The Real Deal, Not the Fake One

So. I'm here. More or less. Mostly more, oddly enough, because a big chunk of my brain is thinking about how to manage this website and the blog over the next year or so. My poor brain is working over time --- indeed, most days I feel as though a SERIOUS fermentation is taking place inside my skull. A full, roiling bubble of mysterious gases, micro-organisms, and chemical processes and reactions.

If I could clone myself, or graft on an additional set of hands for typing, this blog would be clogged to the max with all manner of observations and ideas. Instead, about half the fermentation evaporates before I can grab hold of it.

Frustrating.

But part of what's going on is that I'm trying to figure out how to use that ferment to its maximal value (not sure that makes sense?) AND, more important, where, precisely to deposit the output. I started blogging in 2006 and the universe of online media has changed dramatically in that time, and especially so in the past year.

For example, there's a new outlet available called Medium. It's still in beta (more or less) but I asked for and got an account. I've still not used it (except privately: meaning my output there can't be seen by anyone but me) because as I explored the site, I realized: "Oh, hell. This is a valuable tool, but it's one that needs to be used with care rather than in the random, slapdash way I use my own blog/site."

And that, in turn, got me thinking even more than I already was about this site here and how to use it.

And of course there's also Facebook which, as it turns out, is an incredibly useful way to zip off the random stuff I used to dump here. Which in turn made me realize how random my output here at the site was and also made me wonder how wise that was and . . .

You see my dilemma: An abundance of riches in my brain (well, okay, they're only riches in my own mind, no pun intended; no doubt 99% of the ferment is total crap) plus an abundance of ways to disseminate it plus entirely too many demands tugging at my time equals --- a stalled engine.

Or so it feels like to me.

Add this to the mix: This is the moment in the book production process when many people are in charge of my life.

Most days, I decide what to do and when to do it and how to do it. But when book production is in full swing, as it is now, I'm no longer in charge of anything. Instead, other people, all with their own multiple deadlines and demands, are calling the shots. It's not easy to shift gears and go from being the boss to being the flunky, if you know what I mean. (Not that I'm complaining. I'm not. Many writers would like to be in my shoes.)

Anyway --- I started out with a point and now, of course, and no surprise, have completely forgotten what that point was. You see? Ferment in this case too often equals mush.

I just finished reading Michael Pollan's new book Cooked, and fermentation and chemical processes are much on my mind. As is the content of a longish review of the book -- which, by the way, I HIGHLY recommend. Forget his politics. The guy is an incredibly good writer. I read that kind of prose and think to myself "Why bother? Go back to waiting tables, you fool."

But it's probably too late for that. (Unless the new book simply bombs, in which case I may well call it quits. Although I rather doubt anyone will want a sixty-year-old waitress, especially one who's not waited tables now for about 25 years.)

But what WAS I going to say here? The title of this entry meant something when I started . . .  See? BRAIN MUSH.

The Sticky Post; aka What's Going On Here?

If you're a first-time visitor (perhaps you're here because you've heard about my new book, a history of meat in America), here's an explanation of what this site is and does. (Because: annoying to pay a first visit to a website and depart less informed than when you arrived.)

First:

My site's an extension of my "real" house. I've invited you into the living room. I plan to behave accordingly and hope you will, too.

Second:

The header contains links to anything you could possibly want to know about me or my work: books, other projects,  credentials, etc. The email address is to your right>>>> over there in the sidebar. Feel free.

Third:

The day-to-day action unfolds via blog entries. Yes, I blog. Not fifty times a day (unless I'm on a roll) but regularly.

About every ten or so months, the "blogging is dead" pronouncements rattle around the interwebs: Facebook and Twitter and G+ have eliminated the need for thinking, writing, rumination. Or so say some. I disagree. Blogging is a remarkably powerful, useful, and vital form of communication. Long may it live.

I use my blog to a) rant about what's on my mind; and b) think about my work as a whole.

As a result, those happening on it for the first time (and that would be you) might mistake it for a disorganized, unfocused mess. It's not (she says modestly). The entries, in all their multifarious wonder (or not), are manifestations of my brain at work.

If you visit regularly, the logic becomes clear. If you're just passing by, the category menu on the right>>>>  represents the many directions this blog can and does take.

As noted above, IN MEAT WE TRUST: An Unexpected History of Carnivore America, arrives in the fall. As of this writing (April 13, 2013), I'm laying the groundwork for that launch as well as pondering three new projects: Two shorts and a new book. I plan to use the blog to "think" about each of those projects. Thinking aloud, as it were, by using my fingers, a keyboard, and a connection to the world. (I hasten to add that 90% of my thinking unfolds in my other, three-dimensional office.)

So. Stick around. Or not. (I won't be offended. It's a big, busy world and we've all got places to go.)  In either case, THANK YOU for stopping by and for making reading part of your life.

Because Sometimes Magnificence Is Its Own Rationale

Jefferson Airplane. New York City rooftop. Jean Luc-Godard. 1968.  

Life's Best Prize? Joy.

Sometimes something happens that's so unexpected, so moving, so deeply satisfying --- that it leaves most of us speechless. And glad to be alive. Such was the case when I heard the news last week that Gilbert King had won a Pulitzer for his most recent book.

You've never heard of him, right? See this photo of me? (I use it on Facebook, Twitter, and here on the About page.) He took it. He was an established fashion photographer (which, heh, is why he was able to make me look so nice).

But Gilbert also wanted to write, and to write history. That's what we talked about that day in 2006 when he took that photo. This was in New York City, where he lives and where I was visiting. My new book was about to come out, and I needed publicity photos. (*1)

So Gilbert toted his camera around the environs of the Upper West Side.  This photo was taken on a brownstone stoop on W. 82nd St.

