So it goes... RIP Mr. Vonnegut.

I read this thread, then figured I wouldn’t post, all was being well-said here. Took down and looked at a plastic fish I have right here near, a little treasure, that Vonnegut generously signed for me a great while back. Scratchy signature on the side, “Oh well, that wasn’t so good…” and then signed it again. It was backstage, after a lecture, and I had a message to give him from another writer…and so, was lucky enough to get to thank him for opening my mind as a teenager with his writing. He was gracious, am sure he just heard that same thing over and over, as deserved.

Now, just took a walk to the pond across the street, and tears came. Sadness, over Vonnegut’s passing, but a greater reason, really: gratitude. Like so many here, I read his work as a younger teen; found “Breakfast of Champions” at the college library where my dad taught. I had no idea who Vonnegut was, but that zippy 70’s Loud cover caught my eye. Read it, wow, then read everything else. Seeing how so many others here read Vonnegut on the young side, it’s remarkable that his style was accessible to people whose minds were ripe for expanding. Anti-establishment and stasis and ignorance, with humor and fantasy, simple generousity; you could stand there eating what appeared to be a literary fluff of cotton candy to some, but, man, it sure gave you the energy to cut through the bullshit of the later 20th century.

I’m ever grateful for that: his writing certainly helped me to develop looking through the status quo, further enhanced by Robert Anton Wilson later in life. For these two great writers, able to look at the odd human behaviour of modern times, and still be humorous, about it, what great heart they had. Grumbles and gripes, awareness of horror, then the best defense of laughing at that idiocy. So very grateful for that example.

Here’s “How to Write with Style”: from the Vonnegut Wiki entry
On pages 9 and 10 of his book Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, Vonnegut listed eight rules for writing a short story:

  1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
  2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
  3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
  4. Every sentence must do one of two things – reveal character or advance the action.
  5. Start as close to the end as possible.
  6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them – in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
  7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
  8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

You’ve done everything you were supposed to do, Mr. Vonnegut.
You can go home now.

NPR’s been playing tributes to him all day, and you can find a collection of them and interviews with him here. I was surprised by the number of people (and who they were) at NPR who were fond of him.

Hi ho.

His suddenly apparent mortality and the growing American distaste for Vonnegut-style cynicism in general only prove his point: No damn cat, no damn cradle.

Just as a point of reference, and so that I don’t look like a complete buffoon (or, any more than usual, anyway), here is also a link to the “How to write with style” pamphlet I referenced earlier, the one that continues to inspire me.

I was thinking about the concepts of Bokononism today. Could the Dopers posting here be considered a karass? Would the SMDB be our wampeter?

Kurt Vonnegut bought me two tickets to an event at the museum I work at a few months ago. Someone said, “Here are some tickets if anyone feels like going – a member bought them and then decided he can’t go.” I took the tickets and said, “Why do they say Kurt Vonnegut? I thought this was a Ken Burns event.” The person said, “Yeah, they just say Kurt Vonnegut because he’s the one who bought them.”

rocle, Thanks for that good link. It’s much more elaborate, and does Mr. Vonnegut a way better service. The Wiki is a little stump, so go to rocle’s link for the real deal.

rockle’s even. uuhh K…

Vonnegut did a couple of those International Paper ads. One of them dealt with punctuation and he stated, “Never use semi-colons. The only reason people use semi-colons is to show that they went to college.” Ever since I read that, I stopped using them. The hell with what my college professors said.

I hate it to fuck when you make a 62-year-old guy cry.

Thanks for all the memories.

So it goes indeed.

Thank you, Kurt. You opened my mind. Laughing, crying, and refusing to take myself too seriously. Thank you, Kurt.

I haven’t read the whole thread and if this is redundent, so it goes. Mrsin and I are going to bed and will be rubbing our soles together shortly. Bokononism rules. :cool:

That’s a nice thought, really.

At the very end of the Daily Show tonight Jon Stewart had a short tribute to Mr. Vonnegut. A clip from the recent interview.

They also made a reference to him at the beginning of The Colbert Report, with Colbert using a title of one of Kurt’s books in his opening monologue.

Kurt Vonnegut made me want to be a writer.

another dead
another busted head
somewhere there’s a Spalding
waiting on that great golf course in the sky

He was the only person I ever wanted to send a fan letter to. I even started writing it, but realized that I could never write anything I wouldn’t be embarrassed to send to someone like him.

Jeez. I hate crying but here I am. :frowning:

I’ve always found myself having a strong desire to meet the writers that move me or shape me. Among them are Robert Anton Wilson, Ken Kesey, Stephen King, Shusaku Endo, and so on. I imagine myself sharing a drink and having lofty conversations and of course I’m equally witty and clever and they are greatly impressed. (Yes, I’m a nerd, why do you ask?) Then at closing a firm handshake and a promise to keep in touch.
In my fantasy dream of my dinner with Vonnegut, at the end, I wouldn’t shake his hand. I’d hug him.