Interview with Super Awesome Author Pam Houston

Spike Note: Usually I run author interviews over at my Write With Spike blog, but since this blog gets more traffic, I'm running this piece here. Please be sure to check out Pam Houston's reading with Stacy Bierlein at BookPeople on May 26th at 7 pm.

Today I am pant-peeingly excited to present an interview with the Super Awesome Pam Houston. I've been reading Pam's books since 1996, and if she put out a book a week, I'd find time to read them all. She is so real and so funny and so arrive-at-wisdom sideways, and all of these things she presents in an inimitable way that makes you want to be her BFF.

Somewhere, I want to throw in here, that so compelling is her work, that I was able to totally circumvent the old baby-with-the-bathwater behavior in which I frequently engage. You know how, when you date an asshole, and when you finally get out of it, sometimes there are just places you can no longer go or songs you can no longer listen to? Okay, good. So Pam was first brought to my attention by someone who, let's just say, prompted me to toss a lot of babies out with every last drop of bathwater when I escaped. And yet, despite an association that lingers between that other and Pam's work, there was no way I was going to relegate her to the let's-put-all-that-behind-us-now pile. Oh no.

I wolfed down Pam's new book, Contents May Have Shifted, just as I wolfed down her collection Cowboys Are My Weakness and her novel Sight Hound. Everything else got set aside. This time around, I sent her a note of thanks, about sixteen years later than I meant to. I was delighted to hear back, and more delighted that Pam was up for a little Q&A. I really hope y'all will go to her reading at BookPeople on May 26th at 7 pm. And I really hope you'll help me spread the word. This reading is a major score for Austin. See you there.

SG:  I just whipped through yet another one of your books—the new one, Contents May Have Shifted-- because I couldn't make myself slow down. Midway, I knew I needed to buy a copy for a friend. I called BookPeople to have them put a copy on hold, and they informed me it was in the fiction section and I turned into one of those annoying, know-it-all middle aged ladies and "corrected" the young clerk, telling her they had misfiled the book, that it was non-fiction. Then when I got it, I saw FICTION on the back (something I hadn't noticed when I downloaded the audio copy, which is how I "read" it). I was confused, then thought of Exley's A Fan's Notes, and then saw in an interview with you a reference to O'Brien's The Things They Carried. So with that idiot James Frey's "non-fiction" book that turned out to be fiction, and with Mike Daisey's bullshit with Ira Glass, and the whole Three Cups of Tea crap...well those are instances where fiction is portrayed as truth and that is frowned upon. But you (and O'Brien and Exley) seem like you are presenting that which seems an awful lot like non-fiction as fiction. Is this mostly to cover your ass legally? Why not just call it creative non-fiction? 

PH: Well, there are so many reasons not to call it creative non fiction, the first being that I make it a policy not to believe in anything that is defined by its negative and also because I go to an accountant called “Creative Accounting” and everybody on earth knows what that means. Also, when you add up the failure of memory, the failure of language to really mean, our individual failures to speak the truth even when we are really trying, I just can’t see holding a gun to people like Jim Frey’s head and saying “you lied to the American people,” when so many other people lie a lot more and with far more devastating results. Presidents, for instance.

Jim Frey is not an idiot. He was a guy with a novel to sell, and he tried really hard to sell it as a novel and then an editor came along and said, no wait, that is creative non fiction (whatever that is) and he, like most of us would, said, okay, whatever you say if is going to get me published. I was Jim Frey’s first writing teacher in college, and I read that book years after that when it was a novel and all I said about it is what I say to every other person who hands me a manuscript which is, “it will be better if you cut 20,000 words out of it.” 

Anyhow, I want no such gun to my head. If you will pardon the high falutin-ness of it, I am about taking things that I have witnessed in my life and turning it into art. I don’t mean Great Art. I just mean art. I want each piece of work to have a shape, and a kind of structural integrity that an art object has. It is far far less important to me whether or not anyone thinks it is me, or 82 percent me, or the me I wish I were if I were braver. The writer is dead, they said to us, when we were in grad school, and I believed them.

Having said that, I called myself Pam in this book, really because it felt almost equally false to call myself Melinda, or some such name like that. This is what I do. I take my loose autobiography and shape it into story, which sometimes involves changing the facts. That has been true about every book I have written no matter where in the bookstore it is shelved. What is strange to me is that that is not okay with people. The poets do it all the time.

