Another provocative piece

Jay Brooks has another terrific piece on his blog today. It's everything editorial prose ought to be: provocative, thoughtful, and reasoned. I'm not sure I agree with him, but that's beside the point. As I've said elsewhere (my one comment on the mini-furor over the Powells.com review of my book), ain't nuthin' I like better than lively discussion based on thoughtful content (rather than irrational rant). (Not that all those comments at the Powells.com site are "thoughtful." Nothing like confusing the book and its content with the review and its reviewer......)

So check it out here. It's Jay's piece for November 2, 2006.

The Page 69 Test

Until last week, I'd never heard of the "page 69 test." According to Marshal McLuhan, if you want to decide whether to read an entire book, turn to page 69. The contents of that page will likely exemplify the whole, and if you like what you read there, you'll probably enjoy the entire book.

Why? Beats me. By page 69, has the writer hit her stride and is spewing endorphins and creativity like crazy? Is page 69 the point at which the novelist gathers all the plot threads and they begin rolling toward their inexorable conclusion? I dunno.

All I know is that it works. I applied the test to 1. books I've already read 2. books I started but didn't finish, and 3. books that I've not yet read. In the first case, page 69 exemplified the book's whole content. In the second case, page 69 provided me with nothing that made me want to keep reading. In the third case, I was completely absorbed and wanted to keep reading.

Okay, so why am I bringing this up? Because Marshal Zeringue, who blogs for the Campaign for the American Reader (his blog is here) has invited writers to submit their works to the Page 69 Test and is posting their comments on the blog. I just wrote my piece for the blog, which I think will show up there next week. Interesting stuff. (Except I added the link above after writing this post.)

And you can bet that next time I'm standing in the library or the bookstore, trying to decide whether to read/buy a book, I'll apply the test. Because I don't know about anyone else, but I am sooooooo tired of picking up books, mostly novels, starting them, and abandoning them after 20 or 30 pages as unreadable. I won't start on my "where have all the good novels gone?" rant, but ....... jeez, where HAVE the good novels gone??????

Drive-by blogging

This book "tour" is making me insane. I'm so tired that my brain feels like a dead computer must feel. I don't own a laptop, blackberry, or any other cool thingy that would allow me to deal with email or the internet while on the road, so this "blog" of mine, such as it is, which ain't much, sits neglected while I'm on the road.

I'm home now for a mere two days, trying frantically to catch up on my life as I once knew it, but which now consists of ...... well, a frantic attempt to do laundry, talk to my husband, and sleep. But it's almost over and then I can get back to my normal existence, which consists of me sitting at my desk writing or in front of a microfilm reader researching my next book.

And I gotta tell you, I REALLY want to get back to my normal existence.

Having said that (how much can I complain.....), this tour has been an amazing experience. I've met such lovely, friendly people who've been absurdly generous to me and to the beer book. There were the ambulance drivers in Durham (they actually live in Atlanta but were in D. for the World Beer Festival) who are reading the book to each other when they're waiting for the next emergency.

There's the guy in Seattle who found a site where brewery "hackers" have posted photos of the inside of abandoned breweries. The fantastic beer folks who came out for the event at Anchor Brewing in San Francisco (and who apparently don't hold it against me that Jack McAuliffe did NOT show up.........)

The funny, friendly folks in Milwaukee who came to the reading at Harry Schwartz, including Adam Nan, who brought two cases of beer from Lakefront Brewery, where he works.

And on and on. I've been met with such kindness and warmth everywhere I've gone.

Thank you to everyone. I've always had a lot of faith in humankind, and this just affirms that stance.

Great American Beer Festival, Part Three

Now that I've had time to digest and think about this experience in Denver, here are some final thoughts:

The experience was deeply moving: This year marked the event's 25th anniversary and all concerned wanted to celebrate that fact. Because of my research for the beer book, I know a great deal about its early history. But as I told a press conference on the opening day, this isn't just the 25th anniversary of the GABF. This also marks a quarter century of a handful of people gathering in Boulder to create a new wing of the brewing industry. In 1981 and 1982, Charlie Papazian and a handful of other beer fans organized homebrewing conferences. But they made room a handful of goofballs from around the country who wanted to shift from homebrewing to commercial brewing.

In those early day, no one at the Boulder organization -- then the American Homebrewers Assocation; now the Brewers Association -- earned a paycheck. Well, except Daniel Bradford, but even he (hired in 1982) was only part-time. He waited tables to make ends meet. Everyone else -- including Charlie Papazian -- worked for free.

Those early conferences and the first GABF proved to be momentous: they provided a place where small brewers and the new "microbrewers" could gather to talk about how to solve the unique problems that small brewers faced.

