Jenny Hayes

Dang, it’s been a while! I kept thinking about posting, but … well, there is nothing more boring than someone talking about why they haven’t blogged in so long, so I will get right to it.

First off, I had a short piece published in Penduline Press’s Spellbound issue: The Goths.

The goths are mysterious and ethereal and moody but also bold and bawdy and hilarious. They are impractical, some more than others, though none of them would ever spend their last few dollars on cleaning supplies or milk or parking tickets if it meant going without black eyeliner. The goths don’t have pets anymore, though one of them once had a lizard and one had a little brown rat named Albertine.

In the time since that piece was published, the Spellbound issue has come and gone and now the excellent Dastardly issue has been posted. And Penduline is taking submissions for an upcoming Ohio-themed issue — a subject on which I sadly have nothing to say. I have never been to Ohio, and my impressions of the state mostly come from reading Winesburg, Ohio and Knockemstiff. This probably isn’t an entirely fair view of Ohio, but on the other hand … it seems possible that it’s not too far off.

Here’s something I just learned while looking for that last link: there’s a band called Knockemstiff! I don’t think they were inspired by the book, which is probably a good thing — that would be one scary-ass band. I can’t quite wrap my mind around how the Ramones ended up on this list of bands they cover.

I will say that this random Internet find isn’t quite as amazing as the time a web search led me to discover a Malaysian band called the Misfit Ramones. (I had been looking for this.) One of their songs is called “Your Breasts Are Big (I’m Going To Sue You).” It’s a pretty catchy little number.

Wow, I am easily distracted when I haven’t blogged in a while! I think I was going to say more about some writerly things I’ve been doing. I took another session of Ariel Gore’s amazing Literary Kitchen online course, which was fantastic (as usual) — came out with a couple of stories that need just a bit more tweaking before sending ‘em out into the world. I also took a one-day course with Lidia Yuknavitch at Richard Hugo House that was inspiring and fantastic.

But the most exciting thing that happened in the past few months was the birth of my niece, Matilda, on Valentine’s Day! I got to see her just a few days later. She was born at Alta Bates hospital in Berkeley — the same place where my sisters and I were all born. My sister Lily, Matilda’s mom, was born in a sort of alternative hippie birthing wing of the hospital. Our whole family got to hang out and be there for the birth. I was twelve and kept a running account in my journal while everything was happening. Basically, I live-blogged it, except that it was 1981 and that wasn’t even close to being a thing yet.

My dad submitted my account of it to an “intergenerational anthology” called Across The Generations, and it became my first published piece of writing.

I’m not sure my style has changed all that much from this time (though I’m a much more ruthless self-editor). That aside to Amy (my other sister)? Classic. And this train-of-thought digression about beanbags (plus a whole lotta parentheses) — perhaps you can see the roots of this rambly post right here …

I love seeing this glimpse into my twelve-year-old mind, with its mix of grossed-out observations and sheer excitement.

Sure, there’s lots of waiting around, and sisterly squabbles, and bloody guck. But what it really comes down to is Lilylilylily! Babybabybaby!

I wrote out her full name, date of birth, and astrological sign below that.

There really is nothing like a new little person coming into the world, someone you look forward to getting to know for a long time to come, someone you already love.

Matilda! MatildaMatilda! MatildaMatildaMatilda!

Back in October I saw a call for submissions to an online journal called Unshod Quills. They had not one but several themes for this issue: Love, Coffee, David Bowie, Joan of Arc, Enough Rope, Childhood, and Dancing About Architecture.

I started thinking about ideas for a Bowie-inspired piece — I mean, all those themes have great possibilities, but there was no question in my mind which one I wanted to tackle. I kept thinking about listening to CHANGESONEBOWIE in the early ’80s. It seemed like everyone had that record in 8th grade … a time and place that I’d been thinking about using for a fiction setting. Some characters and storylines were already rolling around in my mind, and in one of those lightning-flash moments — perhaps in this case a flash of painted-over-one-eye lightning — everything merged into an idea for a letter written in 1981 by an 8th-grade girl while listening to that album. It ended up being one of my favorite things I’ve written in a long time.

I was thrilled when the Unshod Quill folks liked it too! The issue went live in December with my piece: Dear Rosie AKA Ro-Ho-Zee AKA Rosarita Refried Beans.

October 12, 1981

Dear Rosie AKA Ro-Ho-Zee AKA Rosarita Refried Beans,

HI! Sorry your new school is so bunk. You aren’t missing much here, everything is pretty much the same except that Erica got a perm and so did Leslie Stang. I have Ms. Stanford for History AGAIN!!! I thought I left her ugly face behind in 7th grade but I guess she teaches 8th too. My English teacher seems pretty cool. Everything else is just blah.

Hold on I am going to put on a record, wait isn’t it funny that I just wrote “hold on” when you haven’t even gotten this letter yet? DUMB! I bought “CHANGESONEBOWIE” at Pellucidar and it’s hella raw. I am going to write you while the songs are playing and that way it will be like we are listening together!

Click over to read the rest, and to see my amazing (if I do say so myself) 1982 school picture. And then be sure to keep on clickin’ … there’s a whole bunch of goodness there, Bowie-inflected and otherwise. Though I think it’s distinctly possible that, via some kind of metaphysical time-and-space oddity, his hand drifted over and threw magical glitter dust over the whole shebang.

