PRAISE FOR K IM A DDONIZIO
Kim Addonizio writes like Lucinda Williams sings, with hard-earned grit and grace about the hearts longing for love and redemption, the kind that can only come in the darkest dark when survival no longer even seems likely.
Andre Dubus III
Like Anne Lamott... Addonizio seems to sense how to pull back from sentimentality, be it with humor, honesty, or clarity of vision.
Los Angeles Times
Addonizio tackles tough subjectsunequipped mothers, the loss of love, mental illnesswith unflinching clarity, lyricism, and humor.
San Francisco Chronicle
Kim Addonizios imagination is like a runaway train under perfect control. Nuanced, shaded, and unshaded, her poems are bold, brave, respectful of the darkness, perfectly pitched, and virtually every one reverberates with a kind of wild tenderness.
Thomas Lux
Kim Addonizios poems are stark mirrors of self-examination, and she looks into them without blinking.
Billy Collins
Searingly beautiful, evocative, and surprising. Kim Addonizio is a master... in the best tradition of Robert Coover and Angela Carter.
Katie Crouch
Wonderful... A streak of dark humor, colored with a tinge of pathos, infuses her best work.
The Oakland Tribune
For all their fleshiness, stiletto stylishness, and rock-and-roll swagger, Addonizios finely crafted and irreverent poems are timeless in their inquiries into love and mortality, rife with mystery and ambivalence, and achingly eloquent in their study of the conflictful union of body and soul.
Booklist
Addonizios honesty and self-knowledge will pierce you to the core.
Carolyn Kizer
ALSO BY KIM ADDONIZIO
FICTION
The Palace of Illusions
My Dreams out in the Street
Little Beauties
In the Box Called Pleasure
POETRY
Mortal Trash
My Black Angel: Blues Poems and Portraits
Jimmy & Rita
Lucifer at the Starlite
What Is This Thing Called Love
Tell Me
The Philosophers Club
NONFICTION
Dorothy Parkers Elbow (edited with Cheryl Dumesnil)
Ordinary Genius
The Poets Companion(with Dorianne Laux)
PENGUIN BOOKS
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Copyright 2016 by Kim Addonizio
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
How to Succeed in Po Biz first appeared in New Letters; Pants on Fire in New Ohio Review; and How I Write in Booth. Plan D was published in Bad Girls: 26 Writers Misbehave, edited by Ellen Sussman (W.W. Norton, 2007); A Word of It (as How I Found Poetry) in Red Thread, Gold Thread: The Poets Voice, edited by Alan Cohen (Ravensun, 2009); and Necrophilia in Dirty Words: A Literary Encyclopedia of Sex, edited by Ellen Sussman (Bloomsbury USA, 2008). How to Succeed in Po Biz later appeared in Pushcart Prize XXXIV, edited by Bill Henderson with the Pushcart Prize Editors (Pushcart Press, 2009).
eBook 9780698408913
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING- IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Addonizio, Kim, 1954- author.
Title: Bukowski in a sundress : confessions from a writing life / Kim Addonizio.
Description: New York : Penguin Books, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015042338 | ISBN 9780143128465 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Addonizio, Kim, 1954- | Women authors, American20th
centuryBiography. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Literary. |
LITERARY COLLECTIONS / Essays. | BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs.
Classification: LCC PS3551.D3997 Z46 2016 | DDC 818/.5403dc23
The people and stories portrayed in this book are all true, however the names and identifying details of some of the characters have been altered in order to protect their privacy.
Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the authors alone.
Version_1
for my tribe
Contents
Plan D
I T WAS THE LAST frenetic night of the big conference, and a few hundred people who werent too old or too hungover had gathered to party down one last time in the hotel ballroom. Under the requisite mirror ball, most of the attendees stood around while a few wild souls gyrated to oldies from the sixties. The DJ kept exhorting the crowd with comments: You cats know how to rock n roll, dont you? All right, everybody, heres a blast from the past! It could have been a conference of urologists or ghost hunters or nanoscientists, but it happened to be a conference of writers, many of whom were overmedicated professors released from their small-town colleges for a few days of intensified drinking, schmoozing, and airing of professional resentments.
I was wandering the ballroom, stoned out of my mind, bothered by a left eye that was watering profusely from an accidental squirt of champagne earlierthe yeast in champagne, apparently, is the irritantand Id had too much scotch besides. The pot and alcohol were courtesy of my friend Jeff, whom I was now looking for. I was at that pleasant, slightly hysterical stage of being moderately fucked up, where the most appealing course of action is to get quickly to the next stage, that of near obliteration.
Once an aspiring professor, Jeff was now the personal assistant to a famous writer; mostly, he interacted with the assistants of other famous writers. When Oprah called, her people talked to Jeff. It was a lucrative gig, so when it came to intoxicants, Jeff could afford the best. I thought of him as my supplier. Every time I walked out of a panel (Strategies for Reaching Underserved Communities in the Creative Writing Classroom) or reading (Tribute to a Newly Dead Writer We Didnt Pay Much Attention to Until Now) or hospitality suite party (Free Booze for Important People and Attractive Female Grad Students), he would be there to catch my eye and say, grinning, Wanna go to my room and get high? No doubt he hoped to get lucky, but all that would happen was wed smoke his hallucinatory pot from his blue metal pipe and drink copiously from the several bottles lined up on his hotel dresser-cum-wet bar and gossip about other writers love lives and who was publishing where, and then we would fall awkwardly silent until I staggered up from one of the matching orange chairs and reeled back out to the next scheduled event.
But now Id lost Jeff, so it was time for Plan B: finding someone in the ballroom I recognized who could buy me a watered-down drink at the cash bar near the dancers. I caught sight of an associate professor named Lori, resplendent in a one-piece skintight tiger suit, but she was busy grinding her pelvis to Louie Louie in the direction of a much younger man. Good for Lori. I took another survey of the dance floor, dropped Plan B, and headed for the hotel bar upstairs. Plan C: find Jeff and get more pot and alcohol. Plan D, if it came to that, was to hit up a stranger at the bar.