Up in the north of Ireland, the elected officials are supposed to be meeting, coming up with some sort of government that's in line with the Belfast Agreement. It's home rule, the same issue that's been plaguing the UK for hundreds of years, and now the politicians are under the gun. It's get it together, or else.
That's a mighty heavy stick that Dublin and London are using to dangle a mighty insignificant carrot under the noses of Sinn Fein and the DUP. The deadline to form a home rule government is set in stone, and it won't be changed, not ever, no matter what. Paisley or Adams could beg and plead until their tongues swell up and fall off, but come November 24, the clock will stop ticking, the alarm will go off and then...ah, what then?
Today, Bertie Ahern and Tony Blair took out the heavy lumber. And it's the DUP getting a beating, while Sinn Fein is drooling over the carrot. If the two parties can't come to an agreement, elect the First Minister from one party and the Deputy First Minister from the other, then a new bit of business will be undertaken.
Hey, Paisley, they shout from Dublin and London. Listen up, and listen good. Go gentle into that home rule government, or Dublin is going to have a lot more to do with governing the north than you could ever imagine. You don't like home rule, the prime ministers seem to be saying, well, it could be a lot worse for you.
Implied in their threat is an even worse outcome for the DUP. Dublin's going to be involved, and the Shinners want a united Ireland, and won't they be over the moon to have the Republic involved in the north? Behave, DUP, or we'll give the nationalists a little of what they've been after for the past ninety years, and you'll be sorry then. Look for Ian Paisley to be frothing at the mouth, roaring out his hymns and castigating any and all who dare to suggest that Dublin be called in from the sidelines.
A new study came out recently, showing that Northern Ireland is dependent on government subsidies, with over 60% of the Gross National Product the result of public service jobs. With evidence like that, you'd see why London would be keen to get rid of the six counties and the money pit that is Ulster province. Maybe they're counting on the DUP to balk at the threat, just they can have a reasonable excuse to pull out and dump the colony on Ireland.
And Sinn Fein is praying, fervently, that it comes to pass.
Belfast Agreement, Northern Ireland
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Why Bookstores Sell Coffee
The boy needed a book for Economics class, so I was off to the local vendor to support independent bookdealers everywhere. Sure, I cringed as I paid out close to thirty dollars for one hardcover book, but Freakonomics is the sort of tome that can tolerate a second or third reading. Only books that will stand such review are worthy to be added to the home library.
And as long as I was there...
My pile of 'to be reads' was bare. John Irving's latest was in the discard pile, the 'what were the publishers thinking and doesn't this man have an editor' rejection collection. Repetition, the same thing over and over again for one hundred thirty pages and I'll be damned if I'll waste my time with such garbage. James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man was a healthy antidote to Irving's nonsense, but the novel was finished, cover to cover, and I needed more words, so....
The clever shopowner has a table in the center area, where she stacks little piles of new fiction, some literary, some NYT bestsellers, but nothing that you'd find in the racks at Wal-Mart. What better place to pick up something, or at least get an idea of what's available so I can head over to the library. One by one, I picked up the newest novels and scanned the back cover for information. Slowly, my eyelids began to droop. Boring story. Not interested. Not another weeper about an Arabic woman. Mother dealing with troubled teens, anorexia, self-mutilation, boring, boring, who cares?
Thank goodness the comfy chairs were taken or I might have been tempted to take a little nap. I could have used a rush of caffeine, a little buzz to shake out the 'poor excuse for writing' doldrums that were lulling me into somnambulence. Being a very small shop, there was no corner taken over by Starbucks, and so I had to make do with a walk and fresh air to wake up.
I'm on the verge of packing it in. I thought I could write a decent query letter, but now I can't seem to get an agent to bite. I once had encouragement from agents in their rejections, but now I'm only getting forms or no response at all. Take classes, attend workshops, network, but I've a full time job and responsibilities, so those options are not viable. As for reading to study the market, I've done that, and I can't stand the market. I don't want to be published that badly that I would put together something I'd be ashamed to claim as my own.
Publishing has changed, even within the three or four years that I have been shopping manuscripts. The faster I run, the further behind I get.
And as long as I was there...
My pile of 'to be reads' was bare. John Irving's latest was in the discard pile, the 'what were the publishers thinking and doesn't this man have an editor' rejection collection. Repetition, the same thing over and over again for one hundred thirty pages and I'll be damned if I'll waste my time with such garbage. James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man was a healthy antidote to Irving's nonsense, but the novel was finished, cover to cover, and I needed more words, so....
The clever shopowner has a table in the center area, where she stacks little piles of new fiction, some literary, some NYT bestsellers, but nothing that you'd find in the racks at Wal-Mart. What better place to pick up something, or at least get an idea of what's available so I can head over to the library. One by one, I picked up the newest novels and scanned the back cover for information. Slowly, my eyelids began to droop. Boring story. Not interested. Not another weeper about an Arabic woman. Mother dealing with troubled teens, anorexia, self-mutilation, boring, boring, who cares?
Thank goodness the comfy chairs were taken or I might have been tempted to take a little nap. I could have used a rush of caffeine, a little buzz to shake out the 'poor excuse for writing' doldrums that were lulling me into somnambulence. Being a very small shop, there was no corner taken over by Starbucks, and so I had to make do with a walk and fresh air to wake up.
I'm on the verge of packing it in. I thought I could write a decent query letter, but now I can't seem to get an agent to bite. I once had encouragement from agents in their rejections, but now I'm only getting forms or no response at all. Take classes, attend workshops, network, but I've a full time job and responsibilities, so those options are not viable. As for reading to study the market, I've done that, and I can't stand the market. I don't want to be published that badly that I would put together something I'd be ashamed to claim as my own.
Publishing has changed, even within the three or four years that I have been shopping manuscripts. The faster I run, the further behind I get.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Reunited
Isn't love grand? Even in death, Nathaniel Hawthorne and his beloved wife could not remain apart. At last, the Associated Press reports, Nathaniel and Sophia are together again.
The author of The Scarlet Letter was a resident of Concord, Massachusetts, a descendant of fine stock, and rumored to have sprung from the same family that gave us the judge who really got the Salem Witch Trials up to speed. He was the father of three surviving children, a friend to President Franklin Pierce, and a very prolific writer, but one does not live forever and Mr. Hawthorne left this world back in 1864. Mrs. Hawthorne took the kids and made for England, to mourn at a distance.
As luck would have it, she lived only another six years and then she, too, died. No one thought to embalm her body and ship it back to Concord, so she was planted in foreign soil. One of her daughters also died in England, making two in the family plot in Kensal Green cemetery in London.
Another daughter, Rose Hawthorne, must not have fallen in love with England, because she came back to the USA and founded a religious order, a branch of the Dominicans. From that time, the Dominican Sisters paid to maintain the grave site in England, but money is tight for the clergy these days. The grave needed repairs, perhaps the monument was crumbling, but the good sisters could not keep it up anymore. What to do? Dig them up, of course, and send them home to Nathaniel.
The Hawthornes who are alive today are pleased that their ancestors are back home, all together in one place like husband and wife should be. Great-great-granddaughter Alison Hawthorne Deming, a professor of creative writing, was certainly over the moon over the whole thing, the reuniting and bringing together. And so, with great pomp and an antique hearse, what little was left of Sophia and daughter Una were planted in Concord's cemetery. Historian Philip McFarland, no doubt wiping a tear from his eye, noted that Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne were passionately in love, united in "...one of the premier marriages in American literature."
Rest in peace, Nathaniel and Sophia. Hope that you're not turning over in the grave, if you find the new arrangements not to your liking.
The author of The Scarlet Letter was a resident of Concord, Massachusetts, a descendant of fine stock, and rumored to have sprung from the same family that gave us the judge who really got the Salem Witch Trials up to speed. He was the father of three surviving children, a friend to President Franklin Pierce, and a very prolific writer, but one does not live forever and Mr. Hawthorne left this world back in 1864. Mrs. Hawthorne took the kids and made for England, to mourn at a distance.
As luck would have it, she lived only another six years and then she, too, died. No one thought to embalm her body and ship it back to Concord, so she was planted in foreign soil. One of her daughters also died in England, making two in the family plot in Kensal Green cemetery in London.
