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Inside the Cover Book Review Review by Jenna Glatzer
A Writer’s San Francisco: A Guided Journey for the Creative Soul By Eric Maisel Drawings by Paul Madonna New World Library September, 2006 Amazon.com price: $13.57 I read the press release on this one a couple of times because I couldn’t believe that such a niche book had made it to print with a national press. A guide to San Francisco specifically for writers? Turns out to be the second in a planned series, the first of which is A Writer’s Paris. The release made it sound like a pretty typical travel guide-- “The book consists of thirty individual essays that profile some of the city’s most inspiring writing locations while offering tried and true tips and strategies designed to inspire writers to write.” But the press release was truly misleading. I flipped through the book, not actually expecting to read it today (truth be told, I’m not all that interested in learning about a place I have no intention of visiting anytime soon), but because I wanted to take a peek at the drawings. So I opened the book randomly to page 33, where the first line of the chapter read, “For a year I dated a schizophrenic poet-- let’s call her Carol.” This is a travel guide?! This essay was about a woman who hallucinated roses and poked strangers in the midriff and ended up institutionalized for some time, but who also wrote and recited poetry when she was “sane.” And at one reading, a woman came up to her and said, “You are a real poet.” It’s the validation every writer craves, and it’s the theme of this essay. Sure, the setting is San Francisco, but this is no “You must see this fine little café with the lovely murals” guide. Having been drawn in by this essay, I flipped back to the first page and began reading. It’s even more of a niche book than I imagined. It’s written for nonreligious Democrat novelists who consider themselves “artists” and love San Francisco. I am precisely none of these things. It’s as if the writer has either not considered the possibility that anyone else might read this book, or has considered it and is purposely punishing them for doing so. Referring to Buddhists, he writes, “If even they can see the virtue of certain attachments, shouldn’t we?” and I want to say, “How do you know Buddhists are all ‘they’ and not ‘we’?” He writes about Republican rhetoric and how the Jews bring “smarts and culture” to San Francisco (while the Italians bring… fish). Considering how far out of his target market I am, I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed this book. But I did. I enjoyed it despite wanting to toss mackerel at his kneecaps a few times for these remarks. I enjoyed it partly because of that, maybe. What really matters, above all else, is that he’s writing about the lives of writers. And even if I roll my eyes at the idea of “artistes” in coffee houses, we’re going to have a lot in common. The experience of walking into a bookstore and finding out someone else has already written the book you were planning to write, for instance. Trying to write even through tragedy and pressures. Missing a fabulous writing opportunity because you were in the wrong place at the right time. Blowing your first public speaking engagement in support of your book. Having conversations about the meanings of words like “haberdashery.” Much of the book is like the schizophrenic poet story-- San Francisco is a minor player, sometimes mentioned only in one line in the chapter to describe where the writer is when he’s thinking these thoughts. In other stories, it’s a key element. There are brilliant sentences and paragraphs here, things you’ll wish you wrote. There are experiences you’ll “get” even if you’ve never had them. At a party, an accountant blathered on about how he was going to sell his novel by pledging to throw lots of money into advertising it, and that he pitied novelists who thought they could make it on the merits of their work. Maisel writes, “I remembered a move from karate, the one where you drive the palm of your hand through your adversary’s nose, pushing his nose bone into his skull. How fortunate for this accountant that I had my hands full with wine and cheese.” This is part of the brotherhood and sisterhood of writers. The part that believes, regardless of what we write and where we live and what demographic boxes we check on subscription forms, that the merits of our work are still important. That those who try to belittle the craft should have their noses rearranged. That writing matters. Jenna Glatzer is the editor in chief of www.AbsoluteWrite.com and the author of 16 books. Her latest book for writers is The Street-Smart Writer: Self-Defense Against Sharks and Scams in the Writing World. Visit her at www.jennaglatzer.com.
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