Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
you are so correct. i couldnt even type 10k words/day.
  

    
And, he could type 100 words a minute with few corrections, and very
few edits needed.
  

    
He'd write book after book, too.  His productivity was astounding. 
Like all those stories were all fully written and lined up ready to
pour out into his fingers.

That he was doing exactly what he meant to do is as clear as can be.
  

    
Linda: so true! I can believe that without a doubt
In re: the dismissive comment by capote is undercut by PKD’s
output..PKD produced fully formed and brilliant stories and novels
that were thought provoking and way entertaining..
now some of PKD’s writing towards the end were possibly like typing
but nevertheless, they were what was going on in his head that he
had to get out onto paper so I was fully on board with him and his
later schtuff..and what he had going on in his head was what
fascinated me since he had earned my trust as a dedicated reader of
his earlier works..so I was all in, all the way to the end..

It should be noted that like the Grateful Dead, PKD had a similar
effect on me and my life arc..I read everything he wrote including
special collections and editions that were produced and I bought so
I could consume more of his content that I was not aware of..

once I got wind of the PKD Society, I joined it immediately and
through my subscription was able to feed my habit with Paul Williams
at the helm..according to Paul Williams still active website, he
published in
Aug. 1983 the first issue of the Philip K. Dick Society Newsletter,
edited by PW..I still have various issues of the PKD Society
Newsletter safely tucked away here in my house..no one here has
commented on Paul Williams except to mention his profile piece on
PKD in Rolling Stone..
So a question from me for Linda and Tim is:
Could y’all both elaborate on any interactions y’all had with Paul
Williams during the Last Ten Years?
  

    
(just to be clear, capote was talking about the beats, not pkd)
  

    
No I understood that and I remember the quote by capote from my
Beats poetry and writings forays but I still disagree with him about
the Beats esp. when it comes to Kerouac 
  

    
(i just always thot the remark was funny and very capote. and i
think it's trope that fit certain kinds of writing. but carry on)
  

    
I don't think I've posted this already --

Alex, I don't think I met Paul Williams until he came down to Orange
County after Phil's death, as the estate executor. 

Valis was published in '81, and it must have been in that year that
the Bladerunner option became the outright purchase of the movie
rights to the book. For the first time in his life, Phil had
substantial money. His romantic interests were a good deal less
dramatic at this stage, and involved older (that is, 25-30) women.
He was taking his writing very seriously, and believed that 
The Transmigration of Timothy Archer was his best book; he may have
been right. It was his first (and only, as it turned out) book with
a woman protagonist, and he was fascinated with that character,
Angel Archer.

   All appeared to be going well!
  

    
a tangent: never had considered it before, it feels like tim and pkd
in part shared a spiritual/what does it mean to be human
preoccupation. are there others spec fic writers that might qualify?
  

    
Paulina, Theodore Sturgeon comes to mind, in stories like "It Wasn't
Syzygy." I bet I could think of others!
  

    
'lord of light' came to mind...
  

    
>>All appeared to be going well!

What happened next, Tim?  Was there agreement about Transmigration
being his best?  
  

    
It's time to thank guests and participants for their great
contributions to this Inkwell discussion. The guests have committed
to two weeks of conversation, and we're at that point. However the
conversation doesn't have to end, and I sense there might be more to
say. Otherwise, though, many thanks to all. And for those reading
this who are not members of the WELL, who might enjoy daily
conversations like this, you can join the WELL via this link:
<https://www.well.com/join/>.
  

    
        Starting in the late ‘70s, there was a meeting at our apartment on
Thursday nights, and PKD generally attendeed. On Thursday the 18th
of February, 1982, Maer Wilson’s mother called to say that Maer had
been unable to reach Phil all day, and had called his neighbors --
who found him unconscious on his living room floor.  I had just got
home, but got back on my motorcycle and rode down to Phil’s place,
where I found Maer just arriving. Paramedics were there, and when
Maer and I made our way up to Phil’s apartment, we found that
paaramedics had laid him on his bed and were assessing his condition
-- “Phil, push against my hand with your foot -- can you squeeze my
hand” etc. Maer and I answered questions and kept Phil’s cats from
running out through the open door. I asked one of the paramendics
how it looked to him, and he said that Phil had had a stroke, but
would likely recover.

        I called various people, including Phil’s agent, who said to assure
the doctors that the agency would cover Phil’s medical expenses.

        Over the next few days in the hospital Phil seemed to be
recovering, or at least getting no worse, but a week after the first
stroke, he suffered another, and shortly after that the doctors
declared him brain-dead, and he was disconnected from life-support
on March 2nd.  
  

    
After that, things got confused.
  

    
How so?
  

    
Well, there was disagreement between Tess and Phil's daughter Laura
about various matters such as who, if anyone, was to complete any
uncompleted PKD manuscripts, etc. Maer and Serena and I had Phil's
keys and had been feeding his cats, and one day while I was at work
(in a Tinder Box tobacco shop), Tess's lawyer and Phil's two
daughters and his agent came marching in, and the lawyer demanded
Phil's keys. Phil's agent nodded, so I started to hand over the
keys, but the lawyer held up his hand. "I need to write you a
receipt!" So we all waited while he took out a little notepad and
wrote, "Received, four keys, from Tim Conway."

     It was clear to me that getting Tim Conway involved would
simplify nothing.
  

    

Tim Conway! oh ha. 
  

    
It was disorienting to shift from Phil's tragic last days to this
officious absent-minded lawyer with his little notepad.
  

    
When Phil was found, there were so many people in the apartment,
including paramedics and friends and neighbors.  Was Phil in the
middle of any work or did he have manuscripts and such lying around
that could have been glommed onto (to use the vernacular) when
nobody was looking?
  

    
Juan and Sue Perez, Phil's neighbors who had found him and called
paramedics, weren't in the room then. It was just me and Maer, and
three or four paramedics, and Phil sprawled on the bed where the
paramedics had carried him.

Some days later, while feeding the cats, Serena and Maer and I saw
some typescript on Phil's desk -- typically wild theological
speculations mixed indistinguishably with notes toward the planned
"Owl in Daylight" novel. Several factions were competing -- appeared
to be competing! -- for conservatorship of Phil, and it occurred to
us that these notes, presented cold, could be used as evidence that
he had lost his mind. We didn't want to take them out of the
apartment but didn't want to leave them so conspicuous, so we ...
hid them, in a three-foot tall cylindrical ashtray with a picture of
Elvis and the legend "Elvis is King" printed on the side. (This
ashtray was a sort of mathom, given each Christmas to somebody else,
and 1982 was Phil's turn to have the silly thing.)

After Phil was disconnected from life-support, a group including
Phil's agent went into the apartment to inventory everything, and I
told the agent to get the typescript out of the Elvis ashtray. He
said, "Phil kept his manuscripts in a standing Elvis Presley
ashtray??" and I had to explain.

The agent told me later that the pages had been safely retrieved.
Just another bit of posthumous grotesquerie.
  

    
I had forgotten the word mathom but boy howdy should it be part of
the English lexicon.

I am afraid of living in a mathom-house.
  

    
I had to look it up--very useful term.
  

    
And not pronounced as I had expected.

How could I not know this word as it perfectly describes my home? 
And my mental state.
  

    
A fine old coinage.