Thank you for also being our photoblog.

(And for your changes of address. As we unload boxes and match book-to-you, we’ll make sure we get everyone’s current info before anything goes out in the mail. You can message us w/ updates and clarifications and we’ll let you know if we need to know more.)

No sleep ‘til,

x
mgg

ps: the white splotches are not jism, just a little privacy screen re: me.

diana-vilibert:

Coming & Crying SNEAK PREVIEW, guys!

(Thanks, A!)

Amazing.

Here is how the first conversation went.

Me: Hey you guys.

Mom: Hey.

Dad: Hey.

Me: I got asked to be in an anthology!

Them: What! That’s great news!

Me: Yes! It’s an anthology about the human experience!

Mom: Wow…that’s so exciting.

Dad: Really? What about the human experience?

Me: Some of the parts of the human experience that you and I don’t often chat about!

Them: [dead silence]

Me: It’s a non-fiction sex anthology! Now don’t say anything yet.

Dad: That sounds cool!

Me: Wait, excuse me.

Mom: Can we have a copy? What are you going to write about? Oh, this is just great!

Me: Now I know you probably have concerns…

Dad: Wow, a book!

Me: Dad. It’s a sex book. Mom. Hello. Non-fiction sexy-time book writing. Now before you protest, let me —

Mom: Oh, stop that. Who cares.

Dad: Don’t be a prude. You’re not writing for your parents. Chill out.

Me: Well, it’s called Coming & Crying.

Mom: That’s funny!

Dad: L-O-L!

Me: Okay, this went better than I thought. I’m going to go tell Peter.

Mom: Yeah, sure!

Dad: [to my mom] It’s like she thought we’d be uncomfortable. I mean, we read her blog. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.

Mom: Ha ha ha.

[they laugh at me as I hang up, confused]

This is how the second conversation went:

Me: I have some good news, and I have some complicated news!

Peter: Ooh, good news!

Me: I’m writing for an anthology!

Peter: That’s great! What about?

Me: Oh, just some non-fiction, nothing fictional at all. Just about, you know…well, it’s called Coming & Crying.

Peter: You’re not going to write about me, are you?

Me: No, I felt like that would be a little too weird.

Peter: You’re not writing about someone else, are you?

Me: Strictly speaking no, not anybody in particular.

Peter: What’s the complicated news?

Me: That was the complicated news.

Peter: Oh. Can I get a copy?

Me: Why aren’t you squirming uncomfortably?

Peter: Why should I squirm?

Me: I just want to make sure that you understand that the “coming” refers to —

Peter: Tess.

Me: Okay. So you know that when they say “coming” — I’m just saying this so I make sure you understand that what I’ll be writing about is —

Peter: Tess. Why are you being such a prude?

Me: So it’s perfectly fine for me to write about this.

Peter: You can write whatever you want!

Me: [really?] Oh, right, yeah, of course I can.

This is how the third conversation went:

Me: Hi Pam.

Pam: Hi.

Me: Good to see you here for a dinner of salad.

Pam: Let’s have some wine!

Me: You might want a lot of wine.

Pam: Why?

Me: Because…(bracing myself, talking fast) so like okay so I’m writing for this book and I didn’t ask your permission first so I changed your name, don’t worry about me having changed your name, which I did, but — let’s order wine.

Pam: You can’t start something like that and then make me wait for wine.

Me: Or can I? [we wait in silence for the wine. I wait as Pam drinks, pausing after each sip to let me talk except I won’t until the glass is empty and another has been poured] Okay?

Pam: That was a lot of wine.

Me: You’re in a story in a sex anthology and there’s nothing you can do about it because I sent it already.

Pam: Oh, sweet!

Me: Pam, don’t freak. Look. We were really young and nobody will know it was you. Except Lucy, if she reads it, she’ll know it’s you.

Pam: I don’t talk to Lucy anymore, she weirds me out.

Me: Great, then only you and I will know. And I have like a hundred friends named Pam so there’s some ambiguity. But let me buy you dinner. I feel horrible. I should have asked you first.

Pam: Oh, shut up, who cares. Can I get a copy of the book?

