Salon Columnists

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S A L O N
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How can I meet girls in
odd clothing if I'm not a writer?

Mr. Black

Mr. Black, you are doing the right thing by refusing the call of literature, but why make a big announcement about it? Look authorly and tell those unusual girls that you're at work on a memoir about your troubled youth in the Sufi commune in Santa Fe and it is much too dark and grievous to discuss at a party, and let it go at that. People will respect your privacy and they will also accord you the blatant adulation that is the reward of every writer. To create a fiction about being a writer is an artistic act, and it is the surest way to meet a thrilling woman whose odd clothing suddenly falls from her tanned and sinuous shoulder as she puts her soft cheek against yours and whispers, "You are so beautiful and I am a fool for you. Meet me on the terrace, under the long, long strings of ivy, and tell me unusual things."

Dear Mr. Blue,

I'm a professor at a university whose knowledge and understanding extend far beyond the boundaries of my discipline. Is it going to be hard for anyone to fall in love with me? I am plenty busy with work and hobbies and don't have time to pine for romance. But is it possible, theoretically speaking, to be too smart to be loved?

Alone in Academe

Herr Doktor, you are no doubt a heavyweight schmartie, but what about Einstein? Was he not also a sharp cookie? And did women love him? Sir, he was a regular little dumpling of love. Women loved to run their fingers through his hair, that's why it was wild like that. He whispered little endearments about space and time to them, and they trembled with pleasure. He lived a good long life and enjoyed physics, string quartet music and women, and not always in that order. Sir, to be too smart to be loved is to be too dumb for words.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I'm a woman, almost 29, emerging from a super-repressed upbringing, having gone to Catholic schools all the way through college (I am no longer religious). Now I've been working in the city for about two months and am meeting a lot of interesting men. I've been interested in trying pot, 'shrooms, sex, nature colonies, bisexuality (a little bit), ceramics, camping, personal ads, bartending, revealing my past to people, group therapy, intimacy, self-defense class, singing before a live audience, travel, etc., but I'm scared of what can happen. What do you think?

Matahari

What do I think can happen? Well, if this is a horror novel, you will probably have your brains eaten by ants from a mushroom you ate at a bisexual colony as you did ceramics in the nude with a bartender, and if this is a book for Oprah's Book Club, you'll be tremendously empowered by your experiences and derive from them a new sense of self that leads you to write a book about it. My advice -- stay away from men who tell you their best friends are women, don't sleep with anyone you would not want your parents to meet, don't reveal more of your past than people care to hear, don't be intimate with strangers and don't sing your own songs in front of an audience, sing Irving Berlin's.

Dear Mr. Blue,

Whenever I sit down to write a short story, I find myself gripped with unreasonable fear, anxiety and dread, and I become sweaty, fidgety and nervous. I'm working on autobiographical material. What am I so afraid of?

Two Keys Short of a Typewriter

It's scary to reveal yourself on the page, but, my gosh, this sounds like you're giving birth to a major classic. Wipe off your hands, hang onto the table and write.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I am a screenwriter in Austin who has enjoyed modest success optioning scripts to producers in Hollywood. My agent tells me that if I just moved to L.A., I could make more money and maybe hit the A-list. Problem is, I like Austin, my wife likes Austin, my kids like Austin and I am loath to move to L.A. What is a C-list writer to do?

Anxious in Austin

Dear Anxious, You can easily give the impression that you live in L.A. Keep a phone there, with voice-mail. Fly in for lunch now and then. Make vague references to your problems with the lawn-care company, the Volvo mechanic, the schools in Studio City. Nobody is going to come looking for you. Producers don't want to see you every day; they expect writers to be elusive, leading slightly weird lives. Stay in Austin, but use those L.A. screenwriter terms that they learn in story seminars, like The Quest, The Sword, The Wound, The Arc, The Curtain of Plausibility and so forth. And make sure your hair is a little goofy. Producers need to have their hair be slicker and smoother than yours. And good luck.

Dear Mr. Blue,

I live in a cabin in Northern California in a place where electromagnetic waves fear to tread so we can't get radio or television. I have taken to writing short stories and even a couple of novels. Some people are entertained by what I write and when they say, "I liked your work," it makes me feel like a brand-new balloon. I have only a sixth-grade education and no editor other than my cat, but last month a lovely lady from Brooklyn, New York, stayed next-door for a couple of weeks on her way to Fairbanks and she said my stuff is great and that she would be happy to make me Rich And Famous. She also made a perfect apple crumble. We have e-mailed a few times since, and she says that she is going to have a sad time the rest of the year in Fairbanks. Should I tuck my cat under my arm, borrow some money and go rescue her now or wait until next apple season? I will pretty much respect any advice you care to heave in this direction.

Gene

Dear Gene, Mr. Blue is not totally comfortable with the idea of his advice being respected, but never mind. I suggest that you and your kittycat make a trip and try to cheer up Miss Brooklyn. Snow will soon be falling in Fairbanks, and she is probably living in a tarpaper shack with a barrel heater and could use some of your flash and style. Of course, you should e-mail ahead and let her know that you're on your way. And bring along a big bag of apples. They're expensive in Alaska.

N E X T+P A G E +| Is he turned off by my power tools?