SOME THINGS HE WRITES THAT FEEL LIKE MY OWN WORDS:

"I admit that I worry too much about coming off seeming 'stupid.' My ingrained pessimism gets the best of me and prevents me from throwing myself in positions where I’m proven otherwise. Who wants to be told to shut up; we don’t want to hear what you have to say! I grew up with those exact words."

"The older I got, the less I felt I wanted to share what I knew or thought. I turned inward to the safety of my own imagination with my words and books. But a sabelotodo can only hold so much back." (Ok, I wouldn't use the word sabelotodo [just had to look it up on SpanishDict]. I probably say something about getting above my raisin'.)

"I tend to think about the past in patterns. Essays stitch those patterns into something meaningful."

"So, here’s one: I remember when I was seven years old, sitting on a floor and scribbling down words on an old notebook. I had the urge to make meaning but something stopped me. I’d momentarily stare at my words before crumpling them up, stuffing them in my mouth, then chewing them into a scrap of unrecognizable inky goo. I had this habit for years and aside from having pen ink permanently staining my teeth, I never took that urge beyond that point." (The taste of paper is one of my most tactile childhood memories.)

"But what struck fear in me in conversation as it does in essay writing is acknowledging that tiny uncharted space where one can be misunderstood. This lack of control for that gap in understanding has often set me off in a panic, and then I become erratic and squirrely. It took years to feel comfortable in conversations, and took coming to terms with believing in who I was and how I projected that out to others."

"My best friend once told me he admired my ability to be so vulnerable, to lay myself out there in ways he couldn’t. I learned this from my mother. I don’t know how to stop."

"Here’s where my past returns: out of nowhere during my panel at NonfictionNOW, I obsess over what type of writer I am—that outward conversationalist of the world I didn’t grow up in or the inward writer that was born out of necessity? Then I question my own authority about speaking at a conference. Is it the publishing of a memoir or a collection of essays (two things I’ve yet to accomplish) or is simply being a practitioner of the genre enough? How do I know whether I have some incisive thing to say? Who determines all of this?" (I felt the EXACT SAME WAY at the conference, especially presenting on my as-yet-unpublished book of essays.)

"Achievement makes me nervous…"

Amen, brother.

Read the rest here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: A year's worth of seething heartbreak, repressed same-sex urges

Best/Worst Verse: "A crowded room, friends with tired eyes. I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice. My god I thought you were someone to rely on. Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on."

I don’t know if this counts as a confession, but I’ve always had a deep, abiding love for the music of George Michael. Though many probably think of him (and particularly Wham!) as happy and fun, I think he does morose particularly well (Listen Without Prejudice, Vol.1 was the first CD I ever bought, and his version of Stevie Wonder’s “They Won’t Go When I Go” is possibly my favorite of his songs). “Last Christmas” isn’t necessarily morose, or even serious—in fact it’s probably one of Wham!’s fluffier songs—but it succeeds where Tommy Page failed, assuming its place at the top of a longer-by-the-year list of the most prominent subgenre of miserable Christmas music: the Christmas Breakup Song.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists!)

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON THE ESSAY AS MORE THAN MEMOIR:

"While short memoir is certainly valuable and arguably the most widely consumed nonfiction dish, the essay was a particular thing created to do more than house narrative. Moreover, because the memoiristic brand of nonfiction has roared loudest in the past few decades, it can handle being put into check so that we don’t forget about what an essay might do that is not, primarily, about a writer’s lived experience."

ON DEATH AND DYING:

"Best American Essays 2015 is a book thinking a lot about the approach of death, or dying and what comes after it. Which makes me think, grumpily: If a highly literate alien culture comes searching for traces of nonfiction from 2015, will they think the essay was a genre so personal that it was where the ego went to process its own self-consumption?

...

"BAE 2015 makes me think most about how we are very likely a culture leaving behind texts that are “on death” in the way those written in the wake of some of the great dyings-off were. Like the spiritualist novels following the civil war, a time when few bodies came home to prove human loss, our texts are those that will expect and extend a mass mourning. Inevitably now, death must be more visible than it has ever been, though now it’s death in the most abstract. "

ON SUBJECT VS. OBJECT:

"Here, perhaps I’m asking: When did the “me” replace the “I” in the personal essay? Or, what happened to the essay as a place where the capabilities of the essayist’s mind weigh more than the essayist’s life and how they can retell it?"