 

If you want to hear more thoughts on this you can check out my essay Corn Maze, which is included in Jill Talbot’s recent book called Metawritings, as well as pretty easily found on line at various locales.

Photo Credit: Adam Karsten

SG: Back in the olden days when I would occasionally teach, I didn't feel entirely enthusiastic about it, probably had some of that "those who can't, teach..." voice in my subconscious. But in the past couple of years, I've been leading writing workshops that not only have been really fun and productive, but that have inspired me to approach my own writing in a different way (for the better). How does teaching help/hinder your own process from inspiration to discipline to time management? 

PH: Well, I love to teach, and one reason I love to teach is that it makes me feel good about myself as a contributer to society in a way that writing never will. I understand of course, when I think about, say, Toni Morrison’s books, that she is contributing massively to society. But it is probably just as well that I don’t feel that way about my own books. Writing them still seems like a strange obsessive way to spend a life.

Teaching, on the other hand, making a space for someone else’s creativity, feels like I am contributing in a real way. Doing a good thing. If I taught less I would write more, there is no question, but I don’t know how much more because I have never really been an every day kind of a writer. Something about squeezing the writing in in the spaces between the teaching might be good for the writing, for all I know.

SG: This one has nothing to do with writing. When I read your books, I have a lot of moments of, "OMG! We are SO MUCH ALIKE!" But then I get to the parts where you spend a lot of time in sub-freezing conditions and, oddly (to me) seem to enjoy that. I die whenever the temperature drops below 75. What's up with this seeming addiction to the cold? 

PH: I like big weather of all kinds. I am a giant fan of extremes. Cold, heat, tornados, blizzards, hurricanes…you name it, big weather gets me fired up. In general, I like when the degree of difficulty goes up a notch. Those are happy times for me.

 SG: I have to always ask in these interviews about how the Internet has affected your writing-- and I'm interested in any angle you care to take-- e-publishing, marketing, the "need" for social media, the distraction of email, possibly decreased income? 

PH: I have so little to say on this subject I ought to skip it. I learned how to do facebook and twitter for the sake of this book and 1.it has not been as painful as I expected it to be and 2. I do think it has encouraged attendance at the readings.

I like Twitter better than Facebook, 1. Because it is a form and I love forms, and 2. Because it is all about compression

SG: Getting back to my workshops. I tell students I can't "teach them to write," I can just try to impart some of what I know, and hopefully inspire them to get their asses in the chair. Do you feel like you teach your students how to write? 

PH: I feel like I hold a safe space for students to take emotional, psychological, structural and artistic risks. I also feel like I can usually identify what is working and what is not in their stories. I also feel like I can provide writing exercises and put books in front of them that might make a spark. Everything else, they do themselves.

SG: Steve Almond had an excellent article recently in NYT about how, increasingly, people are turning to MFA programs and writing workshops in lieu of therapy. He teaches workshops and seems down with the idea. In my workshops we often joke about how it's more like Group than Workshop. Your thoughts? 

PH: I mean to read that article, but I have not gotten to it yet. Most of the time, I agree with everything Steve Almond says 99 1/2 percent and that is hardly true of any other writer (except maybe Ron Carlson). There is no question that writing allows for the expression of those ulcer and cancer causing feelings that have sometimes gone unexpressed for decades and that as a result those things get talked about in workshop. To pretend otherwise is simply not to tell the truth about what happens in those rooms. But looking back on my own experience, I might be in serious trouble if I had only had workshop and hadn’t had real therapy. I am not quite ready to throw my wonderful therapist under the bus just yet.

SG: What's next? I think I read in an interview that you take chunks of time off from writing and also that you like to do a big blurt during a plane's descent (which, given how much you fly, seems like it would be a lot of writing). Are you resting between projects now or can we (oh please say yes) look forward to another book soon?

PH: I have not started anything big yet, unless you count a long short story as big, and that is something I am working on. It is set in Mongolia, where I spent September last year. I don’t even have a rough idea what the next book will be, but now that the tour is nearly over, I will have some time to start thinking about it. I also intend to rearrange my life somewhat so that I will be teaching a little less once I get rolling. I would like the next one not to take six years too.

SG: Take a guess-- on average, how many miles a year do you fly? 

