Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Dean in front of City Hall

This weekend truly was a Wild Violet work weekend for me. Saturday, I spent most of the day putting the finishing touches on the current Spring issue, which you can view online.

Then I got my stuff together for the Literary Voices event being hosted by Philadelphia Stories on Sunday at MilkBoy Coffee in Ardmore.

This involved printing out the piece that one of my readers was going to read, since his printer was experiencing problems, writing an introduction about Wild Violet, printing out a stack of Wild Violet postcards to put on the handout table, and stowing anything I thought I might need, from notebook paper to copies of my poetry chapbook, in my largest handbag.

The end result: we didn't get to bed until 2 a.m., much later than I'd planned.

Sunday morning, The Gryphon and I woke up bright and early, got ready and headed to Center City Philadelphia, where we planned to eat breakfast and then meet up with one of the Wild Violet contributors, humorist, fiction writer and essayist Dean Borok, who was coming in from New York City to participate in the event. (Normally, I use pseudonyms in Musings, but since this was a public event, it makes more sense to use actual names.)

The other Wild Violet reader, poet Erik Kestler, a grad school buddy and one of the first contributors to Wild Violet, would be meeting us later at the coffeehouse with his girlfriend.

The Gryphon and I were supposed to meet Dean at 11th Street at about 10 a.m. when his bus was due, so we grabbed breakfast first at the Down Home Diner in the Terminal Market. We had just placed our orders when I got a cell phone call from Dean, saying that he'd arrived early, as he'd taken an express bus and the journey hadn't taken nearly as long as he'd expected.

We gave him directions, and he joined us in the diner, sipping on a soda while we had our breakfast (he'd eaten before leaving New York). He told us his girlfriend had considered accompanying him but had balked at the early wake-up call and decided to stay home. She had, however, been kind enough to help him lay out travel plans, and he spoke about her so much that day, telling us about her personality, how they'd met and things they'd done together, that she was there in spirit.

When you communicate with people over e-mail, you're never sure what they'll be like in person. Even though I knew Dean lived in New York City, I also knew that he'd lived in many places, so I was somewhat surprised at his pronounced New York accent.

Likewise, he had sent me many submissions over the years, and I'd published him regularly. His work ranges from insightful essays, like the one that appears in the current issue, "La Isla Bonita", to humor pieces that range from silly to raunchy to satirical. So I wasn't sure what he would be like in person, which parts of that personality would be show themselves.

Truly, he was larger than life, with a penchant for making off-the-cuff jokes, most of which would make a TV censor wet his pants. He was dressed with characteristic flair, in a purple striped shirt paired with light olive pants, steel metal tie and cream colored fisherman sandals. When we were outside, he wore a brown fedora and large sunglasses that won him at least one appreciative callout from a guy on a bicycle, who said he wanted the hat!

In some respects, he reminded me of Hunter S. Thompson, a gifted writer with an unapologetic tendency to push the edge in person. He also reminded me a little of my college chum, Attila the Pun, a perpetual jokester who often engages in what I call shotgun humor: where he rattles off joke after joke, hoping that some of them will hit their target. The main difference, of course, was in their style of humor, with Attila preferring silly wordplay and Dean preferring off-color satirical barbs aimed at public figures like Mel Gibson for former New Jersey Governor James McGreevey.

At the same time, as we gave him the whirlwind tour of Center City, Philadelphia, we had some great conversations about art, writing, and other topics. I'd told him to show up early so as to give us plenty of time to deal with eventualities, such as late buses, traffic jams and the like. Since we were ahead of schedule, this gave us plenty of time to do our sightseeing.

In our e-mail correspondence ahead of time, he'd expressed an interest in seeing some of Philadelphia's art, so we showed him some of the best outdoor art within easy walking distance. We walked first past City Hall, where we posed for a picture, him with harmonica in hand (he's good on the harp, as well).