Me: Here’s what I did: I tried to keep you in mind as a reader. I tried to set boundaries. But I kind of ended up saying “fuck the boundaries.” I’m infinitely sorry. Maybe I can buy you a cashmere throw or something. God, I’m sorry.

Pam: What’s the matter with you? What’s the book called?

Me: Coming & Crying. 

Pam: Ha! That’s a great name!

Me: Forgive me Pam!

Pam: You’re coming off as strangely prudish. I don’t get you.

Me: I’m only prudish in retrospect.

I’m really excited for this book. It’s the first time I’ve been in a book. It’s the first time I’ve written non-fiction about sex. I’m glad my first was with two ladies I really trust.

(via tesslynch)

tylercoates:

I’m looking over the edits and comments from Meaghan and Melissa on my Coming & Crying story, and this a great way to start the week:

ha, I love a good Zima motif.

I’m glad that is such a UNIVERSAL SENTIMENT.

A quick bit of housekeeping:

- You keep writing us asking to pledge! This is ridiculously generous. Please know that we want to do this again, and it looks like you do, too? Meaghan and I are putting our (spinning) heads together on how to do this. One option worth revealing a little bit of now — if everyone who has told us they’ll get a story in by deadline actually does, we will have more stories than we could print in one book.

- Some textual snapshots of our party: Sasha Frere-Jones is not on Tumblr, Nic Rad posits that James Franco IS America, Chelsea Summers rocks a mean faux fur, two Katie West fans who met on an anti-XKCD (!) IRC channel met IRL for the first time in front of all of us, even in near pitch dark I sort of show up in Nikola’s Fauxlaroids, Halle Kiefer offered to stand in front of the first venue and usher folks on but we refused because we needed her HERE (hey-yo), Stephen Elliott came out in a puffy jacket and told a story about nosebleeds and also book tours, and I went home with Meaghan’s phone so when I checked into Foursquare this morning I Foursquared myself, and when Meaghan emailed to make a date to get the phone back she forwarded an email from one of our backers who told Dave Eggers about the book a few days ago, and god I should get back to work, and at this rate, Hendricks gin should be a project sponsor, too.

- Some of you seeking us out left voicemail for us on our secret party line, which I haven’t even listened to. But I have mp3s of them and I sort of want to post them. Speak now if that’s a terrible idea, you.

Nikola Tamindzic is a photographer based in New York’s Lower East Side, who is also responsible for the cover of Coming & Crying. I first saw his photos on Gawker & Jezebel, and then darting across Tumblr in rapid reblogs. Though we’ve shared common friends and company (literally, we’ve covered a few parties together for Gawker), how we originally connected was when I modeled for him, a few days after arriving in New York myself.

I’ve already gone a bit into how we began collaborating on Coming & Crying before we knew that’s quite what we were engaged in. For the sake of this public interview, I wanted to ask him more about how he approaches sex in his work, especially in his portraits, because I wished I had the same license myself in my writing — of having the object before you, even if she looks like a person, understood by one’s audience as a model, as a character, even if it’s you. Or in this case, me.

After a twilight discussion in a little bar in the East Village (on shattering champagne saucers, and why it’s possibly ridiculous that my iPhone is what I chose to record this interview on), we got to talk around all of that for about two hours. Here’s the first 12 minutes.

MGG: You said that you don’t really shoot sex, and I agree.

NT: No, I haven’t. I have done that a couple of times, but I didn’t find it terribly interesting. It’s a photographic truth — the whole “Blow Up” thing? The photographer riding the model and like getting good photos? No. You aren’t going to get anything.

MGG: If you’re an actor in it. But you’ve shot couples.

NT: Even with that, I feel like, perhaps I get the most natural results by posing the fuck out of everything, rather than the other way around, when people are really going at it —

MGG: They’re not necessarily present.

NT: That’s just my experience, I didn’t find that — I thought the experience was an end in itself — rather than the photos.

MGG: But watching people having sex, when your job isn’t necessarily to be involved?

NT: Yes, plus, I kill erections — like (*snap*) —

MGG: You kill erections?