Read the rest here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Indeterminate

Best/Worst Verse: "It's Christmas time again, I'm happy for you."

Are you always the one at the office holiday party complaining about being single (or being married)? Are you always sad by December 15th because you've already broken next year's resolutions? When you take an online quiz to see which Christmas special character you are, does it always come up Charlie Brown in A Charlie Brown Christmas? Then this is the carol for you! I’ve been amazed for more than two decades now (this comes from 1992's A Very Special Christmas 2) at how well Gary Cherone can drain a holiday of all the fun, even when he’s singing lines that aren’t even really that depressing.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists.)

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON CONTEXT:

"The Best American Essays 1993 was published before I decided to pursue a PhD at my professors’ urging. Before I was accepted for the Film Studies program at Oklahoma State University in the fall of 1995. Before my boyfriend called in June of that same year to ask, 'PhD or me,' one month before our wedding in Dallas. Before I sat in the Lubbock airport bar, sipping a white wine (before I knew wine) and watching him shuffle toward me in a yellow shirt and maroon sweats to find in his face that the flight I had taken to Lubbock to change his mind had been a waste of energy and money.

...

"But for me, this is not about what BAE 1993 came before; it's about what came before it, something, something I’ve never written about: Best American Essays 1993 was published on November 22. Three days before, on November 19, I had an abortion.

...

"Once I looked up this edition’s publication date and remembered November 19th, I could not read these essays through any other lens, and so, I underlined passages for my twenty-three year old self, because 'certain moments in one’s life cast their influence forward over all the moments that follow.'"

Read Talbot's notes for her 23-year-old self here.

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Breeds of Misery: Psychotic ex-husbands, drunk Santas, childhood

Best/Worst Verse: "He threw a present really hard that almost hit Mom's new boyfriend Ray/And yelled, 'Ho-ho, lucky for you she's here,' and said that Santa can't stay"

Call this one the reverse "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," or that awkward moment when a kid simultaneously realizes 1) Santa doesn't exist and 2) Mom and Dad aren't getting back together again. A honkytonk might be the only place where this subject matter would be considered jolly, and Dwight is just the man to pull it off.

(If this isn't enough yuletide misery for you, check out last year in my Annotated Playlists!)

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Wow, a real treat here - Robert Atwan, who founded the Best American Essays series in 1986 and still edits it today, gives his notes on its background and origins. Seriously, I won't even try to pick out nuggets; every word is required reading for lovers of the essay, a true gift from one of the essay's greatest living advocates.

Read and savor every word here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON HIS FIRST (OF MANY) BAE SELECTIONS:

"...I handed the volume to my lovely bride, who exclaimed and exulted in deeply satisfying fashion, and hugged me and kissed me, and she was really and truly delighted, she is a most genuine and emotionally open soul, and then, as we sipped our excellent wine, she pawed through the book too, and finally flipped it over and read down the list of contributors, in alphabetical order, and then she said, unforgettably, this:

“'Wow – Saul Bellow, Joseph Epstein, Ian Frazier, Edward Hoagland, Jamaica Kincaid, William Maxwell, John McPhee, Mary Oliver, Oliver Sacks, John Updike….Brian Doyle? Doesn’t that sound funny? Bellow, Updike, Doyle?'

That’s what I remember best, her absolute honest innocent question, and my instant urge to shout 'NO THAT DOES NOT SOUND FUNNY! THAT SOUNDS TOTALLY COOL AND RIGHT AND AWESOME AND I AM A GOLDEN ESSAY GOD!'"

Read the rest here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON DOUBLE TALK:

"My Italian mother-in-law tells me that America is responsible for all the madness in the world, and it is beyond my Italian-language skill set to both agree and disagree. "

ON THE PERSONAL-POLITICAL:

"I originally called this piece Notable Quotations from The Best American Essays 2003, because I planned to pick out pithy wisdom from guest editor Anne Fadiman’s choices, quotations telescoping what we’ve lost and learned since 2003. But there’s more to say than a mere list: in this volume, Fadiman champions hefty personal essays that make personal and worldly collisions strikingly clear.

