Seven Tips From William Faulkner on How to Write Fiction

faulkner-UVA

“The young writer would be a fool to fol­low a the­o­ry,” said the Nobel Prize-win­ning author William Faulkn­er in his 1958 Paris Review inter­view. “Teach your­self by your own mis­takes; peo­ple learn only by error. The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice.”

All the same, Faulkn­er offered plen­ty of advice to young writ­ers in 1957 and 1958, when he was a writer-in-res­i­dence at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia. His var­i­ous lec­tures and pub­lic talks dur­ing that time–some 28 hours of discussion–were tape record­ed and can now be heard at the uni­ver­si­ty’s Faulkn­er audio archive. We combed through the tran­scripts and select­ed sev­en inter­est­ing quo­ta­tions from Faulkn­er on the craft of writ­ing fic­tion. In most cas­es they were points Faulkn­er returned to again and again. Faulkn­er had a way of stam­mer­ing when he com­posed his words out loud, so we have edit­ed out the rep­e­ti­tions and false starts. We have pro­vid­ed links to each of the Vir­ginia audio record­ings, which are accom­pa­nied by word-for-word tran­scripts of each con­ver­sa­tion.

1: Take what you need from oth­er writ­ers.

Faulkn­er had no qualms about bor­row­ing from oth­er writ­ers when he saw a device or tech­nique that was use­ful. In a Feb­ru­ary 25, 1957 writ­ing class he says:

I think the writer, as I’ve said before, is com­plete­ly amoral. He takes what­ev­er he needs, wher­ev­er he needs, and he does that open­ly and hon­est­ly because he him­self hopes that what he does will be good enough so that after him peo­ple will take from him, and they are wel­come to take from him, as he feels that he would be wel­come by the best of his pre­de­ces­sors to take what they had done.

2: Don’t wor­ry about style.

A gen­uine writer–one “dri­ven by demons,” to use Faulkn­er’s phrase–is too busy writ­ing to wor­ry about style, he said. In an April 24, 1958 under­grad­u­ate writ­ing class, Faulkn­er says:

I think the sto­ry com­pels its own style to a great extent, that the writer don’t need to both­er too much about style. If he’s both­er­ing about style, then he’s going to write pre­cious emptiness–not nec­es­sar­i­ly nonsense…it’ll be quite beau­ti­ful and quite pleas­ing to the ear, but there won’t be much con­tent in it.

3:  Write from experience–but keep a very broad def­i­n­i­tion of “expe­ri­ence.”

Faulkn­er agreed with the old adage about writ­ing from your own expe­ri­ence, but only because he thought it was impos­si­ble to do oth­er­wise. He had a remark­ably inclu­sive con­cept of “expe­ri­ence.” In a Feb­ru­ary 21, 1958 grad­u­ate class in Amer­i­can fic­tion, Faulkn­er says:

To me, expe­ri­ence is any­thing you have per­ceived. It can come from books, a book that–a sto­ry that–is true enough and alive enough to move you. That, in my opin­ion, is one of your expe­ri­ences. You need not do the actions that the peo­ple in that book do, but if they strike you as being true, that they are things that peo­ple would do, that you can under­stand the feel­ing behind them that made them do that, then that’s an expe­ri­ence to me. And so, in my def­i­n­i­tion of expe­ri­ence, it’s impos­si­ble to write any­thing that is not an expe­ri­ence, because every­thing you have read, have heard, have sensed, have imag­ined is part of expe­ri­ence.

 4: Know your char­ac­ters well and the sto­ry will write itself.

When you have a clear con­cep­tion of a char­ac­ter, said Faulkn­er, events in a sto­ry should flow nat­u­ral­ly accord­ing to the char­ac­ter’s inner neces­si­ty. “With me,” he said, “the char­ac­ter does the work.” In the same Feb­ru­ary 21, 1958 Amer­i­can fic­tion class as above, a stu­dent asked Faulkn­er whether it was more dif­fi­cult to get a char­ac­ter in his mind, or to get the char­ac­ter down on paper once he had him in his mind. Faulkn­er replies:

I would say to get the char­ac­ter in your mind. Once he is in your mind, and he is right, and he’s true, then he does the work him­self. All you need to do then is to trot along behind him and put down what he does and what he says. It’s the inges­tion and then the ges­ta­tion. You’ve got to know the char­ac­ter. You’ve got to believe in him. You’ve got to feel that he is alive, and then, of course, you will have to do a cer­tain amount of pick­ing and choos­ing among the pos­si­bil­i­ties of his action, so that his actions fit the char­ac­ter which you believe in. After that, the busi­ness of putting him down on paper is mechan­i­cal.

