My exhaustion is beyond catastrophic.
Nonetheless, I said I was going to go to the Little Engines offsite. And I should at least say hi to some people.
It’s weird to not be beholden to do anything but still hold yourself to do it. Like writing even when you’re not getting paid for it. And who does that?
Google Maps is having a conniption, taking me on 110, off 110, up Broadway, only to get back on 110, somehow wind up on 405, through a vortex, then magically I’m in Glendale.
As I enter Nico’s Bottle Shop someone is exiting. Inside, a young man in an oversized green knit sweater says nothing but lifts his right eyebrow until I say, “Hi.”
“You here for the event?”
There’s no one else in the room except me and the sweater guy. It might be the fatigue but I have this weird feeling he’s about to initiate me into an orgy. I watch TV, I know LA.
I say, “The reading?”
“You’re lucky,” he says. “We’re at capacity but one guy just left.”
Another good omen. I’m racking these up this weekend.
“Is it outside?”
“No, no. Downstairs.”
I descend into the dungeon with my watered down Yuzu espresso tonic (they ran out of tonic water so they had to use still water, but it’s fine). I’m immediately regretting bringing my messenger bag and film camera.
With each step I bump into people so I flick through my rolodex of apologies for taking up space, “Sorry.”, “My bad.”, “Whoops.”, “Excuse me.”, “Just gonna scoot right through here.”
I can’t tell if some of the people are making eyes at me for seduction or disdain for bumping them with my bag, but with the entire room being entirely red light, I’m 100% sure this an orgy.
Deep down I had a feeling this is all alt-lit was. Just a bunch of nerds horny for books. And after the books, just plain old horny.
I had this idea that I’d go say hi to writers I knew but haven’t met officially, some I’ve interviewed for Gemini Sessions. And yes, I did fly all the way across the country, I may as well introduce myself, but it’s 9:30 AM in the goddamn morning and we’re essentially in a basement incubator and I seriously think someone at any moment is going to get on a loudspeaker and tell us that the dark lord’s presence is nigh, and to let the fucking commence.
I hook toward the bathroom for safety and I find there’s a secret nook that leads to an even tinier offshoot of the basement level where there are five or six rows of chairs facing a microphone. And for whatever reason, everyone is standing around talking and not taking these seats. I find one in the back left corner where I can do one of my favorite past times: lurk.
I won’t go into the event, but everyone who read was great. A super nice guy dropped next to me and introduced himself as Sheldon, and said he was from Winnipeg. I may as well get to know him before the orgy starts.
If the seats are all taken the reading is also observable through a fishbowl type glass wall where Aaron Burch looks on longingly. This is also probably the place where the Glendale Elite adorn their diamond-encrusted animal skull headdresses and watch the plebians fuck.
Afterwards I told Sheldon I’d catch him later. And I left Nico’s before any orgy started and from what I understand, no orgy occurred after I left. Further, I’d like to say that if there was a literary orgy that was going to happen, I’m pretty sure that’s gonna be a no for me. But I’ll watch. And I think that the basement level of Nico’s Bottle Shop is a great venue for it.
*
I park in the LA Live west garage because it’s only $10 for the first two hours. I get an americano then enter the AWP bookfair.
After avoiding contact from all the MFA programs peddling their wears, I stop at the Cincinnati Review and ask someone named Lily if she has any tips on what to do at AWP. She listed these three rules:
- Don’t go to any AWP on-site events unless you know the person speaking.
- Go to all the offsites you can.
- Don’t stay in the bookfair longer than 2 hours.
After doing a complete zig-zag through all of the tables I go up the escalators, lean my head into one of the conference rooms, then go back to the escalators. As I’m descending I see Sheldon. We chat some more, and I realize he’s Sheldon Birnie, author of Where The Pavement Turns To Sand by Malarkey Books.
I planned to go to two offsites this evening. Then I was asked to go to dinner by someone. I rearranged my night to get dinner and go to only one of the offsites, apologizing to the people who were at the offsite that I promised I’d go to. Dinner plans got cancelled, I could have gone to both and now I feel like an asshole.
There’s always a guy who specialized in things. At every bar, theatre, dive, and bottle shop, I find myself wondering who is the curtain guy in LA?
The color of the curtain of the Silverlake Lounge is honey.
Following the namesake of the offsite, which is shared by two presses (House of Vlad/Rejection Letters), the reading displayed a night of collaboration. Pop! being the third collaborative work between Tex Gresham and KKUURRTT was sampled. And the night was capped with the first and only reading of a novel written by D.T. Robbins, Aaron Burch, and Kevin Maloney called Kettle Bell Friends Forever—The Greatest Book Ever Written: The Garage Lit Bible. Satirizing autofiction (which I’m pretty sure means fiction), in a story about three friends who try to fulfill the dying wishes of their friend and author Kyle Seibel after he is tragically killed. His dying wish you ask? To have his ashes turned into a 32 kg kettlebell.
One thing that stuck out on day one of AWP was how easily this community connects. For example, when the reading was over I went to introduce myself to D.T., when I said my name, he hugged me. We have never met, only exchanged emails and DMs. But we read each other’s work and that is a base layer of camaraderie that becomes friendship on sight that can only be found at the offsites.
P.S.
As I was leaving The Silverlake Lounge, I hugged Kyle Seibel and his mustache tickled my neck. I have run the numbers and can confirm that my muscle mass has increased by 18%.
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