Another daughter, Rose Hawthorne, must not have fallen in love with England, because she came back to the USA and founded a religious order, a branch of the Dominicans. From that time, the Dominican Sisters paid to maintain the grave site in England, but money is tight for the clergy these days. The grave needed repairs, perhaps the monument was crumbling, but the good sisters could not keep it up anymore. What to do? Dig them up, of course, and send them home to Nathaniel.
The Hawthornes who are alive today are pleased that their ancestors are back home, all together in one place like husband and wife should be. Great-great-granddaughter Alison Hawthorne Deming, a professor of creative writing, was certainly over the moon over the whole thing, the reuniting and bringing together. And so, with great pomp and an antique hearse, what little was left of Sophia and daughter Una were planted in Concord's cemetery. Historian Philip McFarland, no doubt wiping a tear from his eye, noted that Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne were passionately in love, united in "...one of the premier marriages in American literature."
Rest in peace, Nathaniel and Sophia. Hope that you're not turning over in the grave, if you find the new arrangements not to your liking.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Into The Drawer
After getting a form rejection from Venture Literary, it is now time to officially declare the first manuscript dead in the water. I must have queried every agent around who accepts literary fiction, but no one is interested in taking on another unpublished author.
Time to focus on the next novel to be shopped, while writing the first draft of yet another manuscript. Maybe, just maybe, if someone would pick up something else down the line, I could pull the first manuscript out of the drawer, but for now, it's being put to sleep.
There's other ideas up in the old brain, other books to be written. Who knows what the future may hold? I've got nothing better to do with my free time anyway.
Time to focus on the next novel to be shopped, while writing the first draft of yet another manuscript. Maybe, just maybe, if someone would pick up something else down the line, I could pull the first manuscript out of the drawer, but for now, it's being put to sleep.
There's other ideas up in the old brain, other books to be written. Who knows what the future may hold? I've got nothing better to do with my free time anyway.
Take A Chance
How often have you heard a comment about publishing that involves such things as: it's a crapshoot, when the publisher buys an unpublished author's first novel. Taking a chance, a roll of the dice, the odds are against it, etc., etc., and, hey, why not hold book signings in a casino?
Doesn't it just seem to all tie together? The Big House rolls the dice and sits back, waiting to see if the author will crap out or hit their mark. So why not take that same author to a casino? Gambling, right, it's all the same thing, casinos and publishing?
Wall Street is as much a casino as the Mirage, but without the bright lights and cocktails, so I suppose it's more fun to hold a book signing in a glitzy and noisy spot. A recent NYT article detailed one such event, but the author was a big seller, Janet Evanovich, who writes mysteries. Ms. Evanovich had a doing at a resort casino, but that may be a bit over the top for the average writer. And it's certainly beyond the Pale for the literary types.
All over the country, light bulbs are popping up over the heads of self-published authors, always in search of that edge that will catapult their sales into the stratosphere. By this time tomorrow, you won't be able to walk through the door of the Ho-Chunk Casino without tripping over them, tables set up here and there, offering to autograph a copy of their overpriced verbiage. What better way to while away the hours, waiting for the tour bus to depart after you've blown your stash on the slot machines. As the other senior citizens drop their last nickels into the machine, you could sit back and read a novel by someone who could not find a legitimate publisher to put it out. Or you could take that last $25 and buy a few chips, put them on the craps table, and try your luck.
It's all a crapshoot, isn't it? Looks like even the authors have accepted the fact.
Doesn't it just seem to all tie together? The Big House rolls the dice and sits back, waiting to see if the author will crap out or hit their mark. So why not take that same author to a casino? Gambling, right, it's all the same thing, casinos and publishing?
Wall Street is as much a casino as the Mirage, but without the bright lights and cocktails, so I suppose it's more fun to hold a book signing in a glitzy and noisy spot. A recent NYT article detailed one such event, but the author was a big seller, Janet Evanovich, who writes mysteries. Ms. Evanovich had a doing at a resort casino, but that may be a bit over the top for the average writer. And it's certainly beyond the Pale for the literary types.
All over the country, light bulbs are popping up over the heads of self-published authors, always in search of that edge that will catapult their sales into the stratosphere. By this time tomorrow, you won't be able to walk through the door of the Ho-Chunk Casino without tripping over them, tables set up here and there, offering to autograph a copy of their overpriced verbiage. What better way to while away the hours, waiting for the tour bus to depart after you've blown your stash on the slot machines. As the other senior citizens drop their last nickels into the machine, you could sit back and read a novel by someone who could not find a legitimate publisher to put it out. Or you could take that last $25 and buy a few chips, put them on the craps table, and try your luck.
It's all a crapshoot, isn't it? Looks like even the authors have accepted the fact.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Welcome To Mayberry
The Andy Griffith Show has been broadcast continuously, it seems, since the day in the 1960's when it first aired. With its ensemble cast of unique characters, the situation comedy is part of the American psyche, from the bumbling Deputy to the addled gas station attendant, Gomer Pyle.
Reading the headline in today's Irish Times, my mind replayed an episode of the old show. Only a few lines, but I can hear it clearly, the less than bright Gomer chasing after some poor sap, shouting "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest!" in a slow southern drawl. Hysterical, funny stuff.
Imagine, if you will, the American soldiers who went out for a walk in Ennis on Thursday. Their plane was stopped over at Shannon Airport, held up for repairs, and they were temporarily housed at the West County Hotel in Ennis, County Clare until the plane was ready to fly. What better thing to do than step out for a walk along the road, sticking to the busy streets so that they would not get lost. A chance to see a corner of Ireland, and who could resist the urge to wander a bit, in search of cead mile failte? So there they are, strolling along the Limerick Road, when a man drives past, stops and gets out of his car, and begins to trumpet "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest!"
Sure and they were rolling on the ground, splitting their sides with laughter. For Mr. Conor Cregan's sake, however, I do hope that they held their mirth and confined it to a snicker or two, or at best, a look of complete puzzlement. Dear Mr. Cregan, local peace activist, was in the process of making a most grand gesture, and only tight self control could keep the Americans' guffaws in check.
Why did he hold these six American soldiers until the Garda was called? Why, the men were wearing their fatigues, which were no doubt the only clothes that they had available since they were not expecting to stay over and had not packed overnight bags. To quote from today's winner of the Grand Gesture Award:
You see, soldiers of foreign armies can walk about Ennis, but only in civies, and only if the Irish Department of Defence approves. Now, you'd think that the gardai would be quick to jump on this breech of the law, but I daresay that they were at the station, having a top laugh, and couldn't safely drive the van over to pick up the Yank miscreants.
But that's not all that the gardai failed to do. Why, they should have lifted the lads and then launched an investigation to see if these same soldiers had been involved in crimes in Iraq and Afghanistan, according to Mr. Edward Horgan.
Difficult to be a peace activist these days, when even the Garda don't take you seriously. What's a man to do, but make the grand gesture and turn himself into a laughingstock? Good man, yourself, there, Conor, for bringing The Andy Griffith Show to life for a few of the lads. You made their day a little brighter.
Technorati tag: Ennis, citizens arrest
Reading the headline in today's Irish Times, my mind replayed an episode of the old show. Only a few lines, but I can hear it clearly, the less than bright Gomer chasing after some poor sap, shouting "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest!" in a slow southern drawl. Hysterical, funny stuff.
Imagine, if you will, the American soldiers who went out for a walk in Ennis on Thursday. Their plane was stopped over at Shannon Airport, held up for repairs, and they were temporarily housed at the West County Hotel in Ennis, County Clare until the plane was ready to fly. What better thing to do than step out for a walk along the road, sticking to the busy streets so that they would not get lost. A chance to see a corner of Ireland, and who could resist the urge to wander a bit, in search of cead mile failte? So there they are, strolling along the Limerick Road, when a man drives past, stops and gets out of his car, and begins to trumpet "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest!"
Sure and they were rolling on the ground, splitting their sides with laughter. For Mr. Conor Cregan's sake, however, I do hope that they held their mirth and confined it to a snicker or two, or at best, a look of complete puzzlement. Dear Mr. Cregan, local peace activist, was in the process of making a most grand gesture, and only tight self control could keep the Americans' guffaws in check.