...

"At first, I thought BAE2003 wasn’t a particularly timely collection, that it didn’t engage the whole wide world in ways I find urgent and necessary. The essays chosen by Fadiman would have been published in 2002, and as such, I expected to find more of them wrestling with the events of September 11, 2001. I expected to find more sense of the drumbeat to the Iraq war, as a diversion from the Afghanistan war, a shift that palpably occurred in America in the fall of 2002 and on into March 2003 when the bombing of Baghdad started. But then I looked more closely at the anthology, and I further changed my mind as I zeroed in on John Edgar Wideman’s essayistic reflections, “Whose War.” Wideman struggles to explain why anyone “would want to throw more words on a pile so high the thing to be written about has disappeared.” Bingo. How do we articulate fear?

...

"I was wrong to assume that BAE2003 does not engage the world; it certainly does not showcase an all-too-typical American blind spot even in our post-9/11 world. John Edgar Wideman writes that 'the lives lost [on September 11, 2001] mirror our own fragility and vulnerability, our unpredictable passage through the mysterious flow of time that eternally surrounds us, buoys us, drowns us.'"

Read the rest here of this timely, immersive piece here!

 

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON READING AS EMPATHY:

"For a certain kind of reader—well, for me—to reread “The Stunt Pilot” is to slingshot oneself back into Dillard’s deep catalogue; it’s of a piece, as far as I can tell, with three of her books of nonfiction. So I sit in a narrow seat, lap belt low and tight across my hips, and read. Dillard might be as obsessed with planes and plane crashes as I am.

...

"I am on the road and I am thinking about Annie Dillard—her essays, specifically, but more honestly, her narrator, also a person on the road, and therefore someone who notices more and questions more than she would while safe at home."

ON EMPATHY FOR SUBJECTS:

"What’re you writing? someone asked one night. You writing about us? Of course I lied. But I was desperate. I wanted to write something that would matter, that people would read. I would have sold out anyone to get the stuff I needed to make this work, even my family, my friends, let alone these strangers whose names I would never know, because I never asked."

ON LEARNING AND TEACHING HOW TO WRITE:

"So how do we learn to write; how do I try to teach it? Kind of like this book: a collection of anecdotes and advice, enthusiasm and examples ('They thought I was raving again. It’s just as well.') The best thing is to read something that’s already good and take it apart, then reverse-engineer it to see how it fits together, but as a philosophy of pedagogy, all of this can feel a little ad hoc. I ask Gil Allen, dear colleague and longtime teacher of writing, how he teaches. 'Establish trust,' he says, or you won’t be able to do anything else. Give advice according to each student’s ability. Tell them to read published work, and to read their own drafts aloud."

ON... (whatever, I just love how she uses Will Oldham):

"Sometimes I sang Will Oldham songs as loud as I could and it didn’t matter, because the dirty waves were louder than I was and anyway the beach was empty."

And that's all before she even gets to her volume of The Best American Essays! Actually she never gets to it except in footnote #2 which tells us that Annie Dillard's essay "The Stunt Pilot" comes from BAE1990, which is completely cool with me. Making an essay out of digression is really very essay of her. Read it all here!

 

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON MARGINS:

"After reading Rebecca McClanahan’s “Book Marks,” in The Best American Essays 2001—which, in part, engages the ways in which a reader’s written marginalia (not to mention sloughed-off bodily detritus wedged into the book’s crotch) can serve to converse with the primary text—I was inspired to write a great failure of an essay comprised solely of imagined marginalia (and detritus) lurking among the pages of Borges’ Labyrinths. For some reason, in this essay, I decided that a chain of spitballs should run down the book’s inner hinge, forming a speed bump between 'Avatars of the Tortoise' and 'The Mirror of Enigmas.'"

...

"When recently reengaging The Best American Essays 2001, I tried, as a reader...to stare into the margins, and then beyond the margins. To, eventually, turn the page, where I found, of course, more text, each subsequent essay girdled by the one preceding it, each serving as the marginalia to the other. What follows is an essay of record, a collection of lines evoking sentences of primary text costumed in marginalia’s clothes. The essay is comprised of one line from each of the essays included in BAE 2001, in order. The first sentence is from the first essay, the second from the second, and so on. The last line is from Kathleen Norris’ introduction, and the brackets are mine. I hope it serves as a celebration."

