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On Movie Adaptations

March 6, 2010 in Uncategorized, film, movie by Claire | 2 comments

Tomorrow’s the Oscars

I just checked the list of nominations for best adapted screenplay for 2010 and have to admit I haven’t read a single source material.  (I don’t think they’re all based on books, but of course Precious is).   So my pre-Oscar post isn’t directly relevant to this year’s list but I like to think that makes it ageless.

All my life, I’ve loved to read and I’ve eagerly looked forward to seeing movie versions of books I’ve loved, an experience not unlike coming home from a trip alone with your spouse when you walk into your house thinking, “I can’t wait to see my kids!  I love them so much!” and the first few minutes of reunion are, indeed, wonderful . . . and then someone starts whining, someone starts demanding, someone throws up–in short, reality sets in.  So it is with going to see movies based on your favorite books.  The opening titles throw you into a frenzy of delight and anticipation.  And then the movie starts.  And you’re like, “Wait, that’s not what he should look like . . .  She never said that in the book! . . .  They were supposed to go to Italy before getting married . . . Oh, come on, everyone knows she would never do anything like that . . .  Wait, what happened to that whole scene in the park?  . . .  Her mother shouldn’t look that old . . .”  And so on.

We’ve all been there. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Value of a First Draft

February 24, 2010 in publishing by Claire | 2 comments

Replacing the Boards

There’s an existentialist riddle that goes something like: “A man owns a boat for many years and every time a plank rots or breaks, he replaces it with a new one.  If he eventually replaces every single plank on the boat with a different one, does he still own the same boat he started out with or a different boat?”

I think of this riddle all the time when I’m rewriting (so much so that I may have mentioned it in an earlier post).

I’m a note-taker.  By which I mean that if an editor I respect (and so far I’ve respected all my fiction editors) asks me to change something in a manuscript, I’ll change it.  So far, this has worked for me, and why shouldn’t it?  Editors want to sell books as much as authors do.  Maybe even more so.  So I trust them to want to want to make the product better.

Usually this means tweaking a plot point or two, cutting the fat (there’s always fat when I write), even getting rid of a character or adding one in.

And sometimes it means starting at page one and rewriting almost everything until I get to the very last page, slashing and adding and changing and renewing.

I’m in the middle of that kind of rewrite at the moment and it’s not easy (it’s also why I didn’t post anything last week: Kim took pity on me, bless her heart).  It’s the kind of process that can keep you up at night with the excitement of new ideas and new problems to solve: it’s like a puzzle, trying to make the new pieces fit with the old ones (hammering in those planks).  (It’s also the kind of process that can make you break down in tears if you’re feeling a bit hormonal but that’s another story or at least the subject of a very different post).  It’s also the kind of process that allows you to humble your children when they start complaining about having to edit a two-page paper as per a teacher’s demands.   “Oh, please,” you can say, “I have to rewrite a three-hundred page manuscript!”  They may not learn to embrace editing but they do learn not to complain about it so much. Read the rest of this entry »

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Tasteful Literature: Don’t Eat the Pages

February 22, 2010 in cookbook, food, guest by Claire | 3 comments

Book lover, faithful reader, and occasional contributor Meagan discusses culinary novels.   Thanks, Meagan!

I have a complicated relationship with culinary novels; kind of a love-hate thing going on. Back in high school I stumbled on Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel in my mother’s library and was completely seduced. Every chapter started with a recipe that somehow led into the story of Tita, whose life was defined by cooking and her forbidden love with Pedro, her sister’s husband. Throughout the story Tita’s emotions leak into her cooking, mouth watering dishes of Christmas rolls, Chabela Wedding cake, Quail in rose petal sauce… And yes, that is a real recipe no matter what Julie Powell says. I swear I’ve never had a book make me so hungry.

Quail with Rose Petal Sauce!

Usually it’s the other way around; what I’m eating will actually put me in the mood to read a particular book. Not necessarily the whole thing, just a few chapters. To this day I can’t eat a burger without wanting to flip through The Princess Diaries. Don’t ask me why. I’m as mystified as anyone else. But that’s a different story.