Then we showed him the towering totem-like sculpture by Jacques Lipschitz outside one of the city buildings. From there, we pointed out the big Rauschenberg clothespin. And we posed for pictures again, of course, at Robert Indiana's famous Love sculpture in front of the fountain in the square now nicknamed Love Park by Philadelphians.

From there, we walked up the Benjamin Franklin Parkway all the way to the Rodin Museum. Along the way, he kept commenting on how "cute" Philadelphia was compared to New York City, how beautiful the landscaping was. He was also fascinated by the many types of architecture we passed on our brief walk, saying that it reminded him of the many boroughs of New York, condensed into one.

At the Rodin Museum he was happy to see The Thinker as well as the Gates of Hell, his favorite. He said he loves that sort of art, preferring it over the abstract art of today.

We returned along Chestnut Street and stopped to show him the Lichtenstein sculpture installed just a few weeks ago.

Then we picked up my car at the parking garage and hopped on I-76, taking that to Route 1. Now, it doesn't seem to matter what day or what time, I-76 is always congested in that part of the city, from about the art museum to Route 1. This time, however, it was moving, so even though I kept staring at the clock, I was relieved that we made it to Milkboy Coffee with time to spare. We parked at a nearby municipal lot and walked up to Milkboy Coffee, hoping to snag a table.

Imagine our surprise when we walked into a room full of families, with not an empty table in sight, as a group of small children gathered around a folk singer performing children songs on the stage! So, since we had an hour, we walked down the street to an Irish pub, McCloskey's.for some lunch. I was happy to see that they offered some lighter fare, and I ordered a shrimp wrap, which hit the spot.

By this point, I was having trouble paying attention to the conversation, as I started thinking ahead towards the event, worrying about when Erik would arrive and running the introduction through my head. I prefer to show up early for events, and I'd been counting on grabbing lunch at the coffeehouse, so I wanted to get back there as soon as possible. The pub was a cheerful place, though, with great service and tasty food. On any other day, I would have been happy to hang out there longer.

My nerves were getting to me, and I was beginning to sweat, so I checked my underarms in the mirror, relieved to discover that the pink chemise I'd just bought for the event wasn't showing any signs of moisture. I'll have to remember to wear that next time I do any public speaking!

We returned about 20-25 minutes before the event and a few people were milling around, but nowhere near the audience I expected. So I asked an employee if the Literary Voices was being held there, just to be certain. Sure enough, it was, so we ordered coffees and took a table near the stage.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, the organizers began setting up some tables by the stage for handouts and books. I asked them if I could leave the Wild Violet postcards there, as well as a sign-up sheet for our mailing list. She said that's what the table was for and invited me to put any books for sale up there, too, so I put my own poetry chapbooks up there, as well. Of course, I didn't read of my own poetry that day, which is probably one reason why I didn't make any sales. I did give a copy to each Dean and Erik, as an extra thank-you for their participation.

The event got underway about 15 minutes late, but this didn't produce much of a problem because one of the magazines was a no-show. Each magazine got 15 minutes for the editor to give an introduction and for one or two readers to read their work. I soon discovered that most of the editors were giving only a bare bones introduction about their magazines, so I tinkered with my intro to pare it down to only the essential elements.

Even though there were some good readers in the first hour, I spent most of my time thinking ahead to our portion of the event. Erik had called me from I-95 shortly before the event started, to let me know he was running late, so every time the door opened, I thought it would be him and his girlfriend. They walked in the door shortly before the first break, and I greeted him with a hug. "How you doing, bro? Glad you made it." We pulled up two extra chairs at our table.

He and Dean got a chance to meet and bond a little over cigarettes on the sidewalk, and when the break ended we were the first ones up. I gave an introduction about the history and goals of Wild Violet.

After my brief intro, which seemed well-received, Erik read a few of his poems. I have loved his work since we were in workshops together while MFA candidates and am continually impressed with his growth over the years. I thought he did really well.