Why did he hold these six American soldiers until the Garda was called? Why, the men were wearing their fatigues, which were no doubt the only clothes that they had available since they were not expecting to stay over and had not packed overnight bags. To quote from today's winner of the Grand Gesture Award:
"I saw the soldiers in uniform on the road, in a public place, where they shouldn't have been. It is a breach of Irish neutrality and our Constitution that these troops are allowed to pass through Shannon in the first place but to see them in fatigues on the streets of Ennis is a disgrace."
You see, soldiers of foreign armies can walk about Ennis, but only in civies, and only if the Irish Department of Defence approves. Now, you'd think that the gardai would be quick to jump on this breech of the law, but I daresay that they were at the station, having a top laugh, and couldn't safely drive the van over to pick up the Yank miscreants.
But that's not all that the gardai failed to do. Why, they should have lifted the lads and then launched an investigation to see if these same soldiers had been involved in crimes in Iraq and Afghanistan, according to Mr. Edward Horgan.
Difficult to be a peace activist these days, when even the Garda don't take you seriously. What's a man to do, but make the grand gesture and turn himself into a laughingstock? Good man, yourself, there, Conor, for bringing The Andy Griffith Show to life for a few of the lads. You made their day a little brighter.
Technorati tag: Ennis, citizens arrest
Friday, June 23, 2006
Summer Hours
Summertime and the living is easy for literary agents. Only insofar as they usually take off early on a Friday, that is. The rest of the business is a misery.
If only Martha Hoffman at Judith Ehrlich's agency would put in a few extra hours and get caught up. She's had a partial since the middle of January, and six months later, I've yet to hear from her. Has me wondering if she asked for partials from just about anyone who queried when she joined the agency, and now there's a backlog that threatens to crash her computer. Smart woman, to ask for a downloadable file rather than fifty pages of real paper. Can you imagine the weight of dozens of partial manuscripts? The legs of the desk would give out and crush her little feet.
Don't know if Frank Scatoni of Venture Literary is off to the Hamptons for the weekend, or if he's hauling my partial manuscript off for a cozy weekend. Curl up in a comfy chair and pore over the pages, sip a glass of wine...life is good.
Can't say the same for the literary journal editors, who are either teaching summer school or doing research for their own publication credits. Publish or perish out there in the scholastic world. My short story submissions from March are languishing, I imagine, or dozing in the summer heat. I suppose that the 2-4 month window of consideration gets dragged out when summer vacation intrudes, or that 2-4 months means months when school is in session.
I'm getting so tired of waiting that I'm not doing a very good job of tracking submissions anymore. When the rejection letter turns up, I'll log it in and cross off another agency. In the meantime, I can curl up on the plastic lawn chair, sip a cold gin and tonic, and read whatever is selling these days. If the agents and the editors are on shortened hours, why obsess over outstanding submissions? More productive to slice up a lime and chill the Bombay Sapphire.
If only Martha Hoffman at Judith Ehrlich's agency would put in a few extra hours and get caught up. She's had a partial since the middle of January, and six months later, I've yet to hear from her. Has me wondering if she asked for partials from just about anyone who queried when she joined the agency, and now there's a backlog that threatens to crash her computer. Smart woman, to ask for a downloadable file rather than fifty pages of real paper. Can you imagine the weight of dozens of partial manuscripts? The legs of the desk would give out and crush her little feet.
Don't know if Frank Scatoni of Venture Literary is off to the Hamptons for the weekend, or if he's hauling my partial manuscript off for a cozy weekend. Curl up in a comfy chair and pore over the pages, sip a glass of wine...life is good.
Can't say the same for the literary journal editors, who are either teaching summer school or doing research for their own publication credits. Publish or perish out there in the scholastic world. My short story submissions from March are languishing, I imagine, or dozing in the summer heat. I suppose that the 2-4 month window of consideration gets dragged out when summer vacation intrudes, or that 2-4 months means months when school is in session.
I'm getting so tired of waiting that I'm not doing a very good job of tracking submissions anymore. When the rejection letter turns up, I'll log it in and cross off another agency. In the meantime, I can curl up on the plastic lawn chair, sip a cold gin and tonic, and read whatever is selling these days. If the agents and the editors are on shortened hours, why obsess over outstanding submissions? More productive to slice up a lime and chill the Bombay Sapphire.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Powerhouse Agencies
Today's NYT reports on some shuffling taking place in the Big Apple. Not that it has anything to do with literary agents, but the agencies involved are massive and I'm wondering if something might be a'changing.
IMG is a powerhouse agency that reps artists of all sorts. According to the NYT, they are a major dealer in classical musicians, possessed of a coterie of top notch talent. As for their literary agency, I've never been sure that it's still active. A look at theIMG website lists a few deals, but they are old. As for the list of agents, it's down to two, and for the longest time the agents included Lisa Queen, who went off on her own months ago. All that lack of activity leads me to believe that IMG is not a big mover and shaker in literary agenting.
ICM, on the other hand, houses some of the best literary agents around, and their stable of musical talent isn't half bad, either. The latest rumor has ICM selling their classical music division to IMG, although it's all very quiet, as befits an orchestral setting.
IMG was bought up in 2003 by Barrett Wissman, who just happens to be a Texas financier when he's not tinkling the ivories. His wife is a cellist, not an author, so the musical link is quite strong. The news article mentions that Mr. Wissman has established music festivals, part of his creative contribution to the agency he purchased. Nothing in there about BEA or Frankfort Book Fair or anything related to representing authors.
So ICM will unload their classical music division, while IMG seems to be phasing out their literary agenting. It's hard to tell on that last bit, though. Send a query to IMG, snail mail only, with SASE enclosed, and they won't answer you at all if they aren't interested. With that sort of non-response, you can't tell if they're out of business or your novel is not right for their list.
Even though I'm always looking for an agent to query, I'll pass on IMG. If they aren't even going to bother stuffing my SASE with a form rejection, I'll save the postage and use it elsewhere. Like to query someone at ICM.
Technorati tag: ICM Literary, IMG Literary
IMG is a powerhouse agency that reps artists of all sorts. According to the NYT, they are a major dealer in classical musicians, possessed of a coterie of top notch talent. As for their literary agency, I've never been sure that it's still active. A look at the
ICM, on the other hand, houses some of the best literary agents around, and their stable of musical talent isn't half bad, either. The latest rumor has ICM selling their classical music division to IMG, although it's all very quiet, as befits an orchestral setting.
IMG was bought up in 2003 by Barrett Wissman, who just happens to be a Texas financier when he's not tinkling the ivories. His wife is a cellist, not an author, so the musical link is quite strong. The news article mentions that Mr. Wissman has established music festivals, part of his creative contribution to the agency he purchased. Nothing in there about BEA or Frankfort Book Fair or anything related to representing authors.
So ICM will unload their classical music division, while IMG seems to be phasing out their literary agenting. It's hard to tell on that last bit, though. Send a query to IMG, snail mail only, with SASE enclosed, and they won't answer you at all if they aren't interested. With that sort of non-response, you can't tell if they're out of business or your novel is not right for their list.
Even though I'm always looking for an agent to query, I'll pass on IMG. If they aren't even going to bother stuffing my SASE with a form rejection, I'll save the postage and use it elsewhere. Like to query someone at ICM.
Technorati tag: ICM Literary, IMG Literary
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Empower The Little Children
After the row that erupted when a rapist was set free because a law was declared unconstitutional, the entire government of Ireland, from the law clerks on up, has been working around the clock to get some legislation in place to plug the hole. The first item on the agenda - what shall be the official age of consent for the wee little ones?
Who should decide such a weighty issue? Certainly, one must consult experts on child psychology and development, knowledgeable people who know what is best for the mental and physical health of our offspring. Constitutional lawyers, of course, must weigh in with their own particular slant on all things permissible under law, so that the new law does not get tossed out like the old one. All those involved in the child protection game will be called in to offer their perspective, and they can hash things out with the lawyers to put everything in order.
And then who do you talk to? In Ireland, you would of course talk to the children and ask them if they would like to have sex at the age of 14, or maybe 12, or should it be 16. Boys and girls both have to be asked, of course, because the EU insists that all be treated equally. As things stand now, girls under the age of 17 can't be prosecuted for having sex because then everyone would say that Ireland was criminalizing teen pregnancy, and after the whole Magdalene Laundry issue, well, no one wants to go back there again.
