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Fix by Justin Atkinson A creative project submitted to Sonoma State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS m English Sherril Jaffe, Chair July 11, 2014 Date Copyright 2014 By Justin Atkinson 11 Authorization for Reproduction of Project I grant permission for the print or digital reproduction of this project in its entirety, without further authorization from me, on the condition that the person or agency requesting reproduction absorb the cost and provide proper acknowledgment of authorship. Signature: f 11l Fix Project by Justin Atkinson ABSTRACT A young man's journey separates him from his childhood home, where his family, his job, and his girlfriend have pushed him to a breaking point. He travels to locations that reconnect him with his past, and he attempts to reclaim a version of himself that is an active member of a meaningful community. To his dismay, the communities where he once belonged have shifted in his absence, and he comes to realize that his attempt at reconciliation is flawed not because those communities are somehow fundamentally different, but because he is looking for something different. Chfilr: Signature MA Program: English Sonoma State University Date: ~ JI ) "1-" I 'f iv Table of Contents Chapter Page I. Critical Introduction Vl II. Fix Chapter 1 1 Chapter 2 24 Chapter 3 67 v Critical Introduction Every writer probably thinks that his or her work defies categorization. No one likes to be put in a box and give credence to the academics or the critics or the bookstore clerks. I can't say that I thought much about genre while writing this novel. I'm not even certain this is a novel. But I did consider the opinions of two men throughout this entire process: James Agee and Tupac Shakur. The fact that one is a musician and the other made his living as a movie critic does not help clarify which genre this work might be considered. However, the voices they create, the characters they construct, the ways they employ the word "I," certainly did shape my work. I did not attempt to recreate or appease either of these men when I constructed my narrator. First off, they are both dead, but more importantly they were both wrong, at least in my estimation. Each had very different stated goals, which I will describe shortly, and both of them claimed to live those goals in their real lives. But, like me, they were using their work as a way to search for something that was missing: a father. There is nothing original about this experience. Every man must come to some reckoning with his father, or the lack there of, in order to move past adolescence. But we (I group myself with Agee and Shakur not because I consider myself their equal, but because I think we share this singular experience) try to use our personas to make ourselves into something more than we are, the way a father is supposed to make his son into a man. And, as far I can tell, each of us, in this own way, has failed. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a poet; then I discovered rap. For some reason, I thought there was a difference. Poets, I imagined as sensitive introspective types, Vl completely self-involved, and they never seemed to become famous until they were dead. Rappers were hard, masculine (even the female ones), and real, or at least they said they were real over and over again. It took a long time, but eventually I began to see the discrepancy between their lives and their rhymes. With that in the back of my mind, I began writing fiction. I read a lot as a kid, and I always kept a journal, but I didn't attempt fiction until I started reading writers' biographies. Palahniuk, Baldwin and Nietzsche became real life characters to me, who turned out to be just as fascinating as the characters they created. I remember imagining what they were thinking when they wrote this line, what insecurities this scene revealed, what dreams that character fulfilled. My favorite authors always built these narrators that were so strong, even in their weaknesses. But none of them wrote memoirs, per say. Their work was very personal and often came directly from incidents in their own lives, but none of it was burdened by too many facts. When I finally started to write, I fashioned my work after my idols, with strong personal narrators, a commitment to my real life experiences, and an obvious exploration of my personality. I've always begrudged poets because they are allowed to have personas. My favorite poems start with "I." The "I" always seemed to speak directly to me, and I assumed that even if the "I" is some small, dark part of the poet; it must live somewhere near her center. Otherwise, she would name it, and not allow it so much power. I started writing this novel in the first person because I thought I wanted Mason to be intimate, like a persona. I originally set him in a seedy, dangerous locale (New Orleans) because I thought that would make him powerful. I gave him an addiction (heroin) because I thought he might overcome it, pull himself out of the muck, and prove everyone wrong. Vll But the truth is that I don't know anything about that person, and I had made the mistake of writing what I don't know before. I used to think that writing was about changing things, sparking the revolution, drawing plans for the new world we would inhabit after the decadence of our time had lain itself to waste. "Preachy" was one of the nice comments that I received over and over again. The truth is that writing has always been a way for me to explore what I wished I would have done, a way to catch and rewind the moments that slipped through my hands, a way to fill those ringing pregnant silences in my memory. For a long time, regret held me in place, and in some strange way the narrator of this novel has helped loosen that gnp. My narrator does not accept laments. His judgment, and he is most certainly a male, more specifically a disapproving father, is stifling at first. I realize that Mason isn't exactly a likable protagonist, and in the early chapters, it isn't easy to wade through the narrator's tone, what with the constant criticism, the subtle belittling, and the overt lack of respect. But what I hope to achieve by the end is an authentic assessment, a well­ earned respect, a handshake, man-to-man between Mason and the narrator. In order to get there, I couldn't start with a kind, understanding persona, which is why I couldn't write in the first person. It was too familiar, too soon. My third person narrator doesn't want to draw attention to himself. He wants to stand on the sidelines, arms crossed, coldly surveying the field while his son sputters and falls over himself, again and again. There could be no warm hug at the end of the game, with a pat on the back and a, "Well at least you did the best you could." That is not to say that the narrator wants Mason to fail. No, he will be there no matter what, waiting patiently for Mason to Vlll pick himself up. Without knowing it, I've been interviewing for the role of narrator most of my life. First I considered rappers because they prefaced everything with sayings like, "Keep it real Son!" or "On the really real!" or "I'm the realist mother fucker alive!" And then they would proceed to tell a completely unrealistic story about how many people they killed, or how many drugs they sold, or how many women they slept with. As a kid I believed them, especially the ballads. Yes rappers do write ballads. In the early 90s, the average gangster rapper could get away with a maximum of two ballads per tape. One was usually about his mother, who is always a savior battling the odds to buy Christmas presents, and the other was about the fallen homies, who always choose to die standing up, never on their knees. According to Tupac "A real nigga will pick his time to go," which confused me as a kid because if I were a "real nigga" I would live as long as possible considering all the bitches and liquor that purportedly abounded in the thug lifestyle ("Me Against"). Like so many of my suburban, private school buddies, I was attracted to the fast life, the girls, the cars, the romantic deaths, but where the average white kid wanted money and prestige (something their fathers could respect), I wanted power (something my part-time father also longed for). Tupac was my favorite because he also had a part-time father, admittedly more interesting and decidedly more part-time than mine. Billy Garland was a former Black Panther, a convicted felon, and as far as Tupac knew he was dead. Tupac learned that his mother had lied to him, when after being shot five time he awakened to see "A nigga that looked just like me" standing over his hospital bed. This experience couldn't have been IX further away from my life, but for some reason Tupac's personas always seemed to invite me into their world (Powell). That's not to say that Dr.

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