WRITER’S LIFEGUARD

TOM LAZARUS, screenwriter and author of SECRETS OF FILM WRITING, asks, “What’s with the Lifeguard?”

It’s a tribute to my favorite union-organizing song, Miner’s Lifeguard. Here are some of the lyrics:

Miner's life is like a sailor's.

'Board a ship to cross the waves.

Ev'ry day his life's in danger,

Still he ventures being brave.

Watch the rocks, they're falling daily.

Careless miners always fail.

Keep your hand upon the dollar

And your eye upon the scale.

chorus: Union miners stand together,

Heed no operator's tale,

Keep your hand upon the dollar,

And your eye upon the scale.

You've been docked and docked, my boys,

You've been loading two to one;

What have you to show for working

Since this mining has begun?

Overalls and cans for rockers,

In your shanties, sleep on rails.

Keep your hand upon the dollar

And your eye upon the scale.

In conclusion, bear in memory,

Keep the password in your mind:

God provides for every nation

When in union they combine.

Stand like men and linked together,

Victory for you'll prevail,

Keep your hand upon the dollar

And your eye upon the scale.

If you want it reverbing through your brain as it has been through mine since forever, drop 99 cents on iTunes, and you'll be singing it too. And while I still don’t exactly know what “cans for rockers” means, I love the song… and I see parallels between miners’ lives and writers’.

No, we aren't faced with falling rocks, just falling incomes. Like miners in the years before unions, we produce the goods and others profit from them. Who's to blame? Rapacious publishers? Heartless capitalism? Nah. I blame us.

Our poverty is our own fault; with the rare exception of the striking screenwriters, writers rarely have the patience to organize, the solidarity to cooperate or the spine to negotiate. Stagehands are better at getting paid for their labor. So are nurses. So are miners.

Occasionally, writer’s lives and miner’s lives actually do intersect. That photo is of me at the entrance to a lead mine in northern Idaho. Once inside that dark dungeon, I wasn't the least tempted to trade in my iMac for a pick and shovel.

Returning to the world aboveground (in a way) and the subject of ML2, Portnoy’s Complaint, here's a note from Michel Beaudry, of Whistler, British Columbia. Michel’s a ski writer who has spent the past many years trying to build a mountain-dwellers’ community based on shared stories. He writes: “I loved Portnoy. I loved his mid-century angst. But for me, my top three are Camus' The Plague, Kesey's Sometimes A Great Notion and Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow. (Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky comes a very close fourth.) These four writers truly taught me what it meant to tell a story. And they weren't afraid to take risks.”

Write on, brothers and sisters, write on.

— jules

WRITER’S LIFEGUARD

Happy birthday, Alexander Portnoy!

It’s hard to believe, but Portnoy’s Complaint is now 40 years old. That makes its protagonist a ripe old 77. How old’s that make you, mamelah?

Here's something else hard to believe. The book that changed the way an entire generation thought of liver is virtually unknown to today’s 30-somethings. (That’s Alex’s age in the book.)

I first read Portnoy when it came out, when Philip Roth was a young and rising star. That was, uh, some 40 years ago. I next read it just last month. Checked it out of my local library for airplane reading. Lite, whimsical, Mem’ry Lane, airplane reading.

Nononono. On the plane, by the bottom of page 2, I was ready to stand and salute. It is brilliant. Bold. Ballsy. Astonishing. Around page 70, Roth does a three-page riff on what it’s like to be a center fielder. How you walk. How you call for the ball. How you casually pound your mitt. How you make the tough look easy. Halfway through it, I realized that this was exactly what he was doing with writing. Making the impossible look easy and somehow sustaining it for 274 pages. As a writer, I worship at his temple.

Portnoy is, to me, one of the big four: hugely important novels with a huge sexy component. The other three? What’s your pick?

OK, here's mine.

Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Lolita and Fear of Flying. Great stuff. Changed culture. Advanced literature. I wanna re-read them all. If you're tempted, I suggest you, too, start with Portnoy. Roth holds nothing back, goes for the jugular, makes the strings behind what purports to be a stream-of-consciousness rant to a shrink as invisible as a moonless night.

If you were civilians, not writers, I'd add that it’s not for the easily offended. He’s hard on Jews. Christians don’t come off too well either. Blacks and whites don’t exactly shine. There's a lot of sex. And there is that liver…

Enjoy, mamelah. God knows, I did. I worship at his temple.

— jules

WRITER’S LIFEGUARD

FOR SOME TIME NOW, I've been thinking of starting a list for writers. We share so many pleasures and privations, sometimes I just feel like sharing mine and hearing yours.

But “thinking of starting” is a long, long walk from “starting.” Today I'm taking the walk. Why now? It’s thanks to Maine writer Hilary Nangle, who pointed me to this:

            http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=mj5IV23g-fE

It’s a brief film clip from American novelist/short story writer/screenwriter/et al Harlan Ellison. In it, he’s talking clearly and profanely about Paying the Writer. Hilary loved it. I loved it. It moved me to take the walk.

I don’t anticipate that WRITER’S LIFEGUARD will only be about getting paid and protecting rights. It’s not just a writer’s whine. But this sure feels like a good place to start.

Miranda Moment: If you want off this list, just say so. No shame, no pain. If you want to invite somebody on, great... as long as you get their permission first.

That’s it.

In the unlikely event you haven't guessed who’s behind this, yeah, it’s me, Jules Older, in San Francisco.