PH: I don’t have to guess. On United, just over 100,000 miles. Yes, I am the person who jets off to Sydney (or wherever is far and cheap) in December to knock myself over the top. On all other airlines combined, probably another 25, 000 all tolled.

SG: In Contents May Have Shifted, I loved the way it jumped around and circled back and touched on so many characters and locations and quotes. Does it just pour out of you like that or do you spend a massive amount of time with all this interweaving? 

PH: Contents is very carefully arranged to seem like it was not very carefully arranged. There is obviously a loose and imperfect chronology, as you can see, but beyond that it is meant to seem “random.”  I had about a million rules about the placement of the pieces as I went along, rules that I made, and broke and replaced with other rules. Probably every single piece was in 30 different positions at one time or another. Another thing I learned in grad school, (other than that the author is dead) was that meaning gets made two ways, metaphorically (by substitution) and metonymically (by proximity). This book is my adventure in metonym.

Woo-Hoo! It's Spike's Second Annual Fund Drive!

Hello Y'all,
Well last week, KUT raised a million bucks so they could ditch that nasty Studio 1A and move to their new digs. Unbelievably, they failed to consult me about the timing of this fund drive (their second in less than three months!) and so I had to reschedule my own previously planned fund drive. It's okay, KUT, I forgive you.

So while I know most of you are probably tapped out from giving them your last red cent, what the hell, I'm going to go ahead and hit you up now for some dough. Some of the six of you might recall that last year when I put out the virtual tip jar, and asked very nicely for you to kick in $12 as a sort of annual subscription, some woman claiming to be an artist (apparently she had once published a six-page pamphlet) told me I was, in my request, debasing her and all other artists.

I remain grateful to this day for that note. Here's why: before I received her note, I had pledges that totaled a modest (but very much appreciated) sum. When her note came in, and when I published it, ripping her a new asshole, the response was overwhelming, and the donations came pouring in. This taught me a few things, but above all that you guys really, really like me when I am at my snarly best! Way to reinforce my Jersey style folks. I really fucking appreciate it.

This year, following the KUT model, I think I will post daily for the whole week, or maybe hourly or every five minutes, telling you all about how your contributions are going to make my life that much better, and how if you don't contribute, well... don't make me go there. Hopefully over the course of this fund drive, someone will tell me what a piece of shit I am, at which point I will again demonstrate my prowess with ripostes, and thus we will repeat the cycle started last year.

So you know-- I am asking for your donations simply to support my blogging whimsy. Here you will find food reviews, theatre reviews, countless pictures of Rebound, garden updates, love letters to Austin, super bitchy epistles to jerk-offs that get on my nerves.  and the occasional moment of Zen. Of course you can also be my friend on FaceBook for even more updates and photo silliness.

As with last year I will publicly thank you for your donations. If you would like to use the evil, evil PayPal to kick in, here's a link to my PayPal account.  If you would prefer to stuff cash into an envelope and mail it, you can send that to: PO Box 4843, Austin, TX 78765.

I'm still thinking up premiums but here are some ideas I have:

Bearing in mind that I am asking no more than $12 from you (a mere $1 per month!) for those of you with overzealous wallets, I am offering these amazing gifts:

$75 Level: An autographed photo of Rebound!
$150 Level: I will knit you a hat!
$200 Level: I will knit you a scarf!
$10,000 Level: I will knit you whatever the fuck you want!

Oh, and I think I have some slightly used copies of Pissed Off sitting around here somewhere, so if you want a lightly stained copy of my book about rage, let's say we'll toss those out to the first three or four $50 donors.

I am also open to suggestions for other prizes you might like to earn.

Last year, your donations went directly toward helping me build up my wedding business, which is doing great. Thank you so much! This year, I will use the proceeds to help cover my ass while I take a little time off to go revise my book at a lovely ranch a few hours from here.

Stay tuned for more beggy updates, soon.

Thank you, people. I love you. Well, except that bitch who wrote last year but I guess I sort of love her a little bit, too.
Spike

Hello from Grumpyland

I'm Buddha, and I do not approve of this post.

No wonder so many people in Portland are so humorless. Look, I know this rain is good for us, and much needed, and with it the garden grows and blah blah blah fucking blah. But being extremely light sensitive, I confess I am ready for a break from the pissing sky.

