On March 1, 2012, David Gessner, the author of eight books and the Editor in Chief of Ecotone, visited UConn as part of the Edwin Way Teale Lecture Series. LRR was able to catch up with him prior to his lecture.

Long River Review: Did any other particular writer(s) inspire you? Who are your influences?

David Gessner: Well, I think if you look at what I call my literary family tree, you can see where certain things in my work came from. The most obvious influence is Thoreau. Not long ago I went to Walden Pond with my then six-year-old daughter and my wife, who pointed at where [Thoreau’s] cabin had been and said, “That’s where the house of the man who ruined daddy’s life was.” In other words, I think she was saying that Thoreau sent me in the direction of nature, nature writing, and non-conformity. A less obvious influence on my work is Phillip Roth, who gets a bad rep these days for writing blatantly about sex, but I like the humor and energy in his sentences. Other satiric writers like Vonnegut also influenced me. It’s interesting that you can see humor and monologue’s intensity colliding with Thoreau and the nature writing that creates a combination in me where in some ways, I feel like My Green Manifesto was my Portnoy’s Complaint. I have to say Mad Magazine and “SNL” were also influences. I read a lot of fiction, too.

LRR: When writing, do you sit and think through every word, or do you write freely?

DG: Lately I use my recorders so that I can write while I’m walking. I do my early morning work at my computer at my desk. When I’m burned out on typing away on my computer, I go down for walks along the river because I lean on a quote that Churchill was fond of, “A change is as good as a rest.” I speak things into the tape recorder so I get the energy of the walk and try to convey my voice. Then I’ll come back and type up those things and edit. Generally, I’m not a big pre-planner. The planning comes through in my journal notes and when I scribble down things to myself. Then, when I get to the desk, I like to let it go where it’ll go. There’s the famous Frost line, “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader,” which I very much believe in. There’s another quote, too, that I really like: “Good writers make outlines, great writers throw them away.” In my early days, I made a lot of outlines and was very organized, but now I go more on intuition and follow the flow of things.

 LRR: What sparked your passion for nature writing?

 DG: I would say when I moved west at age 30, both Edward Abbey and Wallace Stegner were big inspirations in writing about nature. Abbey showed me that it was possible to write like Thoreau in a modern idiom and take that essential experiment of being in the natural world and communicate it in blunt modern language. Abbey also showed me that comedy was possible in nature writing, which was important for me.

 LRR: You have traveled through many different terrains and countries to order to write each work. What was your most thrilling adventure?

 DG: I would say it’s a tie. One is a story of getting lost in the rainforest where my wife, my friend, and I took the wrong trail and we there after dark. We were picked up by a local man nicknamed Dungo, who was poaching deer. The punch line of the story is that after we got out, my wife and friend fell asleep in the hotel room that Dungo brought us to. Dungo and I went downstairs and drank a lot of beer. He became our guide and right-hand man after the next few days, as well as our friend.

The other one is a more conscious adventure, when I followed Osprey migration down the east coast and traveled illegally into Cuba and down to Venezuela. In the Cuban mountains, you’re really supposed to stay in your hotel, but first of all, I wasn’t really supposed to be there according to the United States, and Cuba monitors your movements pretty closely. I stayed in a cabin up near the mountains where the birds come over. I managed to get in trouble with both their country and ours, but I had an amazing time and it was a really stunning and beautiful view. These were the same mountains where Castro hid out before the revolution.

The interesting thing is that most birds are hydrophobic, so they migrate through Mexico and follow the land. Ospreys, being water lovers, hopscotch down through the islands in the Caribbean so you can look up as they migrate over. In Pennsylvania, you’d see a few Ospreys mixed with hawks and eagles. Down in Cuba, you’d see all Ospreys flying overhead. It was a pretty miraculous sight. It was like a river of birds.

LRR: On your website, you wrote, “I had never defined myself as a journalist before, but the story I was seeing…seemed to take a fast, angry journalistic take. The resulting book is a strange mix: part nature book, part new journalism and part adventure story. There is no time for pussyfooting around, no time to follow literary rules, or any rules that get in the way of the work of the world.”

How or why is your new book, The Tarball Chronicles, so different from your previous works?

