Interview with Adrianne Bottrell

 

November 11, 2001

10-11 pm in the back of the LAFCO Bus

 

Part 1

Tao Ruspoli: This is The LAFCO Hour, the first one officially with the camera on the tripod! And I'm here with Adrianne Bottrell, and we get to smoke and we're both nervous...and Adrianne has written a wonderful book. As you can see it's not yet published (The loose pages of Adrianne's book are stacked on the table, along with a bottle of wine, a plastic orange goblet, a packet of cigarettes and an ashtray). But hopefully this, among other things, will help get it published. Who knows...and it's called...

 

Adrianne Bottrell: Bottle of Iris.

 

TR: Ok, what does it mean? Why Bottle of Iris?

 

AB: It's actually pretty random. I was writing a poem one day. For some reason I kept seeing Iris everywhere. I saw it in clothing stores. I would see it in titles of paintings...everywhere I saw the word "iris" and then "Bottle of Iris" was the name of this poem, and I thought, ah, that's the perfect title. Before it was called Confusion, and my dad told me it was a really boring title.

 

TR: But why the title Confusion? I mean it's an appropriate title in some ways. Why was it called confusion before?

 

AB: Well, it's sort of along the lines of Nausea. you know? Just Confusion...Insanity, Chaos.

 

TR: Is Sartre one of your big influences? You talk about him a lot in your book.

 

AB: He's an influence...I don't care for his fiction. I don't care for Nausea at all. I think it's a horrible novel (laughs). But I read so much Sartre and so much Nietzsche when I was writing the first stuff.

 

TR: If it's possible, can you summarize what the book is about?

 

AB: You know it's really hard for me to summarize it...I don't have...

 

TR: (interrupting)...or if you just had to explain it to somebody, if you had to pitch the book...

 

AB: (laughing) which I'm trying to do now!

 

TR: Right, so what would you say? Not telling what it's about...that's a boring way to ask it. How would you describe the book? What is it's reason for being? How did it come about? Why did you write it?

 

AB: Well, it's about family tragedy, my eight year old brother's death...he fell of a cliff...the cliffs of Casper. Right out back actually (points through the windows in the back of the bus)

 

TR: Was it right here?

 

AB: Yeah, he fell 72 feet off the North Coast.

 

TR: And how long ago was this?

 

AB: That was 3 years ago.

 

TR: And how long after it happened did you decide to write a book about it?

 

AB: Well I never decided to write a book about it. It was never my intention. I just took this independent writing class and I was given total freedom to do whatever I wanted and so I just started writing every day and then of course all this stuff came up...came out about William's death and my family was also breaking apart. My parents were splitting up, although my mom and her girlfriend were living in my Dad's house at the same time. I was away in college, everyone else was in Albion and so I'd get phone calls from my Dad, from my mom, from my sister, from  neighbors telling me both my parents were insane, that they should take Laura away, that my sister should go to a child welfare...(laughs nervously)...child services should take her away...So I'd get everyone's story and I had no way of getting out my own, so I just started writing like crazy. And so I'd wake up everyday at 9 o'clock...you know, college schedules are pretty late...but I'd wake up and write for 2 to 5 hours every morning.

 

TR: And were they assignments for your class? Were you turning them in?

 

AB: No. It wasn't a class. It was just a professor helping me, encouraging me to write and so I just wrote for one semester like that.  And I remember I took it home to my dad and let him read some stuff...

 

TR: (Interrupting) Were you nervous about that?

 

AB: Yeah, because it's very personal...at the time it was more personal than now. Now I'm sort of removed from it.

 

TR: Have you had to force yourself to remove yourself from it?

 

AB: No, it's just time.

 

TR: Just time..

 

AB: (Pauses) Yeah. So he's the first one who called it a book. He said (excited) "Oh you're writing a book!"

 

TR: Did he say it with such exuberance?

 

AB: Uh huh, he was really excited.

 

TR: He was? He didn't have any misgivings about it...

 

AB: He was upset...he was kind of depressed for a day after reading it because...there's a lot of...well, there's more worship of him in the book than anything else. There's more anger towards my mom. But...

 

TR: But you do talk about blaming him at a certain point. And then you kind of take it back it seems.