Rain reminds me, unfortunately, of a day in -- was it 1998? -- when I sat watching it pour outside the window as I swapped melodramatic emails (replete with-- how ridiculous is this?-- Edna St. Vincent Millay poems) with the two-timing mofo I was allowing to torture me at the time. (On a brighter note, I was in the attic the other day, and came across a delightfully Oedipal photo my son had snapped of me and this same asshole, and the asshole's head was completely cut off in the shot, which is the reason I was able to keep that snap around. Oh my son-- he could always spot the problem long before me.)

Rain also seems to provide me with the extra time I am otherwise hard pressed to locate. This is because it robs me of my long walks and brings me so low that I am unable to lift ass from chair. Thus planted, what the hell, I go ahead and get the inboxes down damn near close to zero. The momentary elation gives way to more gloom, knowing that a) soon the boxes will refill and b) I still have time to kill.

This in turn feeds a guilty pleasure/pain in which I confess I sometimes indulge-- surfing around to sundry mommy blogs to remind myself that of all the genres and mediums out there in the world (Thomas Kinkade paintings, Rush Limbaugh rants, Faces of Death movies, Christian propaganda) there is not one other thing that so consistently chaps my ass as the "mommy bloggers." The title alone is so creepy that I often have to squeeze Rebound's belly immediately after viewing a mommy blog in order to elicit a forced stink bomb of a fart to cleanse my mental palate of whatever account I've just read about... well about the crap that mommy bloggers spew.

I have a theory. No, make it a prediction. I hold that perhaps beginning in the next decade, there will be a loosely formed band of young adults who dwell in basements and spend their entire lives describing their severe cases of PTMBSS (yes, you got it: Post Traumatic Mommy Blog Stress Syndrome). Just as their "mommies" have spent every minute of every day writing about all the time they are allegedly spending mothering, these no-longer-children will go back through the archives and refute, post-for-post, every claim their mommies ever made. I want to say this should make for good reading, but what I really think is that once the trend gains purchase, I damn well better be living somewhere it never rains, because I really don't want to get sucked into that shit.

Anyway, I know, I know, I'm sounding like one of those bitches who has an abortion then turns coat and says no one should have abortions. It is absolutely true I have written plenty about my son. But thankfully this whole put-up-a-post-every-fifteen-minutes shit wasn't de rigueur back then, and my Dallas Morning News column about being a mom only ran once a month. Who are these women recording every nanosecond of their families' lives and, more importantly, how can we stop them?

I told you the rain got me down, didn't I? I warned you. Seriously, this post was supposed to be a garden update. Well, actually, it was supposed to be the start of my Second Annual Send Me Some Money Tip Jar Drive, but damn you, KUT, for holding a SECOND fund drive in two months. My plan was to wait for their spring drive to wrap in March, give y'all a break in April (because I know the only two places worth donating to are me and KUT and downtime is a good idea), then hit you up for some change in May. But noooooo. KUT needs to move into a new $9 million dollar building and until you people pony up the dough, they are going to unleash John Aielli's tales of... well everything on you.

In conclusion, here are some pictures of my garden, which unlike me is really happy about this rain crap. Oh, and talk about a day late and dollar short-- or more accurately a year late-- also a plug for my friend Stephen Orr's wonderful gardening book which you should buy right after you put some cash in my tip jar (which I shall officially put up next week).

This is my friend Stephen's awesome book. You can buy it at BookPeople and you can read Stephen's blog here.

Major score-- I bartered with a wedding couple recently and yesterday the groom. Willy, came over and totally got the two beds I'd left in winter-garden mode into summer-garden shape. 

Willy turned me on to Malabar Spinach, which means I can still have green smoothies in summer and the chickens, which are actually little pigs in chicken costumes, will still have some leafy greens for the summer, too, now that they have eaten all the kale and chard. Pigs.

Willy taught me that if you put flowers in your veggie beds it can help with pollination. Thank you, Willy.

Won't be long now before the cocksucker squirrels decimate the tomatoes like they did last year.

Speaking of which, those little assholes, when they aren't busy destroying the bird feeder out front, have taken to eating all the peaches off my little peach tree. Shit heads.

When I "bought the house" (READ: got the world's shittiest mortgage that I will not be able to pay off in my lifetime) it came with a fig tree that died. Demonstrating that yes, I do know the definition of insanity, I planted a new fig tree. Stay tuned for Another Dead Fig Tree soon.