DG: I think that I’m more overtly dealing with environmental issues. I’ve always been regarded as a nature environmental writer. I would have taken some offense at that name in earlier books, when I thought I was writing personal essays and memoirs that just happened to take place in nature. With these last two, I’ve cast off into real environmental issues, being down in the Gulf during the oil spill. I’ve also said that I want to mix genres and jump across genre lines. I don’t mind if there’s a good journalist portrait, but I can follow that up with an essayist excursion into my own thought. For example, you have a scene of me and a fisherman in Louisiana, followed by my thinking in more of the spirit of Montaigne, about what all this means, followed by a comic sketch, followed by an interview.

I’m trying to bring a lot of things together and not write thorny, non-categorized writing. Of course when they throw it in a bookstore, they just slap environmental writing on it, but I think it’s more than that. There’s a lot of memoir in it for one thing. When I teach my students at North Carolina in Wilmington, the nonfiction writers are working on memoir- a focus on things that have happened to them. I keep saying, “That’s great, but what about something else with it?” You see, when I write about birds, there’s the science of birds to also write about. There’s this whole world other than me and that actually makes it more interesting. You’ve got the “me” aspect, and then you learn about something beyond “me.” That’s where I try to push my students when I ask, “What is there, other than you, that fascinates you?” ‘Cause if its only you that fascinates you, you may not fascinate others. You have to break your world open a little bit, without becoming stiff and merely scientific so you can keep a human story in there too.

LRR: Has the direction of your writing changed after publishing My Green Manifesto and The Tarball Chronicles?

DG: I started as a fiction writer and wrote two novels to start with. I guess if you were writing a textbook on how to become a creative nonfiction writer, I was following a plan that I didn’t know was a plan. I was training myself in writing scenes, character, dialogue, and using fictional techniques that I transplanted to nonfiction. Will that become the way I write? Yes, to some extent. The next book I plan on writing is about Wallace Stegner and Abbey. I’m going to go out West and follow their trail next summer, and do the same thing I did with The Tarball Chronicles. I will blog and write a book that is going to be three threads: a biography of the two writers I admire, the personal thread of my story and travels through the West, and environmental issues. So in that way, it’s similar to the Tarball Chronicles since I’m trying to weave three things into an overall cloth. I do have dreams of getting back to writing fiction, but we’ll see. The market will dictate that somewhat.

 LRR: If Fahrenheit 451 came to life, which book would you “become” in order to save and preserve it?

DG: Walden. I’m sorry to give the easy and cliché answer, but the more I read it and think about it, I always come back to it. Wherever I go, whenever I walk out, I find him coming back. That’s how I feel about Thoreau. I feel like I’m doing these new things and exploring these new places and then I read something and then I’m like, “Damn this guy did it 150 years ago.”

LRR: Yes, you did mention that you loved doing new things in your “Skiing On Beaches” video.

DG: [Thoreau] definitely hasn’t skied on beaches like I have, so I’ve got him there.

LRR: Do you ever feel you are unable to write out of fear? Do you get writer’s block?

DG: No. Well, never, but I think the speed and ease with which I write is built on almost a decade of writing haltingly slow, which was in my twenty’s. When I was writing two big novels then, I didn’t get writers block, but it came out slow and I feel like I was developing habits of discipline that have come in handy later on. What I didn’t know then was that I was actually going through my apprenticeship. I didn’t have that word in my vocabulary at the time, but it’s only later that I realized that. I had defined myself as a failed writer because I hadn’t published yet. I didn’t understand that it often takes eight years to find your legs. That knowledge of those years comes incredibly handy in teaching grad students. Now I’m keenly aware of the apprenticeship and how long it can take to hit your stride as a writer. It certainly took me a long time.

LRR: What advice do you have for young poets/writers?

DG: The word I constantly say, to the point where my students are probably rolling their eyes, is momentum. A story I like to tell is about Keats, who starts writing late at 22 and dies young 4 years later, so there’s a small window to become a great poet. One of the best things he does is, almost by instinct, is writes “Endymion,” which is this long, bad poem. He forces himself to write it. It’s not that good, but there’s a William James quote, “You learn to skate in the summer.” The rewards of putting in that time on “Endymion” come later in the poems that follow. I think Keats learned the habits of composition and momentum, and not to have any fear of the blank page. My big advice is to put yourself in movement, even if the demons are trying to stop you from writing. Push through it and don’t worry if the work’s no good. You just get it down and get going because things are going to happen to you as a writer that you can’t anticipate in theory and you can only work out in practice. The way to do this is just to write and write and write, so you end up busting through something that you didn’t even know was there.

LRR: As the Editor of Ecotone magazine at UNC-Wilmington, what has your experience been and what would you say to editors working on literary magazines in college?

