Month / August 2007

by Edward Champion

Happy Web Birthdays

A very happy eighth birthday to Speedy Snail. Rory Ewins has been maintaining a grand arsenal of academic writing, cartoons, computer advice columns (Dr. Komputor) — in short, a variegated life preserved in web form reflecting the great possibilities of the personal web. I met Rory once — a good seven years ago at Fray Day 4. I was then posting a good deal of sophomoric personal material to the Web. But to my great shock, Rory recognized me and introduced himself. Not being among the cool kids, Rory and I both performed our material late in the night in front of a crowd. I recall capacious plumes of marijuana smoke drifting over the heads of disinterested twentysomethings sitting on the front couches at Cellspace. It was an audience that grew distressingly less interested with the fine folks who dared to share their stories. Thankfully, a German friend and I were there, sober, laughing hysterically at Rory’s grand delivery of a Madagascar tale. (You can find the audio here. Oddly enough, my own performance, which chronicled the history of a love seat, appears to have been dropped and unreferenced by those who have deemed me not part of history.)

Incidentally, Speedy Snail’s birthday reminds me that edrants celebrated seven years on the Web back in May.

by Edward Champion

Roundup

  • At the the Litblog Co-Op, they’re cha-cha-chatting about the next round’s lineup. Discussion, guest blogging, and podcasts will be forthcoming — along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. Stay tuned!
  • In addition to composing blustering and martial music, John Philip Sousa wrote novels, which were also presumably blustering and martial. More from Paul Collins.
  • So what excites the publishing industry these days (or purports to)? “Forrest Gump wins Powerball.” No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, and no.
  • Hey, folks, quit picking on Richard Grayson or you’ll have to contend with me.
  • A fantastic piece in the Globe on African-American science fiction writers.
  • Hemingway’s typewriter has sold for $2,750.
  • Nan! Nan! Self-serving Nan! She’ll bray about Oprah because she can! Nan! Nan! Ignoble Nan! She doesn’t know Frey is a flash in the pan.
  • Christ, the corporate magpie has done it again. Instead of focusing on such blogs as Book Covers, which has been quite around for some time and often includes interviews with book cover designers, Foreword, a book design blog that’s been operating since 2003, or the more recent Judge a Book By Its Cover, Dwight “Pilfering Pettifogger” Garner acts as if these seminal blogs have never happened, devoting his attentions to The Book Design Review — presumably because “nytimes” is in Joseph Sullivan’s URL. No doubt that Garner will claim ignorance on these three other blogs, just as he acted as if Largeheartedboy’s Book Notes had never happened. But in an age where finding blog antecedents is just a Google search away, this is not a reasonable excuse. Any blog — corporate or independent — has a duty to know what’s been set down before and to innovate without absconding, Mencia-like, from what others have done.
  • She blinded Ian McEwan with science.
  • RIP Makoto Oda.
  • Maud notes that indie film shoots could become a rarity — thanks to draconian measures and overbroad legislative terms instituted by Mayor Bloomberg, which would involve slapping indie filmmakers with obtaining a permit and $1 million in liability insurance. (As I’ve learned more about Bloomberg, I’ve been scratching my head over how this fine city elected such a colossal asshole for mayor.) Public feedback ends on Friday and there is this petition set up by Picture New York. If you don’t want to see cultural depiction of New York transform into a needless plutocracy, voice your opinion today!
  • Orthofer, by dint of a dutiful reader, has located this helpful PDF file. Since the publisher hasn’t sent the dutiful Mr. Orthofer his copy, I suppose we’ll have to contend with this TLS review in the meantime.
  • Despite Robert Ludlum’s death six years ago, it would appear that he remains a prolific author. Apparently, the Ludlum executors are taking a page out of the V.C. Andrews playbook, having ghost writers expand upon story ideas that Ludlum had lying about. As much as I don’t care for Ludlum’s work, I still find this tantamount to sodomizing a writer’s dead corpse. If an uncredited writer riffs off a story idea, can it be sufficiently called a Robert Ludlum book? Ludlum’s agent, Henry Morrison, claims that Ludlum told him, “I don’t want my name to disappear. I’ve spent 30 years writing books and building an audience.” But does flooding the marketplace with faux Ludlum books really a fair way to preserve an author’s legacy? Why couldn’t Ludlum or his followers accept that all good things come to an end? Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about these green slips of paper that seduce people so easily. (via Jenny D)
  • I have a mad crush on Danica McKellar. (via Bookshelves of Doom)
  • Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diary is hitting the big screen. (via Bookninja)
  • Has genre become irrelevant?