My basil starters. They say basil has anti-depressant qualities. As soon as I publish this post I am going to go bury my face in this planter.

English lavender, so I can pretend my house is Downton Abbey.

Meyers lemon, excellent bee attractant. Maybe I'll get to use my Epi-pen this year!

Jade plant. I got this at Phoenicia in Houston. That's not a very funny caption, is it?

View out my window from my desk/table. Beyond the bird bath is a red Japanese maple like I had growing up. Hanging in the tree is the $2.99 made-in-China bird feeder I got at Walgreens that the Elvis squirrels hang off of and chew to bits. Jerk offs. I like the gnome/Eiffel Tower juxtaposition because it makes me think of how my French friends make fun of the English and vice versa. Human beings! Tres droll!

Shooting the Moon

If you don't count the fact that I arrived home last night at midnight to discover the dogs had captured and killed (and this time chewed up) another baby possum, and left it out for me... well if you don't count that, last night was a perfect Austin evening. I had about an hour in between performing a downtown rooftop wedding and catching a Fusebox performance at the Long Center, and it was a lovely night, so I wandered up to the Long Center Lawn. A lot of people were inside, listening to the symphony, which I heard bits of myself as I sat gleefully alone beneath those soaring pillars, atop that concrete circle with the changing colored light panels. I was reading an advance copy of my friend Alyssa's spectacular book, there was a lovely breeze blowing, and up, up, up came the moon-- hooray!!

Warren met me right before show time, and I was a little sad he hadn't gotten there sooner to share a few moments watching the sky. By then, though, the symphony goers were outside for intermission, and we had to hurry to get downstairs to our show, and the magic had drifted away. 

Ah, but silver linings! After the show, when everyone had gone from the Long Center, once again my earlier perch was abandoned. We re-staked the spot and music from a Beatles' cover band drifted over from Threadgill's and we alternated between shooting the moon and each other and just sitting and then dancing. Much as I hate to so blatantly point out this out-in-the-open hidden gem of a spot, I'd be a jerk not to share it. Another amazing free spot in Austin, a place to just hang out for the whole night, or after free Night Swim at Barton Springs or on your way to/fro Sandy's. 

They say tonight the moon is going to appear bigger than it has in the past 18 years. I'll be out at the lake doing a wedding and hope to catch it there. I expect no fewer than 2,000 of you to crowd on the magic spot in front of the Long Center and enjoy the view. Please hum Dear Prudence while you're there, take plenty of pictures, and think of me. 

Kome = Yummy

I have tried, with limited success, to eliminate seafood from my diet, which already does not include meat or poultry. I'm pretty much done with fish, well except for that albacore salad Warren's mom served up a couple months ago. And last autumn's food poisoning put me off mussels for quite awhile.

But I confess, when it comes to faceless sea critters, and thanks largely due to the Tam Deli garlic shrimp sandwich, well I'm not sure I will ever achieve genuine vegetarianism. Certainly not this week. Because the other night when Warren suggested we visit the newish sushi joint in my hood, I eagerly jumped at the chance. I'd been craving crab rolls for days.

Before I tell you specifically about my (excellent) experience at Kome, a little background on me and sushi. At the risk of sounding pretentious, I confess I experience a certain amount of glee telling folks (truthfully) that the first time I ever had sushi was in Tokyo. Not as in a restaurant called Tokyo, as in a restaurant in Tokyo. There were even a couple of burgeoning sumo wresters there trying to bulk up. Getting to eat sushi for the first time ever in Japan is sort of like being told to fuck off the first time ever in New Jersey-- it's a very, very authentic experience.

Edamame Dearest.

Still, I did not then, nor have I since, been able to get into the raw stuff. Nor have I educated myself on what the different terms mean. And on occasions I do go out, I'm inclined to act like some trophy wife from the fifties, and allow my dining partner to order for me. (I should say that, while Warren is good at this, my favorite sushi orderer has got to be Southpaw Jones, a man who knows his way around an eel roll to be certain.)

