A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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I have nothing to say to this other than that I’d buy that book. Right now.
Amen.
Alas, when I approached Potter about interviewing him, he looked at my pityingly and drawled, “I’m sorry Lickona; I think this has to be your story.” True fact. So hold your orders.
I dipped into the Godsbody/Korrektiv back-catalog last night, and saw an entry where you mention ‘trying to write the damnable second memoirish thing’.
That was in July of 2005.
Since you’ve got half a decade’s head start on this project, making the June deadline should be a cinch, is what I’m trying to say.
Go get ’em!
And by November, I was done! But there were fewer children then, and no teenagers to speak of. Seriously, I wrote the first three pages today. Here we go.
Well shoot, you can just slap on an afterword!
Seriously, good luck and Godspeed.
Swimming with Scapulars
Was pretty spectacular.
Here’s hoping the sequel’s
Roughly equal.
All I remember is I was having a spate of boot-to-pants wardrobe malfunction that weekend.
Of the ‘boot-top-versus-pant-cuff’ type, I suppose — in other words, not of the ‘edifying’ kind.
This, I believe.
I was going to say that those boots are the most exciting things I’ve seen on this blog in a long time. But I’m the kind of person who googles “boots” when I’m bored. True story.
When in disgrace with Google and gal’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my unshod state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my feet and curse my fate,
Wishing mine like his, boots more rich in feel,
Ankled like him, like him with boots possess’d,
Desiring this boot’s rise, and that boot’s heel,
With flats I most enjoy contented least.
Yet in these thoughts my boots almost despising,
Haply I think on Jobe, and then my state,
Like to stilettos five inches high arising
From sullen earth, to make my calves look great;
For thy sweet boots are fitted with elastic
And that I scorn as if they sported plastic.
Oh, never mind. I put Jobe in there and then veered in another direction. Joke’s over.
TAGGED WITH: ANGELICO I AIN’T.
Dude, stop these feeble attempts to make the rest of us feel better because in our spare time, instead of whipping out clever parodies in sonnet form, we sit around eating cold cereal from the box and reading comboxes.
And, you know, writing novels in a month.
Eh, I’ve spent the same amount of time trying unsuccessfully to revise my first paragraph.
‘Matt Lickona’
Whenever Matt Lickona wrote a post,
We in the combox read what he would say:
He was an easy, entertaining host,
Self-deprecating, in a clever way.
And though prolific, he was far from old,
And had a solid memoir to his name;
But though he’d yet to heap up hills of gold,
We knew he’d someday scale the heights of fame.
And there was beauty in his life each day –
His locks, though sliver-tinged, would not thin out,
His bride rose like an army in array,
His children flourished like the olive sprout.
So on we worked by day, and wrote at night,
And slogged through ceaseless drafts, rewrote and cut;
And Matt Lickona, every other night
Went home and put a shot into his gut.
This needs to be framed and hung over the Lickona liquor cabinet.
I hate all of you. Angelico, do you really mean “So on we worked”? Seems like “So on he worked” works better. And what’s this nonsense about every OTHER night? Anyway, I think I should just stop trying now – there’s no way I can live up to the the hopes of even those who are friendly toward me. This was just supposed to be a thing that happened – I went somewhere that turned out to be interesting enough to write about. Now it’s going to be the failed second memoir. I think I need to strap on some stiletto heels and put on a kicky dress and go out on the town and forget all this writing nonsense.
“… and he glittered when he walked”
You see what I did there!
Well of course he does. And I? I work on his bloggy site. And I curse my occupation. And I wish that I could write. Yes, I wish that I could write…
You stole “kicky” from my post about LEGO, I just know it.
Maybe yall should have a ‘Korrektiv-for-girls’ brand.
‘Kicky’ does begin with ‘K’.
P.S. That’s cute, Expat, the way you pretend it isn’t you.
It’s part of the perverse charm of this place that I have no idea how seriously to take your comment. Just in case, I’ll put this in prose so you’ll know I’m not ‘spoofing’ you:
Please don’t let the weight of my expectations crush this project, because Psalm 118 and the the Star Wars prequel debacle taught me not to rely on human works. I’m just glad to exist, like a Percian ‘ex-suicide’, and anything else is icing on the cake. A new Lickona tome, as welcome as it would be, might not even be icing on the cake, but a sprinkle on the icing — and there’d be nothing wrong with that. So: New Orleans travelogue? Second memoir? City-hall expose? Mad Men spec script? Pop-up book? Whatevs! All is grace!
That’s (obviously) not to say your work might not prove to be stronger nourishment and/or medicine than a sprinkle on the icing on the cake. Swimming with Scapulars was more than that. But as a Korrektiv fanboy, I happen to enjoy your perspective and the way you express it, and am grateful for whatever you, the muse, and the marketplace may combine to give. (That goes for every other member of the Kollektiv, too.)
