California Dreaming

Dear friends,

You know when someone sends you an email, and you intend to reply but get distracted by other things, and then a week goes by and you start to feel more anxious about it, but you reassure yourself that you'll just write them an EXTRA long and super interesting email and it'll balance out... but then another week passes, then another, then a month, then two months, then three months, then six months, and now you're just too embarrassed, it's gotten to the point where you have to either write your friend a personalized novel or just never talk to them again? That's pretty similar to my relationship with my newsletter. All of this lengthy preamble is to explain why it's been over a year since I've sent one of these along.

I'll catch you up on the good stuff quickly. In May 2021, I headed out on a cross country drive with my daughter, Mathilda. (The rest of the family, including our three dogs, had already flown to LA, where we'd be living until August.)

On the first day of the trip, Mathilda and I zipped down to Virginia in my cherry red Prius—a vehicle that announces to state troopers, "I'm a liberal, please give me a speeding ticket." We stayed overnight in Richmond with my friends Joseph and JS; I got to sleep in their pony-themed guest room which was as adorable as it sounds, though I secretly hope that one day they redecorate it as a Panio-themed guest room.

We set out the next morning with the goal of reaching Nashville by nightfall, a 615 mile drive. As any parent of teenagers knows, they're not a chatty bunch, so I'd prepared some podcasts and audiobooks to listen to. However I kept spacing out, especially with the audiobooks. Finally I put on Raymond Chandler’s The High Window and that one held my interest, although I did giggle whenever the narrator said “the man with the pork pie hat.” 

We made it to Nashville, checked into the hotel, and then went downtown to sightsee. Broadway and "the gulch” were packed with people, which was a little disorienting as we'd just come from a still pretty locked-down New York. There were party buses and party vans everywhere, karaoke parlors blasting Bon Jovi next to pizza by the slice windows. Mathilda and I rented bird scooters and zipped around the city. We went into an empty parking lot and rode around in circles like the speedy little introverts that we are, then ditched the birds for burritos. 

A lot of funny stuff happened on the trip but this is already getting pretty long so I'll save some anecdotes for another time (there's a great one about Little Rock). I'll end the travelogue with a picture of us while hiking in the Grand Canyon — a bee had just landed on me, thus the alarmed expression on M's face.   

Reading List

Since I'm in LA, I thought I'd feature a couple great new books by California-based writers...

1. Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell

A fascinating and wildly perceptive look at how cultish groups—from Jonestown and Scientology to SoulCycle and social media gurus—use language as the ultimate form of persuasion and power. Once you read this, you'll start asking yourself, "Wait, was THAT a cult? Was I IN A CULT?" Yep, you probably were.

2. Always Crashing in the Same Car: On Art, Crisis, and Los Angeles, California by Matthew Specktor

Brokenness, failure, collapse... these are tough subjects to make enticing, especially these days when, post-pandemic(ish) we all just want to run around outside and forget about anything distressing. But Specktor's memoir/cultural history/wolf howl of a book about struggling in LA is so deeply personal, honest, and articulate, that I kept getting drawn back into it. And in the end, there's a persistent thread of optimism running through it that's well-earned and more reassuring for it.

Thanks for reading! See you next time…

-Panio

Four Years Later

Four years ago—on March 13, 2016, to be exact—I started working on a new novel. Here are a few of the things I expected to happen:

a) The narrative would borrow heavily from events in my life, including the story of my parents, who came to America from Greece in the 1960s. 

b) The book would include tragic events, like brain trauma and suicide, and yet not be overwhelmingly grim or depressing, with humor and joy to balance things out.

c) I wouldn't talk about the book publicly until I'd finished a shareable draft, which would probably take me about three years.

As of today, only the first prediction turned out to be true; the second one is up for debate; and the third one is being violated by this very newsletter! While I did finish a 500-page first draft last July, just a few months beyond the three-year mark, it was far from shareable. I'd always shrugged off Anne Lamott's advice to write a quick shitty first draft as undesirable, but it turns out that the alternative—a slow, shitty first draft—is even less desirable.

And so I've spent the past seven months rewriting the novel whenever possible (my morning train commute to work, late at night, on weekends), only to discover that second drafts also take a long time. I'm still not done!   

Why am I talking about it when the book is still a work-in-progress? Mostly because a lot of you are writers, too, and writing can be a slow, discouraging pursuit. Just as it's comforting to me when other parents tell me stories about their children acting badly, it reassures me to hear that other writers struggle, and I imagine you're no different.

Margaret Mitchell famously took 10 years to write Gone With the Wind, and Alistair MacLeod spent 13 years on his first (and only) novel, No Great Mischief. So for all of you who break out in hives every time you see the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) hashtag, rest assured, you are not alone. 

What's New?

Every now and then I take a break from my big fat Greek novel to write something shorter: an essay, poem, story... whatever format inspires me. It feels good to start something different, to switch tone of voice, play with new characters or themes, not to mention the pleasure of completing something new, and the excitement of sharing it with readers.

In this vein, a couple weeks ago, I wrote a super short comedy piece for The Weekly Humorist. If you haven't seen it yet and would like to check it out, click below:

We’re Updating Our Privacy Policy to Allow Us to Watch You in the Shower

Reading List

1. You're Not Listening: What You're Missing and Why It Matters by Kate Murphy

One of our official selections for the winter season of the Next Big Idea Club, this book is really well done. The problem may seem familiar—everyone is talking, no one is listening—but Murphy's examination of the dismal phenomenon, and what to do about it, is nuanced and hopeful. 
 
2. "Bunches of a Nest" by Diane Mehta

My friend Diane Mehta just had her poem published in The New Yorker, and it is stunning. From the first line—"What I started opposes what I shattered."—you know you're not getting away easy. 

3. Poetry Unbound (Podcast)

If you prefer your poetry read aloud, then this podcast is for you. Hosted by Pádraig Ó Tuama, whose mellifluous Irish accent makes my wife fan herself, each ten-minute episode is a thoughtful, immersive exploration of a single poem. It's like giving your soul a bath. 

4. How to Be an Artist by Jerry Saltz

A tiny book with lots of insights, and loaded with creative prompts. Much of it is more applicable for visual artists than writers, but the essential message of find joying in your work applies to everyone. 

Thanks for joining me. Have a great spring!

See you next time,
Panio

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