Interview with Myself

J.K. Dane recently met herself for coffee at the Hooray House, the name she has given to her residence on Washington Street. She agreed to do the interview with herself under the condition that there would be no questions about The New Frugality nor The Creativity Center and that she would be allowed to play harmonica at any point during the interview.

Me:  Why do you call it the Hooray House?

Myself:  A talented friend of ours sewed a string of little flags that reads "Hooray!" and gave it to us when we left town. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it or even what it meant. But there were two columns on the front porch of our new house perfectly spaced, so I hung it there. And then one day, it just came to me.  Hooray House.  It sounds nice with the alliteration, don't you think?

Me:  Like a half-way house.

Myself:  We prefer to think of it as a three-quarters of the way house.

Me:  It's said that you are now writing in the same room where a famous poet used to work.  Is that true?

Myself:  That's what the landlord told me.  But understand that this is a rather unusual landlord, one with a heavy liberal bend and a PhD in English.  Who knows what kind of fantasies he makes up about famous writers living in his houses.  So one day I decided to investigate for myself and I called the famous poet.  At first she seemed very uninterested in talking to me and even a little put off.  She didn't seem to remember living here, but then she asked me if I had seen any ghosts.

Me:  And have you?

Myself:  Just curtains blowing when there is no wind and pots falling from the table and floors creaking when no one is at home.  But no ghosts.

(Harmonica interlude.)

Me:  What's the deal with the harmonica?

Myself:  You know.

Me:  Tell me again because I still don't get it.

Myself:  A deranged friend of mine in high school once took one out and played it when we were walking.  I was so envious.  He said all I had to do was buy one and keep it in my pocket and play it whenever I felt like it.

Me:  Like Zorba and his santuri?

Myself:  Exactly.  I have to be in the mood to play.

Me:  Is it the same with writing?

Myself:  If it were, I would probably be a better parent.

Me:  Why's that?

Myself:  Early on I got it into my head that if I didn't write everyday then I'd never make it as a writer. So I write everyday which mostly means I write a lot of shit.  And then I feel bad that I spend so much time and energy writing a lot of shit.

Me:  So you would be more loving and accepting if you wrote less?

Myself:  Probably not.

Me:  Recently you started a blog.  Has that changed the way you write?

Myself:  Here's the thing about the blog.  Somebody just might read it. So The Fear sets in and I get nervous about all kinds of things a person gets nervous about when they expose themselves to public scrutiny.  As our hero Lynda Barry says, "Is this good?  Does this suck?"  Why bother?  But the part that is scary can also be fascinating.  Like the other day, a neighbor stopped me on the street.  He stared at me hard.  "I read your blog," he said.  "That's some haunting stuff."  It made my day.

Me:  So you want to scare people?

Myself:  If that's what it takes.

Me:  To do what?

Myself:  How should I know?

(Harmonica interlude.)

Me:  The kids must love the harmonica thing.

Myself:  That's what you would think.  But I was sitting by the campfire not long ago and started playing and my four year old year sitting in a folding chair next to me, said, as calm as could be, "You have two choices, Mom.  Either stop playing or go somewhere else."  It couldn't have been clearer than that.  So I left.