It was a terribly romantic introduction to cooking. Being a ‘modern woman’ and all, plus having a mother around to serve all my meals, the only cooking I’d ever attempted was toasting frozen waffles. Reading about it, everything sounded so simple, so natural. So when I attempted it myself, I was a bit disappointed. Read the rest of this entry »

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Awesome Women, Awesome Time

February 10, 2010 in Literary Event by Claire | 4 comments

A (Rare) Rainy Weekend in Pasadena

You know how married couples who have been together a long time start doing the same thing without realizing it, like ordering the same dish at dinner or liking the same movies?  Well, I’m starting to think Kim and I have spent too much time together because last week I said to her, “We’re spending Friday night in Pasadena, no kids,” and she said, “We’re spending Friday night in Pasadena, no kids,” and I said, “We’re staying at the Langham,” and she said, “We’re staying at the Langham.”  Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world . . .

Kim of course scored a much better upgrade than we did, and somehow ended up with a fireplace and patio.  Good luck for her with using the latter: it rained steadily all weekend, prompting me to say with faux naivete to my husband, “Wow, Pasadena is such a rainy town.”   On the plus side, I got to write off our hotel room because I was in Pasadena to WORK.

As Kim mentioned in an earlier post, I was one of four female authors invited to speak at the Pasadena Literary Festival.  Proceeds benefited the Pasadena Senior Center which was also where the event took place—and a warm and inviting place it is.  As a speaker, I expected to spend the entire event–when not on stage–squirming in my seat with nerves, screaming inside my own head because I hadn’t written a speech or prepared notes or even bounced much of anything off of my husband beforehand.

Instead I found myself far too fascinated by the other speakers to do anything but listen. Read the rest of this entry »

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Franny and Zooey and Me

January 28, 2010 in RIP, book review, classics, short story by Claire | No comments

Why I Love JD Salinger

Kim gets news before I do.  So she shot me an email a few minutes ago, to tell me that JD Salinger had just died.  I’ve said to her in the past that his Nine Stories is probably my favorite book in the whole world, so she asked me if I wanted to write something about him, and maybe include my reasons for loving that book so much, since she didn’t have the same passion for it.  Salinger isn’t about Catcher in the Rye for me, I should be clear on that.  I read it once, didn’t like it, haven’t reread it.  But Nine Stories . . .

Best. Book. Ever.

How do you tell someone why a book gets to you on some deep emotional level?  It’s something both Kim and I have struggled with, I think, as we’ve written this blog and also tried to persuade each other to read certain books.  She loves Atonement; I couldn’t finish it (not because I didn’t like it, but because it was clearly going to be about someone making a false accusation and ruining someone’s life and I can’t bear that kind of a story.  The writing was beautiful).  Anyway, she tried to convince me to finish that and I never did.  So how can I convey to her how Nine Stories is more than just a collection of words to me?

It’s one of the books that made me want to be a writer, I know that much.  And I know that every time I write a patch of dialogue that feels real to me (not as often as I’d like), I think about JD Salinger and how no one has ever written more realistic dialogue, dialogue which sounds like what people might actually say–but resonates in ways that stay with you for a long time.

And then there’s the Glass family.  Or should I say, first and foremost, there’s the Glass family, who are more real to me than most of the people I know.  Seymour and Buddy and the twins and Franny and Zooey and Boo Boo.  Did I leave anyone out?  Probably.  They weave in and out of Nine Stories, sometimes front and center (“A Perfect Day for Bananafish”) sometimes off to the side but still influential (“Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut”).

Oh, god.   “Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut.”  What woman can read that story and not weep for what she thought her life was going to be as opposed to what it is?  In that story, Eloise remember being in love with Walt Glass (who died during the war) and then looks at her life now, married to a guy who’s nowhere near as sensitive or smart as Walt was.  Miserable, drunk, disgusted with what she’s become, she is suddenly, savagely cruel to her own daughter.  And then she says to her friend, desperately, tragically, “I was a nice girl . . .  wasn’t I?”

Well, now I’m crying.  Salinger has that affect on me.  Seven words, that’s all it took.  Seven words–something someone might actually say–and an entire tragic life is summed up, right there. Read the rest of this entry »

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