December 13, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Dear Lynda: Loveless Triangles and Hopeless Indecision By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? Email us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, What’s the cure for hopeless indecision (from big life decisions to what to do on a Thursday evening to whether you should buy nail polish in that shade of Cabernet)? Possibilities are dizzying—sometimes a little too dizzying. Even when I make pro/con lists, flip coins, and ask fate, I still hesitate and second guess all the decisions I do make. How do I choose and be happy with what I choose? Sincerely, Yes/No/Maybe So Dear YNMS, The tangle is this: it’s not that you are indecisive, it’s that you have strong-willed warring parts of yourself that show up to argue whenever you make a move forward. My guess is that whenever you are about to make a decision, it’s like a sudden fist fight in your head and then a yelling at yourself all the way home in the car after the decision. It’s awful. It would be interesting to see if you can identify these selves, see who wants what. Try pretending you are someone else: a friend, someone you know well who has no problem being decisive in that particular situation. Or—for a wilder experience, just pretend you are an asshole with no doubts about anything. Imitate that posture and facial expression. Fight to sustain the illusion long enough to just give in and order the fucking onion rings. Sincerely, Lynda B. Read More
November 30, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Dear Lynda: Diary Snoops and Ill-Advised Marriages By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? Email us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, I am a bit of a snoop, though I’ve really been trying to be better about it. But lately, my new roommate has taken to leaving her diary in the bathroom. This is just curious behavior anyway. Is she documenting her bladder movements? I need to know! I must resist! Help me. All the very best, Nosy in Nashville Dear Nosy, Get your own diary and make sure it’s about the same size as hers and leave it in the bathroom beside hers. Write in your diary about how badly you want to read her diary but you know you must resist. And how you have resisted. And why you must continue to resist. Do a still-life drawing of her diary in your diary. If her diary is still in the bathroom in a week, write about that. At the end of the year, you may have a book on your hands. Sincerely, Lynda B. Read More
October 12, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Dear Lynda: I Want to Eat My Boyfriend’s Pets By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? Email us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, My boyfriend has been keeping pet shrimp. They’re not terrible pets; they’re low-maintenance and clean their own tank, but honestly they just make me crave seafood. I’ve developed a proclivity for shrimp tempura, shrimp cocktail, fried prawn … and he looks at me like I’m straight up eating puppies. Should I give up shrimp to be a supportive girlfriend? Sincerely, A Crustacean Curmudgeon Dear CC, Well, if it were me, what I’d do is this: I’d get really high and kneel by the shrimp tank with my face really, really close, and on my back I’d wear a sign that said DO NOT INTERRUPT ME, and then I’d watch the shrimp and start to imagine them as musicians, with hats and tiny instruments, like a marching band or an orchestra or, maybe if there are only two or three, as a jazz combo. It depends on how many shrimp there are. And also the weed. If it’s the right weed, and if your heart is open, you will develop the empathy necessary to solve the whole problem for you. But what could also happen is this: you might slowly realize that the shrimp are watching you, too. In fact, they have been watching all along, watching you and listening to your jokey tone, and they know exactly what you are about. And sometimes they imagine you breaded, sometimes you are in a state of sudden tempura, and sometimes you are just curled naked and above the cocktail sauce. And all of them are willing this to be. It is never wise to chew on the animal your mate loves. Sincerely, Lynda B. Read More
September 28, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Dear Lynda: Fickle Secret Admirers and Knowing the Ending By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? Email us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, The other afternoon, I received a text message from a number I didn’t recognize. The sender asked to confirm my address, which I did, and then said there would be a “special delivery” for me, “arriving soon.” It was exciting to think I had a secret admirer, but in the end, nothing came. Since, I’ve tried googling the number, but it’s yielded no results; the area code is from Pittsburgh, and I don’t know anyone from there. Now I’m just curious who it is and what they sent. I feel a little tossed around and it’s making me angry to think I’m being taunted. Should I escalate this anonymous relationship and pressure the sender for answers, or just chalk it up to the many displeasures of the Internet age and let it be? Thanks in advance, Bemused in Brooklyn Dear Bemused, I’m at a loss here, so I’ve consulted a creature my friend Danny Ceballos knows, called the “Bad Advice Dolphin.” Danny read the dolphin your letter and here is the dolphin’s advice: Read More
September 21, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Dear Lynda: Help! Infectious Boredom and Pee-Hoarding Roommates By Lynda Barry Have a question for Lynda Barry? Email us. A self-portrait by Lynda Barry. Dear Lynda, When you get bored, and you’re so bored you don’t even want to do anything to break up the boredom—it’s that creeping, infectious boredom that’s kind of like an anger—how do you avoid drinking too much? Thanks, Tipsy in Texas Dear Tipsy, Boredom has a hard time letting go of the remote control, so the secret is to get your body out of range so it can’t reach you. The remote control that boredom holds is your phone. Leave it behind, and sneak calmly out the back way. Get a ride to a bar that is about ninety-minutes walk from your place then go in, (phoneless!) and order your favorite drink and pound it. Drink it really, really fast. Then have one more really, really fast. Tip your bartender and head out, thinking of a question that you’d love to know the answer to, big or small. As you begin to walk home (possibly getting a little lost along the way as you are buzzed and phoneless) tell yourself that you will encounter three clues to the answer to this question in the next ninety minutes. Read More
September 6, 2017 Ask The Paris Review Postsurgical Reading, and Other Questions By Lorin Stein Have a question for the editors of The Paris Review? Email us. Dear Paris Review, My writing mentor said that if I want to raise my writing to the next level, then I have to learn to write suggestively in addition to writing descriptively. Is this true and where can one learn to write suggestively? Yours, Stuck in the Basement Dear Stuck, Suggestive is good! Suggestive is a plus. Your mentor’s advice has the weight of the entire modernist movement behind it—all the way back to Paul Verlaine’s 1882 verse manifesto “Art poétique,” “Give us more nuance, / Not color, nothing but nuance!” It sounds better in French. And it’s easier said than done. Here is Ernest Hemingway’s advice on how to write a suggestive short story: If you leave out important things or events that you know about, the story is strengthened. If you leave or skip something because you do not know it, the story will be worthless. The test of any story is how very good the stuff is that you, not your editors, omit. A story in this book called Big Two-Hearted River is about a boy coming home beat to the wide from a war … So the war, all mention of the war, anything about the war, is omitted. The river was the Fox River, by Seney, Michigan, not the Big Two-Hearted. The change of name was made purposely, not from ignorance nor carelessness but because Big Two-Hearted River is poetry, and because there were many Indians in the story, just as the war was in the story, and none of the Indians nor the war appeared. As you see, it is very simple and easy to explain. See issue no. 70, Spring 1981 for the rest (including Hemingway’s definition of “beat to the wide,” which I omitted in the spirit of the thing). Read More