DG: It’s great to be on [literary magazines] and reading submissions because you get a sense of the writing that’s out there other than yours. You begin to see simple mistakes or limitations of writers. You can see them in other people in ways that you can’t see them in yourself. If there’s too much “me, me, me” and then you read six essays like that, you may say, “Wow, maybe this writer needs a greater focus.” Then you translate that to your own work and say, “Maybe I need a greater focus.” So I think one of the pleasures as a young writer, of working on a journal, is to be able to see the field more objectively. We’ve been very lucky at Ecotone because we’ve published young and upcoming writers and really well-known writers. One thing it’s taught me is how much great work is out there right now, despite the moaning and groaning of the death of the book and death of writing.

Personal quote: A.R. Ammons quote, “Firm ground is not available ground.”

Why I’m a geek: I know the Latin names of some birds because I bird watch.

My addictions: I’m addicted to writing and coffee.

My heroes: Wallace Stegner. He was a great writer, great teacher, and worked in a variety of forms.

Books I’m reading: I just finished Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner. I’m teaching On Writing Fiction by John Gardner, and I want to read the book Mentor by Tom Grimes.

Subscriptions:  I don’t think I have any.

What I wish I invented: The pint glass. I’ve become kind of a snob where I can’t drink beer out of the bottle unless I’m in a pinch because I really like pouring it into the glass and drinking it.

No Comments » 

Snooki is a New York Times Bestselling author.

I’ll give you a moment to let those eight simple yet mind-boggling words sink in. Are you still with me? OK. Yes, it’s true that our favorite Jersey Shore cast member joined the ranks of such distinguished authors as Hilary Duff, Lauren Conrad and Nicole Richie. Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi’s novel, A Shore Thing, hit bookshelves on January 4 of last year and debuted at No. 24 on The New York Times Bestseller list. If spending a few weeks on New Jersey’s shoreline getting drunk, sleeping with strangers, vomiting in bar restrooms and finally being offered a book deal by publishing giant Simon & Schuster isn’t the new “American Dream,” then I don’t know what is. Maybe you think I’m being too hard on Snookers. You might be thinking, “Why shouldn’t a young reality television star who’s known for her obsessions with pickles, the beach and juice heads be awarded the opportunity to become a published author?” Because I still doggedly believe that ingenuity, hard work and devotion should be the rungs on the ladder to success and reward. Not the gym, tanning and laundry.

The co-authors of the novels “written” by Hollywood starlets, reality television personalities and former governors of Alaska, understandably, don’t get the same degree of attention in the weeks leading up to their books’ release dates. Yet, most of these co-authors are experienced, dedicated journalists and creative writers who have been slugging away and paying their career dues for years. Elise Allen helped Hilary Duff with her novel, Elixir, and has been a professional writer for 15 years. Lynn Vincent co-wrote Going Rogue with Sarah Palin and spent 11 years at WORLD Magazine as an investigative reporter. Valerie Frankel, the co-author of A Shore Thing, is a successful novelist and award-winning journalist who blogs for The Huffington Post. These are writers who attended college, sharpened their skills, and took the craft of writing seriously as they trained to be professionals.

The Associated Press recently reported a study done by sociologists Richard Arum of New York University and Josipa Roksa of the University of Virginia that claimed “45 percent of students show no significant improvement in the key measures of critical thinking, complex reasoning and writing by the end of their sophomore years.” In their new book, Academically Adrift: Limited Learning on College Campuses, Arum and Roksa also report that “half [of students surveyed] did not take a single course requiring 20 pages of writing during their prior semester, and one-third did not take a single course requiring even 40 pages of reading per week.”

In other words, nearly half of us aren’t even trying. I’m concerned we’re entering into – or are already waist-deep in – a whiny and narcissistic era of “if so-and-so can do it, then why can’t I?” If Sarah Palin can run for vice president of the United States, then so can I. If Mark Zuckerberg can be a hacker-turned-billionaire, then so can I. If Snooki can write a book, then so can I. Instead of committing ourselves to the rigorous challenges of academic excellence, we’ve become preoccupied with achieving our own 15 minutes of fame, 15 minutes that we plan on milking for everything they’re worth. We’ve convinced ourselves of the idea that life is a game of luck and we just need to be at the right place at the right time.

Relying on dumb luck is just that: dumb. Is Snooki lucky to have been thrust into the spotlight and subsequently rewarded with opportunities to write books, appear on DVDs and shill products like alcohol, clothes and vitamins? Sure, you could say that. But the egotistical and irresponsible misfits like Snooki who make up the cast of MTV’s Jersey Shore should not serve as role models for success.