5: Use dialect spar­ing­ly.

In a pair of local radio pro­grams includ­ed in the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia audio archive, Faulkn­er has some inter­est­ing things to say about the nuances of the var­i­ous dialects spo­ken by the var­i­ous eth­nic and social groups in Mis­sis­sip­pi. But in the May 6, 1958 broad­cast of “What’s the Good Word?” Faulkn­er cau­tions that it’s impor­tant for a writer not to get car­ried away:

I think it best to use as lit­tle dialect as pos­si­ble because it con­fus­es peo­ple who are not famil­iar with it. That nobody should let the char­ac­ter speak com­plete­ly in his own ver­nac­u­lar. It’s best indi­cat­ed by a few sim­ple, sparse but rec­og­niz­able touch­es.

6: Don’t exhaust your imag­i­na­tion.

“Nev­er write your­self to the end of a chap­ter or the end of a thought,” said Faulkn­er. The advice, giv­en more than once dur­ing his Vir­ginia talks, is vir­tu­al­ly iden­ti­cal to some­thing Ernest Hem­ing­way often said. (See tip num­ber two in “Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion.”) In the Feb­ru­ary 25, 1957 writ­ing class, Faulkn­er says:

The only rule I have is to quit while it’s still hot. Nev­er write your­self out. Always quit when it’s going good. Then it’s eas­i­er to take it up again. If you exhaust your­self, then you’ll get into a dead spell and you’ll have trou­ble with it.

7: Don’t make excus­es.

In the same Feb­ru­ary 25, 1957 writ­ing class, Faulkn­er has some blunt words for the frus­trat­ed writer who blames his cir­cum­stances:

I have no patience, I don’t hold with the mute inglo­ri­ous Mil­tons. I think if he’s demon-dri­ven with some­thing to be said, then he’s going to write it. He can blame the fact that he’s not turn­ing out work on lots of things. I’ve heard peo­ple say, “Well, if I were not mar­ried and had chil­dren, I would be a writer.” I’ve heard peo­ple say, “If I could just stop doing this, I would be a writer.” I don’t believe that. I think if you’re going to write you’re going to write, and noth­ing will stop you.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Sev­en Tips From F. Scott Fizger­ald on How to Write Fic­tion

Download the Universe: A Discerning Curator for Science eBooks

download the universe

We all need guides for the over­whelm­ing world of the Inter­net. Dig­i­tal cura­tors are essen­tial to sift­ing through the vast and expand­ing sup­ply of online con­tent because they find the good stuff that’s worth check­ing out.

When Down­load the Uni­verse launched a year ago, the dig­i­tal world gained a smart and dis­cern­ing cura­tor for the grow­ing num­ber of sci­ence ebooks. What a boon for sci­ence lovers. Sci­ence lends itself unique­ly to apps and ebook pub­lish­ing. And doing what dig­i­tal pub­lish­ing does best, a good ebook can bring con­tent to life like no paper­back or hard­cov­er can.

fragile earth

Take Harp­er Collins’ Frag­ile Earth ($2.99 on iTunes), which came out orig­i­nal­ly as a glossy cof­fee table book. Loaded with before and after pho­tos of places on the plan­et scarred by defor­esta­tion and cli­mate change, the book was visu­al­ly stun­ning, if pedan­tic. But when released as an ebook, the whole expe­ri­ence unfold­ed like a beau­ti­ful, heart­break­ing origa­mi.

As Down­load the Uni­verse’s review of the Frag­ile Earth ebook  points out, the app ver­sion ben­e­fits from dig­i­tal tech­nol­o­gy, lay­ing before and after satel­lite images over one anoth­er, rather than side by side, mak­ing the expe­ri­ence of see­ing them  even more pro­found.

color uncovered

Here’s anoth­er one: Col­or Uncov­ered (free on iTunes), pro­duced by San Francisco’s Explorato­ri­um Muse­um, is a rich expe­ri­ence like a muse­um exhib­it itself. Com­bin­ing text with images and inter­ac­tive fea­tures, the ebook explores how the eye per­ceives col­or. The review­er, New York Times con­trib­u­tor Carl Zim­mer, uses his review to dis­cuss what the ebook expe­ri­ence shares with muse­um exhibits.