 

AB: Yeah...and it's funny because I...well I guess there was part of me that blamed him but I didn't really. I mean, it's not...the book isn't exactly how I felt. I mean it's impossible to communicate exactly how you feel about something, especially when you're writing and there's enough sort of experimental and creative things that I do in the book that it's not just my journal on pages. So when I was writing it I would exaggerate things. I think I'm much angrier in the book than I ever was in real life. I was more sad...(thoughtfully) I don't...I never really blamed my dad...

 

TR: Why do you do that? Why do you want to...you talk about selling your pain...is that part of that? Is that why you exaggerate? Or is it that you think it makes a better book?

 

AB: Well I sort of...I felt guilty about...it was weird--I felt guilty about writing about my family. Sort of exploiting...I felt like it's exploiting my brother's death and you know writing about intimate details of my family and its explosion and all this stuff that happened to me that I actually never really talked about with anybody..and how I felt, and, so...I don't know...At the same time I feel like that's what writers do, or I did definitely at that time, I felt like writers are like prostitutes...in a way...and I take that from the Catcher in the Rye actually. There's this one line where Holden's talking about his brother and his brother is a writer and he calls him a prostitute, and that's what they called writers...

 

TR: (interrupting) You talk about that and also about being...your being a detached observer, which you have issues about it seems. It seems like you say you are an observer but you don't really want to be?

 

AB: Yeah, I didn't want to be...

 

TR: Well what's better than that?

 

AB: Nothing really...I mean I say that in the book but it's...I don't know...It's not really true.

 

TR: It's not true...It's not true that you're an observer or it's not true that you don't want to be an observer?

 

AB: No, it's not true that I don't want to be. I just wanted to be able to SAY more, and not just sit back and watch. Because I felt so much that I couldn't express other than in words and I wanted to...

 

TR: (interrupting) There is something that you say that you wanted to...(pauses)...there was something I wanted you to read about writing...I think I wrote it down, hold on (Tao gets his notebook).  Well, you disparage your writing a lot, you know, you say like "I have nothing to say" and you say you write "bullshit" at a certain point...comparing that to your dad writing songs. And if that's true...if it isn't then say so...but if it is then why do you write? I mean do you need to write? Does it have an end?

 

AB: Well like I said, that isn't the truth, you know. That's what I wrote but that isn't necessarily how I feel. And yes, I do need to write. It keeps me sane.

 

TR: It keeps you sane. It's therapeutic?

 

AB: It's therapeutic...I mean it's...I've done all kinds of art. Before, my first love was theater. I did lots of theater in high school. Now I'm doing photography. I always need some sort of medium, but writing seems to be my main focus.

 

TR: Just because your best at it, or do you think...what about the end result, is it...are you happy you have a book, instead of a movie or a theater piece? Or is it the process more than the end result?

 

AB: It's the process I think. I mean I never set out to write this book and then the pages added up and it turned into a book later. And making a book out of your writing is a totally different story. I mean you can write 200 pages, you can write 400 pages, but unless you go back and edit and rewrite and put it together and decide which pieces fit where it's not a book! So the book part is more making a product and I consider that--not separate from writing in general, but a different thing...

 

TR: So now you’re in the process of trying to sell it. What's that like?

 

AB: Well, I think that's the hardest part (laughs). I'm not a business person. I don't know how to...I'm not very...outspoken about what I do. I am the quiet observer most of the time. So I'm learning how to...how to draw attention to myself and say, “Hey, I've written this...”

 

TR: And have you decided that that's now what you are: a writer...what you want to do with your life...

 

AB: Well I decided that a long time ago, that I wanted to be a writer...that I wanted to write and travel.

 

TR: When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?

 

AB: I can't remember...when I was little. Actually I had a piece published once when I was eight.

 

TR: What was it?

 

AB: A play that I wrote about dinosaurs (laughs) discovering a magic cave.

 

TR: Where was it published?

 

AB: It was published in this book...this children's journal. It was mostly for high school students, but they accepted a few really good elementary school pieces and junior high school pieces. I think it was called treasures or treasurer or something...I'm not sure but my teacher at the time...my third grade teacher submitted it...this little play that I wrote...I think I still have a copy of it somewhere.

 

TR: Could you...would you mind reading a piece of your book?

 

AB: Sure

 

TR: Do you have a favorite part?

 

AB: Ah, I like the end the best, but I don't know if that reads...