NT: Well. Another guy in the room will kill your erection in no time if he’s not involved in any way.

MGG: When I’ve shot people having sex, that was as a pornographer. I had a different set of expectations going in. The couple that I shot was crazy in love, but that wasn’t what was supposed to get on the camera. I wanted it, but I know that only a fraction of my audience in that context would care about anything like that.

NT: But it’s not the kind of process that I’m interested anymore. I think there’s too much process and not enough result. And I may be terribly old-fashioned, by preferring the outcome to the process — like, we all are full of amazing stories about how great the shoot was, and how this interaction was so great, and blah blah blah blah blah, and all we have are three shitty photos to show for it. I don’t really care for that kind of thing. I would like something to be memorable.

So the question is, why do you do this?

MGG: Why do you want to shoot sex?

NT: Why would you want to? Not for your own titillation, because it’s the obvious thing. You can get over that. You want to see if that’s all you’re interested in. You are naturally curious about what lies behind it.

But I feel what lies behind it is what you and I made. What I did in that month with some other people as well — and you’ve seen the other photos so you know where that was going.

What is sex about? It’s about abandon. It’s about something falling out of you — or, into you. Which is why there was — I don’t know how quite to put it, but that slight glistening of water, implying something being born. Your photos were able to go both ways — you were not quite sure if something is being born, or is giving birth.

MGG: Now I can see that, especially in the second one that you posted, that was so hard —

NT: The second one specifically has that thing. Which is why I cared about it. It’s mysterious to me. It’s confusing to me. It was not — it wasn’t even a sexual situation, but I responded to it in that way, because something was happening that was in you.

MGG: And not anything really planned. And that’s the thing which almost makes it more true to sex, rather than going in and saying, we’re going to position you this way, and then turn you this way, and then we’re going to get this…

NT: Yes. It is finding something that would be true to the essence of it, while still going back to the aesthetic that I want to work with. I like sex shot in a blurry, messy way — natural light, maybe black and white — because I think that’s how we experience it. It is a blur. But that’s not what I’m looking for. I might be interested in doing that in 20 years, or two years. But now, I’m interested in this.

That’s more or less it. We’re delirious (this is Melissa) and still listening to George Michael and Patti Smith and other artists with two names that you might like so come into this chatroom and have a dance party with us. In just words.

http://tinychat.com/comingandcrying

edited to add: “No dicks.” (meaghan)

There isn’t much time left to our fundraising, although there is still lots of book left to make and always more coming and crying to do, right everybody? Ha!

My chest is tight; I’m thanking people and answering questions and it’s all becoming very real suddenly. I’ve said that a lot but I guess with any big project, the reality hits us in waves.

This week has been a big week for us in lots of ways, not the least of which is that we’ve gotten almost all of the stories now. Each one is a little revelation unto itself, and I am so BOWLED OVER and in awe of each of them. They are all almost too much. Once we put them together in a book— this thing will hit you like a punch in the gut. And a hug! A punch and a hug (not that I advocate that).

It’s an amazing thing, this Kickstarter deal. My friend Emily was just saying how, Wow, we completely sidestepped so many things in publishing, that we didn’t wait for anyone to give us permission, to knight us as Authors or Editors or Publishers or any of that. Which is true, there is no Man or Middle Man or any of that.

But our permission— which isn’t really permission at all, but support, and encouragement; our very ability to do this, all comes from you guys.

And that is really cool.

I’m flying back to New York (this is mgg) and Meaghan and I just made this spreadsheet, like the ones we’ve got all the C&C contributions sorted in, that one day we realized we could use to chat in (I think we were giving each other a hard time about the fact that we were chatting in both gchat, which is bad enough, and a spreadsheet).

And for the next three hours or so, while I’m still airborne, we’re going to hang on this spreadsheet (insofar as one can) and write with you, our backers.

We made a prompt to make it easier:

“What thought — that you can put into words — crossed your mind the last time you came, or cried, or both? (Don’t tell us which it was.)”

You can answer completely anonymously. And if you choose a name we can call you (which can be the anonymous number Google assigns you) we can talk to you over on the chat window.

