The Boss Discovers a Gem of a Poem: Late Fragment, by Raymond Carver

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

The Boss Discovers a Gem of a Poem: Late Fragment, by Raymond Carver

Nope. Not about Springsteen. But imagine if it was? Bruce, if you’re out there and if you dislodge a poetical masterpiece (somewhat east of Glory Days) from the dregs of time, please share it with the world. Cuz that would be solid.

No but today, my boss sent me this gem* as she stumbled upon it whilst (or while, if you must not be cockney) conducting an unrelated poem search. Too much back story. Here it is:

LATE FRAGMENT
By Raymond Carver

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Rumor has it (Rumor has it!) that this was Carver’s last writing. If you were to write just one last poem, what would it be? If you were to go out tomorrow but not know today but still somehow have the wherewithal to know, this is your last. What would you write? Would it be dark or joyful? Reminiscent or life-affirming or mad? Would you take it with you?

Why does Carver call his last words a fragment? Did he mean to go on? Is this only an excerpt of what Carver meant to be his unabridged last poem? Did he take that part with him? I like to think that.

Here is today’s literature know-how: Raymond Carver and John Cheever are not the same person. Though apparently, they were drinking buddies on several occasions. I say prove it! Show me the picture where the two men are linked arm in arm at the bar. Show me where their FB Timelines intersect.

From NYT, by Stephen King, Nov. 19, 2009

And until mid-1977, Raymond Carver was out of control. While teaching at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he and John Cheever became drinking buddies. “He and I did nothing but drink,” Carver said of the fall semester of 1973. “I don’t think either of us ever took the covers off our typewriters.” Because Cheever had no car, Carver provided transportation on their twice-weekly booze runs. They liked to arrive at the liquor store just as the clerk was unlocking for the day. Cheever noted in his journal that Carver was “a very kind man.” He was also an irresponsible boozehound who habitually ran out on the check in restaurants, even though he must have known it was the waitress who had to pay the bill for such dine-and-dash customers. His wife, after all, often waited tables to support him.

If King can testify to it, I’m in.

It’s good to have writing buddies, and drinking buddies, and buddies who do both separately but never the twain shall meet. Writing can be a tainted virtue. Have faith and, if you don’t have your own Cheever to procrastinate with… well maybe you’re already one great step past them in your creativity! Right on.

Cheever, Carver, Tomato, Cathedral, let’s call the whole thing off.

LW

*Thanks to DN for the fragment.

Great books come from okay first drafts (Writing Tip No. 4)

I haven’t read a good book in awhile. I’m listening to Stephen King’s latest “11/22/63″ on my long commute to work every day. Does that count? I’ve just been so busy setting up my web site for my freelance writing/editorial business that may or may not be taking off soon. I’m also running like a madman (I’m training for a marathon), and most importantly, I’m writing my YA book. I gave myself a deadline to have the rough draft finished by March 10 in order to apply for a Work-In-Progress Grant from the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI) before the deadline. My current writing goal for this is to put down 2,000 words a day. I’m about 8,000 words behind since I set my goal a couple weeks ago. The words keep piling up day after day! It’s an insane amount of work to slam out in a very short amount of time that rivals the 1,666 words a day challenge of NaNoWriMo each November. I tried NaNoWriMo twice before. I got close both times. About halfway. That’s close, right?

I’m not too worried about the daily writing goal. I wish that my only job was writing. I’ll bet Stephen King laughs in the face of 2,000 words/day. Have you seen the hardcover version of “11/22/63″? You could kill a brontosaurus with it! That is, if you found some kind of rabbit hole in the back of a small town diner, stepped into it, went back in time carrying King’s latest novel, blew past the assassination of JFK all the way to the mesozoic, met a brontosaurs, raised the book and… oh my God, how could you do that? They’re so cute! What’s wrong with you? Gosh.

You may be wondering: how much of my new YA novel is actually good? Well… I’d say about half of it. That’s pretty good! When you’re writing a rough draft, I don’t think you should necessarily put too much emphasis on quality. Did he really just say that? Listen, if your first draft makes you want to puke and die, you might want to reconsider a few plot points. I’m not saying you should strive toward mediocrity (although look at how successful Stephenie Meyer is – oh snap!), but don’t dwell on making it perfect the first time out of the gates either. For me, a first draft is just about getting it down, pouring it out, and moving through the story. Occasionally, I do find myself editing a certain paragraph over and over again. When that happens I try my best to pull away from it, maybe highlight it first, save some notes on it for later. But move along, son. Nothing to see here.

It’s a good philosophy. Works for me, anyway. I once read an interview Tom Robbins (one of my favorite writers, but he hasn’t written anything in awhile has he? What’s up with that?). In the interview, Robbins said that when he writes, he has a general idea of where his story is going to go but he perfects every single sentence in the novel one by one. He writes the opening line, stares at it, re-writes it, re-writes-it, tweaks it, re-writes it again, makes it amazing, then moves on to his second sentence. He works this way through his entire book! I could never do that. I gotta just write, man. Robbins’ way seems like it would give me an ulcer by Chapter Two. But then again, read his opening line to Another Roadside Attraction: The magician’s underwear has just been found in a cardboard suitcase floating in a stagnant pond on the outskirts of Miami.

The man may be on to something.