 

TR: What do you think would read the best? I like this one that it happens to be opened on, "She Looks Cool."  Because it describes your friend and something that you admire...and I also like the part where you talk about Brown when you come back from England. The beginning I think is so strong. I don't know...you shouldn't give away the end! (laughter) What if you read the first couple of pages.

 

AB: No, not the first couple.

 

(Discussion and disagreements about what Adrianne should read...finally agreement that she will read and excerpt from the "Brown" chapter)

 

TR: Why don't you say where you went to school?

 

AB: Ok, I went to Brown University.

 

TR: Why?

 

AB: Why? Because it was the best school I got into. The best...I don't know...well, I didn't want to go to a really small liberal arts college, because I wanted to be around people with lots of different ideas, or people I could disagree with. Whereas I could have gone to a really small leftist, mostly hippie school, not that I necessarily consider myself a hippie, but...

 

TR: Do you consider yourself a leftist?

 

AB: (laughing) I consider myself a radical, so I wanted to...

 

TR: (interrupting) you say you consider yourself a radical, but you're disparaging about politics. .I don't remember in what part, but you say basically that you don't care. At a certain point, when you go to the rally in England...do you consider yourself a political writer at all?

 

AB: Like I said, this is a character. It's not me.

 

TR: But do you consider the character political?

 

AB: No. A little bit, but not really. Not like myself...It's not a memoir. It's fictionalized.

 

TR: Do you want to influence people with your writing?

 

AB: Yes, I do. The next thing that I'm writing will be a lot more political.

 

TR: Do you think books are an effective means for political change?

 

AB: Definitely, although I don't want to do anything that's too blatantly political. I prefer subtlety and irony and, you know, Russian writers do it the best.

 

TR: Who?

 

AB: My favorite is Michail Bogalkov, and I always mispronounce his name, so I hope I'm not doing it, but he wrote this book called The Master and Margarita, and the main characters are Satan, Jesus, Pontius Pilate and this big Tom Cat that talks. And it's fantastic, meaning you know, (gestures with her hands) mostly a fairy tale, but all the major political characters are there from the time. I'm embarrassed to say I don't know Russian history that well, but from essays I've read on it, he had everyone disguised (laughs) I mean he couldn't get anything published because it was so political and everything of his was censored. So that's how I would like to...at least this next book that I'm writing...approach politics. So I'm going to...

 

TR: (interrupting) Politics and world affairs?

 

AB: Yes but through fairy tale and through fantasy and...nothing too preachy. I don't want to preach anything. Because I'm also interested in different perspectives and I don't think there's one side to politics. I mean, I call myself a radical but I'm not a fanatic about one cause or the other.

 

TR: Right...like me.

 

AB: Yeah, that's why your name's Tao

 

TR: Yes (laughter) Do you consider yourself a Taoist? You talk about Taoism quite a bit in your book.

 

AB: I'm drawn to Taoism. I can't call myself a Taoist because I haven't...I don't know if I could call...well, my brother was a Taoist. He's the only true Taoist I ever met. I don't think there can be a true Taoist. I don't mean "true" because I think it's the wrong word, but I haven't reached that stage of spiritual...

 

TR: (interrupting) Do you think there's a conflict between being politically involved and being a Taoist, because a lot of Taoism emphasizes an acceptance of things as they are...and a lot of anarchist thinkers are split in this because there a lot of anarchists that are followers of Taoism but then others say 'No, it's too complacent," and if you really want to effect change, you can't have that attitude.

 

AB: And I think that's a misunderstanding of what Taoism is, because I think a Taoist would...or say Lao Tsu who wrote Tao Te Ching would say, well...which is actually a really political book, you know it's not just a philosophy, it has to do with government, written for government officials... so...

 

TR: But people say it could also be used to justify any sort of behavior.

 

AB: Right, and it kind of can, because Taoism is about balance between good and evil and Taoists say you have to have evil for the good, but, what is good and what is evil anyway? You know my mom said "I hate that book Tao Te Ching. It's so contradictory. It contradicts itself way too much." And I said, "Well mom, that's what it is. It's a contradiction." So I think having this dilemma about which way to go is not understanding that that's the whole point...is that there is no way to go on it. I mean I think you just have to go with things, and so living your life going with the flow...

 

TR: (interrupting) Even if that includes going against the flow. If that's what your natural inclination is...I think that's how I found a balance...

 

AB: (interrupting) I think it's more instinct than anything else, basically. Trusting your instincts.

 

TR: Right...I agree. So why don't you read this.