Unfortunately, there were some problems with the microphone, which was very directional, and sometimes if he stepped back, it was a little hard to hear him. This was a problem with many of the readers, and I found myself wishing I could adjust the sound, but no one else seemed to be complaining.

Dean read "Designer Wrestling" , which was a humor piece that had run in Wild Violet several years ago. He put a lot of energy into his performance.

He read the piece on my advice, and I was right that it got a great response, with many people laughing along initially and several people laughing consistently throughout. Of course, I had underestimated how long it would take to read, so if I had it to do over, I would have suggested just reading an excerpt.

However, we actually did fairly well for our time slot, only exceeding our time by a couple of minutes. As the event progressed, I learned that those who magazines featuring fiction readers tended to have just one reader, which is something to consider for the future. I admit that most of my experience with readings has been with poetry, so I didn't consider the time requirements for a fiction piece.

One of the poets, Courtney Bambrick, laughed consistently throughout Dean's piece and told me that she used to work in the costuming department for a theater, so she got a lot of the fashion related jokes. She also signed up for our mailing list, which makes me very happy.

I also think that Erik's poetry was well-received, garnering him a lot of applause. I'm always happy to promote his work, because he's one of the most talented poets I know.

Fran Metzman from Wild River Review read an entertaining blog-like piece where she imagined an encounter with Santa Claus in a singles bar.

The program ended with a reading by former Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress Daniel Hoffman (an appointment now called the United States Poet Laureate). His work was astounding: at times playful and funny, at times thoughtful and compelling.

I approached him afterwards and gave him my card, telling him I'd like to interview him for Wild Violet. He told me he'd consider it, so we'll see what happens.

Afterwards, I mingled with the other editors and writers, collecting invitations to submit my own work to their journals and being invited to other events in the Philadelphia area. I'll definitely make an effort to participate in more such activities when the opportunity arises.

When people were starting to drift away, we made firm plans for dinner, at the Adobe Cafe in Manayunk, a place recommended to The Gryphon by a friend of his.

The restaurant was set on a hilly side street of the little suburb, and the outside was painted bright orange. Inside was a refreshing amalgam of Mexican arts and crafts, with painted murals of beach scenes and brightly colored walls. The menu was varied, so I was happy once more. I ordered a vegetarian fajita along with a diet soda.

The conversation at dinner was amusing. Erik tends to be a real student of human nature, and so he seemed to be having a good time asking Dean prodding questions, trying to make sense of his many sides. Near the end of the dinner, Dean serenaded us with a funny song he wrote about a guy obsessed with the movie King Kong, which I kept worrying would trek into off-color terrain but which remained safely in the realm of the silly.

Afterwards, we chatted on the sidewalk a little bit before Erik and his girlfriend took off. This was my first time meeting her, and she seemed exactly his type: smart, funny and easy-going. I told them we'll have to get together sometime just to hang out.

We drove Dean back downtown to catch a bus back and, in an incredible streak of luck, pulled up to the corner just as one was waiting on the street. He thanked us again, grabbed his bag and ran to catch it, a blur of purple and brown.

I was so wound up when we got home that I couldn't sleep. This was partly due to the massive amounts of caffeine I'd consumed that day: two cups at breakfast, the equivalent of about three cups at the coffee house, and a diet soda at dinner. I haven't ingested so much caffeine such last year's Otakon, and it made me jittery, which only accentuated my natural tendency to second-guess myself. The Gryphon was kind and supportive as I went over the day in minute detail, bewailing moments where I felt I should have said something differently, for example.

Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to suggest renting a video, so after watching "Man of the Year", I already was feeling better. We had a very nice conversation about the movie, about pop culture in general, and about a more balanced view of the day. I had to concede that overall it was a success: my two readers got exposure plus a little socialization, and I got to network with area writers and editors.

So while it was a work weekend, it was well worth it.

Copyright 2006 by Alyce Wilson

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