Spy Rock Memories

Well, it's been a lengthy ordeal, er, I mean a rip-roaring good time, polishing off the latest and - for better or worse - longest episode in the Spy Rock story. I'm really starting to get optimistic about finishing by the end of this summer. Three more parts to go, but I've got to interrupt my progress for the time being to write about Greenland and Iceland, and to get ready for the Potatomen's appearance at the 6th annual Insubordination Fest in Baltimore, just two weeks from today, it looks like!

Anyway, if you're interested in checking out the latest installment, you can find it here (over at the more "serious" blog: http://larrylivermore.com/?p=2180 

Staying Indoors To Write

About a third of the way through editing Spy Rock Memories, Part 7. It's the longest chapter yet, and really needs to be cut down by about 2,000 words (why, I ask myself, did I feel the need take several days to write all those words if it's going to take me several more days to throw them out again?).

But the real question is: it's a glorious sunny day in New York City. Summer is fast fading away. There are a million (well, two or three, at least) things I could or should be doing outdoors instead. To stay inside and write or to go outside and do whatever?

I guess it all depends on how important I consider this work, and how urgently I feel it needs to be done. In 2005, London enjoyed the sunniest and warmest summer in almost 30 years (if you're at all familiar with English weather, you'll be aware how remarkable this can be), and I spent all but a couple days of it sequestered in my dimly lit north-facing room frantically trying to finish a 160,000 word story of my life that at the time seemed vitally important "Why?" my friend Paul frequently challenged me, "Have you got publishers camped on your doorstep with bags of money who just can't wait to get their hands on that manuscript?"

As it happened, he was quite right; not only were there no publishers, with or without bags of money, but while I did finish the manuscript, right about the time the chilly winds of autumn began stripping the last leaves from the trees, it never went further than a box under my bed, where I believe it still rests today, unread and unmissed by anyone other than a handful of friends and a couple of agents.

So why, six years later, does it seem similarly important to turn my back on summer in order to complete a still more obscure story, one about a mountain where only a handful of people ever lived, and that only a slightly greater handful of people has ever heard of?

I have no idea, except that maybe I'm six years older, and if it doesn't get done soon, I don't know if I'll ever find the time and energy to do it. Anyway, if you were wondering where I am on this beautiful last Wednesday in July, that's where. If it's any consolation, at least my writing room is now a south-facing one, and a fair bit of sunshine manages to come streaming in.

Pot Country

While doing some research for Spy Rock Memories I ran across this Emerald Triangle blog by an old-timer who's lived there since long before there was any such thing as the Emerald Triangle, and who has a lot of history and insight to share. He talks about participating in a documentary called Pot Country that's apparently already been shown on San Francisco public television, but which I hadn't heard anything about before. The excerpt looks pretty good.

A Hasty Stroll

I was rushing and rushing to get through the first draft of Spy Rock Memories, Part 7, and the story kept getting longer and longer. I mean, I knew exactly when and how it was going to end, but it was taking forever to get there.

It wasn't just that I was determined to finish the draft tonight so that I could get started on editing it tomorrow; I also wanted to get over to the city to meet Aaron for one of our patented late night wanders about town. But by the time Part 7 had finally topped out at around 8,200 words (probably 3,000 of which are going to have to be cut right back out of it), I was already supposed to be on the street corner in the West Village where we were meant to begin our walk. I tore down to the subway, knowing it would take me at least 20 minutes to get there, only to find that the ever-deteriorating MTA (you know, we're a poor country, we can't afford things like reliable public transit anymore the way modern, progressive countries like, say, Turkey can) wouldn't be sending a train my way for another 20 minutes.

So some hasty rearrangements had to be made, we met in the East Village instead, and headed more or less straight for the Williamsburg Bridge for the walk back to Brooklyn. Still a very nice walk on the first night this week with normal, almost cool temperatures, but it lacked a certain meandering quality possessed by all the best late night summer strolls. We talked about MRR, circa '77 until now, and related punk rock media, cultural and philosophical issues, and Aaron gave me a copy of his new book, which apparently includes an interview of yours truly and another interview conducted by yours truly with AVA editor Bruce Anderson. Riveting stuff, as I recall, though it's been a few years since I last perused either. Anyway, check out the new book at Last Gasp or on Amazon or any of the other usual outlets; it looks pretty good, and I'd be reading it right now if I weren't busy typing this.

My Life In Black And White (And Occasionally Color)

A pile of old Lookout magazines that I'm hoping will help me reconstruct those hazy and hectic events of 1987. Memories sure can play tricks on the mind, though I have to consider that it's also possible I was confused or oblivious when I was writing (or living) the original story 24 years ago!

Hello again!

I think I'm going to resurrect this site for posting quick thoughts or commentaries that are too long for Twitter but too short or too simple for the bigger, fancier, more serious and more literary blog (my description, not anyone else's, to be fair): http://larrylivermore.com/
 
Having said that, I don't have much else to say today, other than that it's raining, has stopped being over 100 degrees, and I'm madly procrastinating about finishing the rough draft of Spy Rock Memories, Part 7, even though I already know exactly what I want to say, am excited about saying it, and am quite anxious to move on toward finish Parts 8 through 10 (i.e., the rest of the story) before summer's end so I can move on to my next big project, which I'm even more excited about, but which will have to remain a big secret for now!