 

AB: So Brown University. My dad wanted me to put this piece at the beginning of the book because it sounds more like the character in the beginning, but I actually wrote it when I came back from London, and it's a...

 

TR: (interrupting) wait, before you read it...talk a bit about your experience in London, because it seems it was cathartic in making you get over your own obsession with yourself. All of a sudden the book shifts from all being in your head and being...you're exploring this stuff...and then it seems this change in geography, all of a sudden made you involved in the world more. Would you say that's accurate?

 

AB: Yeah, and it's why I wanted to go to London. I definitely needed to be out of my head, in reality...because I was just self-destructing. So London really saved my life and it got me farther away from my family and their phone calls and their insanity.

 

TR: So it was just being away more than London itself.

 

AB: Yeah...having to learn the subways, and getting around and meeting new people, and just being in a completely different environment. I think change is really important--having to adapt to a new place helped me get out of my head.

 

TR: How long did you spend in London?

 

AB: I was there for about 9 months.

 

TR: And after you came back you were back at Brown for how long

 

AB: for another 9 months

 

TR: And you had culture shock?

 

AB: Coming back to Brown? No, not culture shock. Just sort of like I'm back here and all the memories from the last 3 years before that...they came flooding back.

 

TR: All right. Let's hear the piece.

 

AB: “Brown” (Adrianne reads from her book)

 

Brown University: The place where kids try to out-cool, out-thin, and out-self-destruct each other while being the most brilliant academically, intellectually, and artistically. Fun place. Be sure to wear: Rubber bracelets, plastic butterfly barrettes, dyed hair, spiked collars, wide belts, black Docs, Velveeta t-shirts or Spam (whichever you prefer), dark lipstick (or no lipstick if you’re that kind of lesbian), shaved heads (if you’re going bald), square glasses (preferably black), Lucky Strikes, any kind of Lucky Strike paraphernalia, Dickies jeans, new Balance shoes, brooding bitches in black.

 

Congratulations! You got into Brown. Now get ready to run. For your life. For your slow death in your room chainsmoking cigarettes by the furnace at your desk under fluorescent light…why, why did you come to Brown? For your health. For you health. It’s almost winter. You have bronchitis. You write in your jouirnal a hundred times a week. I want to die. You do. Over and over again. On the floor. In the shower. At the party when your crush kisses another girl, boy, girl, boy…Congratulations! You got into Brown. Your cough is thick. Your throat is swollen shut. Lungs? Who needs them? Two exams. Five papers. All due the same day. In the morning. Only tonight, what do you have but your pack of smokes and your cup of French roast? There’s vodka in the fridge. There’s vodka in the fridge. Why are you still here? You dreamed you died in your sleep. You woke up alive. You try to sleep again. You say Wait! Take me back to the drop; the ocean wasn’t hard enough. I need t try it again. The jump. Where were the rocks? Water is rock from two-hundred feet, but in this dream it turns to down.

 

 

TR: Beautiful (looking at camera which signals that it is running out of tape) There's so much more I want to talk about. I want you to talk about your experimental use of language. It's not so much here, but you use a kind of architecture on the page sometimes. Is it...I mean, does language succeed for you in doing what you want to do, and this is just a way of making it succeed better? Or does it come out of a frustration? Or just an adoration of what you can do with language? What are your thoughts about what you can do with words?

 

AB: Well...

 

TR: Broad question...

 

AB: Right, no, well...The changing the words on the page came from poetry, and my first love of writing is poetry, and I'm not happy with the way novels are written in straight narratives and the way they look on the page. I feel like words should musically and visually express their content. so I play around with context and content and I don't...some writers, especially academics, say language poets and fictionists will just play around with context so it'll just be pretty on the page, or it'll just sound cool, or it'll just be about words. You know, I think that what your saying and how you’re expressing it should be as tight as possible.

 

TR: So it's about expression. It all has, at bottom, to be about expression...

 

AB:...to get the most amount of meaning across in the smallest amount of...not effort...but least amount of fluff around it...The smallest piece of light to reflect the most amount of light.

 

TR:  Let me change tapes...

 

Part 2:

 

AB: Am I being articulate?

 

TR Absolutely! Am I asking ok questions?

 

AB: yeah..

 

TR: I like this. This is always what I've wanted to do...one of things I've wanted to do.

 

AB: Well I like doing it to. I don't know why I was weird about it, because I love talking about writing...words.

