Occidental novelist Don Meredith received a second coveted National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) Fellowship in Creative Writing. His short story, “Desert Music” was among the 96 winning applications selected from nearly 1,900 entries. American writers in 33 states across the nation and two foreign countries competed for the $20,000 grants awarded in three categories: Poetry, Fiction and Belles Lettres.
The work was chosen by two nine-member peer review panels.-- a poetry panel and a fiction/belle lettres panel. A system of blind-judging was used for application review with the panelists basing their decisions solely on the literary merit of the submitted works.
Meredith’s short stories and fiction have appeared in many small press publications including The Texas Review, The Greensborough Review, Slipstream, Kingfisher (Berkeley), and Short Story Review (San Francisco). He also writes critical essays and reviews for the monthly periodical Short Story Review.
In 1984, Don Meredith was listed as an outstsnding writer in the Pushcart Prize Anthology VIII for his short story, “Comic Valentine.” He is also listed in the International Directory of Biography, and A Directory of American Poets &7 Fiction Writers.
Meredith and his wife of 23 years Josie, live in a multi-level shingled house right out of Architectural Digest replete with paintings, Persian rugs and a Siamese cat named Mr. Kim, whom Meredith affectionately calls “the Chinese landlord” while outside, the deer keep the meadows mowed.
The short story that won Meredith $20,000, and his second NEA fellowship “Desert Music”, originally published by The Texas Review is about a retired couple Barney and Gladys Rose, and their relatives, who wade their way through the Sonoran desert into Mexico like snowbird Kerouacs on the road-- the distances propel them “from one shapeless event to another.” While in Mexico, Barney’s mother dies but not before pointing an accusing finger at Barney saying, “what difference does it make where we’ve been? ....you haven’t a clue in the world what you want for yourself. There’s an empty place in you, Barney. What the star people call a black hole.”
“But this trip is for Barney. Every inch of it.” Barney discovers solace in the emptiness of the desert. “Maybe the emptiness is only echoing something in himself....the desert has slipped into the envelope of darkness, a wind leaking softly at its edges.” Fearing Mexican jails and red tape might interfere with the mother’s last will, they try to smuggle the body out of Mexico. This story is a journey of a spiritual awakening, alibet late in life.
Meredith, a tall, grizzly grey-eyed Celt of Irish and Welsh descent says he’s been writing seriously for about 20 years. His first published novel, Morning Line, his first published book circulated for a year before it was picked up by Avon Books. Meanwhile, he revised the manuscript which raised a few eyebrows at Avon. His wife Josie, a freelance editor, reads all his work before it goes out. He attributes her editing skills, in part, to his success. “So many writers need a good editor,” says Meredith. Grammatical mistakes can make or break a book.
A novel typically takes two years to complete. Meredith writes four to five hours a day, every day. He also manages to write short stories on the side. Gathering material for his first published novel, Morning Line, he spent a lot of time at the race tracks taking notes and for his second novel, Home Movies he used his own life-story--- he ran track in college--- for background.
Meredith’s natal waters are in southern California and his books are all set in California though he’s lived abroad for 13 years. The Newport Beach he remembers as a child was still filled with open fields and cattle. In 1956 he went to Cal Poly to study animal husbandry and took a freshman English class. He wanted to be a farmer and raise beeves but, alas, the wide open ranges were not for him. The Irvine Ranch succumed to housing and Meredith succumed to the pen.
Reminiscing, as to why he’s a writer, Meredith said he always liked to read. Becoming a writer seemed a natural progression. In college he realized people took writers seriously and one could make a career of it. While he was there, he wrote poetry. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that in 1956, Cal Poly went from a men’s college to co-ed. Meredith chuckles, “the ratio was 55 to one. I was just a freshman and I didn’t stand a chance.” While in college he switched to theatre “to get a well rounded education.” He majored in Drama and English at Orange Coast College, Long Beach State College and San Francisco State College.
Meredith and Josie migrated to northern California in the early 60’s. He worked as a bartender at the no name bar in Sausalito when he wasn’t traveling. “Sausalito used to be a real town before the hippies came,” Meredith recalled. “Jack Aranson ran the Gate Theatre and across from Elephant Park everybody met for coffee at the Rexall counter each morning to discuss the day’s business.”
After Sausalito, Meredith went off to live in Europe and “came back a writer.” Of those 13 years spent abroad, four were idyllic summers spent on a 20 foot boat and winters on the island of Kolcula off the Dalmatian coast in Yugoslavia and the other seven on a farm in the Chianti Hills of Tuscany, Italy. They were in charge of security for estates of wealthy Americans who summer in Italy. “Ironically,” he says, “I was doing animal husbandry. Picking olives and grapes.”