In a rush to cobble together a bit of legislation, the Government left the age of consent as is, and so, a boy of 17 could be sent to jail but the girl would most likely be sent home to Mammy. And so, everyone wants to empower the children and ask them how to best resolve the issue of how old is old enough to begin having sex.
They're thinking of starting out with a group of 14 - 18 year olds, and possibly head down to the 12's. Minister for Children Brian Lenihan believes "it is important that their voice is heard, and that they have a meaningful input into this national debate."
Meaningful, yes, indeed. How many fourteen year old boys would think that the age of consent should be lowered to, oh, say, about fourteen? And how many fourteen year old girls will complain about feeling forced to have sex? For this, they need a Government study.
So much for the silly, old fashioned notion that parents should be in charge. I mean, there's no room in the debate for the fathers of fourteen-year-old girls, is there? Anyone care to empower them to throttle the bastard who had his way with their little girl? That's become a nonsense in these modern times. Let the wee ones have their say and have their way. And then we can have a government study about the spoiled behavior of the younger generation, armed to the teeth with all their empowerment, and in more danger than ever.
Who should decide such a weighty issue? Certainly, one must consult experts on child psychology and development, knowledgeable people who know what is best for the mental and physical health of our offspring. Constitutional lawyers, of course, must weigh in with their own particular slant on all things permissible under law, so that the new law does not get tossed out like the old one. All those involved in the child protection game will be called in to offer their perspective, and they can hash things out with the lawyers to put everything in order.
And then who do you talk to? In Ireland, you would of course talk to the children and ask them if they would like to have sex at the age of 14, or maybe 12, or should it be 16. Boys and girls both have to be asked, of course, because the EU insists that all be treated equally. As things stand now, girls under the age of 17 can't be prosecuted for having sex because then everyone would say that Ireland was criminalizing teen pregnancy, and after the whole Magdalene Laundry issue, well, no one wants to go back there again.
In a rush to cobble together a bit of legislation, the Government left the age of consent as is, and so, a boy of 17 could be sent to jail but the girl would most likely be sent home to Mammy. And so, everyone wants to empower the children and ask them how to best resolve the issue of how old is old enough to begin having sex.
They're thinking of starting out with a group of 14 - 18 year olds, and possibly head down to the 12's. Minister for Children Brian Lenihan believes "it is important that their voice is heard, and that they have a meaningful input into this national debate."
Meaningful, yes, indeed. How many fourteen year old boys would think that the age of consent should be lowered to, oh, say, about fourteen? And how many fourteen year old girls will complain about feeling forced to have sex? For this, they need a Government study.
So much for the silly, old fashioned notion that parents should be in charge. I mean, there's no room in the debate for the fathers of fourteen-year-old girls, is there? Anyone care to empower them to throttle the bastard who had his way with their little girl? That's become a nonsense in these modern times. Let the wee ones have their say and have their way. And then we can have a government study about the spoiled behavior of the younger generation, armed to the teeth with all their empowerment, and in more danger than ever.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Scammer Sightings
Where do they come from, these scammer literary agents? How do they find the gullible? Check the back pages of Writers Digest and you'll find them, prominently displaying their services in large boxed ads.
"Manhattan Firm Seeks New Writers" reads one banner. Mark Sullivan Associates, with offices on Fifth Avenue in New York, might be able to represent you. If they do, why, you could garner an advance between $5,000 and $100,000. Six figure advance! Money, money, money and what fledgling author could resist? Why, this company only wants serious efforts, so they must be serious themselves. Of course, the fledgling does not know anything about the stunt that was pulled off by several moderators atAbsolute Write , who submitted to another scammer with other intentions, and scored big.
But before you send off your sample chapters, grasshopper, you would want to look at the website of Mr. Mark Sullivan. Nowhere on his page does he list the dubious distinction of being one of Writers Beware Twenty Worst Agents. Ah, but he does mention some of the watchdog groups who have outed him:
But P&E, WritersBeware, Absolute Write, why, those are all free sites that have no services to sell at all. Mr. Sullivan is obviously confused, so we cut him some slack and move on through his FAQs.
What about that reading fee he charges? He feels that it's perfectly all right, as long as the fee charger is in New York City, where the publishers are, that the scammer, er, fee charger reads the material, and that the fee is reasonable. How about that, his fee is exactly as much as the reasonable fee. Why, doesn't that just prove how legitimate he is?
Next? Look at his list of clients. Legitimate agencies have no problem with detailing their clients, the books sold, and the name of the publisher. Mr. Sullivan is sadly lacking in that department. So he charges to read a manuscript, he offers editing services (no mention of the cost of that process), and then he can't seem to sell anything to legitimate publishing houses that require agented submissions.
Real agents do not charge anything to read your manuscript if they ask for it, because they are looking for material to sell. It's their business. It's how they make money. Reading fees are never legitimate, and there is no such thing as a reasonable amount to charge a writer.
Mark Sullivan claims to have been in business since 1992. At $225 a pop, he would have to sucker about five people per week to make a comfortable living on submissions alone. Add in some editing, which doesn't seem to be very good if he can't sell a manuscript to a legitimate house, and it's a vacation home in the Hamptons.
Don't you go falling for it.
Technorati tag: Mark Sullivan Associates, literary agent scam
"Manhattan Firm Seeks New Writers" reads one banner. Mark Sullivan Associates, with offices on Fifth Avenue in New York, might be able to represent you. If they do, why, you could garner an advance between $5,000 and $100,000. Six figure advance! Money, money, money and what fledgling author could resist? Why, this company only wants serious efforts, so they must be serious themselves. Of course, the fledgling does not know anything about the stunt that was pulled off by several moderators at
But before you send off your sample chapters, grasshopper, you would want to look at the website of Mr. Mark Sullivan. Nowhere on his page does he list the dubious distinction of being one of Writers Beware Twenty Worst Agents. Ah, but he does mention some of the watchdog groups who have outed him:
Internet reference services on literary agents, like P&E, WritersBeware, Agent Gripes, etc. express a general opposition to the reading fee, although some of them are selling their own services quite aggressively with poor research behind them.
But P&E, WritersBeware, Absolute Write, why, those are all free sites that have no services to sell at all. Mr. Sullivan is obviously confused, so we cut him some slack and move on through his FAQs.
What about that reading fee he charges? He feels that it's perfectly all right, as long as the fee charger is in New York City, where the publishers are, that the scammer, er, fee charger reads the material, and that the fee is reasonable. How about that, his fee is exactly as much as the reasonable fee. Why, doesn't that just prove how legitimate he is?
Next? Look at his list of clients. Legitimate agencies have no problem with detailing their clients, the books sold, and the name of the publisher. Mr. Sullivan is sadly lacking in that department. So he charges to read a manuscript, he offers editing services (no mention of the cost of that process), and then he can't seem to sell anything to legitimate publishing houses that require agented submissions.
Real agents do not charge anything to read your manuscript if they ask for it, because they are looking for material to sell. It's their business. It's how they make money. Reading fees are never legitimate, and there is no such thing as a reasonable amount to charge a writer.
Mark Sullivan claims to have been in business since 1992. At $225 a pop, he would have to sucker about five people per week to make a comfortable living on submissions alone. Add in some editing, which doesn't seem to be very good if he can't sell a manuscript to a legitimate house, and it's a vacation home in the Hamptons.
Don't you go falling for it.
Technorati tag: Mark Sullivan Associates, literary agent scam
Monday, June 19, 2006
Special Offer
Haven't we all received an e-mail from some character out of Africa, English broken into bits, pleading for help. There's always a lot of money involved, the refugee can't get it without your help, and if you'll just send them your bank account number, etc. etc.
Today's installment has me a bit puzzled.
Unfortunate indeed. Martha goes on to say that she can't open a bank account in the UK, and there's this box with $12 million in it, housed in Spain. What with the UK being on pounds sterling, and the money in US dollars, I'd say she's got a little problem. Naturally, I'm expecting her to next ask me to e-mail her my bank information and she'll put the money right into my account and trust me to give her a cut out of the kindness of my heart.
