PM

Wow, since when did I move from frequent commenter to Disneyfied familiar? And would I be a chipmunk, a squirrel, a bird, or a "thing"?

Never mind, don't answer that.

Posted by: Wes at June 26, 2005 09:15 PM

I may be off a year or so, but I think I discovered that Pinkwater was a god circa 1975 or so.

Did I mention that he was a god?

Posted by: Gary Farber at June 27, 2005 07:57 AM

Gee, I pictured myself as more of a grizzly bear, like Baloo, but all is fair in love and literature.

Posted by: Zaphod at June 27, 2005 03:56 PM

No, thinking about it, I think it was more '73-74. But it partially depends upon when you decide someone isn't just great, but a god.

I recall various conversations about this during all three years.

Posted by: Gary Farber at June 30, 2005 01:26 AM

But, man, we did used to talk about Pinkwater all the time back then. And, hey, he was even on NPR, y'know?

Am I missing something here?

Posted by: Gary Farber at June 30, 2005 01:29 AM

Oh, yeah, aside from your editing out all emphasis, notations, and links.

http://www.google.com/search?q=pinkwater+npr&sourceid=mozilla-search&start=0&start=0&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official

Posted by: Gary Farber at June 30, 2005 01:30 AM

Gary, no doubt you're aware the good Doctor's formidable repertoire includes a song entitled "A Weekend in Hogboro"?

Posted by: Wes at June 30, 2005 01:53 AM