The Lightning Room With Gabby Gabby

Gabby Gabby (Tipping, Nov. Issue) shit-talks Phillip Roth for no reason while feeling nervous and bad at counting in a way her parents think is unchristian.

1) When you reread something you’ve just written, what are you looking for?

When I reread something I’ve just written I think the first thing that I try to catch straight away is if the sentences I wrote are objectively coherent. Unless I’m working with a specific memory, when I first sit down to write a story I have a vague idea of what I’m trying to convey through the story but I don’t really have the concrete details laid out or outlined. When I write I usually have a feeling or theme that I want to express and then I gradually try to build the concrete story around it. So, a lot of times I’ll start off with rambling incoherent sentences and then I extract the best bits and then edit those down into coherent sentences. After I have a few sentences that don’t seem shitty to me then I can think about how those sentences will dictate the narrative. That may be why my prose comes across as flat. I usually edit down my sentences to the bare-minimum of what I need them to be. I had an editor over at Spork magazine reject this story before I sent it to [PANK]. Their reasoning was that my prose was flat but not so flat that it was stylized. I don’t think I understood the criticism fully.

I don’t like to write extremely long sentences burdened with adjectives just for the sake of it but nor do I feel much interest in writing in the style that Tao Lin wrote “Richard Yates.” I worried a lot about the readability of “Tipping” especially when it got into the paragraphs explaining the types of love. To me those paragraphs seemed extremely incoherent and like how a person talks when they are standing near or on a cardboard box outside of the metro. I tried to edit those sentences down as much as possible and make the ideas more concise.

I appreciate precise word choices. I think that there is just as much beauty in how Tao Lin chose to use language in “Richard Yates,” very sparse, as there is in something with a higher word per sentence density like a Phillip Roth novel, although, I don’t care very much for Phillip Roth’s prose. But, what was I saying, I think, I was just trying to make a point about preference and choices one can make when writing.

Sometimes, vindictively maybe, I start off with Phillip Roth-esque sentences and then I cut them down until they seem non-pretentious and bearable, to me. I think my fixation on Phillip Roth stems from one of my ex-boyfriends always reading Phillip Roth novels aloud to me- especially the bits with the sex and masturbation. I distinctly remember my ex boyfriend saying, in regard to Roth’s novel Portnoy’s Complaint, “…It is written in stream-of-consciousness self-loathing Jewish-American continuous prose. What is with male writers and their cocks? I’ve never felt the urge to write about jacking off. But it is a perennial fixation for Updike and apparently Phillip Roth.” And so it was like I had two rambling and incoherent men going on, unsolicited, about their penises.
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I Can Has Author Friends?: How the Internet Alters the Reader/Writer Dynamic

During my youth, I was a total comic book addict. I read four issues of Spider-Man every month along with healthy doses of the X-Men and the Dark Horse Star Wars series. But in 1994, when I was just beginning my descent into what would become a lifelong hobby, I dabbled and sampled from all the publishers. I dabbled, that is, until I discovered Kyle Rayner, the third iteration of the Green Lantern.

Let me break it down for you: Kyle Rayner was introduced by hotshot young writer Ron Marz to serve as the replacement for Hal “Highball” Jordan, a no-fear Air Force pilot as straitlaced as my grandfather and almost as old. Kyle was the exact opposite. He was young. He lived in Los Angeles.   He was an artist. He openly professed his love for Nine Inch Nails. And most importantly, he was completely unsure of himself in his new role as superhero. Ron Marz’s Green Lantern is the prototypical coming of age story dressed up in spandex and set against the backdrop of ’90s LA. It’s a series that really mattered to me.

He was kind of like Poochie, but a really badass Poochie who could fly and shoot energy beams.

He was kind of like Poochie, albeit a really badass Poochie who could fly around and shoot energy beams.

Cut to present day. I follow a bunch of comic pros on Twitter, and one of those writers is Ron Marz who still works in the industry penning a bunch of wonderful titles for Top Cow. A few days ago, Ron Marz tweeted about how his son’s JV soccer team was being cut by his school. Marz went to the principal and tried to come up with some answers and reported his findings via Twitter. I replied, curious about how old the kids were, and he answered a few of my questions and for a brief while, we chatted about youth sports. I clicked out of Twitter and went about my day, and it was only later that I thought about how fucking weird everything is.

I just talked to Ron Marz, beloved Green Lantern creator of my youth, about his son’s disbanded JV soccer team. Seriously, folks. Could we even have imagined this back in ’94? I know I couldn’t have. What this all leads to are questions about what’s happening to the relationship between readers and writers in a post-internet age. I certainly don’t have the answers, and I’m curious as to what you all think.

For an example of the type of altered dynamic I’m talking about, look no further than Tao Lin. Many writers have been dubbed “the voice of their generation”, but none before have had open Facebook profiles and such visible online presences. Sign onto Facebook. Look up Lin. He’s there. His profile is almost totally open.   Peep some photos of Lin hanging out on his couch with some buddies. How about a picture of the vegan dinner he prepared for his dog? It’s all there. On Facebook. Forever. And if you’ve never met Tao Lin but you love Richard Yates, it’s just as easy to add yourself to his close to 4,000 friend list and tell him how much you like his work yourself. He usually responds.

Obviously, old guard writers like John Irving or Joyce Carol Oates aren’t much for Facebook. But what’s going to happen in twenty years? How about thirty? What happens when it’s not just Tao Lin and a handful of other writers who completely open up their lives through Facebook, Twitter and blogs, but the entire literary community? What would have happened if Jonathan Franzen had a Facebook account and called out each and every backlash article on his wall?

Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m making way too much out of the whole internet thing, and it’s not that far removed from when readers would send fan letters to writers they admired. But I don’t think so. It feels to me like something’s changing, and to steal a page from the Tao Lin playbook, that what it means to be a “writer” and “reader” is shifting at a fundamental level as well. All I can say for certain is that 16 years ago I did not have the ability to tell Ron Marz how much I loved his Green Lantern run and get a reply within seconds.

Im living in the future so the present is my past.

I'm living in the future so the present is my past.