But what does she want from me? Name, address, phone and fax numbers, but not my bank account number or bank routing number. Now that's a first. With only some random pieces of identification, she'd have to do a fair bit of work to put together some documents, and she still can't access my bank account. Clearly, she's after something else that relates to identification, but I can't quite figure out what the real scam is here.
Kind of her to leave her son's e-mail address, but since anyone can get a yahoo mailbox, I'll pass on contacting the lad. Working in a pub in the UK somewhere, she says in her letter, but she's quite vague on the location. It could be that she's hoping to craft a false identity for her illegal alien offspring so he can open a bank account and get hold of the $12 million that's in the box in Spain. I can't imagine that the customs officials would fall for this one, in the UK or in Spain.
I mean, what with my name and the racial characteristics of a native of Sierra Leone, there's quite the disconnect there. No, Martha, I won't send you my particulars. It would be a disservice to your young lad, forced to lie through his teeth to convince some agent at the border that he's black Irish, of a particularly dark skinned variety.
Pity that you didn't make your first stop in Spain, on the way out of Sierra Leone. Then you could have picked up the box of cash yourself. You said in your e-mail that your husband told you about the stash before he was murdered, so why didn't you get it when you had the chance? I mean, you say you have the certificate of deposit and the receipt from the Spanish security company. It would have been easy enough to pop in and claim your possessions, what with Spain being along the route between Africa and the UK.
Thank you for the opportunity to be taken, but, alas, I must pass. Your scam is not right for my list. But scamming is a purely subjective business, and I wish you luck in finding a complete idiot to fall for your e-mail.
Today's installment has me a bit puzzled.
My name is Mrs Martha Pujeh,from Diamond rich country district of Bombali in Northern Province of Sierra Leone.I am the widow of the Late Mr. MOMOH PUJEH, the Managing Director of Sierra Leone Diamond Mining Corporation and Transport Minister.I am currently living in a refugee Hostel in UK.My family and I have been unfortunate to find ourselves caught up in a very difficult situation here.
Unfortunate indeed. Martha goes on to say that she can't open a bank account in the UK, and there's this box with $12 million in it, housed in Spain. What with the UK being on pounds sterling, and the money in US dollars, I'd say she's got a little problem. Naturally, I'm expecting her to next ask me to e-mail her my bank information and she'll put the money right into my account and trust me to give her a cut out of the kindness of my heart.
But what does she want from me? Name, address, phone and fax numbers, but not my bank account number or bank routing number. Now that's a first. With only some random pieces of identification, she'd have to do a fair bit of work to put together some documents, and she still can't access my bank account. Clearly, she's after something else that relates to identification, but I can't quite figure out what the real scam is here.
Kind of her to leave her son's e-mail address, but since anyone can get a yahoo mailbox, I'll pass on contacting the lad. Working in a pub in the UK somewhere, she says in her letter, but she's quite vague on the location. It could be that she's hoping to craft a false identity for her illegal alien offspring so he can open a bank account and get hold of the $12 million that's in the box in Spain. I can't imagine that the customs officials would fall for this one, in the UK or in Spain.
I mean, what with my name and the racial characteristics of a native of Sierra Leone, there's quite the disconnect there. No, Martha, I won't send you my particulars. It would be a disservice to your young lad, forced to lie through his teeth to convince some agent at the border that he's black Irish, of a particularly dark skinned variety.
Pity that you didn't make your first stop in Spain, on the way out of Sierra Leone. Then you could have picked up the box of cash yourself. You said in your e-mail that your husband told you about the stash before he was murdered, so why didn't you get it when you had the chance? I mean, you say you have the certificate of deposit and the receipt from the Spanish security company. It would have been easy enough to pop in and claim your possessions, what with Spain being along the route between Africa and the UK.
Thank you for the opportunity to be taken, but, alas, I must pass. Your scam is not right for my list. But scamming is a purely subjective business, and I wish you luck in finding a complete idiot to fall for your e-mail.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Translated From The Latin
The bishops are at it again. In response to the ballooning sex abuse scandal, they found a solution in asking us to bow when we receive the Eucharist. Parishioners being what they are, there's precious little bobbing and weaving at the front of the altar. Now, you'd think Their Eminences would have noticed that their bowing business sank like a large stone, but no, they've gone off on another tack to make the Mass more relevant.
You see, there was a time when everything was in Latin, a time I scarcely remember and so don't actually miss. Although I am fond of the occasional Gregorian chant in a dead language, but it's the harmony and not the words that do it. Our leaders are old men who know their Latin, however, and they are concerned that the faithful aren't getting the full benefit of the Mass because the translations were too folksy - too much geared towards common speech. With fewer and fewer Catholics attending Mass, it's time to steer the unwieldly ship of faith back to the origins.
No, not all the way back to Aramaic. Just far enough to get on the other side of Vatican II and all those radical changes that the dinosaurs are itching to reverse. Make the English version of the Mass more true to a literal translation, and people will flock to Church come Sunday.
Most of the changes are minor, a slight tweak of a phrase and it's pretty much the same as ever. But, Your Eminences, when someone comes to the house, I think in terms of receiving guests. Maybe if I was Middle Eastern, I might be prone to having people enter under my roof. Here in the Western World, we don't talk like that, entering under roofs. "Howya, Roddy, glad to have you enter under my roof, lad and we'll share a jar." Oh yes, that makes the prayers ever so much more relevant.
If all the changes go through, at least the priest will have a subject for his weekly sermon for the next month. What in the name of Jesus is 'consubstantial'? In the Nicene Creed, I get what we are saying when we avow that we are 'one in being' with the Father. Now we're supposed to get a big word like consubstantial out of our mouths at half seven on a Sunday morning? And understand what we're saying we believe in?
"No time to talk about today's Gospel, parishioners. I've got a very interesting PowerPoint presentation on the words that have been stuck in so that our prayers don't sound the least bit Protestant at all, at all."
You can't get the people to sing the hymns, and now they won't be responding to the prayers either. Might as well listen to the whole thing on the radio and skip the trip to the church altogether.
You see, there was a time when everything was in Latin, a time I scarcely remember and so don't actually miss. Although I am fond of the occasional Gregorian chant in a dead language, but it's the harmony and not the words that do it. Our leaders are old men who know their Latin, however, and they are concerned that the faithful aren't getting the full benefit of the Mass because the translations were too folksy - too much geared towards common speech. With fewer and fewer Catholics attending Mass, it's time to steer the unwieldly ship of faith back to the origins.
No, not all the way back to Aramaic. Just far enough to get on the other side of Vatican II and all those radical changes that the dinosaurs are itching to reverse. Make the English version of the Mass more true to a literal translation, and people will flock to Church come Sunday.
Most of the changes are minor, a slight tweak of a phrase and it's pretty much the same as ever. But, Your Eminences, when someone comes to the house, I think in terms of receiving guests. Maybe if I was Middle Eastern, I might be prone to having people enter under my roof. Here in the Western World, we don't talk like that, entering under roofs. "Howya, Roddy, glad to have you enter under my roof, lad and we'll share a jar." Oh yes, that makes the prayers ever so much more relevant.
If all the changes go through, at least the priest will have a subject for his weekly sermon for the next month. What in the name of Jesus is 'consubstantial'? In the Nicene Creed, I get what we are saying when we avow that we are 'one in being' with the Father. Now we're supposed to get a big word like consubstantial out of our mouths at half seven on a Sunday morning? And understand what we're saying we believe in?
"No time to talk about today's Gospel, parishioners. I've got a very interesting PowerPoint presentation on the words that have been stuck in so that our prayers don't sound the least bit Protestant at all, at all."
You can't get the people to sing the hymns, and now they won't be responding to the prayers either. Might as well listen to the whole thing on the radio and skip the trip to the church altogether.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
This Is What Debut Means
Every Sunday night, Publisher's Marketplace
sends me a long list of all the current publishing deals for the past week, broken down by category. It's a great way to see which agents are repping what type of fiction, which is helpful in targeting the right agent for one's project.
There is a separate category for debut fiction, the first novel for some excited author, but I have begun to wonder just what a debut actually entails. Good old Google, always comes through.
Natasha Bauman is listed in the debut fiction category, represented by Lisa Grubka of the William Morris Agency. For a rookie novelist to have landed such a heavy hitting agency, it was hard to believe that Ms. Bauman was so devoid of previous publishing credits. If there was more to this 'debut' than a single novel, I had to know.
