Archives for September 13, 2004

Last week I wrote:

Anyone who writes a serious book with the expectation of making a lot of money and/or becoming famous is a fool. If you can’t afford to write a book in your spare time for its own sake, you’re in the wrong business.

To which a reader with a good memory promptly replied:

Your comments today on the book business seem right on. But wasn’t it one of your heroes who said “Only a blockhead writes for anything but money”? I confess I don’t know the context of that remark, but always found it amusing. I would be curious to see your response to the good doc in your blog.

Far be it from me to differ with Samuel Johnson, so I won’t. I’ll simply supply the context of this famous saying, which comes from Boswell’s Life of Johnson:

When I expressed an earnest wish for his remarks on Italy, he said,
“I do not see that I could make a book upon Italy; yet I should be
glad to get two hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds, by such a
work.” This shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the
Continent was not wholly out of his contemplation, and that he
uniformly adhered to that strange opinion, which his indolent
disposition made him utter: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.” Numerous instances to refute this will occur to
all who are versed in the history of literature.

Since Dr. Johnson is always right, I can but yield to his greater wisdom. The only defense I can offer is that I didn’t say “money,” I said “a lot of money.” But that’s pretty lame, right? Right.

Never let it be said that I’m unwilling to publicly admit to having been caught blogging with my pajama pants down!

Last week I wrote:

Anyone who writes a serious book with the expectation of making a lot of money and/or becoming famous is a fool. If you can’t afford to write a book in your spare time for its own sake, you’re in the wrong business.

To which a reader with a good memory promptly replied:

Your comments today on the book business seem right on. But wasn’t it one of your heroes who said “Only a blockhead writes for anything but money”? I confess I don’t know the context of that remark, but always found it amusing. I would be curious to see your response to the good doc in your blog.

Far be it from me to differ with Samuel Johnson, so I won’t. I’ll simply supply the context of this famous saying, which comes from Boswell’s Life of Johnson:

When I expressed an earnest wish for his remarks on Italy, he said,
“I do not see that I could make a book upon Italy; yet I should be
glad to get two hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds, by such a
work.” This shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the
Continent was not wholly out of his contemplation, and that he
uniformly adhered to that strange opinion, which his indolent
disposition made him utter: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.” Numerous instances to refute this will occur to
all who are versed in the history of literature.

Since Dr. Johnson is always right, I can but yield to his greater wisdom. The only defense I can offer is that I didn’t say “money,” I said “a lot of money.” But that’s pretty lame, right? Right.

Never let it be said that I’m unwilling to publicly admit to having been caught blogging with my pajama pants down!

Last week I wrote:

Anyone who writes a serious book with the expectation of making a lot of money and/or becoming famous is a fool. If you can’t afford to write a book in your spare time for its own sake, you’re in the wrong business.

To which a reader with a good memory promptly replied:

Your comments today on the book business seem right on. But wasn’t it one of your heroes who said “Only a blockhead writes for anything but money”? I confess I don’t know the context of that remark, but always found it amusing. I would be curious to see your response to the good doc in your blog.

Far be it from me to differ with Samuel Johnson, so I won’t. I’ll simply supply the context of this famous saying, which comes from Boswell’s Life of Johnson:

When I expressed an earnest wish for his remarks on Italy, he said,
“I do not see that I could make a book upon Italy; yet I should be
glad to get two hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds, by such a
work.” This shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the
Continent was not wholly out of his contemplation, and that he
uniformly adhered to that strange opinion, which his indolent
disposition made him utter: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.” Numerous instances to refute this will occur to
all who are versed in the history of literature.

Since Dr. Johnson is always right, I can but yield to his greater wisdom. The only defense I can offer is that I didn’t say “money,” I said “a lot of money.” But that’s pretty lame, right? Right.

Never let it be said that I’m unwilling to publicly admit to having been caught blogging with my pajama pants down!

Last week I wrote:

Anyone who writes a serious book with the expectation of making a lot of money and/or becoming famous is a fool. If you can’t afford to write a book in your spare time for its own sake, you’re in the wrong business.

To which a reader with a good memory promptly replied:

Your comments today on the book business seem right on. But wasn’t it one of your heroes who said “Only a blockhead writes for anything but money”? I confess I don’t know the context of that remark, but always found it amusing. I would be curious to see your response to the good doc in your blog.

