PO BRONSON IN THE NEWS
Check it out. The Associated Press wrote an article about Po and his writer friends and the office they all share.
Fear. Isolation. Loneliness. Ah, the writer's life.
A group of freelancers in San Francisco believe they've found a
way to help remedy writer's block, share advice, get feedback on a
first draft and keep from driving their families crazy. They call
it The Grotto.
Strip away the pretentious moniker and their strategy is
deceptively simple -- shared office space.
"Staying home is a path to madness," explains Ethan Watters,
author of "Urban Tribes: A Generation Redefines Family, Friendship
and Commitment" and a founding member of The Grotto. "The work
itself is introspective and, in a way, working by yourself is a
constant fight with whatever demons you have. ... Whether you're
prone to napping or you want to turn on the TV to check out CNN. It
just becomes a harder demon to fight when you don't have a sense of
group momentum."
Watters, along with Po Bronson, best-selling author of the
dot-com era defining "The Nudist on the Late Shift," and Ethan
Canin, emergency room physician turned award-winning author of
"The Palace Thief," founded The Grotto in 1994. They rented an
old Victorian with space for six writers. Their criteria for
leasing a space? Be serious enough about writing to be willing to
pay rent.
Two years later, it was the height of the dot-com boom and their
monthly rent tripled. They found a new space -- in a former animal
hospital on one of San Francisco's seediest blocks -- and quickly
filled former exam rooms with 21 inhabitants, as they call
themselves.
Rents are back where they were in 1995. The group pays $1.50 per
square foot, which comes to about $150 to $200 a month for each
renter, depending on the size of their space, Bronson explains.
Each Grotto-ite also has chores to do each month, from changing
toilet paper in the shared restrooms to taking out the trash to
recycling. Everyone pitches in for a cleaning crew.
"The vibe here is, `Come do your chores, do your work,"' says
David Duncan, author of the newly released book, "The Geneticist
Who Played Hoops With My DNA ... and Other Masterminds From the
Frontier of BioTech."
"There's not a lot of messing around."
Everyone has a key and sets his or her own hours at The Grotto.
Lunches are usually shared on the roof. As The Grotto has aged, so
have its inhabitants. Most are in their 30s and 40s. Many are
married. There are now eight children among them. Family photos are
prominently displayed on desks and walls. The kitchen and the
rooftop are the only true common areas. News clippings, press kits,
lists of best sellers and other advertisements of each others'
success cover a large bulletin board.
There's no waiting list or application process for a spot at The
Grotto. There's little turnover; writers rarely leave. The founders
encourage fans to set up their own communities. They even offer to
help. But there's also no room for big egos.
Watters, in an interview from Las Vegas where he was working on
an article for GQ about golf hustlers, explains: "You can take
fairly strong personalities into a place like The Grotto ...
because you don't have to work together every day. ... No one's
your boss, no one's going to tell you you did a bad job. ... The
only interactions are positive. Because of that you can get strong
personalities that not only survive, but it's a really good place
for them."
Bronson, who shares his office with Sammy, his golden Retriever,
agrees and says jealousy and envy are poisons.
"Learn to set that aside and realize someone's success does not
take away from yours," he says. "You can be driven, you can be
ambitious without being competitive against each other."
He proudly announces he gives his agent's name and number to
anyone who asks. (Later, he does.) He also offers a reporter an
excerpt from his forthcoming book, "Why Do I Love These People."
(It's fascinating.)
Journalist and playwright Rodes Fishburne, in a conspiratorial
tone, offers to share the secret of The Grotto's success. He's
working on a novel called "Going to See the Elephant." There's a
San Francisco map on his wall with push pins marking the spots
where his characters live.
"This is the technology that makes this place work," he says.
He leans forward from his chair to reach his office door. "If I'm
here, and my door's closed, I'm working," he says. "It's solitary
because of the door and communal when you want it to be."
Most inhabitants acknowledge that when someone's up and
wandering or playing hoops on the roof or fumbling around in the
kitchen, something's wrong.
"If you left your office, it's because you're stuck," Bronson
explains. "It's the little creative challenges we face. ...
Someone's right there to deal with you if you need it. It's just
the sense that you're not alone."
Nearly every one of the 10 people sitting around the table on an
unusually warm San Francisco spring day nods and chimes in.
"If I stay home and write in my kitchen, I may not see anyone
else for 48 hours. It's just the office," says novelist Noah
Hawley.
Fishburne uses short story master John Cheever -- who dressed
every morning in a suit and tie, kissed his wife goodbye and headed
to the basement of his building where he undressed, hung up his
clothes and wrote in his underwear -- to illustrate his point.
"For us, coming to The Grotto is putting on our suit and tie,"
he says. "It's a psychological state of mind."