 

TR: Ok, let's talk about the difference between talking and writing. I mean, there's an interesting issue. Is one derivative of the other, or is one always deficient?  Do you think...One of the misgivings I had about interviewing you was that you say it all perfectly right here (points to book). It's been thought about and it's been placed and words are fleeting and who knows what's going to come out. Are they totally separate things?

 

AB: Talking and writing or talking about your writing?

 

TR: No talking and writing in general. It's a philosophical question...

 

AB: ...then there's rhetoric...And then there's also writing in your head  and presenting things speaking...

…

TR: So poetry...do you still write poetry too?

 

AB: Yeah, but my poetry seems to be more like prose...I mean my prose is like poetry and my poetry is like prose.

 

TR: Are you trying to blur the distinction a bit?

 

AB: Yeah. I’m more interested in music and the way words sound...also visually, but what comes first is the music to me. And that's probably from having grown up...

 

TR: (interrupting) You said earlier that what comes first is the expressiveness. Is it...because music often...I often think about this because music can be so expressive without having meaning. I mean, especially music without words, right?

 

AB: Right...I feel it always has meaning though.

 

TR: Does it?

 

AB: Well, yeah.

 

TR: What kind of meaning can music possibly that's just notes.

 

AB: The emotion...the kind of music that I feel is really good is the type of music that makes you feel, that makes you want to cry, makes you laugh. And that's meaning.

 

TR: Your father is a musician.

 

AB: Yes

 

TR: So you grew up around music.

 

AB: I grew up in a recording studio. That's what I like to tell people.

 

TR: What was that like?

 

AB: Well, it was intense. I've had a pretty intense, strange life. A lot of things have happened to me that most people will never get to experience.

 

TR: Are you grateful for that, or do you wish you had a more normal life?

 

AB: Oh I'm completely grateful for it. I'm grateful for being a creative person too.

 

TR: Even if it's more painful?

 

AB: Uh huh. I mean, I can't imagine it different. So it's kind of...you get what you get (laughs) and this is what I have.

 

TR: Did you ever think about becoming a musician? Did you learn any instrument, or do you sing?

 

AB: I don't sing. I played violin for about 10 years but I hated performing for people. I couldn't play in recitals and I was made to do lots of competitions when I was little.  I just got so nervous and my hands would sweat and I would shake, and I just couldn't handle it. If I did it a lot it then got better, but the competitions were spread out. I didn't like playing in front of people. I liked playing for myself, and I liked playing in an orchestra, but I wasn't into performing music. I don't think I ever I ever learned to become another person when I played it. I felt too vulnerable…because theater was no problem. I mean theater, I'd get nervous before I went on stage, but once I was on stage it was this other world, and it wasn't me anymore. It was this other person, so I lived their world, and so I could perform all kinds of really intense things on stage.

 

TR: Now your father, what strikes me is that he seems to have found a balance between the commercial aspect of having to make a living and having to function in the world, while at the same time being true to your authentic creative needs. Can you talk a bit about his work and how it's influenced you? Or if it has any impact on you, that aspect of it--the fact that on one hand he's very successful doing something commercial, and selling, or doing things that are meant to be sold. And on the other hand he's up here, and he's making this very personal, political music.

 

AB: Yeah, you know that's been hard for him though. He hasn't been able to sell commercially up here.

 

TR: Does he want to? It seems what he's doing up here doesn't have that end.

 

AB: I think he has a conflict. He's told me before that he had something to say to the record industry, and he said it a hundred times and hasn't been listened to. Or has been listened to but, I feel like he hasn't been successful at being commercially successful while not wanting to be commercially successful...I mean, he's sort of torn. When he first moved up here he didn't want to record any albums. He said, "I'm sick of the recording industry. I don't believe in recording. I just want to play live music.”

 

TR: I think that's great. I'm very influenced by gypsies in Spain and a lot of them are very...they don't want to record. And I read an interview with one of them and they said, "How come you don't want to record your music," and he said, "because I want to know who's listening to me, and when. I don't like the idea of somebody listening to me in some inappropriate circumstance, and it should be about the moment." Is there an equivalent in literature? Do you like reading your work out loud in a reading? Or do you think this book is meant to be experienced internally by the reader?

 

AB: I think it depends on your audience.

 

TR: Who would you like to read this book? What would you like them to get from it? Let's get more specific here.