Checking with Google turned up countless hits for an actress who appeared in some obscure film and one episode of M.A.S.H. Somehow, it did not seem like the right person. Scrolling through the list, I uncovered an English professor out in California who shares the same name. Now, until the book is actually printed up and distributed, with an author bio on the flap, there will be no definite way to tell if the author and the professor are one and the same. Sometimes, though, these slight coincidences (author : English professor) seem to tie together logically, at least in the street cred sphere.
How surprising is it to discover that a Natasha Bauman won the Editor's Choice Award this past January at the San Diego State Writers Conference? Not very. Further digging uncovered yet another entry for Ms. Bauman, this time on a list of Glimmer Train very short fiction award winners. She was one of twenty-five finalists, which is nothing to sneeze at, considering the prestige of that particular literary rag.
So that is what debut boils down to. The first novel of someone with some credits. Or should I say, 'platform'? Think all you have to do is write an outstanding piece of fiction to get published? Think again.
Technorati tag: Lisa Grubka
There is a separate category for debut fiction, the first novel for some excited author, but I have begun to wonder just what a debut actually entails. Good old Google, always comes through.
Natasha Bauman is listed in the debut fiction category, represented by Lisa Grubka of the William Morris Agency. For a rookie novelist to have landed such a heavy hitting agency, it was hard to believe that Ms. Bauman was so devoid of previous publishing credits. If there was more to this 'debut' than a single novel, I had to know.
Checking with Google turned up countless hits for an actress who appeared in some obscure film and one episode of M.A.S.H. Somehow, it did not seem like the right person. Scrolling through the list, I uncovered an English professor out in California who shares the same name. Now, until the book is actually printed up and distributed, with an author bio on the flap, there will be no definite way to tell if the author and the professor are one and the same. Sometimes, though, these slight coincidences (author : English professor) seem to tie together logically, at least in the street cred sphere.
How surprising is it to discover that a Natasha Bauman won the Editor's Choice Award this past January at the San Diego State Writers Conference? Not very. Further digging uncovered yet another entry for Ms. Bauman, this time on a list of Glimmer Train very short fiction award winners. She was one of twenty-five finalists, which is nothing to sneeze at, considering the prestige of that particular literary rag.
So that is what debut boils down to. The first novel of someone with some credits. Or should I say, 'platform'? Think all you have to do is write an outstanding piece of fiction to get published? Think again.
Technorati tag: Lisa Grubka
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Happy Bloomsday
To celebrate James Joyce and all things Joycean (TM), Dublin will be swarming with happy tourists celebrating...oops, sorry, but Charlie H. died and there's all that funeral business to attend to. A bit of rain on the Joyce Parade come Friday the 16th. The funeral mass has been set for Friday morning, which may put a damper on the traditional kidney breakfast.
Perhaps some hardy souls, determined fans of James Joyce (TM), will dress up like Leopold Bloom and Molly and Stephen Dedalus and pay a call at the different locations that featured in Ulysses(TM). There will be many who will lament the loss of so many of those places, victims of the Celtic Tiger and the changes wrought by a global economy. Joyce's Dublin is no more, to the sorrow of his fans. Welcome to the world of progress. Cities are malleable; cities change their faces, spread out and up, leaving behind a few traces of the past.
Given Stephen James Joyce's proclivity for suing those who threaten to infringe the grandfather's copyright, one should move about with caution, or take along the solicitor and a barrister or two. We can assume that the Irish government took all available legal advice before reopening the James Joyce Cultural Centre on Monday.
Senator David Norris, who was present at the grand re-opening, expressed his great disappointment over the cancellation of the planned Friday morning festivities at the Cultural Centre. A noted Joycean (TM) scholar, he said:
Not to be defeated, Mr. Norris promises to dress up in his Bloom-style paraphernalia, head over to the centre which will be open for coffee, and recite a few choice bits of Joyce.
Not to throw even more water on the poor man, but, before he quotes from Joyce (TM), well, should he run it by Stephen James Joyce first? The Exchequer's bulging with a hefty balance, but still, why tempt fate and a possible lawsuit?
Perhaps some hardy souls, determined fans of James Joyce (TM), will dress up like Leopold Bloom and Molly and Stephen Dedalus and pay a call at the different locations that featured in Ulysses(TM). There will be many who will lament the loss of so many of those places, victims of the Celtic Tiger and the changes wrought by a global economy. Joyce's Dublin is no more, to the sorrow of his fans. Welcome to the world of progress. Cities are malleable; cities change their faces, spread out and up, leaving behind a few traces of the past.
Given Stephen James Joyce's proclivity for suing those who threaten to infringe the grandfather's copyright, one should move about with caution, or take along the solicitor and a barrister or two. We can assume that the Irish government took all available legal advice before reopening the James Joyce Cultural Centre on Monday.
Senator David Norris, who was present at the grand re-opening, expressed his great disappointment over the cancellation of the planned Friday morning festivities at the Cultural Centre. A noted Joycean (TM) scholar, he said:
"I would have maintained the centre open and I would have had a minute's silence in respect for Charlie Haughey and I'm perfectly certain that Mr Haughey would not have cancelled it himself."
Not to be defeated, Mr. Norris promises to dress up in his Bloom-style paraphernalia, head over to the centre which will be open for coffee, and recite a few choice bits of Joyce.
Not to throw even more water on the poor man, but, before he quotes from Joyce (TM), well, should he run it by Stephen James Joyce first? The Exchequer's bulging with a hefty balance, but still, why tempt fate and a possible lawsuit?
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
R.I.P. Charles Haughey
No one knew exactly where all his money came from. He lived a lavish lifestyle on a politician's salary, served as taoiseach three times, and had to sell of some of his real estate holdings to pay up back taxes owed on eight million pounds worth of gifts and honoraria.
He ran for office in 1957, and never lost an election, stepping down in 1992. By the time that he retired, he had thrown Ireland, kicking and screaming, into the path of the Celtic Tiger. In an era of twenty percent unemployment and high emigration, his policies helped to turn the tide.
The son of a former IRA officer, Charlie did more than any previous leader to create peace in the north of Ireland, his efforts building up to the Good Friday Agreement. Oddly enough, Charlie was implicated in a 1970's plot to import weapons into the north, using Republic of Ireland funds.
Today, writers and artists will lift their glasses and toast to the memory of Charles Haughey. A man who promoted the arts, he recognized the lack of earning power that plagued the creative set, and did something about it. The few euro that the artist garners upon selling a canvas, or the paltry advance that the writer earns for a novel, are all tax free, no money due to the Exchequer. That, from a man who dodged taxes. It's a funny world.
He ran for office in 1957, and never lost an election, stepping down in 1992. By the time that he retired, he had thrown Ireland, kicking and screaming, into the path of the Celtic Tiger. In an era of twenty percent unemployment and high emigration, his policies helped to turn the tide.
The son of a former IRA officer, Charlie did more than any previous leader to create peace in the north of Ireland, his efforts building up to the Good Friday Agreement. Oddly enough, Charlie was implicated in a 1970's plot to import weapons into the north, using Republic of Ireland funds.
Today, writers and artists will lift their glasses and toast to the memory of Charles Haughey. A man who promoted the arts, he recognized the lack of earning power that plagued the creative set, and did something about it. The few euro that the artist garners upon selling a canvas, or the paltry advance that the writer earns for a novel, are all tax free, no money due to the Exchequer. That, from a man who dodged taxes. It's a funny world.
Joycean Secrets
Families of famous authors will do what they can to protect the ancestor's reputation, and the descendants of James Joyce are battling against an American scholar. Makes you want to dig out your copy of Ulysses and pore over the pages. Well, perhaps not.
Ms. Carol Shloss is a professor of English at Stanford University, so you know she's bright. And she's a Joycean scholar, an expert on all things James Joyce-ish. Recently, she's put out a new book that attempted to link Lucia Joyce, the man's mentally ill daughter, to his blockbuster novel Finnegan's Wake . According to Ms. Shloss, Lucia was the "muse", and the professor used Lucia's medical records, some archives that had information on Lucia's life, and some of James' papers to flesh out her theory.