My Austin sushi experiences have included the crap you can get at grocery stores (which I like just fine), a number of wildly expensive but totally worth it trips to Musashino, and once, dinner at Uchi. That night was unforgettable, but maybe not for the reasons you'd expect. Besides the fact that my much younger (platonic) date showed up in a powder blue polyester suit with white buckskin shoes-- quite memorable in itself-- there was the dining "experience." Our waiter, a buff, mocha-tone octo-racial twentysomething who appeared to be a cross between a Benetton Ad model and a replicant, must've been in the other room trying on scowls and smirks when god was handing out senses of humor. Had he managed to condescend to us anymore, he would've gotten vertigo from looking so far down his nose at us. Call me an ungrateful fuss-budget if you must, but I don't give a rat's ass if my entree has been hand plucked from the ass of a rare albino elephant by Tyson Cole himself and then hand-carved and served up in a reduction of the urine of Jesus Christ Superstar. If a server acts like his shit don't stink and mine does, I'd much rather take it over to P. Terry's where they are always very nice.

I want to panko you for giving me the most wonderful potato pancake... of my life....

As I was saying-- the Kome decor is pretty casual.

That night at Uchi was many, many years ago, and I never bothered to go back again. Because if I am going to drop $200 on small portions of rolled up rice and little bits of fishy stuff, then I am going to stick with Musahino where the waitstaff might not qualify for friendly as a cuddly kitten, but their efficiency, in my experience, is... well, very efficient and certainly has never approached the reproachful manner of Uchi's Garcon Benetton K. Dick. (Aside: All that said, I still hear good things about Uchi and Uchiko, which I usually dismiss as hype, but occasionally I do get a little curious. So if any of you fine folk want to take me there and foot the bill to prove to me I'm wrong, I am open to the possibility-- message me privately.)

So anyway, Kome. I live in the hood, which in the seven years I've been here has become a bustling hub-- some might say gentrified hipster hellhole-- of restaurants, bars and coffee shops. I was glad to see Kome open, but hadn't managed to get over there until the other night. Boy oh boy was it good.

Where Musashino has a feel like you're actually in Japan, Kome for some reason struck me as feeling like a beach shack. It's super chill, with laid back, t-shirt clad staff, a bright interior, and a bustle that makes it feel a bit like the Magnolia Cafe of sushi joints. I ordered with abandon since I convinced Warren, in advance, to pay for the whole meal. I wish I could remember the names of the rolls I got, but I can't, except that the crab rolls weren't listed but our very helpful waiter told us she could definitely hook us up. I also got a tempura shrimp roll. Warren went for the raw stuff, which he pronounced (and continues to pronounce) to be excellent.

Backing up a bit-- we started out with miso soup, edamame, and a panko crusted mashed potato fritter thingy. All of that was quite nice, too. Miso and edamame are pretty simple dishes and pretty hard to screw up, true. But done just right they can be sublime. The scent of miso is definitely one of my big madeline experiences, and slurping away at Kome's miso, instantly transported me back to my visits to Kamakura, Japan, one of my favorite places in the world, a place I feel so oddly at home it makes me wonder about this whole past life thing and if, in fact, I was Japanese at some point (as, some say, my very first baby picture seems to suggest).

Spikey-san!

Go to Kome. It's really good. We seriously ordered enough for four people, including dessert (though no booze) and got out of there for under $70. You could, if you wanted to just groove on some miso and edamame, keep it under $15 and still have a really delicious time.

Yes, as Warren pointed out, dessert does sort of look like poop on a stick BUT it tastes great! I especially loved the rice balls with red bean paste.

Do not let his face fool you. Warren was learning about "acquired taste." At first, the rice ball dessert with black sesame paste threw him. But then, after a minute, he decided that, oh wait, it was pretty good after all. 

Star Whores... Nothing But Star Whores...

So, save for the Dick Monologues, which isn't even monthly anymore, I don't give readings like I did in the old days, back when I was young and super hyper and, well, okay, drunk much of the time. But this week I have three, count 'em THREE happenings that are happening. Perhaps you'd like to join me?


The first is PechaKucha #14. If you don't know what PechaKucha is, let me tell you -- it is a total hoot. Ten people from different walks get up and each shows ten slides for twenty seconds apiece while describing their work. So, yes, you basically get 6 minutes and 40 seconds to sum up what you do. I was so tickled to get an invite from Lana McGilvray and DJ Stout who host the event-- THANKS Y'ALL! And after much (not really) deliberation about what to cover (my writing? my summer camps? my life as a controversy artist? my hilarious adventures with PTSD and anxiety?) I decided I'm going to focus on My Life as a Wedding Officiant. 