 

AB: Well...

 

TR: Is it targeted at a particular type of audience?

 

AB: That's a difficult question actually, and I know it shouldn't be because I've been told over and over again, "Know your audience and who your writing to," but sometimes I feel I don't know my audience until it's the audience...I don't the audience doesn't come to me, but...I don't have an audience in mind when I'm writing. I just write. And whoever wants to read it, reads it. Whoever wants to listen, listens. But to me more specific, I got some good feedback when I read my stuff at Brown, but everyone was so caught up in what you were supposed to do with writing and what the academics were doing, and I've always been an outcast. You know, I would rather get a "C" on a paper for it not being in the right form, then to write a paper that I didn't want to write--what I called “bullshit essay”. So you know, I mean I've always been so irreverent.

 

TR: But you have a love/hate relationship with academia, it seems. It seems like you need it at the same time...

 

AB: (interrupting) oh I'm totally grateful for it. But I feel like academia is just like any other cult. It's a close-nit group of people, and it's their club, and either you're in their club or you're out of their club. And you can learn from them, and from their writing, but unless you then decide to work through their hierarchy and stay close to the center, then you either have to create your own little circle or hop around to different circles, which is what I've always done. So even friends--I've never had a clique of friends. I've always had several.

 

TR: Is there anything else you'd like to add, in closing? There's this guy James Lipton who does these interview on Bravo with actors, and he always ends with these 5 questions, and you have to answer quickly without thinking about it too much, ok? 

 

AB: OK

 

TR: What's your favorite word?

 

AB: Oh my God!

 

TR: Is that too hard?

 

AB: I don't know, nothing came to mind! (laughing)...I don't have a favorite word.

 

TR: What about a favorite sound?

 

AB: I don't have a favorite sound...I like the wind. Not necessarily the sound though. I just like the wind.

 

TR: What about a least favorite word or least favorite sound.

 

AB: On the way here we were listening to this program on Yiddish words. I don't like the way they sound (laughter)

 

TR: What about your favorite curse word?

 

AB: This sounds awful, but I like Goddamn.

 

TR: Goddamn.  You use it in your writing. I like it too actually. It doesn't sound awful at all. (laughter) You like the sound of it, or you like the meaning of it?

 

AB: I like the meaning of it, and the sound of it.

 

TR: The impact, no? It's strong. Let's go back a second. You talk about this in your book. You say, "I don't have a favorite...I don't have a favorite anything," basically.  Do you know where that is?

 

AB: I don't have a favorite color, favorite...I was speaking about my little brother actually. We couldn't find his favorite song or his favorite flower for his funeral, because he didn't have favorites.

 

TR: Because he loved everything, you talk about, though. But you don't come across in the book as quite so optimistic about the world. Sometimes you come across as almost nihilistic. You say you don't have beliefs but you have to try to have them, because one needs beliefs in order to function in the world...

 

AB: (interrupting) It was the whole existential question. And also the question that the anarchists would ask of whether they could be Taoists or not...I just lost my train of thought.

 

TR: We were talking about needing beliefs. Is there something you believe? Do you believe in creativity as an answer? Do you need a belief and do you have a belief?

 

AB: I feel like...I feel differently about things frequently. At the time I was reading all this philosophy and so I was also reconciling the Taoists and should you believe something, and I thought, well everything's illusion anything, and everything's futile--that's what Sartre would say. Yet at the same time how do you wake up in the morning? How do you get out of bed? You need somewhere to go. So I believe in small things.  Small goals. Small beliefs.

 

TR: And they're enough? When something big comes along, is that enough to cope with the big things?

 

AB: Yeah.

 

TR: I mean tragedy...

 

AB: I think that it's hardest to deal with tragedy when you have these big beliefs and they shatter, and they're gone.

 

TR: Some people are able to find beliefs that will deal with anything, but I think it's a copout.

 

AB: Yeah, I guess I don't want to say I don't believe, but there is a piece in there that used to be titled  "I don't believe"

 

TR: Do you know where it is?