If you want to tell folks to join us, they can give us a buck and do so. (Hi, new backers.)

One rule: Like the book, and the spirit of the book, you can be as ridiculous or awkward as you want, as long as you are honest.

We know that we’d like to share this document outside this backers-only circle after we’re done with it tonight — possibly at our secret-ish post-project get together in New York this week. (Which a $1 pledge will also get you an invite to. Because we kind of want “people everywhere who have sex and have feelings” to take part in this.)

Here’s to the final 24 — !

Matthew Gallaway lives in Washington Heights with his three internet famous cats, Dante, Zephyr, and Elektra, his partner, Stephen, and the George Washington Bridge. Melissa and I have fallen in love with the bits of his life he shares with us on Tumblr, but lucky for us, and the world, he has written a novel, called The Metropolis Case, which will be published by Crown in 2011. Even luckier for us, he agreed to contribute to Coming and Crying, with a story that made me cry in a coffee shop. I can’t wait for everyone to read it.

We emailed yesterday about the book, scratching on the surface of sex and storytelling and what it all means:

Q: So I have heard you, or read you, say that the world would be a better place if everyone who was behooved to write a book wrote one. What are some of the benefits, do you think, to sitting with yourself and sort of daring to do that? What did you learn— or what does writing do for you, on an individual level, on a capital-S Self level?

A: For me, I think the major benefit of writing — to put in psychoanalytical terms (I’m a big Jungian!) — is that it offers the opportunity to connect with and interpret one’s ‘unconscious,’ to have greater insight into why we act the way we do (because let’s face it: it’s often a mystery, particularly when we’re young!), with the hope that by doing so, we become more ‘human’ and perhaps even more rational, i.e., less reactive. Of course I’m not saying that to write a book is the ONLY way to do this, but I think it would be very difficult on some level to write one (or at least a novel) without some understanding of who we are at a very fundamental level, which can also be important in terms of developing a sense of empathy both for ourselves and others. In my case, I grew up as something of a bookworm and always had urges to write — I kept diaries and notebooks and things — but it was not until I ‘came out’ (to give one obvious example) that I developed the patience to write anything cohesive, to really tell stories, so to speak, and I think that’s probably because I was better able to decipher my own, if that makes sense. So when I talk about the world being a better place if more people wrote books, it refers to the idea that if more of us could afford the luxury (and unfortunately, it often is a luxury, given the demands — often painful — of daily life) of introspection and creation, I think it would lead to a more rational and considerate society.

Q: Now, we found each other on Tumblr. I started following you a few months ago and the little bits from your life you share almost always put me in a better mood. I think it’s very real, the way inviting people into our lives like that can affect us. So what about community? with this book, the community aspect is pretty vital. I know that reading my friends writing, or someone i admire, when they open up, helps me feel okay about doing the same. With all of the internet feedback, you can literally be encouraged to share when you wouldn’t otherwise. (and clearly this goes both ways). Does it help you, reading other people’s writing online (and off), to open up, too?

A: I should start by saying that ‘community’ is one of my least favorite words, because I think it’s too often used to pigeonhole people into groups in which they may not belong, or only on the most superficial or stereotypical level, e.g., I almost always cringe when I hear someone say ‘the gay community believes that ____’ or the ‘international community is upset that ____.’ That said, I understand what you’re saying and I would probably frame it terms of empathy or — to use the terminology of the literary critic/philosopher Richard Rorty, who is one of my heroes — ‘solidarity.’ To read others’ words and stories, I think, is one of the best ways we can not only develop our own language, but also to understand why we should recognize the fundamental humanity of another person or group of people; in Rorty’s view, the novel has been one of the great means by which our society has learned both to empathize with those who in the past would have been considered ‘outsiders’ (or even less than human) for whatever reason (gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity the most obvious), but also to understand humanity’s capacity for cruelty to one another (Nabokov and Orwell are two examples of this kind of writer). So in short, yes, I think reading (and respecting) the work of others (whether it’s a novel or an essay or a lolcat tumblr post) is absolutely essential in terms of ‘opening’ myself up to the viewpoint of others, and perhaps — as a second step — to incorporate their story/vocabulary into my own. (Rorty classifies those of us who are always searching for language like this as ‘ironists.’)