Fear. Isolation. Loneliness. Ah, the writer's life.
A group of freelancers in San Francisco believe they've found a
way to help remedy writer's block, share advice, get feedback on a
first draft and keep from driving their families crazy. They call
it The Grotto.
Strip away the pretentious moniker and their strategy is
deceptively simple -- shared office space.
"Staying home is a path to madness," explains Ethan Watters,
author of "Urban Tribes: A Generation Redefines Family, Friendship
and Commitment" and a founding member of The Grotto. "The work
itself is introspective and, in a way, working by yourself is a
constant fight with whatever demons you have. ... Whether you're
prone to napping or you want to turn on the TV to check out CNN. It
just becomes a harder demon to fight when you don't have a sense of
group momentum."
Watters, along with Po Bronson, best-selling author of the
dot-com era defining "The Nudist on the Late Shift," and Ethan
Canin, emergency room physician turned award-winning author of
"The Palace Thief," founded The Grotto in 1994. They rented an
old Victorian with space for six writers. Their criteria for
leasing a space? Be serious enough about writing to be willing to
pay rent.
Two years later, it was the height of the dot-com boom and their
monthly rent tripled. They found a new space -- in a former animal
hospital on one of San Francisco's seediest blocks -- and quickly
filled former exam rooms with 21 inhabitants, as they call
themselves.
Rents are back where they were in 1995. The group pays $1.50 per
square foot, which comes to about $150 to $200 a month for each
renter, depending on the size of their space, Bronson explains.
Each Grotto-ite also has chores to do each month, from changing
toilet paper in the shared restrooms to taking out the trash to
recycling. Everyone pitches in for a cleaning crew.
"The vibe here is, `Come do your chores, do your work,"' says
David Duncan, author of the newly released book, "The Geneticist
Who Played Hoops With My DNA ... and Other Masterminds From the
Frontier of BioTech."
"There's not a lot of messing around."
Everyone has a key and sets his or her own hours at The Grotto.
Lunches are usually shared on the roof. As The Grotto has aged, so
have its inhabitants. Most are in their 30s and 40s. Many are
married. There are now eight children among them. Family photos are
prominently displayed on desks and walls. The kitchen and the
rooftop are the only true common areas. News clippings, press kits,
lists of best sellers and other advertisements of each others'
success cover a large bulletin board.
There's no waiting list or application process for a spot at The
Grotto. There's little turnover; writers rarely leave. The founders
encourage fans to set up their own communities. They even offer to
help. But there's also no room for big egos.
Watters, in an interview from Las Vegas where he was working on
an article for GQ about golf hustlers, explains: "You can take
fairly strong personalities into a place like The Grotto ...
because you don't have to work together every day. ... No one's
your boss, no one's going to tell you you did a bad job. ... The
only interactions are positive. Because of that you can get strong
personalities that not only survive, but it's a really good place
for them."
Bronson, who shares his office with Sammy, his golden Retriever,
agrees and says jealousy and envy are poisons.
"Learn to set that aside and realize someone's success does not
take away from yours," he says. "You can be driven, you can be
ambitious without being competitive against each other."
He proudly announces he gives his agent's name and number to
anyone who asks. (Later, he does.) He also offers a reporter an
excerpt from his forthcoming book, "Why Do I Love These People."
(It's fascinating.)
Journalist and playwright Rodes Fishburne, in a conspiratorial
tone, offers to share the secret of The Grotto's success. He's
working on a novel called "Going to See the Elephant." There's a
San Francisco map on his wall with push pins marking the spots
where his characters live.
"This is the technology that makes this place work," he says.
He leans forward from his chair to reach his office door. "If I'm
here, and my door's closed, I'm working," he says. "It's solitary
because of the door and communal when you want it to be."
Most inhabitants acknowledge that when someone's up and
wandering or playing hoops on the roof or fumbling around in the
kitchen, something's wrong.
"If you left your office, it's because you're stuck," Bronson
explains. "It's the little creative challenges we face. ...
Someone's right there to deal with you if you need it. It's just
the sense that you're not alone."
Nearly every one of the 10 people sitting around the table on an
unusually warm San Francisco spring day nods and chimes in.
"If I stay home and write in my kitchen, I may not see anyone
else for 48 hours. It's just the office," says novelist Noah
Hawley.
Fishburne uses short story master John Cheever -- who dressed
every morning in a suit and tie, kissed his wife goodbye and headed
to the basement of his building where he undressed, hung up his
clothes and wrote in his underwear -- to illustrate his point.
"For us, coming to The Grotto is putting on our suit and tie,"
he says. "It's a psychological state of mind."
posted by cvo @ 5:12 PM
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