Pups of Letters, no. 1: James Simpson

I have a lovely, cosy feeling of satisfaction. I'm actually doing my New Year's Resolutions! Normally I never even remember what they were by March. Here is the first of my interviews with some of the younger writers (they don't have to be young in years, but they are novices) who have contacted me. They are drenched in aspiration and perspiration on the road to a first book.

Number one is James Simpson. I hope he will forgive me for pillaging the accompanying photographs off his Flickr collection. I'll swap and forgive him for quoting some of my immortal poetic wisdom!

And here he is.

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MY:
I am up here in Cooperstown, writing a novel about the South. You are down South, writing a novel about Cooperstown. Explain yourself.

JS:
Both of my parents are from New York State (my mother in Lebanon, my father on Long Island), and my sister was born in Brooklyn Heights. Although my brother and I both were born in Florida, I've always felt a connection with the Empire State. My maternal grandparents owned a summer home in Cooperstown, and from the time I was four until the time my grandmother died when I was seven, we spent summers at their house on Leatherstocking Street, and later, Grove Street.

To me, Cooperstown is a place that has remained relatively unchanged. Long-time residents would probably disagree, what with the baseball theme park and influx of increasingly rude fans, but it's arguably one of the most unique villages in the country. It's a place I've always wanted to write about, but for the longest time I hadn't a clue what that might be. I'm sure there were many things at work lurking in my subconscious all these years, but basically, Cooperstown seemed a perfect and iconic setting for me to explore memory and history. The town simply exudes history.

MY:
Can you tell us about the book? (That can be done obliquely, if you don't like to talk about something "in progress.")

It's about a man who moves his family to Cooperstown after inheriting a large chunk of land from his uncle. Not knowing quite what to do with it, he visits the village and is surprised to find his grandparents' house for sale. With the proceeds of the sale of the land, he buys the old house and a small business off Main St. Through many seasons there he learns more about his parents than he ever thought possible and discovers the true story of his uncle's tragic death. He also reconnects with his globetrekking older brother and suffers through his wife's retelling of his childhood through a series of highly successful children's books featuring a pair of wacky penguin brothers.

MY:
Is the act of writing a novel: a.) a Frodo-esque quest; b.) an Ishmael-esque whaling adventure; c.) an investiture of the self in poky corners and bottom-to-chair velcro; or, d.) something entirely different, which you are not at liberty to explain. If you cannot answer by letter, explain yourself once more.

JS:

Definitely (c). It's about setting aside time each day to write, finding a routine and sticking to it. A wise and wonderfully unique writer once fed me some hortative doggerel advising me to write a page a day, to "sit my butt in chair, write in vestments rare, write in woven hair, write when dratted bare." I don't always get that page a day, but I try at least to follow the spirit of those sage words: I keep my feelers out all the time, looking for anything that might work within the story.

MY:
Write a 100-word sketch fit for a stuffy biographical tome, bragging on yourself and your writing strenuously but with dignity.

JS:
The bio would probably mention something about a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, but unfortunately that phrase has been taken. Instead, I'll point you in the direction of my favorite defunct literary journal, Big City Lit, founded and produced by the late Maureen Holm. She edited and published my first story, which she later nominated for a Pushcart Prize. I worked with her on two subsequent stories, and she was a true writer's friend, as sharp an editor as there ever was. I get teary whenever I think of her. Seriously. Go here while I take a moment:

http://www.nycbigcitylit.com/mar2003/contents/fictionsimpsonmar03.html

A short bio appears at the end of the story.

MY:
Write a 100-word sketch fit for the highly cool 'zine, Solar Necktie.

JS:
I'm not nearly cool enough to appear in Solar Necktie. Sorry.

*

MY:

Tell me about the most secret corner--the place most satisfying to a child--of your grandparents' house on Leatherstocking St.

JS:
The attic. This is odd because attics weren't places I frequented as a kid due to the ever-present possibility of monsters and other unspeakable horrors (a madwoman in the attic?). But directly under the roof of the Coop house there lived the most wonderful old toys. I remember an old red fireman's helmet, Tinker Toys, trucks. I can still smell the musty wood, see the rain streaming down the tiny window and hear its gentle patter above me.

MY:
You evidently are enmeshed in some sort of critique group. Is this jolly? Is this useful? "Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

The coffee's nice, as well as the camaraderie. And the criticism ain't bad either! Besides, I don't incessantly stand on my head during our meetings, and if I feared it might injure my brain, I'm perfectly sure I have none. (Wink, wink).

MY:
What is daunting and dampening to the heart of a novice writer?

JS:
Beginning is the most daunting, facing that blank page and trying to push aside the fear of failing by allowing yourself to write what Anne Lamott refers to as the "shitty first draft." My blog is the G-rated version of that -- I've got young impressionable kids! [They won't read this.] As for writing a novel, I've got E.L. Doctorow's well-worn quote in a tiny frame on my desk: "Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." It's true, but my problem is that I have horrible night vision.

MY:
What is encouraging and enlivening to the same?

JS:
I'm encouraged when someone is moved by something I've written, when connections are made. That's deeply satisfying. Also, when I'm writing and totally immersed in the characters or some dialogue, a scene perhaps, my brain firing away on all cylinders and suddenly something jumps out on the page. It's usually totally out of the blue, nothing I've planned (consciously, at least) but it works perfectly for the story. Those are the moments of the creative process that amaze me. After those moments, I'm often reminded of a scene from The Last Waltz, Scorsese's 1978 documentary on The Band's final tour. The keyboard player, Garth Hudson, begins a song with this swirling, otherworldly riff that goes whirling around above the stage, and Robbie Robertson and Rick Danko look up, smiling, shaking their heads in wonder as if to say, 'How'd he do that? That was awesome!' Who knows; maybe they were just stoned. I like to think it was magic.

MY:
You appear to be a fan, shall we say, of Fan Yang's bubbles and of toast. Do these things have anything to do each other? Do they have anything to do with your novel, directly or in some subterranean way?

JS:
Who doesn't love bubbles and toast? (Separately, of course.) Neither has anything to do with the novel. I saw a photo of Fan Yang in Parade Magazine in the Sunday paper a few years ago. He had this supernatural look on his face, very mesmerizing. I researched the guy and discovered this bizarre subculture of professional bubble blowing performance artists. Now there's a fun story waiting to be written. And toast? Well, toast and I go way back.

MY:
Is there such a thing as useful advice for a youngish, as-yet-unpublished novelist? What is it?

JS:
Read everything. Everyone says it, but it's true. Even if it's bad, read it -- you don't have to finish it, though, just learn from it. Above all, write. Rewrite. Edit. Write some more. Revise, read aloud to yourself what you've written. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

MY:
What pleases you most in a book?

JS:
An engaging, believable (within the realm of the book's world) story. Realistic dialogue. Nothing turns me off more quickly than stilted, affected dialogue. I also love a good Acknowledgments page. I don't know why, I just do. Ask Ingrid Hill.

MY:
What three revelatory, enlightening questions did I fail (miserably!) to ask? Do not answer them.

JS:
1). Why do you spend so much time working on something that people might never read? (I'm not good at much else.)

2). Who's your favorite Stooge? (Moe.)

3). Ginger or Mary Ann? (Jeannie) Sorry, I can't let questions go unanswered.

Thanks, Marly, this has been fun. I feel like such a minor celebrity!

You can find more about James Simpson at his blog, Shoddy First Draft.