Q: A lot of our philosophy re: the book is grounded in the belief that storytelling eradicates shame and fosters compassion (to risk sounding utterly newnice), and that we dare each other on, so to speak, support each other, so that things have historically been not-so-easy to talk about, don’t hold so much discursive power, and can be seen more as they are— tough, wonderful, funny, sweet, scared— etc. have you felt that way? does that inform any of your writing?

A: OMG I think I just answered that, but yes — compassion is absolutely an element in all of this. I think this ‘newnice’ debate is interesting, and I happen to hate the term ‘nice’ because of course it’s rooted in a naivete or ignorance; I would rather think of it as the new-don’t-be-an-asshole movement, because I think such terminology is less likely to provoke people in the way ‘nice’ does (i.e., just to be labeled ‘nice’ makes me want to be an asshole on some level?) Now, I’m not a believer in any kind of fundamental ‘truth’ — at least in the German Romantic sense of the term (although I have been tempted many times, because I love Schopenhauer) — but I do believe that we as a society are capable of being less cruel, and part of this is rooted in the kind of compassion that I think you’re referring to, a sense of encouraging ALL people to tell their stories and to feel secure in doing so. This has been the fundamental arc of western civilization, I think — unless you want to be completely pessimistic about it, which is DEPRESSING — but we still have a long way to go. With regard to my own writing, I think that this has been a major theme, with the most obvious example presenting myself (or some of my characters) as non-heterosexuals, but with a thought to get beneath it to their fundamental humanity,  a capacity to love or hate or grieve or whatever else it is that makes us human. I personally believe that this view of compassion will eventually extend to other species as well, whether this means cats or trees or whatever else will ensure a more ‘balanced’ and ‘humane’ way of life going forward. (I think I probably just WAY out ‘newniced’ you, lol, but I can be a bit of a sentimental hippie at times!)

Q: What do you think about writing about sex? you do it in your novel, right? have any philosophy about it or The State of Sex in Literature?

A: Writing about sex is difficult for me personally, but I’ve gotten better at it and I absolutely believe that it’s important in terms of developing a sense of compassion or empathy for those who don’t share our inclinations. One of my own goals in writing about sex is not to ‘turn on’ anyone in an erotic sense (that’s what porn is for) but to basically demonstrate to readers that the character is fundamentally human and that their desires, as such, should not be mocked any more or less than anyone else’s. I think this is really where literary craft can play an essential role, because a good writer can pull this off with great passion or humor or whatever else, so that (again) we as readers lose sight of the fact that it’s a gay/straight/man/woman/whatever and is just a person, like the reader. In terms of the State of Sex in literature, it’s difficult for me to separate the question from the State of Gay Literature, which I think with a few exceptions is frankly abysmal in the modern era. I don’t believe that the ‘gay voice’ has been adequately recognized as a component of the post-war American literary canon, and needs to be taught in the same way that the works of ethic minorities and women are (although there remain great strides to be taken here as well, obv); what’s particularly ironic about this state of affairs is that so many of the early titans of the form (Melville, Proust, Henry James, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, to name a few) were all non-heterosexuals, and this tradition was largely eradicated in the post-war era and frankly has yet to recover (Alan Hollinghurst, Michael Cunningham, Jeanette Winterson, Andrew Holleran, Edmund White and other post-war heroes of mine notwithstanding). But I don’t want to be TOO NEGATIVE because I myself wrote a novel with several gay characters at its core (oh, and cats!) and it was sold to a major publishing house, and not once did anyone say: ‘oh, you’d better turn down the gay, ok?’ One of the reasons I wanted to contribute to your project is that you — like many younger folks in my experience, which gives me hope! — are clearly looking for the ‘human’ dimension in all of this, and are NOT getting hung up on straight/gay/etc. So thanks again for asking me to participate — I’m honored that you asked and look forward to reading everyone else who submitted! (And of course the reactions of those who are generous enough to read.)