As fate would have it, there was some criticism, some claims that the Shloss theory was a bit thin on the proof, and Ms. Shloss wanted to lend credence to her views through her website. That's where the problem started.
Joyce's estate, which would be represented by the grandson, Stephen James Joyce and trustee Sean Sweeney, has been accused of destroying papers and keeping a lid on copyrighted material because they won't let Carol use the stuff on her website. The estate says the electronic use of their documents and images infringes on their rights of ownership, while Carol is suing because she feels that the estate is stepping beyond the bounds of copyright law.
According to the Irish Times:
Now, the woman's been at it for fifteen years to produce this book, and her publisher went and sliced out some choice bits of supporting material, because the suits at Farrar, Straus & Giroux were afraid of getting sued. How's a professor to support a theory without material to back it up?
For whatever reason, the descendants of James Joyce don't want her using that very material that the lawyers excised. Carol Shloss is suing to be allowed to reproduce it on her website, to make her case with the literati.
I've never read Finnegan's Wake, so I don't know what sort of portrait it paints, or if it makes James Joyce look like a complete horse's ass in regard to his treatment of his mentally ill daughter. Oddly enough, though, it has given me the urge to pick up the book when next I'm at the local library. Until I read it, I'll reserve judgment, and feel sorry for the judge in the San Francisco court who may have to slog through James Joyce's verbiage before reaching a decision.
But there's no way in hell that I'm going to read Ulysses.
Ms. Carol Shloss is a professor of English at Stanford University, so you know she's bright. And she's a Joycean scholar, an expert on all things James Joyce-ish. Recently, she's put out a new book that attempted to link Lucia Joyce, the man's mentally ill daughter, to his blockbuster novel Finnegan's Wake . According to Ms. Shloss, Lucia was the "muse", and the professor used Lucia's medical records, some archives that had information on Lucia's life, and some of James' papers to flesh out her theory.
As fate would have it, there was some criticism, some claims that the Shloss theory was a bit thin on the proof, and Ms. Shloss wanted to lend credence to her views through her website. That's where the problem started.
Joyce's estate, which would be represented by the grandson, Stephen James Joyce and trustee Sean Sweeney, has been accused of destroying papers and keeping a lid on copyrighted material because they won't let Carol use the stuff on her website. The estate says the electronic use of their documents and images infringes on their rights of ownership, while Carol is suing because she feels that the estate is stepping beyond the bounds of copyright law.
According to the Irish Times:
"On multiple occasions defendants have denied permission to quote from James Joyce's writings, or stated that they intended to deny such permission, in retaliation for or as punishment for matters unrelated to protection of copyright in James Joyce's writings," Prof Shloss said in the suit.
Now, the woman's been at it for fifteen years to produce this book, and her publisher went and sliced out some choice bits of supporting material, because the suits at Farrar, Straus & Giroux were afraid of getting sued. How's a professor to support a theory without material to back it up?
For whatever reason, the descendants of James Joyce don't want her using that very material that the lawyers excised. Carol Shloss is suing to be allowed to reproduce it on her website, to make her case with the literati.
I've never read Finnegan's Wake, so I don't know what sort of portrait it paints, or if it makes James Joyce look like a complete horse's ass in regard to his treatment of his mentally ill daughter. Oddly enough, though, it has given me the urge to pick up the book when next I'm at the local library. Until I read it, I'll reserve judgment, and feel sorry for the judge in the San Francisco court who may have to slog through James Joyce's verbiage before reaching a decision.
But there's no way in hell that I'm going to read Ulysses.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Did You Read It?
According to their submission guidelines, The Threepenny Review needs three weeks to two months to think about your unsolicited manuscript. Was my short piece so pathetic that they could turn it down in a week? Did they look at it?
I expected to get rejected, since they pay $400 for a story, and that's the mark of prestige in the literary journal family. With a record turnaround time, I have to wonder if they even took the time to look at the piece.
When I peruse back issues of different rags, I see an enormous amount of first person POV, in direct contrast to what literary agents say is marketable. Truth be told, I don't much care for the POV, with all its navel gazing and heavy pondering of life's great dilemmas, and I don't write that way. Apparently, one glance at my piece failed to turn up a single 'I', and that was it. Reject pile on that one.
Too short? Too far out in writing style? Maybe it was a little too out there, what with a lack of punctuation for the very miniscule amount of dialogue. Just being creative, there, sorry. Shall I edit the piece, and change the character to 'I'? Would the editors be better able to relate then?
There's other submissions out there, still waiting. Those might be the ones I never hear back from, I guess. In the meantime, there's the Mississippi Review edition, where submissions close on June 15 and they print on July 1. If they are going to respond to my sub, they should let me know soon. If they are going to respond. Is the ubiquitous no answer going to hold true for literary journals as well?
Time will tell. Everything is a learning experience the first time around.
I expected to get rejected, since they pay $400 for a story, and that's the mark of prestige in the literary journal family. With a record turnaround time, I have to wonder if they even took the time to look at the piece.
When I peruse back issues of different rags, I see an enormous amount of first person POV, in direct contrast to what literary agents say is marketable. Truth be told, I don't much care for the POV, with all its navel gazing and heavy pondering of life's great dilemmas, and I don't write that way. Apparently, one glance at my piece failed to turn up a single 'I', and that was it. Reject pile on that one.
Too short? Too far out in writing style? Maybe it was a little too out there, what with a lack of punctuation for the very miniscule amount of dialogue. Just being creative, there, sorry. Shall I edit the piece, and change the character to 'I'? Would the editors be better able to relate then?
There's other submissions out there, still waiting. Those might be the ones I never hear back from, I guess. In the meantime, there's the Mississippi Review edition, where submissions close on June 15 and they print on July 1. If they are going to respond to my sub, they should let me know soon. If they are going to respond. Is the ubiquitous no answer going to hold true for literary journals as well?
Time will tell. Everything is a learning experience the first time around.
It's (a) Commercial
Authors in search of a literary agent are prone to ponder over the genre of their opus during the query process. Is it literary fiction? Historical fiction? Or could it be commercial fiction? Now there is a whole new genre - the commercial....fiction.
Sean Stewart and Jordan Weisman, two marketing gurus who put together a YA shower of shite, have moved fiction to a new level. Yes, they have indeed found a way to turn a novel into a commercial through the art of product placement, a trick once reserved for movies and television. Clearly Mr. Weisman is no slouch in the literary world, not when he has the Creative Artists Agency to rep him. CAA is a big one, involved in marketing products as well as writers, and the link-up was a natural one.
The authors are actually partners in a marketing company, and had been working with Proctor and Gamble on other projects when a lightbulb went on over someone's head and they thought it would be brilliant to promote YA cosmetics in a YA novel. In lieu of a cash handout, Mr. Stewart and Mr. Weisman will obtain promotion for their book through P&G's website.
Sounding a bit like a mystery, the novel will have all sorts of references that link up with P&G's website, binding the book inextricably to a commercial for Cover Girl cosmetics. So there you have it, a YA commercial disguised as a book.
I don't know that it's so wise to encourage our young daughters to read after all. Perhaps there's something to be said for a classical education, get them translating from the Latin at an early age and bypass the crass commercial drivel altogether. Caveat emptor, my little darling.
Sean Stewart and Jordan Weisman, two marketing gurus who put together a YA shower of shite, have moved fiction to a new level. Yes, they have indeed found a way to turn a novel into a commercial through the art of product placement, a trick once reserved for movies and television. Clearly Mr. Weisman is no slouch in the literary world, not when he has the Creative Artists Agency to rep him. CAA is a big one, involved in marketing products as well as writers, and the link-up was a natural one.
The authors are actually partners in a marketing company, and had been working with Proctor and Gamble on other projects when a lightbulb went on over someone's head and they thought it would be brilliant to promote YA cosmetics in a YA novel. In lieu of a cash handout, Mr. Stewart and Mr. Weisman will obtain promotion for their book through P&G's website.
Sounding a bit like a mystery, the novel will have all sorts of references that link up with P&G's website, binding the book inextricably to a commercial for Cover Girl cosmetics. So there you have it, a YA commercial disguised as a book.