After we finished, we went for lunch. And talked. And he told me about his literary aspirations. He wanted to write a book about a long-forgotten legal case that involved a young black man in the south. He didn't have a publisher. He didn't have an "credentials" or "platform," as the publishing insiders call it. He just wanted to write this book.

So he did.

Life goes on. We've been in touch a few times, but I've not seen him since that day. And now he's won a Pulitzer for his second book. (*2) And this profile in the New York Times.

I lack the skill to express how happy I am for him, but far more important, how moved I am that he pursued this work for the love of writing and knowing and learning and making a statement.

And apparently the people who make Big Decisions decided he'd done not just well, but had achieved excellence.

Life is an odd thing, you know? One day, you're clipping along doing what you can do to make your place in the world better and to be the best human you can. And then --- someone notices.

Life's best prize: Joy.

__________

*1: Truly oddball story behind that. I've only met Gilbert in person once; the day he took the photos. But we'd met virtually some months earlier in an online writing group. I can't recall now how or why that particular group started (and soon ended) (as most such groups do). At some point, he offered to take some publicity photos for me,

The next time I was in NYC, I took him up on his offer. (Which is surprising. I'm the kind of person who doesn't take freebies from anyone.) So he shot photos and then we went to lunch and talked and talked. The afternoon was delightful.  He's a lovely man and simply the kind of person with whom anyone would feel comfortable. After lunch, his lifelong best friend came to meet him (as did a mutual friend of mine and Gilbert's). We sat in the bar of Gramercy Tavern and talked some more. By the time we parted company, I felt as though Gilbert and his friend were old acquaintances. I remember feeling sad that the day had to end.

*2: The bookies were NOT betting on Gilbert for the 2013 award. Another book that had been a bestseller and received a great deal of attention was also in the running. I think most people, including me (had anyone asked me; I wasn't paying attention), assumed the other book would win.

The Traffic Island of My Life

So if you want to know what's REALLY going on in my life, this essay, which was a completely random find on my part, sums the situation. (*1) For thirty years now, I've been racing from one project, one job, one "place" to another. I'm exhausted. I no longer have the stamina I had when I was forty. Or had when I was fifty. More to the point, I no longer WANT that kind of "stamina," "stamina" being another word for "racing like mad to accomplish as much as I can every. single. day."

So what I'm REALLY doing these days is figuring out how to handle my half dozen new Major Projects, as well as all the ongoing stuff, as well as family life, as well as running our household. Etc. And do that while decelerating. (*2)

I'd go into detail in how this project is playing out ---- such as a few days ago when I wanted to crack open The Husband's skull because he was chattering on about something, utterly oblivious to the nine bags of groceries staring at him, which I was busy unloading, or trying to do so but he kept getting in my way while he rattled on, and realizing that rather than crack his skull open surely it would make more sense to let the groceries go for a moment, and simply slow down and chat with him, screw the groceries, I'll do it later ---- but that's all too boring.

So instead --- hey, I'll figure it out, and meanwhile I'm trying to reacquaint myself with the fine art of blogging while also, I have to admit, reveling in all the ideas that are clamoring for my attention now that the goddamn meat book is finished. Because honestly, I AM GLAD THAT BOOK IS FINISHED. It was wearing on me.

Also, in less than a year, I've had not one but two vacations, an all-time record for me, and those convinced me that adding more "leisure," or downtime, or whatever we want to call it, is a good thing. No. Not a good thing. A necessary thing.

Case in point: Yesterday I made changes to the page that describes the new meat book, and while doing so realized that it's entirely possible that I'm losing it. For real. I captured that moment on that page (you can read it here) --- and left what I wrote intact to remind me to SLOW DOWN before I turn into a giggling, nearly hysterical lunatic. (Picture some poor soul confined to a nineteenth century "insane asylum." Can you imagine being chained up like that for no reason other than that your brain and body were trying to tell you to slow down?? Good lord.) (See? I'm not even making much sense. It's disturbing. I GOTTA slow down.)

So. I'll figure it out. And yeah, I realize this is about as narcissistic a post as it's possible for one person to write. But I rarely do this kind of stuff here, so I guess we'll all live. Also, of course, if I do go right over the edge, at least I can say I gave the world fair warning. (I'm kidding. I'm not THAT deranged.)

_____________

*1: I'm embarrassed to admit that several years ago, I had several panic attacks. I didn't know what they were --- I thought, wrongly, that panic attacks were situational: they happened in specific circumstances. Turns out that's not true. They're, um, random as hell. And frightening. But did I do anything different? Oh, no! Not me! That would be too smart.

*2: Because I've got to say that the last excruciating push of finishing the meat book deposited an unexpected and delightful surprise in my lap: As I noted in a previous blog entry, I was so exhausted by that process that when I wasn't actively working (writing, proofreading, revising, checking sources, etc.), I did "nothing." And the "nothing" part of the day proved to be powerful in both is allure and satisfaction. I want more. More, I say!

Gone Hiking . . .

I'm on vacation. For which I won't apologize. I'm tired. The manuscript of the meat book is now with the copy editor, so the production process is really, truly underway.

I'll be back in mid-April. Till then, I'm (mostly) in Northern California, hiking, watching the seal migration, and hanging with my family --- including The King, aka my grandson. Aka The Four-Year-Old Wonder.

Oh: and I FINALLY get to visit Russian River Brewing.

Life is good. No. Scratch that. Life is amazing.