Far be it from me to differ with Samuel Johnson, so I won’t. I’ll simply supply the context of this famous saying, which comes from Boswell’s Life of Johnson:

When I expressed an earnest wish for his remarks on Italy, he said,
“I do not see that I could make a book upon Italy; yet I should be
glad to get two hundred pounds, or five hundred pounds, by such a
work.” This shewed both that a journal of his Tour upon the
Continent was not wholly out of his contemplation, and that he
uniformly adhered to that strange opinion, which his indolent
disposition made him utter: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote,
except for money.” Numerous instances to refute this will occur to
all who are versed in the history of literature.

Since Dr. Johnson is always right, I can but yield to his greater wisdom. The only defense I can offer is that I didn’t say “money,” I said “a lot of money.” But that’s pretty lame, right? Right.

Never let it be said that I’m unwilling to publicly admit to having been caught blogging with my pajama pants down!

I went through today’s snail mail and found an envelope from Harcourt that contained the dust jacket for All in the Dances: A Brief Life of George Balanchine–the real thing, not a photocopy. It’s even more handsome than I imagined.

As I ogled the finished product, it hit me that I’d forgotten to ask the managing editor in charge of All in the Dances how the photo insert ended up. (That’s how distracted I was by my vacation!) As you may recall, we were having permission problems with one image, a photo of Balanchine at the piano taken by Walker Evans, and Harcourt asked me to come up with a Plan B in case Plan A fell through at 11:59:59. It was a tricky assignment: I had to find a picture that would fit into the same space, both physically and chronologically, and if at all possible it had to be out of copyright. I went on the Web and quickly located a terrific photo of Igor Stravinsky and Serge Diaghilev, and within a day or two Harcourt reported back that it was in the public domain. I breathed a sigh of relief, went off on vacation…and forgot all about it.

I just shot an e-mail off to the Harcourt back office in San Diego, which wrote back immediately to tell me that they’d had to go with Plan B. That was fine with me (I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me in the first place to include a photo of Diaghilev). And that’s really, truly the end of the story. All in the Dances went to the printer while I was on vacation. We’ll be getting back the first copies at the end of September, and it’ll be shipped out to bookstores shortly thereafter.

Order your copy today!

P.S. Harcourt just informed me that the bound galleys have gone out to reviewers. Eeeeee….

I just got this e-mail from a friend who was downtown on 9/11 three years ago, and wanted to share it with you.

* * *

Mourning is tricky business–very tender and private, at least for me. I knew I wanted to do something on Saturday, but didn’t know what, until this post on the Gawker blog caught my eye:

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Floating Lanterns Ceremony, Hudson River

A traditional floating lanterns ceremony commemorating the victims of the WTC
tragedy will take place on Saturday, September 11th at Pier 40 (South Side) at W.
Houston and West, starting at 7:30 PM. Buddhist priest T.K. Nakagaki will lead
the ceremony with assistance in the water from the New York Kayak Company.

Each year people in Japan gather to float lanterns in remembrance of the victims
of the atomic bombings and all victims of war….The ancient custom of “Floating Lighted Lanterns” in the waterways is a symbolic way of respecting the lives that have gone before us. Also, it can represent a light of hope for peace and harmony that we send out over the waters of transmigration. As we pay respect to the lives which were lost at the World Trade Center, we offer the light of hope for a peaceful world in which no one else
will suffer.

Somehow, that sounded right–something quiet that involved music and prayer, although I’m not a Buddhist by any stretch of the imagination and the combination of lanterns and kayaks struck me as kind of weird. I called a friend, who was game, and together we went down at dusk.

“Follow the smell of pot,” I kidded. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But the turnout was a surprising mix of folk, and as the ceremony and chanting was not in English, I felt as comforted as if I were at High Mass, hearing Latin plainsong. I also didn’t realize that Pier 40 was within spitting distance of the site of the WTC, and so we had a perfect view as the Lights came on. It was a very moving sight. One could see sparkles of light within the beams ascending to the stars, just like one sees dust reflected from a flashlight. Made me very weepy, although I can’t tell you why.

We must have been there for two hours. The night was crystal clear and the ceremony was one of the coolest things I’ve ever witnessed.