In the hands of Down­load the Uni­verse, it appears that ebook pub­lish­ing has matured into its own genre, with its own dis­tinct advan­tages.

blindsight

Some­times ebook pub­lish­ers don’t make good use of avail­able fea­tures. This review of Blind­sight by jour­nal­ist Chris Col­in notes that the book’s app ver­sion, telling the sto­ry of a tele­vi­sion direc­tor who suf­fers a brain injury, should have includ­ed neu­ro­log­i­cal back­ground infor­ma­tion in the main sto­ry, not as a sep­a­rate fea­ture.

Down­load the Uni­verse only reviews ebooks in the dig­i­tal uni­verse, not spin-offs from tra­di­tion­al print books. They look at Kin­dle prod­ucts, self-pub­lished pdf man­u­scripts and apps, and they’ve got top-notch tal­ent review­ing this brave new world on our behalf. The edi­to­r­i­al board includes some names you may well rec­og­nize, like Sean Car­roll (Cal­tech physi­cist), Steve Sil­ber­man (Wired), Mag­gie Koerth-Bak­er (Boing Boing), Annalee Newitz (io9), and David Dobbs (NYTimes, Nat Geo, etc.).

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil deGrasse Tyson Lists 8 (Free) Books Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read

NASA Presents “The Earth as Art” in a Free eBook and Free iPad App

375 Free eBooks: Down­load to Kin­dle, iPad/iPhone & Nook 

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Read more of her work at .

E.E. Cummings Recites ‘Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town,’ 1953

Here’s a great read­ing by E.E. Cum­mings of his famous and wide­ly anthol­o­gized poem, “any­one lived in a pret­ty how town.” The poem has a bit­ter­sweet qual­i­ty, deal­ing with the lone­li­ness of the indi­vid­ual amid the crush­ing con­for­mi­ty of soci­ety, but in a play­ful way, like a nurs­ery rhyme with delight­ful­ly shuf­fled syn­tax.  It is the sto­ry of “any­one,” who lived in “a pret­ty how town” and was loved by “noone.” With the author’s idio­syn­crat­ic omis­sion of some spac­ing, cap­i­tal­iza­tion and punc­tu­a­tion, the poem begins:

any­one lived in a pret­ty how town
(with up so float­ing many bells down)
spring sum­mer autumn win­ter
he sang his did­n’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both lit­tle and small)
cared for any­one not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

The poem was first pub­lished as “No. 29” in Cum­mings’s 1940 col­lec­tion 50 Poems. (Click here to open the full text of the poem in a new win­dow.) The record­ing was made on May 28, 1953, when Cum­mings was a vis­it­ing pro­fes­sor at Har­vard. It is avail­able from Harper­Au­dio as part of a one-hour col­lec­tion, Essen­tial E.E. Cum­mings.

You can find the poem list­ed in our col­lec­tions of Free Audio Books and Free eBooks.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Allen Gins­berg Reads His Famous­ly Cen­sored Beat Poem, Howl

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read Poems from The Fel­low­ship of the Ring, in Elvish and Eng­lish (1952)

Tom Waits Reads Charles Bukowski’s Poem, “The Laugh­ing Heart”

Pier Pao­lo Pasoli­ni Talks and Reads Poet­ry with Ezra Pound (1967)

The Poetry of Abraham Lincoln

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It should sur­prise few to learn that Abra­ham Lin­coln wrote poet­ry. But this fact about his life is dwarfed by those events that defined his polit­i­cal lega­cy, and this is also no sur­prise. Nev­er­the­less, in the midst of the cur­rent Lin­coln revival, the man and the states­man, I think it’s fit­ting to attend to Abra­ham Lin­coln the poet. Cer­tain­ly schol­ars have read his poet­ry in rela­tion to his skill­ful prose and ora­to­ry. But, on its own, this writ­ing gives us insight into the sen­si­tiv­i­ty of Lin­col­n’s less pub­lic modes of expres­sion.

