On Writing: By the Grace of Gilmore
Valerie Witte
the first thing. since
departing. or arrival, depending on how you look at it. regardless, a
demarcation of time and space. a border crossed, mountains, a region traversed.
i escaped the drought and waded into rain. i belonged to a community; now, an
outsider, an interloper, coming for jobs, and land.
This is the first
thing.
the first I've written
since. necessary losses. pure surfaces. hard
cider. fritter away, the quiet of a fog machine. humming. other people’s phrases. a hoping-for-survival guide.
I remember watching “Gilmore Girls” in my parents’ basement the autumn
after I graduated from college, in that period of uncertainty when you are
launched after 16 years of schooling into “the real world,” with little idea of
where you will land. I remember after moving to San Francisco two-and-a-half
years later, missing an episode and frantically retrieving a videotape from a
stranger on Craigslist—the small crisis that missing your favorite TV show once
was. I remember taking a photo of my TV screen during the final scene and
sending it to the man with whom I used to watch the show in St. Louis. At the
time, I considered the conclusion of the series the end of a chapter of my
life.
Now, eight years after
ending, it’s resurfaced . . . in the form of a podcast (yes, the show itself is
also returning,
but that’s another discussion). As I prepared to move to Oregon, I listened to
the entertaining, meandering conversations of the Gilmore Guys—one
a self-proclaimed superfan, the other watching the show for the first time.
They made up recurring segments seemingly on the fly, such as the “Fashion
Report” and “Pop Goes the Culture”—and ended each episode by singing the theme
song, “Where You Lead,” by Carole King.
if not for. voices I would listen to. what matter if something
“happened.” if characters spoke like “real” people. because a tv show is a warm
blanket, a podcast a conduit. for comfort.
Their episodes often
stretched to three hours in length, and I listened to each one—whether a
Gilmore Gab, a Gilmail discussion, or a standard episode analysis. As I packed
and cleaned out our apartment, I listened. As we drove up the coast, as we
slept on the floor of our new apartment before our furniture arrived, I
listened. For months, as we settled in, I listened. I wrapped myself up in
their clever observations of human nature, as it related to the show, as well
as their thoughtful critiques of plotlines and character motivations. I
acquainted myself with their parade of special guests (of course I came to have
my favorites). And, all the while, I was reassured by the charm, warmth, and
wit of my favorite TV show, an endlessly loyal friend whose consistency and
steadfastness had taken me from the cusp of adolescence to adulthood, from the
Midwest to the West Coast. I listened while I made dinner, while I walked
through the park, as I went to sleep at night.
all I’ve done is.
follow. oil trains. moths to flame. civil
coping. ecliptic as cuneiform. a sun’s path, radical. acceptance mechanisms. the
comfort of collecting. plastic car parts. forgotten glaciers.
I often do my most
satisfying writing under difficult circumstances; I feel better about feeling
bad when I can make something meaningful out of the shit that does, indeed,
happen. But in this case, I was overwhelmed . . . from the stress of moving and
adjusting to our new space (where we were greeted by snow on our first night—a
rude awakening to reality for this Californian), and three weeks later, being
laid off from the job that I’d planned to keep in Portland.
threadbare. unraveled. skin and all.
shed or. shredding, yet. i continue to
inhabit my own body. break. down breweries. breakside. balanced body rollers.
blueberry bourbon basil. i want to pain. away sideways pdx.
During this time, the
closest I came to writing was . . . whenever I was out and I came across
something interesting or potentially helpful in constructing my new life, I
would “write it down” in my Notes app. Hence, my iPhone held a collection of
poetry presses, installation titles, athleisure items, job board sites, local
poets, local bars, local breweries, local donuts, local reading series, album
names, and self-help books. This was the only “writing” I was doing.
expelled, disfigured or. the body
imperfect. to be tied, like a knot. avoided or voided, periodically neglected.
i have never felt this pain before. the delicacy of a spine. a massage to
eliminate. is pressing better or letting. the energy of negation, of trying
not. to hurt. what hinges you or what you hinge on. consideration of a core.
Three days after I was
laid off, my boyfriend and I went to see the Gilmore Guys perform at a local
theater. I had mentioned the live show to him weeks earlier, and, to my
surprise, he wanted to go. He said he wanted to know what I had been
experiencing these many months. We dutifully watched the episode to be
discussed, Episode 608, “Let Me Hear Your
Balalaikas Ringing Out”; and we arrived to find
a long line at the door. The place was packed, the crowd enthusiastic, a group
of Jess Mariano enthusiasts (with matching “Team Jess” T-shirts) seated in
front of us. What followed were nearly three hours of sheer exuberance and
hilarity, featuring the Gilmore Guys singing the classic, “Let’s Talk About
Jess,” in honor of the character’s momentous return to the show; and a stealth
cameo by Lane Kim herself (ie., Keiko Agena). My boyfriend lamented that he
wished he were a little more like the Gilmore Guys. It was the most joy
I had felt in a very long time.
