Hi, CNFers, nonfictionistas, verifiably true people, re-upping the brilliant Jericho Brown (@jerichobrown) for your listening pleasure.
As I said in the original intro, and as I re-say in this intro, this entire episode is like an hour-long pull quote. It’s so money, baby.
Since this episode originally aired on April 19, 2019, Jericho won the Pultizer Prize for his poetry collection The Tradition, which is what we talked about in this conversation.
Lana Hall (@curiouslana on … ugh … X) is here! What’s the occasion? She wrote a killer essay for Hazlitt called “We Are All Animals at Night” that riffs on her time working in Toronto’s massage parlor industry juxtaposed against her time at a corporate gig, a quote-unquote good job.
But it’s got levels, man, levels. What I took from it was the honor among people working the night, be it sex workers, cab drivers, or the person behind the counter at 7-Eleven. It’s a wonderful piece and Lana is a brilliant writer.
But that’s fine! How many people go back through hundreds of conversations and find a gem? My guess is very little, so this is a great chance to showcase some older pods … now out in paperback (haha).
Hidden Valley Road was recommended not only by Oprah, but also Barrack Obama
His features have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, New York Magazine, Wired, and Oprah Magazine, among others.
His latest is “Dead Reckoning” for The Atavist Magazine, and it chronicles the greatest peacetime nautical disaster in U.S. history. It deals with skepticism over technology, honor, fathers and sons, hubris, and many other juicy themes.
It’s always nice when you can have a guest back on the show. We have many repeat offenders here at CNF Pod HQ. Because a writing career is so damn fluid, and a podcast conversation is just a snapshot in time, having a writer back on the show is a chance to talk about that glacial evolution.
And so Pete Croatto (@petecroatto) is back after nearly three years (it’s his third trip to the show) following the publication of his wonderful book From Hang Time to Prime Time. It’s a book about the birth of the modern NBA. It’s a must have for the basketball fan in your life. Is there anything better than unwrapping a hard-cover book on a gift-receiving holiday?
Pete is in the in-between stages. He is/was conflicted about what writing his first meant. Did it mean he would be invited to write the next one? No. Would it be some career-defining apotheosis? Hell, no. Rather, the book merely exists on the continuum on his career as a freelance writer of great sports journalism, but also think pieces on the media, and stuff for trade magazines and copy editing. Gone are the days where you can solely freelance longform journalism and have enough money to … let’s just say live.
So this was a great conversation about that post-book (specifically post-first-book time) and what that means. We talk about the book or various pieces being keys to open doors for ourselves, but also people arriving behind us. The book as business card, and the frustratingly slow nature of gradual improvement and mastery.
I really think you’ll dig it.
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It’s that Atavistian time of the month and we’ve got a two-for-one, BOGO!, with Lucy Sexton, a documentary filmmaker, and Joe Sexton, a lifelong newspaperman and father to Lucy.
Lucy was working on a doc about the Iran hostage crisis when her father was taken hostage while reporting in Libya. What came out of it was “Held Together,” edited by Seyward Darby.
What’s all the more compelling is the dual authorship, not in the traditional co-bylined affairs that are uniform in nature with two names atop the story. This is two distinctly tuned instruments playing together in harmony.
Usually after you have a discussion with your book editor, you have a clearer sense of what you’re doing. Energy. Gusto. I spoke with my editor on June 28. As you can tell, I haven’t written a word since. In fact, I’ve been sad. Like, I-can’t-face-the-day sad.
POV. POV. POV. POV. POV.
What’s my point of view in this biography? My whole concept — my instinct —was to just tell a good story with newer details from a longer lens. That’s not enough. Biographers must imbue the story with something that makes it wholly unique, looking askance at the central figure, even casting judgement. “As the biographer, you have your finger on the scale,” my very astute and downright brilliant editor told me.
I never knew creative block until this moment. I cannot crack this code of how to frame the book in a way that feels fresh and relevant. My interviews are falling flat because I’m running out of things to talk about. I don’t know how to bring fresh juice to these conversations. I thought building up certain “tent pole” moments would be exciting and great but … I don’t think so anymore.
I had a set of instincts going into this project and they’ve been cut off at the knees. And, at this writing, I have 8.5 to complete the reporting, the research, and the writing. As I wrote that sentence, my stomach dropped into my shoes.
Why am I writing this? What value-add is this for you? I can’t say there is any except a great lyric from Metallica’s “King Nothing”:
Careful what you wish, You might regret it Careful what you wish, You just might get it
I have a pal who has told me just to explain it now and write it later. My interpretation is to merely get things down on paper and worry about the sheen later, worry about the connective tissue later. Don’t worry so much about meaning but write the islands. Write out of chronological order.
Ultimately, this the Pressfieldian “Resistance” surfacing from the subterranean bowels of the lizard brain.
A mantra of sorts has helped me: Slow and steady. Deliberate focus.
I think of my office as my big batter’s eye. In my peripheral vision, when I’m sitting at my desk, from left to right and all the way in front of me, I like blank walls. And then I’ll put all of my research behind me. It’s kind of a crazy thing. I have stacks and stacks of research that I can’t see unless I turn around and grab it. That fools me into the fact that I there’s like tabula rasa, there’s a blank slate in front of me and all my research is behind me. And that’s when I can really do my writing.
She had the piece coming out. She wanted to talk about it. I was like, sure, sounds good. Here we are.
In this episode we chat about her lack of a 3 a.m. (or 3 p.m.) voice, the valorization of over-reporting, efficient interviewing, and suspiciously golden turmeric.
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