For example, back then, the small guys couldn't pick up a phone and order equipment. NO ONE fabricated equipment for use on such a small scale. None of the maltsters wanted to sell small quantities of malt. Fritz Maytag often ordered more than he would need and brewers in northern California would drive down to San Francisco to Anchor and shovel malt into their pickup trucks.

But this 25th GABF was about more than just history. I was there to sign copies of my new book at the Brewers Association booth. But most of those books at the booth were "how to" books for homebrewers. And at every session, I watched as men and women who were there to share the joys of beer crowded around the booth to peruse the books on display.

"I've already got these three, but I've never seen this one," a guy would exclaim to his friend. "Hey," a woman would say to her husband, "here's a new book. Let's try this one." "Look," someone would say to his or her friend, "here are some books for beginners. Let's give it a try."

Over and over again, I watched people express their pleasure in beer and the adventure of homebrewing. Out there, I realized, are thousands upon thousands of people who love beer, who care about quality, who want to learn how to make beer at home, and who share that joy with their friends and family. As long as they're out there; as long as they show up at the GABF -- and endure throbbing eardrums and aching throats, beer culture in this country will thrive. I'm so grateful that I've had a chance to experience this part of American culture.

Beer? It's for all of us!

A Stranger To Me Now

The other day, I received a copy of the dust jacket for my new book, a history of American beer. It’s gorgeous! Engaging design; rich, lively colors -- far more exciting than what shows up onscreen at my website. (Only downside is my photo: I look like I just won the Messiest Hair in the Universe award.) [Note: This was in reference to the hardcover edition, which looked like this.]

But even as I admired the jacket and the talent that created it, I experienced what has become common in my life as a writer: That sense of distance and disconnect that comes with each new book. That jacket -- the physical object -- has nothing to do with my creation. Just as the book itself, when it finally arrives, will feel to me like someone I once knew, long, long ago but who I now barely remember.

What I remember about my books is this: Hours and hours and hours spent sitting at a microfilm reader, or going through decades worth of indexes. Leafing through journals and old magazines. Days spent at archives and libraries, days filled, more often than not with frustration and panic. Plastic filing cubes stuffed with photocopies of documents. Staring for still more hours and then days stretching into years at a computer monitor. Grabbing pages of text from my printer, filling them with penciled corrections and edits, desciphering those scribbles and arrows and circles as I type the changes into the computer.

That’s how my mind’s eye remembers my book. Those other pages? The ones printed with a fine font and adorned with a page number, the book’s title across the top of every other page in yet another lovely font, all bound in a tidy package between two hard covers and decorated yet again with that eye-popping dust jacket? That’s someone else’s work. Nothing to do with me. Lovely to look at; delightful to hold -- but, well, not something I would identify as mine in the Lost and Found.

And so it goes with my books: they leave my hands in one form, then reappear in another. Sure, I remember those thousands of hours spent creating the manuscript. But this finished product, the one I sometimes spot in a bookstore, is a stranger to me. A companion of days long past now vanished from my life and living its own.

I got the cynicism blues....

First off, let me say that I am not by nature conspiratorially minded. I'm not one of those people who think birth control pills are a plot by pharmceutical companies to train young women to a life of pill-popping so that as they age, they'll think nothing of taking diet pills or Prozac.

But I must confess that when I head the news about the airplane-bomb plot thwarted by British intelligence, my very first thought was: "Hmmmmm........now was there really a plot, or did Bush and Blair cook this up as a way to bolster sagging support for the war in Iraq?"

After all, the timing was sure odd, coming as it did on the heels of Joe Lieberman's defeat in the Connecticut primary, a loss that news analysts are blaming on voter unrest over the ongoing war. See? I sound exactly like a conspiracy-loving crackpot. (Although let's face it: Karl Rove likely danced a jig when he heard the news. He surely LOVES the idea of a crackpot leftwinger running for office!)

To make matters worse, I've absolutely become a complete pessimist, and that really bothers me. As a rule, I'm generally optimistic. I assume that people are good and that things will work out. But right now, between this ungodly mess the Bush administration has created and the horrific war in Israel and Lebanon, and the ongoing misery that is Africa, well, for the past few years my optimism has slowly soured into a morass of pessimism bordering on despair.

And now I'm turning into a certifiable crackpot. But this sad state only indicates, I think, the extent to which conditions on planet earth have deteriorated since September 11, 2001. I can't think of anything more clearly designed to fuel anti-American hatred and terrorism than the Bush administration policies that are supposedly aimed at ending terrorism!

So once again, I gotta ask: Where will this end? Not well, I fear.