These shows fill up really fast so you are advised to arrive early. Best as I can tell, this particular PechaKucha is running in cahoots with Fusebox Festival since PK is being held in the old TOPS warehouse, which is also serving as the FB Hub. Details for PK are right here. 

Then, on Saturday and Sunday, as part of Fusebox Festival proper, my house will be a stop along the way for The Writer's Room: A Home Studio Tour. This is a totally FREE event and you can visit the homes of these working writers between 11 am and 3 pm: 


Spike Gillespie  

Rebecca Beegle  

Amparo Garcia

Bill Cotter and Annie La Ganga 

Wayne Allen Brenner

Robert Faires

Kathy Catmull

We're scheduled to give readings every hour, but I think I might turn the tables on my guests. We'll see. Oh, and if you pop by, you can have your picture taken with Rebound!

Here's the ONLINE REGISTRATION FORM.  

Hope to see you at some or all of these events. 

(And how do I say this politely? Hmm... well let's just say that if I have a restraining order against you and/or we slept together sometime in the past and it ended on a bad note and/or you are that asshole DJ I had a run in with last year at a wedding and/or you want to challenge me to a duel (verbal or otherwise) and or you want to Save Me in the Name of Your Lord Jesus Christ, probably this is NOT the event for you.)

FUSEBOX FESTIVAL IS HERE!

Y'all,
Super quick post to let you know-- in case you haven't heard-- that Fusebox Festival kicks off TONIGHT, Wednesday, April 25th, with Invasion of the New Grrl Order!


You can get the FULL SKINNY ON FUSEBOX right here! I'm going to be taking part as I open up my home on May 5th and 6th as part of the Fusebox Writers' Room Home Studio Tour. More details on that real soon. 


Meanwhile, there artists descending on our fine city from around the world to offer up their best non-traditional theatre offerings. No shortage of events for you to catch. Here is a short list of super recommended shows-- these will sell out so you need to reserve seats and get your tickets NOW.

Phil Soltanoff: An Evening with William Shatner Asterisk (FUSEBOX WORLD PREMIER) William Shatner’s image from the original Star Trek series speaks on the subject of art in the 21^st Century and then proceeds to take questions from a live audience. Phil Soltanoff (director), Rob Ramirez (systems designer), and Joe Diebes (writer) have created a dynamic, video Shatner puppet by meticulously cataloguing everything William Shatner ever said on Star Trek.  Together, the artists attempt to bravely make Captain James T. Kirk expand our universe.

Gob Squad: Super Night Shot (U.K. & Germany)

Precisely one hour before you arrive, Super Night Shot begins. In a military-style brief, Gob Squad declares a “War on Anonymity” and takes to Austin streets armed with video cameras– embarking on a set of comic and surreal adventures that celebrate unexpected encounters with strangers. You give them a rousing hero’s welcome as they return to the theatre and the footage of the fantastical mission is mixed live into a four-channel, wide screen film. 

Wunderbaum: Songs at the End of the World (The Netherlands) Explosively inventive Dutch theater ensemble Wunderbaum merges with rock trio Touki Delphine to create a theatrical superband in this fantastical concert event inspired in part by Werner Herzog’s Encounters at the End of the World. Six performers present a song-cycle based on their childhood dreams and hopes with humorous and touching lyrics, performed in English.

Joan Jonas: The Shape, The Scent, The Feel of Things (New York) Seminal video and performance artist – Jonas presents her cutting edge multi-media performance. Featuring music by the acclaimed Jason Moran, this collaborative work evokes the American Southwest through an artistic consideration of the Hopi snake dance, a ritual that affected Jonas during visits to Arizona in the 1960s. Presented in partnership with Texas Performing Arts and the University of Texas Art History Department.

Fusebox Festival HubThe Hub is the central gathering place for the festival, hosting free programming during the day and ticketed events at night. The space, to be at 1100 E. 5th (the old TOPS warehouse), will be active 7 days a week for as many as 20 hours a day. The Hub will house an installation curated by Sterling Allen and Katie Geha (in partnership with Art Alliance Austin), artist chats, panel discussions, an information desk, beer garden and café/bar. The Hub will be the official Late Night Venue for the festival, presenting live music from all over the country.