Was he a great poet? Well, it appears that he had at least three phases—the first, a youth­ful one in his teens and ear­ly twen­ties when he pro­duced some sil­ly juvenelia, “a num­ber of crude and satir­i­cal vers­es.” The most pop­u­lar of these is called “Chron­i­cles of Reuben,” a local satire Lin­coln schol­ar Robert Bray describes as “a series of pseu­do-bib­li­cal prose and verse pieces that are, out of their local Indi­ana con­text, so top­i­cal as to be nei­ther fun­ny nor com­pre­hen­si­ble.” The piece, writ­ten in 1828 to avenge him­self upon a rival Indi­ana fam­i­ly, appar­ent­ly had great effect on the neigh­bors, how­ev­er. One of them, Joseph C. Richard­son, claimed that the poem was “remem­bered here in Indi­ana in scraps bet­ter than the Bible.”

We have to cred­it fron­tier oral tra­di­tion for our knowl­edge of some of Lincoln’s more seri­ous poems in his sec­ond phase, after he joined “a Kind of Poet­i­cal Soci­ety” in Illi­nois some­time between 1837–39. One neigh­bor, James Math­e­ny, remem­bered the fol­low­ing world­ly lines from a Lin­coln poem called “On Seduc­tion”:

What­ev­er Spite­ful fools may Say—

Each jeal­ous, rant­i­ng yelper—

No woman ever played the whore

Unless She had a man to help her.

If this is tru­ly a stan­za from Lincoln’s pen, the satirist is still very much in evidence—Swift could have writ­ten these lines—but the self-described “prairie lawyer” has grown philo­soph­i­cal and left the ado­les­cent bound­aries of local feuds and pranks.

His third, most seri­ous phase begins when Lin­coln returned to Indi­ana, after leav­ing Illi­nois briefly in an attempt to help Hen­ry Clay’s failed pres­i­den­tial bid against James Polk. Lin­coln called Indi­ana “as unpo­et­i­cal as any spot of the earth,” and yet it serves as a sub­ject for a poem com­plet­ed in 1846 called “My Child­hood Home I See Again.” (The image above is of the first six stan­zas of this long poem in Lincoln’s hand­writ­ing. Click here to see the remain­ing pages). Here in the first two stan­zas (below), you can see the cut­ting wit of the younger, more con­fi­dent man give way to a kind of wist­ful nos­tal­gia wor­thy of Wordsworth:

My child-hood home I see again,

And glad­den with the view;

And still as mem’ries crowd my brain,

There’s sad­ness in it too–

 

O mem­o­ry! thou mid-way world

‘Twixt Earth and Par­adise;

Where things decayed, and loved ones lost

In dreamy shad­ows rise–

You can read a com­plete tran­script of the poem here, and the Library of Con­gress has a detailed descrip­tion of the poem’s stages of com­po­si­tion.

Lin­coln-as-poet con­tin­ued in this thought­ful, mature voice in the remain­ing years of his life, though nev­er equal­ing the poet­ic out­put of 1846. Some­what out of char­ac­ter, the final doc­u­ment­ed piece of poet­ry from Lin­coln comes from July 19, 1863. Writ­ten in response to the North’s vic­to­ry in Get­tys­burg, “Verse on Lee’s Inva­sion of the North” is a short piece of dog­ger­el that sees him return­ing to satire, writ­ing in the voice of “Gen. Lee”:

Gen. Lee’s inva­sion of the North writ­ten by him­self—

In eigh­teen six­ty three, with pomp,

and mighty swell,

Me and Jef­f’s Con­fed­er­a­cy, went

forth to sack Phil-del,

The Yan­kees they got arter us, and

giv us par­tic­u­lar hell,

And we skedad­dled back again,

And did­n’t sack Phil-del.

Sure­ly the poem was writ­ten in a hur­ry, and with jubi­lant, tri­umphal glee, but if this is the last we heard from Lin­coln the poet, it might be a shame, though it would not blot out the lit­er­ary skill of poems like “My Child­hood Home I See Again” and oth­ers like “The Bear Hunt” and “To Rosa,” which you can read here.

