Roundup

  • Her Pinkness has the skinny on Saunders in Pittsburgh. I do not know if Bob Hoover was involved with all the madness, but it’s my feeling that he should have been.
  • His Markness (or perhaps His Sarvoir Faire) has the inside scoop on what it means to be a debut novelist. Being a rather silly person in Brooklyn, I do not know if I am “actually in a position to advance [his] interests,” but if it helps the galley to come here any faster, I can offer a few lacrosse lessons or some helpful tips on stamp collecting, assuming that his “interests” plan to expand in the forthcoming months.
  • Whether ’tis Nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous prognostication, I would argue ’tis not until the jury’s out. But his Scottness has the hots and bothers for those occupying their time with endless speculation.
  • Que sera Sarah! Happy fourth!
  • Friends! Romanos! Countrymen! Lend me your review space!
  • His Hitchness gets busy with Wilson squared. To which I beseech: O Library of America, how can I get on your list?
  • Just so you know, we’re ashamed the divine Ms. Jones is being pegged as a mere Dixie Chick! (By the way, ever notice that the early history of the Dixie Chicks, in which two older women — specifically, Laura Lynch and Robin Lynn Macy — were part of the band, but fired in favor of the younger and presumably more outspoken Natalie Marines, appears to be notably elided within certain accounts? And you thought the Dixie Chicks represented some populist version of female empowerment!)
  • Her Weinerness defends Her Kathaness, leading to a Noun Ness Monster within these bullets that I may have to abandon in favor of the more trenchant ammunition of one misperceived word.
  • Online censorship hurts us all. When you wake up with that bruise tomorrow, just remember to tell everybody you had “a fall,” even though everybody knows you’ve been censored online. Speaking of censorship, not that I care, but shall I cry J’Accuse! against Cory Doctorow for not linking to any of the informative interviews conducted with speculative fiction authors — some, his friends — that have appeared on this site? After all, I have criticized Boing Boing in the past. For that matter, why have certain comments that are critical of Boing Boing disappeared from the Boing Boing site? Hypocrite much, Cory?
  • A talking Dalek tie! This is great for those boardroom meetings when some overbearing suit is trying to lowball you into a deal. While you can’t say anything to this guy that might suggest that self-defenestration might be the best thing he could do for his career, the Dalek, by contrast, might be able to suggest a one-word command that fits the bill. This is a great gift for passive-aggressive types stuck in an oppressive office environment. (via Bookshelves of Doom)
  • It’s a tough life being a novelist. While others are condemned to work at a McDonald’s or work two soul-sucking full-time jobs to feed their families, the novelist sits on his ass and perspires! Not that Mr. Swift said any of these things. As is evident from the article, he’s paid his dues. But the headline of this article suggests that Mr. Swift is one of those types who has the effrontery to compare full-time writing with “backbreaking labor,” but have never once performed hard physical labor. (For the record, I have. A few years ago: Three days loading 100 pound boxes at the docks to pay my rent. That’s “backbreaking labor.”)
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2 Comments

  1. If you worked three months instead of three days you would’ve developed some muscles and the job would’ve became a rote mindless thing. Good writing, as far as my personal (humble) taste, will always be TORTURING YOUR SOUL TO FACE THE HORRIBLE TRUTH.

    no contest in my opinion.

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