After working as caretakers in Europe and Santa Barbara mansions with neighbors that included the Shaw of Iran and Gene Hackman, was when they realized it was never going to get this good again. It was time to settle down and buy a house in Sonoma County.
He has many painter friends and he marvels how succinctly they describe their work while he defines himself as both inarticulate and shy. “I’ve chosen writing to become articulate. Writing gives me the time and space to put my ideas forward in the best possible manner.” Writing is a solitary act and painting is a more tangible pursuit. “At least with painting you have something physical to show for yyour work,” says Meredith.
When asked what his novels are about, Meredith is at a loss for words. He is at his best when he can spin stories about family and friends. Leaning back in his grandmother’s rocking chair, he said, “ this chair has a history. I put my father in it and asked him if he remembered it.” His father rocked a while, felt it with his hands (he was blind) and said, “my mother used to rock me in this chair.’ “
A phone call interrupted Meredith’s story. In almost the same breath, he told the caller, “did you know I got a NEA? My father died January 6th. He was 94. When we came back from the funeral, Josie found the envelope in the mailbox.” Meredith confided to me, “when you win a NEA it comes in a big envelope. When you don’t, it comes in a business envelope.” I said, “I know. I have eight of those business envelopes so far...”
Meredith once considered a career in writing for the theatre. “Theatre encompasses all art forms-- poetry, painting and music. Drama is the oldest profession. When I was going to school there was no humanities major. That’s why I took drama. It makes me wonder about all those creative writing majors. Henry James was a late bloomer. He didn’t start writing until he was in his 40’s.” He quoted James, “one needs a little life under one’s belt before becoming a writer.”
When he’s not writing, Meredith works as an EMT--emergency medical technician for the Palm Drive Hospital Ambu-van. He needed a part time job when they lived in Sebastopol and he was a medic in the National Guard. He says the job allows him some free time to write but the NEA fellowship will allow him to devote himself full time to his writing.
He has two “pre-first novels.” Pendragon-- “everyone’s first novel must be about a sexual psychopath” muses Meredith dryly. “I guess you’ve got to get it out of your system,” and his second unpublished novel 86 is set in Sausalito. The title comes from bartender slang, “nix, nix, 86.” “It was two-three years before Pendragon was put to sleep after making the rounds. 86 is still out there somewhere.”
“I’m not writing anything right now. My last novel Marginal Characters has been out there two years and hasn’t found a publisher yet. It’s clearly my best work... and that troubles me,” said Meredith pensively. One chapter from Marginal Characters was published by Kingfisher of Berkeley last year.
His next novel in the works “is set in Santa Barbara in the year 2050 and it’s NOT a science fiction novel,” he says emphatically. He’s still playing with story line, characters and plot so he can’t tell us much more about it ... yet.
When asked if receiving the last fellowship put pressure on him, he said, “when I got the NEA, I’d published two novels in two years, several short stories, and the Pushcart. Then I had a terrible dry period.” He sold the option on his first novel to a movie producer. It didn’t fly. He labored over a novel that went nowhere, but he was able to salvage a short story, called “Wing Walker” from it. “I don’t want that to happen again.” He doesn’t have plans to quit his part-time job as a medical transporter at Palm Drive Hospital just yet.
Meredith pulls out a dog-eared manuscript from a cardboard box. I commented on the ubiquitous novel slumbering in a cardboard nest while awaiting its fate. Rocking in his chair, Meredith laughs, “I got it out of the dumpster at Palm Drive Hospital. Someone saw me and exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! You win a $20,000 fellowship and you’re scrounging boxes out of the trash?”
When I asked Meredith what was the latest book he’d read, he said a biography of Nora, the real-life Molly Bloom of James Joyce’s Ulysses by written by Brenda Maddox. Writers who have influenced Meredith are the greats: Hemmingway, F. Scott Fitsgerald, Faulkner and of course, Joyce.
Meredith concludes with an image from the biography of Nora. When Joyce finished Ulysses, Nora says to him, she says, now that you’re finished with that book, why don’t ye become a singer?”
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For all you closet writers the next application deadline for the National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Creatrive Writing is March 3. For application deadlines or more information, contact the Literature Program, National Endowment for the Arts, Nancy Hanks Center, 1100 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, Washington, D.C. 20506 (202)682-5451.