But there’s more to this sto­ry; in 2004, a his­to­ri­an dis­cov­ered an unsigned poem called “The Sui­cide’s Soliloquy”—published in the August 25, 1838 issue of the Sang­amo Jour­nal, a Spring­field newspaper—and believed the for­mer pres­i­dent to be the poet. In the video above, lis­ten to a moody, dra­mat­ic read­ing of the poem:

It is not known with cer­tain­ty if Lin­coln wrote this poem, but schol­ar­ly con­sen­sus inclines heav­i­ly in that direc­tion, giv­en its styl­is­tic sim­i­lar­i­ty to his oth­er work from this peri­od. “The Sui­cide’s Solil­o­quy” is as pas­sion­ate and mor­bid as any of Edgar Allen Poe’s verse, and betrays Lincoln’s char­ac­ter­is­tic melan­choly in its stormi­est and most Roman­tic guise. NPR has the full poem and the sto­ry of its dis­cov­ery.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Res­ur­rect­ing the Sounds of Abra­ham Lin­coln in Steven Spielberg’s New Biopic

The Last Sur­viv­ing Wit­ness of the Lin­coln Assas­si­na­tion

Louis CK Plays Abra­ham Lin­coln, America’s 16th Pres­i­dent and (Yes) Stand-Up Come­di­an Too

Josh Jones is a writer, edi­tor, and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Arthur Conan Doyle Fills Out the Questionnaire Made Famous By Marcel Proust (1899)

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Note: click on the image for a larg­er ver­sion

Ah, the Proust Ques­tion­naire: does it reveal every­thing about one’s per­son­al­i­ty, or noth­ing at all? Pre­sum­ably Mar­cel Proust, who gave the ques­tion­naire its name by fill­ing it out so whole­heart­ed­ly, would­n’t have cared either way. French inter­view­er Bernard Piv­ot must have seen some use­ful­ness in it, since he applied its ques­tions so reg­u­lar­ly to guests on his lit­er­ary tele­vi­sion pro­gram Apos­tro­phes that it gained the sec­ond name of “Piv­ot Ques­tion­naire.” Open Cul­ture read­ers know James Lip­ton also adapt­ed a ver­sion on Inside the Actors Stu­dio. (See our pre­vi­ous post here.) And now, thanks to archivists at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter, we have Proust Ques­tion­naire answers from one more lumi­nary: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, cre­ator of Sher­lock Holmes.

Not that Conan Doyle responds with quite so much style as does Proust. His favorite qual­i­ties in a man? Man­li­ness. In a woman? Why, wom­an­li­ness. His favorite food and drink? Any­thing when hun­gry or thirsty — noth­ing when not. Favorite activ­i­ty? Work. This all has a cer­tain util­i­tar­i­an charm, but if you read the ques­tion­naire itself, you also find the par­tic­u­lar fla­vor of half-hid­den wit that Conan Doyle’s read­ers would expect. But we care about his respons­es, as we care about Proust’s, because of all the oth­er words they wrote. And lest we get caught up in ques­tion­naires, let us not for­get that Swan­n’s Way, the first vol­ume of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, turns one hun­dred this year.

via Slate

Relat­ed con­tent:

Famous Actors & Actress­es Answer Reveal­ing Ques­tions on Inside the Actors Stu­dio: A Com­pi­la­tion

Arthur Conan Doyle Dis­cuss­es Sher­lock Holmes and Psy­chics in a Rare Filmed Inter­view (1927)

Arthur Conan Doyle & The Cot­tin­g­ley Fairies: How Two Young Girls Fooled Sher­lock Holmes’ Cre­ator

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Only Known Footage of George Orwell (Circa 1921)

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Although he died in 1950, George Orwell seem­ing­ly escaped the reach of mod­ern media. Orwell’s voice was nev­er cap­tured on audio. And his image nev­er appeared on film. His­to­ri­ans and lit­er­a­ture schol­ars lament­ed this for decades.

But then, in 2003, on the hun­dredth anniver­sary of Orwell’s birth, two researchers stum­bled upon a tan­ta­liz­ing piece of footage in the The Pathay Film Library in Lon­don. The very brief footage — watch in full here, or at the 50 sec­ond mark in the video above — shows an 18-year-old Orwell, then named Eric Blair, march­ing across a sports field at Eton Col­lege, where he spent his for­ma­tive years and stud­ied French with Aldous Hux­ley. In the line of march­ing stu­dents, Orwell is the fourth stu­dent from the left.