Last month I decided to finally start writing the new novel that’s been fermenting in my mind for a while. I had this great opening scene in mind and everything … but once I actually started writing it I was confronted with how much more fumbling and awkward my words often are when they’re not just in my head anymore. I figured I could use an outside force to keep me motivated so, five days into November, I signed up for National Novel Writing Month and swore a solemn oath to crank out 50,000 words.

I did NaNoWriMo once before, way back in 2002. That experience was amazing — I would even say life-changing, cheesy as that may sound. Up until then, every time I’d start writing fiction I’d always get discouraged by how lame my writing was. I somehow expected it to come out great the first time–the awful feeling when it didn’t was overwhelming, and I’d figure today’s not my day, or this isn’t the piece, and put it aside. But in November 2002 I felt all that stuff and kept going anyway. It was exhilarating! And eventually, with a lot of work, that 50,000-word outburst turned into Highway to Hella, something I am really proud of.

This time around, I knew I could hit the word count, even with my five-day delay. (I type fast.) It was not as magical as the first time around, but it was still a great experience. There were a few parts where I went YES! But there was also a lot of crap. So, we’ll see what happens … something will come of it, but it may not resemble this “novel” much at all. Which is fine! I don’t think anyone should expect to come out of NaNoWriMo with something that anyone would want to read on December 1st. It’s definitely one of those “journey, not the destination” things. Even if I secretly hoped I’d end up with something frighteningly awesome.

By the way, how is it that I just now realized that “November” shares its first four letters with “novel”? I don’t think that’s why they picked that month, though. If it was, they might have named it something like “Novelmember,” and that just sounds wrong.

Even aside from all the novel-spewing, November was swell. I met a bunch of local writers who are super nice and supportive! I saw Nicole Hardy, Kevin Sampsell, and Sherman Alexie read at Hugo House with a couple of swell friends! And I had a sweet Thanksgiving with family, followed by a day-after leftovers party at a friend’s house. Four of them, including the one hosting, had grown up in various parts of Central and Southern California, but I don’t think any of them knew each other then. There was a discussion of shows they had seen and clubs they had frequented, and two of them discovered they had been to the same Ramones show at the Rollerdrome in 1984. An original ticket stub was produced, along with the Clash’s autographs on an airplane barf bag (my friend lamented that it wasn’t the real Clash, only Joe Strummer, the other guys were fake Clash). I grew up in Northern California and am a few years younger, but I went to see the Ramones at the Kabuki in San Francisco that same year. I don’t have my ticket stub, but I do have a bunch of paper menus that my friends and I scribbled on.

I made a list of the songs they played. This was during the phase where I decided it looked cooler to write dates out the Euro way, with the day before the month.

That reminds me, another thing I did this November was karaoke. I sang “The KKK Took My Baby Away.” I am still baffled that they had this as a choice. It’s actually a pretty good karaoke song. Afterwards, a drunk woman named Tex staggered over to me and said “Man, I didn’t know they took anyone’s baby away!” Then she did a medley of “Hello, I Love You” and “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This,” which mostly consisted of her holding the microphone out to various audience members.

But back to the Ramones show! We also used those menus to make fun of people.

Many of our comments concerned this one guy who must have been wiggling up a storm.

And some of them dealt with other pressing matters.

And now, things are getting all Christmassy. What can I say, I’m a fan of presents and cookies and tinsel and merriment and all that stuff (except for candy canes, blecch). And Christmas music, which I know is hated by many, but if you don’t you should wander over to Mr. Hayes’s blog for some choice selections. There’s even a bunch of depressing Christmas songs, if that’s more your speed. My current favorite is the rockin’ one, since it has a version of “Do You Hear What I Hear” that is actually good. (Even liking Christmas music, some songs tend to suck and that is one of the worst offenders.)

So I will be spending much of December listening to festive songs and gettin’ merry … and will take another look at that Novelmember business with fresh eyes in the new year.

I was thinking about writing a bit about some books I’ve recently read and liked. Then I heard about this thing where you add “In My Pants” to book titles. In some cases, hilarity ensues. (“In your pants” supposedly works too, but I think my pants are funnier than your pants. No offense.)

So here are some books I’ve enjoyed over the last year or so … in my pants.

• Bummer In My Pants, Janice Shapiro
• Room In My Pants, Emma Donoghue
• All The Pretty People In My Pants, Ariel Gore
• The Leisure Seeker In My Pants, Michael Zadoorian
• The Gift In My Pants, Lewis Hyde
• Housekeeping Vs. The Dirt In My Pants, Nick Hornby
• You Don’t Love Me Yet In My Pants, Jonathan Lethem
• Normal People Don’t Live Like This In My Pants, Dylan Landis
• The Orange Eats Creeps In My Pants, Grace Krilanovich
• Financial Lives of the Poets In My Pants, Jess Walter
• Taking Things Seriously In My Pants, Joshua Glenn and Carol Hayes
• Before You Suffocate Your Damn Fool Self In My Pants, Danielle Evans

Okay, that last one I’ve just purchased and haven’t actually read yet … but come on, that’s too good not to include.

Digging a bit deeper through my bookshelves, I thought these two could combine to tell a story:

• Torch In My Pants, Cheryl Strayed
• Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned In My Pants, Wells Tower

And these three had me cackling like Beavis and Butthead:

• We Need To Talk About Kevin In My Pants, Lionel Shriver
• A Massive Swelling In My Pants, Cintra Wilson
• Rule Of The Bone In My Pants, Russell Banks

Yes, I am setting the bar high for intellectual discourse. Welcome to my blog.

Yeah, this is just a generic post until I get the blog rolling. (HA HA, get it?)