For Frank's found-list-essay from BAE2001, the best part of the review (I've read it aloud three times already and now feel like reading it at an open mike), read the rest here!

P.S. I'm currently reading Frank's wonderful The Mad Feast: An Ecstatic Tour Through America's Food after taking an ecstatic tour through Flagstaff's food (and drink) with him and friends last month. I can't recommend it highly enough, and it's currently "#1 New Release in Gastronomy Essays" on Amazon. I love that Amazon ranks gastronomy essays.

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON THE ORIGINS OF THE ESSAY:

"A true essay, for [Sir William] Cornwallis [c.1601], isn't strong. It isn't able to endure the trials that a reader might inflict on it, the questions a reader might ask of it. How should I live? What should I do? In Plutarch's and Montaigne's work, you'll find insight, moral instruction, even wisdom, but these are the very qualities that, according to Cornwallis, make their work something other than essays. Cornwallis sees the essay as something more like a moral process. Through writing and reading them, you can become better, but this is an undertaking that doesn't end on the page or in your life. It's a constant striving, an essaying.

"I don't much agree with Cornwallis about what an essay is—I find essays that want to make me better tough to read—but I love his assertion about what an essay isn't. It isn't meant to last. It doesn't need to meet the expectations that, say, a poem faces, with its leap toward immortality, its demand to endure the test of time. An essay can be all right for right now. Good enough to pass the time, but time will, as time does, move on. "

ON HIS PERSONAL INVESTMENT IN BAE1996:

"Is it a boon for an essayist to be included among the 'best' of 1987 or 1996 or 2013? Or is that basically putting an expiration date on your essay? When I miss reading the collection for a given year, which I usually discover because the next year's collection comes out, I find myself feeling resentful about the previous year: I don't want to go back and read the old ones. I might as well read tweets from 2009 or eat a rotten peach. What's the point, for example, of reading the best essays from 1996 unless I have to write about them, scholarly-like, as being somehow indicative of 1996. You know, ponder the zeitgeist.

"Here's one reason: in the Best American Essays of 1996, the very first essay that I ever published was included among the 'Notable Essays of 1995, Selected by Robert Atwan.'"

Read the rest here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON REDIRECTION:

"I had nearly finished a piece inspired by The Best American Essays of 2014 on the topic of essays as containers. Then Paris happened. Since the attacks on November 13, public discourse has hovered around uncontainability. The containers essay suddenly felt irrelevant. Luckily, some of the essays in the 2014 collection could allow me to write about (to process, to manage – whatever metaphor you prefer) the attacks. Specifically, Mary Gordon’s “On Enmity” and Dave Eggers’ “The Man at the River” give language to some of the abstractions that have clustered around the death cult called Daesh."

ON SINGULARITY AND CONNECTION:

"We did not ask for any of this. We are not our governments. We never conquered anyone. We did not personally launch empires. If anyone is complicit in anything, it is that by fact of birth, we are woven into a system in such a way that even going off the grid is not enough to extract ourselves fully from history and politics. The grid is everywhere anyway. The roots of all of this were festering before we were even born. We are fighting the battles of our forebears. Like Eggers’ American, we want to push a reset button that doesn’t exist. We want to unravel the stereotypes of ourselves, to emphasize our singularity in a system that tries to uniformize us. We want to exist away from demands to accommodate or be accommodated. We just want to be. We are jarred that global politics – about which we know almost nothing – might loot us of life and limb."

ON THE EAGLES OF DEATH METAL:

"How to explain to a religious fanatic the subtleties, ironies, richnesses of such a name, of such music? How to explain to them that metal is a bloodless outlet for people across the globe? That the tough exterior of metal dudes can only be matched by the tenderness of their insides? My brother is a metal drummer whose various band names have always referred to mortality or evil or violence. From the outside, it is easy to read all of these signs as the devil’s work. But read more closely and spend your life with metal dudes as I have, and you’ll discover that the vast majority of these gentle giants use their music as armor against the oppressive aspects of capitalism and corrupt power, against conformity and the surrender to injustice."