 

AB: It's towards the beginning. I think I called it "Radio" (Reads RADIO Chapter)

 

I don’t believe in talent. I don’t believe in style. I don’t believe in cool. I don’t believe in guile. I don’t believe in pleasure. I don’t believe in passion. I don’t believe in sin. I don’t believe in fashion. I don’t believe in cars. I don’t believe in class. I don’t believe in money. I don’t believe in gas. I don’t believe in worker. I don’t believe in boss. I don’t believe in jobs. I don’t believe in floss. I don’t believe in will. I don’t believe in choice. I don’t believe in free. I don’t believe in voice. I don’t believe in addiction. I don’t believe in vice. I don’t believe in delusion. I don’t believe in mice. I don’t believe in imagination.  I don’t believe in obsession. I don’t believe in self-destruction. I don’t believe in aggression. I don’t believe in I don’t believe in great. I don’t believe in grand. I don’t believe in could be. I don’t believe in can. I don’t believe in category. I don’t believe in definition. I don’t believe in individual. I don’t believe in volition. I don’t believe in opportune. I don’t believe in ideal. I don’t believe in privilege. I don’t believe in veal. I don’t believe in original. I don’t believe in old. I don’t believe in authentic. I don’t believe in gold. I don’t believe in professors. I don’t believe in education. I don’t believe in doctors. I don’t believe in medication. I don’t believe in corporation. I don’t believe in deliberation. I don’t believe in government. I don’t believe in manipulation. I don’t believe in Buddha. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in Jesus. I don’t believe in Mohammed. I don’t believe in police. I don’t believe in care.  I don’t believe in criminal. I don’t believe in D.A.R.E. I don’t believe in news. I don’t believe in blues. I don’t believe in media. I don’t believe in gurus. I don’t believe in Economy. I don’t believe in direction. I don’t believe in speed. I don’t believe in perfection.

 

TR: You know the John Lennon song, of course.

 

AB: Right, of course. I was listening to lots of John Lennon when I was writing this book.

 

TR: But the difference is that he closes that song by saying "I just believe in me. Yoko and me." So those are two strong beliefs, one is in love and the other is in one's own power.  You just close with not believing. But you do kind of hint at a belief in love. Do you have...besides your creative abilities, does that have any power in your life?

 

AB: It does...I don't know in which way to talk about it. I feel like it's something that can't really be talked about. Although I like the way Lennon talks about it. I'm not going to try to express it (laughs)

 

TR: What other profession besides writing would you like to try?

 

AB: Profession...Well, I don't ever want a profession.

 

TR: Good answer. So you would never see writing as a profession? If you didn't need to sell your books...

 

AB: (interrupting) I mean I would love to be able to make money off my books--off of any creative medium. I also believe in craftsmanship, so I want to write, write, write, so I get really good at it.

 

TR: That seems to be the advantage of having a profession. I always am wondering about this. There's a romantic ideal I have about doing always what's most natural, following your instincts and being authentic. But on the other hand--and I'm always decrying this forced specialization and having to define yourself through your work, especially here [in the United States]--but on the other hand, there's a good thing about that, which makes you focus, makes you have to finish it. You never would have polished this book the way you did if you didn't have this goal of being a writer. Maybe that's what having a profession, an identity...

 

AB: I can imagine having a few...Writing would be the first one...acting...and photography. If I could make money taking photographs, I love doing that too.

 

TR: And that goes back to being an observer. Is that why you like photography.

 

AB: Yeah, I see all kinds of images I want to capture.

 

TR: Is there a reason for wanting to capture them? Is it their beauty? Is it the act of capturing it?

 

AB: I don't know if it's the act of capturing it, but presenting their beauty to other people.

 

TR: What profession would you least want?

 

AB: (laughs) I've thought about this before, but I forget. There is a "least" somewhere...I would not want to be a telemarketer (laughs)

 

TR: You've said you don't believe in God, but let's see if you can answer this: "When you arrive at the gates of heaven, what would you like God to say to you?"

 

AB: (Laughs) I don't know. "Congratulations".

 

TR: All right. I think that was great. This has been an interview with Adrianne Bottrell. Tell me real quick, how old are you? Where were you born?

 

AR: I’m 22 and was born in Glendale, California

 

TR:  And grew up there, right?

 

AR: Yes.

 

TR: Are you happy to be out to there, or do you miss it?

 

AR: I have nostalgia, but I wouldn’t want to move back to Glendale. Although I really could live anywhere in the world.

 

TR: Really?

 

AR: Yeah. I love just going different places and finding what’s there.

 

TR: Great.

 

AR: Thank, Tao

 

TR: It was a pleasure. And thank you for writing the book, I’m glad it exists.

 

AR: Thank you for reading it.