Although in theory, I
had more “free time” than at any other point in my adulthood since that summer
before “Gilmore Girls” first aired, looking for a job is not exactly conducive
to freeing the creative mind, requiring as it does the seemingly endless
drudgery of resume revision, awkward email-networking, job board scanning,
webinar viewing, unemployment-benefit-process deciphering, and the steady
stream of application submitting—all undergirded by the sinking suspicion that
you will never hear back from anyone. To search for a job is to be caught in an
infinite web of opportunities and requirements, hung against a backdrop of
near-unbearable silence.
that no one wants you here. of all
places. to reinvent yourself as good as any.
filter. 24x7. the first thing i've written. women’s
building. unit souzou.
Thus, I could not
bring myself to think critically, or creatively, about anything. Thinking in
this way required a certain kind of energy—an ability to examine my
circumstances, an openness to play and experimentation, and a willingness to
expend mental energy on the abstract act that is writing. This was an energy
that I didn’t have. Instead, I mostly performed lazy, passive activities or
tasks tied more to survival than anything else: organizing, exercising,
cooking, watching TV, reading the news, and especially, listening to a whole
lot of Gilmore Guys.
to plumb the west. poetry press week
seems much shorter than its name implies. karma living wall. from the spare
room board. hanging. stitched or the switch. title 9 stand by.
Every now and then
Kevin, Demi, and Guest actually talked about the show: Lauren Graham’s
brilliant face acting. The strangely high number of Mussolini references. The fact that whether Lorelai is
putting tater tots, meatballs, or chicken nuggets on top of a frozen pizza,
there is no way the thing would cook evenly. The reluctance to label oneself as
Team Dean, Team Jess, or
Team Logan.
More often they
discussed topics only tangentially related to the show: What would your doggy swami fortune be
if Paul Anka told it? Kevin, did you cry?
But most of the time
they talked about things that bore merely a spiritual connection to the show,
at best. What would a Carole Kings of Leon mashup be like? (This was followed,
of course, by the creation of one by Demi.) What are the best comedy film
sequels? What’s the most thoughtful date you have ever planned? What if you die
erect and they can’t close the casket?
what we search for. if it doesn’t.
where i am from or for. what matter. california poppy. oregon grape. celery
space.
Recently, I went to a
local vintage store, where an artist who had published a new set of tarot cards
was doing mini, single-card readings. I selected a card from the pile: the
Fool. Although at first this seemed a bit concerning, her face lit up at my
choice, as she said, are you starting a new project? I said, yes, my life.
Well, I just moved here, I explained. Which she seemed to think was so apt—and
I agreed. She framed her interpretation of the card very positively: Each time
you start over, you have more to draw from, she explained. This seemed
encouraging. This seemed like something I could write about.
Apparently, the Fool is a card of potential, new beginnings,
and innocence. The card represents the onset of creativity and a desire to work
toward new goals. The Fool asks you to take a “leap of faith” and to trust in
the Universe that you will find success in your new endeavors. This Fool does
not seem to mind if he does not really know what lies ahead.
“The Fool is an
excellent Tarot card to meditate on if you are experiencing a lot of fear in
your life.”
i’m beginning to feel like myself
again. haywire. skewed. try medicating. the question of soreness versus injury.
to relief but. exquisite deformation.
After months of listening, I’ve finally
caught up to the podcast in real time (they’re on episode 181 as I write this).
So now, every Monday and Wednesday, I have to wait for the next one to drop—and
they’re in the final season, Season 7. I’m not looking forward to the end of
the podcast. But I’m looking forward to writing again.
the first thing i write down names,
inelegant threads. what’s an alien hunter. rice museum. what to put into. sharp
relief. kurt vulgar. or vile. miswriting the song. i walk on a pretty. jagged
edge. wasted. disintegrated. apart at the seams.
i’d birthmark. fall from, frayed. like
a blouse.
2016
Valerie Witte is a writer and
editor in Portland, OR. She is the author of the book, a game of correspondence (Black Radish
Books), and her poetry has appeared in many print and online publications. To
see more of her work, check out her website, valeriewitte.com.