No Comments » 

Last Thursday, this guy gave a talk at UConn:

As you can probably draw from this post’s title, David Gessner is more like the anti-nature writer. But its not because he drinks beer, smokes cigars, and drops intermittent f-bombs. Gessner is the anti-nature writer because he takes a different look at nature than most of those who preach to us with buzz words like global warming. Gessner’s focus isn’t on saving the world. Instead, he just wants to experience it.

At the Dodd Center, Gessner spoke about his two very recent books, My Green Manifesto (which President Obama has supposedly read) and The Tarball Chronicles, about his trip to the Gulf immediately following the BP oil spill.

After his talk, I picked up My Green Manifesto, got it signed, and was lucky enough to go out to dinner with him and a couple others. This was one of my most exciting experiences as an undergrad. Eating Chinese food with a guy who has gone bird watching with Jonathan Franzen (who has probably gone bird watching with David Foster Wallace (does this mean I’m only four degrees from DFW and three from Franzen? Yes, it does.)); been read by Barack Obama; skis on the beach; doesn’t care for academic writing; and is most interested in giving you advice about your own writing, was thrilling. Now, as I read his book, he is one of only a few writers whom I’ve btoh known and read, and the only outside of Storrs.

Being a writer in college can lead to quite an identity crisis. I feel like I should be leading some type of stoic, insightful life. At the same time I need to be a college student, which entails engaging in many activities that are neither stoic or insightful. But as I read Gessner on Spring Break, between nights of beer, I don’t feel so bad. His written voice is exactly how he is in person. He is pretty unfiltered and doesn’t really care for academic language. His tone is conversational. So if there’s anything I’ve taken away from this experience of meeting and reading, its that we need not rely on conventions, especially in our writing. This reinforces an idea of Vonnegut’s that I read a few years ago (I’ve been searching for the quote for about a half hour now and cannot find it). He basically said that, in writing, we should pay no attention to what writers have done before us.

Gessner is a romantic to an extent, but doesn’t write like one. Instead he writes and acts in a way that speaks to me because of its honesty, because its how I speak. He doesn’t hide the Long Trails he’s drinking on his canoe trip down the Charles, or the cigars he’s smoking, or the fact that he hates the environmentalist book he’s reading. This honesty is what makes Gessner good, and I think it’s something we should strive for.

(Be on the lookout for an LRR interview with Gessner)

No Comments » 

I’m currently taking my second class with the English Department’s most entertaining professor and writer, Mr. Sam Pickering. For an hour and 15 minutes every Tuesday and Thursday Prof. Pickering tells stories and comical anecdotes and peppers in some valuable insight on writing.  He often tells the same stories over and over again without realizing, but their entertainment value is never compromised. You’ve likely heard his southern cackle echoing through CLAS hallways.

Last week, Prof. Pickering had us read an essay by Robert Louis Stevenson (the guy with the great mustache who wrote Treasure Island), titled “An Apology for Idlers.” The essay basically sums up my thoughts as an overwhelmed undergrad. Here are some excerpts I like:

“Idleness so called, which does not consist in doing nothing, but in doing a great deal not recognized in the dogmatic formularities of the ruling class, has a good right to state its position as industry itself.”

“There is certainly some chill and arid knowledge to be found upon the summits of formal and laborious science; but it is all round about you, and for the trouble of looking, that you will acquire the warm and palpitating facts of life. While others are filling their memory with a lumber of words, one-half of which they will forget the week be out, your truant may learn some really useful art; to play the fiddle, to know a good cigar, or to speak with ease and opportunity to all varieties of men.”

“Extreme busyness, whether at school or college, kirk or market, is a symptom of deficient vitality; and a faculty for idleness implies a catholic apetite and a strong sense of personal identity.”

Prof. Pickering called this an Emersonian essay for its message of simplicity. But Stevenson also lays forth the message that we place importance on the wrong things. We dedicate ourselves to tasks that are lucrative monetarily and put simple happiness on the back burner. As he writes, “There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.”

I found Stevenson’s insight both eye-opening and comforting. For the last six months I’ve been stressing out about what I want to do with my life and how I can make money doing it. Stevenson’s ideas are just as important (if not more important) than trying to make money, especially if you’re a writer. We all need money but we need passion as well.

(Quotes from The Art of the Personal Essay by Philip Lopate)

No Comments »