Note: the video above comes from a British Pathe clip that fea­tures celebri­ties before they became famous. If you’re curi­ous who appears in the film, see the list below the jump.

(more…)

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Short Documentary, How Do You Solve a Problem Like Lolita?, Psychoanalyzes Vladimir Nabokov

Here’s a flawed but fas­ci­nat­ing lit­tle film about the life of Vladimir Nabokov, exam­ined through the prism of his most famous book.

How Do You Solve a Prob­lem Like Loli­ta? first aired on British tele­vi­sion in 2009. The host is Stephen Smith, a cul­ture cor­re­spon­dent for BBC News­night. We don’t know the rest of Smith’s resume, but in watch­ing the doc­u­men­tary we get the feel­ing he may have picked up a lit­tle of his jour­nal­is­tic sen­si­bil­i­ty from the British tabloids.

The prob­lem referred to in the title is the sense–at least among Smith’s friends–that there is some­thing “per­vy” about Nabokov’s 1955 nov­el, Loli­ta, and that this rais­es cer­tain ques­tions about the author’s own sex­u­al pen­chants. “Was it a moral­i­ty play,” Smith asks at the out­set, “or the fan­ta­sy of a dirty old man?”

It’s a con­temptible point of depar­ture. But How Do You Solve a Prob­lem Like Loli­ta? man­ages to be worth­while in spite of itself. It’s filled with inter­est­ing old footage of Nabokov talk­ing about him­self and his work, as well as con­tem­po­rary footage of the writer’s old haunts in Rus­sia, Amer­i­ca and Switzer­land. The film is a kind of trav­el­ogue. Watch­ing it is like tak­ing a one-hour tour through a fas­ci­nat­ing land­scape with an ami­able but slight­ly annoy­ing guide.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Vladimir Nabokov Mar­vels Over Dif­fer­ent “Loli­ta” Book Cov­ers

Vladimir Nabokov (Chan­nelled by Christo­pher Plum­mer) Teach­es Kaf­ka at Cor­nell

Nabokov Reads Loli­ta, Names the Great Books of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

Hunter S. Thompson Runs for Aspen, Colorado Sheriff on the “Freak Power” Platform (1970)

In 1970, Hunter S. Thomp­son was look­ing to become the new sher­iff in town — the town being Aspen, Col­orado. In a heat­ed elec­tion, Thomp­son ran against a tra­di­tion­al, con­ser­v­a­tive can­di­ate, Car­rol Whit­mire, on what he called the “freak pow­er” plat­form, which most­ly called for the legal­iza­tion of mar­i­jua­na and uncon­ven­tion­al envi­ron­men­tal pro­tec­tions.

As Thomp­son lat­er explained in his essay “Freak Pow­er in The Rock­ies,” hun­dreds of Haight-Ash­bury refugees moved to Aspen after the ill-fat­ed “Sum­mer of Love” in 1967, and they became part of the gen­er­al pop­u­la­tion. In the town, reg­is­tered Repub­li­cans his­tor­i­cal­ly out­weighed reg­is­tered Democ­rats by a two-to-one mar­gin.

But both camps were out­weighed by inde­pen­dents, which includ­ed “a jan­gled mix of Left/Crazies and Birchers; cheap big­ots, dope deal­ers, nazi ski instruc­tors and spaced off ‘psy­che­del­ic farm­ers’ with no pol­i­tics at all beyond self-preser­va­tion,” remem­bers Thomp­son. So, win­ning an elec­tion came down to reg­is­ter­ing indie vot­ers and get­ting them to the polls — some­thing that was eas­i­er said than done, it turns out.

In the short term, Hunter S. Thomp­son lost the “Bat­tle of Aspen” by 300–500 votes, depend­ing on whose accounts you read. In the long-term, he arguably won. 42 years after Thomp­son made the legal­iza­tion of mar­i­jua­na his cen­tral cam­paign promise, Col­orado vot­ers passed Amend­ment 64, legal­iz­ing mar­i­jua­na for recre­ation­al use. Some­where, the would-be gonzo politi­cian is smil­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards, and Very Lit­tle Makes Sense

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son (NSFW)

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