Read the rest here!

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AuthorJohn Proctor

ON OPENING THE OLDEST VOLUME OF THE BEST AMERICAN ESSAYS:

"I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel it like a stab when I open an old paperback and the binding comes apart with that sound of cracking glue. What had been whole has suddenly been rent and of course I extrapolate in all directions. It’s clear as can be that the world is going to hell...It was when I then opened—cracked—the cover that I felt the whole thing break loose in my hand...An insult, an injury—it was as if a part of the past itself had just calved away from the mother berg. But the mind on assignment is uncannily opportunistic. I had not even set the book aside before I was starting to sketch a notion in my head. The breakage, I thought, was a sign...The observant nit-picker following along at home will have noticed by now that I am only looking to odd-numbered right-facing pages. I do so because I can hold these pages flat while supporting the left side of the book between index and fore-finger, thereby not aggravating the problem of the glue-shattered spine any further."

AND ON READING IT:

"Having staked myself on writing about Robert Atwan’s debut volume—edited by Elizabeth Hardwick—I asked myself what there was to say? Decades have passed, Ms. Hardwick has passed away, my copy of the book has all but fallen apart in my hands…Yet—here’s my lead: when I now see it here on the table next to me, I feel an old and familiar stirring of interest and possibility. The word 'essay' still gets to me. But there’s also some stirring memory of what’s inside the covers, and knowing how I’ll feel when I start reading the pieces again. This is what we know about the best writing—reading does not use it up; it keeps its power. This not by virtue of the reader’s forgetfulness, but through its own intrinsic merit. The right words in the right order are that way because they can be encountered again and again. Real work does not melt away when the eye registers it."

Read the rest here!

 

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Ok, now that the turkey is in the fridge, the relatives have been sent home, and the carols are on the iTunes playlists, let's talk Christmas. Specifically, let's talk what I can do for you. <reaches into bag of gifts>

For my friends of the essay, every day of the advent I'll be sharing from Essay Daily's wonderful Best American Essays Advent Calendar, in which one writer a day (including me!) writes about one volume of The Best American Essays. In fact, I guess the advent has already started as I'm already two days behind! I'll try to get caught up today, then one a day 'til Christmas.

And for my friends who enjoy the wonderfully seasonally-specific misery the holiday season invokes, I'm brewing up 12 more days of miserable Christmas songs. I'm lining them up now, but in the meantime you can warm up with last year's selections, which I've summed up handily under the just-invented tab Annotated Playlists.

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AuthorJohn Proctor

Here's another way my wife amazes me. I talk a great game, but she's all about action. We're now out of our baby-carrier days, and had a couple lying around - it turns out these little things that have outlasted their usefulness for us are in dire demand in Greece and other countries currently taking in thousands of homeless Syrian refugees, many of whom have been carrying their children in their arms for hundreds of miles and desperately need the simple relief a child carrier provides.

The charity, Carry the Future, was started by a mom in Glendale, California months ago. They have the infrastructure in place and have been distributing carriers for months to refugees. Every single one gets used, and they have a need for many more. This is a simple, fairly easy way to take something you may have sitting around as well, and put it in the hands (or on the shoulders) of people who need it more than we can know.

Here's the address below, and you can always donate to the charity here.


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AuthorJohn Proctor

I've read that I shouldn't get excited about this, but it's my first nomination so what the hell: I'M EXCITED!

I'm excited because my editor Greg Olear at The Weeklings is a really awesome guy, and I'm beaming that he thought the piece worthy of nomination.

I'm excited because the subject of the piece, baseball collector Zack Hample, gave me so much of his time and presence, especially considering he was in the middle of the most media-saturated summer he'll probably ever experience. It felt, for such a long piece, like it kind of wrote itself.

I'm excited because, yes, it is a long piece, and maybe the words "Pushcart-nominated" might convince you, if you haven't read it already, that it's worth a half hour or so of your time.

Mostly, I'm excited because this, unlike some of my writing, was genuinely fun to write, and many nice readers have told me it's a fun read.

Anyway, so read it already! Or read it again, if you already have!

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AuthorJohn Proctor