You may have an infinite number of valid reasons not to write, but modest hopes of this member of the Peanut Gallery surely aren’t among them.
In sum: I hereby dispense you from an obligation you never even had.
And again: Good luck and Godspeed.
Hey, Angelico, I meant to tell you congratulations on gaining a Gravatar.
Thanks, ma’am! Figured it was time to become a ‘power user’.
Very kind of you, sir. I will keep writing, if only because this thing won’t let me alone. Which reminds me: we are expecting a visit from JOB in February. The Wife and I would be delighted if you would join us for dinner some evening – that is, if you are in driving distance from San Diego. We could put you up if you like. Feel free to bring that Robert Simpson fellow, if he’s about. Of course, if you’d rather keep your relative anonymity and distance, we certainly understand. I don’t want to kill the goose that lays the golden comments.
Mr Lickona,
That is extraordinarily gracious! My thanks to you and Mrs L for even considering the possibility of allowing Bob and me to darken your towels. I’m gobsmacked, and will be a monkey’s uncle.
Bob is reigning Kurtz-like in darkest Arkansas, and he confirmed that his travel plans won’t line up with JOB’s. But I am — and, barring any seismic cataclysm, will still be in February — just about two hours’ drive away. (Yep, a straight shot up the 405: Babylon.)
Much as I’ve enjoyed the distance of being one of the (apparently) few kommentators never to have met any of the Kollektiv in person, I’ve mainly tried to use that distance to offer honest opinions about you-all’s work(s) and the value of yall’s overarching project, such as there is one. I reckon the honesty of my opinions is as well or poorly established now as it ever will be. No great loss in closing that distance.
(As for ‘relative anonymity’, JOB already knows where I collect my mail, and under what name. No big loss there.)
I’ll email you in the next 24 hours or so to see if we can (begin to) work out a plan.
Must go now. Thank you again — VERY much.
Like to stilettos five inches high arising
From sullen earth, to make my calves look great
Mr Lickona, do you see yourself as a woman?
Matthew
Don’t let Angelico hold your manhood cheap. Post that picture of yourself in that sleeveless tee and Baby-Bjorn showing your massive guns, carrying all those babies and toddlers. You looked huge in that picture! That will show him.
I figured Matthew was writing in persona Betty.
Because he’s an outlier–who goes where the saints dare not.
No, because I’m a cross-dresser, who wears what the straights dare not.
Wait, don’t say it, let me guess:
‘It’s a comfort thing.’
Damn. My lines must be showing.
There really is nothing worse than plastic boots. I’m glad someone finally made this point in language worthy of its import.
I had a pair of brown pull-on boots of the sort I remember my grandpa wearing. I associated them with the cigars he used to smoke and the spade he used to wield in the garden, and they fit like a glove. But I wore them out beyond saving (even though I took them to a hundred-year-old Russian immigrant cobbler who did his best to salvage them). So I bought these black boots as a replacement. Too fancy, too much trouble with the cuffs of the pants. I haven’t worn them since.
Go on “What not to wear” and they’ll tell you that your pants should be long enough to graze the floor when you’re shoeless. Then, with a slight heel, such as the one on your boot, they’ll be just right.
I was raised to believe that your pants should be just long enough to create a light break in the crease from the top of the pant hitting the top of your shoe.
Those days are long past.
Unless you’re in the mob
http://images.thesartorialist.com/photos/62310ITdenim_5585Web.jpg
Recipe for a Successful Writer
Mild substance dependency
Catholic
Plagued by self-doubt
Willful material poverty
At conflict with broader society
Coincidental Abbey Road type photo similar to literary hero
The tragedy of being Irish
It seems like it is all there for being a successful writer. I beat my brains but I cannot find the missing piece here. Any thoughts?
(BTW Great Photo!)
Cubeland,
The truth unveiled.
p.s. agree on the awesome photo. And ML, go forth and write.
Thanks, CM. The trouble is, I’m the one taking the picture. Anyway, it’s not a big book. But it was a fun trip, and I thought I’d write about it.
Too tired to read or type. Nice/funny photos!
I swear I only read this blog for the comments. And… and… the photos.
I agree. I vote for more posh dudes lounging around in suits and boots. Or, you know, Baby Bjorns. Whatever.
I think it’s the look on Potter’s face that really sells the photo.
(Am gradually gaining insight into the question: ‘What do mommybloggers want?’)
Hee hee ha ha! Dude, you are good. I just got the “Korrektiv for girls” joke, and I am still smiling about ‘diksi: a down-home eatery’.”
Too kind, ma’am. You all keep me on my toes, and Luke 6:31 indicates I should try to return the favor, that’s all.
As it happens, I did go back to Little Rock for Christmas, but was too busy eating actual Southern (and Vietnamese) food to investigate the town’s more gentrified, sissified offerings. Maybe next time.
A woman was in your room not your wife to take that pic.
Churchill?!?!
I just self-edited. Talk about spiritual growth!