One More Frank
I remember a party at Joy Williams' house--she was visiting that semester--during my second year at the workshop. Frank was sitting on the couch, enjoying "a beer and a bump"--bottle of beer, shot of whisky, and we were all bullshitting about something or other.
A certain first-year student--of whom Frank was fond--asked him point-blank:
"What's the secret to writing a novel?"
It was one of those moments when you feel like the buzz has been completely killed. Frank smiled, though, and rescued the buzz while also dispensing some of the most powerful, useless, useful, stupid, brilliant advice I've ever heard on the subject.
"The secret? The secret? I'll tell you the secret!"
He lowered his voice.
"The secret to writing a novel is three things."
We leaned in.
"You've got to set it up. You've got to run it. And you've got to shut it down."
Now you all know.
Any guesses as to who the student was?
posted by Antoine at 12:19 PM
8 Comments:
nice guess but wrong. it was a boy.
Since there was beer and whiskey, my guess is Tom O'Mally.
getting closer, somehow, and yet, not.
Dude, it was that dude whose name I can't remember. But I think he hung with Tom, sort of. He looked a little bit like Bobby Higginson, right?
http://detroit.tigers.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/team/player.jsp?player_id=115915
Sometimes Bobby Higginson looks like Oscar Casares to me. But I don't know who you're talking bout.
This is the Detroit Tiger our mystery interlocutor most resembles...but I dunno his name.
ACTUALLY, just look to the left of the D...
Why you got to run Bonderman down like that?
Also wanted to say, congratulations Antoine on the Paris Review story, which I read a couple weeks ago after the announcement of the national magazine awards. It ticks along beautifully. And Lewis, I didn't get to talk with John Irving when he came, but I heard through someone who did that you were doing well, which I was glad to hear. Hope we can catch up if you're coming to "Trish camp."
About the Frank anecdote, it's pretty out of step with what I've been feeling in the wake of his death . . . If I asked that question, well, it certainly sounds craven and toadying, as it's told here. I don't remember Frank being at that party, and I don't remember having any questions for anyone about novel structure until the last six months. I do though remember an almost constant state of anxiety during those two workshop years; I felt I lived with my foot in my mouth -- so to that extent, the caricature is dead-on.
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