I don't know that it's so wise to encourage our young daughters to read after all. Perhaps there's something to be said for a classical education, get them translating from the Latin at an early age and bypass the crass commercial drivel altogether. Caveat emptor, my little darling.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Agent Move Update
According to her
She has parted ways with the managing partners, which is understandable. The poor girl began at Paige Wheeler's agency and the next thing she knows, she's sucked into a massive merger and answerable not only to Paige, but to Scott Hoffman and Jeff Kleinman as well. Sure, she didn't sign on for such a group to begin with, and things did not develop to her liking once she was on board the runaway train.
If she likes being an agent, and she has a few clients that are attractive to another agency, she'll land on her feet. Going off on her own was mentioned as a possibility, but she hasn't been at the game very long and that might prove to be a bit of a risk. Helps to have profitable clients to rely on until building up the stable of royalty receiving authors.
What did she tell her clients, I have to wonder? Ride on, see you? How many people are out there now, once over the moon that she asked for their full, and now in misery because that full is going nowhere unless they can find a new agent? Brutal business, this publishing. And as soon as she announces that she's at a new agency or heading up her own, I'll be right in line, firing off a query.
Technorati tag: Jenny Rappaport, literary agent
She has parted ways with the managing partners, which is understandable. The poor girl began at Paige Wheeler's agency and the next thing she knows, she's sucked into a massive merger and answerable not only to Paige, but to Scott Hoffman and Jeff Kleinman as well. Sure, she didn't sign on for such a group to begin with, and things did not develop to her liking once she was on board the runaway train.
If she likes being an agent, and she has a few clients that are attractive to another agency, she'll land on her feet. Going off on her own was mentioned as a possibility, but she hasn't been at the game very long and that might prove to be a bit of a risk. Helps to have profitable clients to rely on until building up the stable of royalty receiving authors.
What did she tell her clients, I have to wonder? Ride on, see you? How many people are out there now, once over the moon that she asked for their full, and now in misery because that full is going nowhere unless they can find a new agent? Brutal business, this publishing. And as soon as she announces that she's at a new agency or heading up her own, I'll be right in line, firing off a query.
Technorati tag: Jenny Rappaport, literary agent
The Other Side
Writing in today's New York Times, Spike Gillespie weaves a happy tale of the joys of bankruptcy. She details the downward spiral that brought her to the brink of financial ruin, and every item she mentions is exactly the sort of thing our parents told us not to do.
She tells of using credit cards as loan devices, using borrowed money to cover basic expenses. There was a time when you had to find a way to stretch your earnings, or get a second job to increase the income, but Spike just took the easy way out and charged it. She even charged things to "cheer...up" her pitiful existence, when she apparently did not make enough to cover the everyday necessities.
On top of that, add a divorce, which we all know is the first step to money troubles, followed by a medical condition that would have been covered by hubbie's policy, if only Spike were married. Picked the wrong time to divorce, it would seem. Best to get a thorough going over from the doctor before telling the partner you're through.
And so she struggled, parrying the thrusts of debt collectors who came calling. Finally, unable to endure, she declared bankruptcy, and voila, the debts were gone. She ends her piece with a deep sigh of relief, freedom hallelujah! And as for all those folks she stiffed? Not a mention of them.
I've been at the receiving end of a bankruptcy filing. I've been left holding bills that have been excised by the courts, with my own expenses never to be reimbursed. Sure, I could borrow to cover things and end up bankrupt like Spike, leaving my vendors to solve the money crunch, but I find it difficult to face old colleagues who have been screwed up the arse.
Spike has no worries about the people who provided her with services and goods for free. She was in a bind, you see, and we should all feel sorry for her. Some of us, Spike, have to deal with financial shortfalls by turning down the heat in winter because we can't afford to be warm because a client decided to declare bankruptcy and not pay their bill. Some of us eat a bowl of oatmeal for dinner every night for weeks and ignore the pangs of hunger because we can't afford to buy enough food to eat because someone thought declaring bankruptcy was a victimless crime. I've patched my socks, bought second-hand from the Salvation Army Thrift Shop, and generally gone without.
In praise of bankruptcy? I'm all in favor of new laws to protect the vendor, to make it next to impossible to wash your hands of debt and walk away, free as the air, while someone else is forced to scrimp and scrape to get by, because people like Spike would not.
She tells of using credit cards as loan devices, using borrowed money to cover basic expenses. There was a time when you had to find a way to stretch your earnings, or get a second job to increase the income, but Spike just took the easy way out and charged it. She even charged things to "cheer...up" her pitiful existence, when she apparently did not make enough to cover the everyday necessities.
On top of that, add a divorce, which we all know is the first step to money troubles, followed by a medical condition that would have been covered by hubbie's policy, if only Spike were married. Picked the wrong time to divorce, it would seem. Best to get a thorough going over from the doctor before telling the partner you're through.
And so she struggled, parrying the thrusts of debt collectors who came calling. Finally, unable to endure, she declared bankruptcy, and voila, the debts were gone. She ends her piece with a deep sigh of relief, freedom hallelujah! And as for all those folks she stiffed? Not a mention of them.
I've been at the receiving end of a bankruptcy filing. I've been left holding bills that have been excised by the courts, with my own expenses never to be reimbursed. Sure, I could borrow to cover things and end up bankrupt like Spike, leaving my vendors to solve the money crunch, but I find it difficult to face old colleagues who have been screwed up the arse.
Spike has no worries about the people who provided her with services and goods for free. She was in a bind, you see, and we should all feel sorry for her. Some of us, Spike, have to deal with financial shortfalls by turning down the heat in winter because we can't afford to be warm because a client decided to declare bankruptcy and not pay their bill. Some of us eat a bowl of oatmeal for dinner every night for weeks and ignore the pangs of hunger because we can't afford to buy enough food to eat because someone thought declaring bankruptcy was a victimless crime. I've patched my socks, bought second-hand from the Salvation Army Thrift Shop, and generally gone without.
In praise of bankruptcy? I'm all in favor of new laws to protect the vendor, to make it next to impossible to wash your hands of debt and walk away, free as the air, while someone else is forced to scrimp and scrape to get by, because people like Spike would not.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Easily Disposable
Another rejection came in, but since the agents at Curtis Brown did not ask for more, more, more a couple of months ago, I figured that the partial manuscript was dead in the water. It took them three months to make up their minds that the sparkling prose, polished to a high sheen, was not telling the story in the way that they liked.
Sure enough, a request for a partial came in on the same day as the rejection. Funny how this has happened a couple of times. I guess the agents phone one another, to coordinate the submission rejection cycle just to mess with our heads. They're a clever lot, those agents in NYC.
This particular submission, however, has a sort of 'easily disposable' quality to it. I don't know if it's a new trend, or a way to save on paper clutter, but the agent asked for a partial to be sent as an e-mail. Now, the same agent does not accept e-mail queries, which is not unusual, and she asked for the partial via e-mail, which is rather common. But to submit the partial electronically, no paper, no ink, no charge, lacks the substance I need for confidence.
It's happened before to me, and I fear the same again. I have three partials that were sent as e-mail attachments, all according to the agent's request. But without that SASE wagging under their nose to remind them that someone is waiting for an answer, they treat the submission as if it were another e-mail. Read the first few pages, and if it doesn't grab, that's the end of it. Just like the e-query, the lack of response becomes the not for us response.
The agent is saved the problem of stacks of manuscripts cluttering the office, and they don't even have to shove a rejection letter into an envelope. No muss, no fuss, just use and toss. And there you are, heart in a flutter, waiting to hear. Did the file download and open? Did they read it at all? Did they even get it?
The file's been sent and I'll not think of it again. I'll keep sending out queries, and enjoy the rush of popping fifty pages into a Priority Mail envelope, affixing the Priority Mail stamp, and slapping on the Delivery Confirmation. Seems so much more real when it's in your hand than when it's on the screen.
Sure enough, a request for a partial came in on the same day as the rejection. Funny how this has happened a couple of times. I guess the agents phone one another, to coordinate the submission rejection cycle just to mess with our heads. They're a clever lot, those agents in NYC.
This particular submission, however, has a sort of 'easily disposable' quality to it. I don't know if it's a new trend, or a way to save on paper clutter, but the agent asked for a partial to be sent as an e-mail. Now, the same agent does not accept e-mail queries, which is not unusual, and she asked for the partial via e-mail, which is rather common. But to submit the partial electronically, no paper, no ink, no charge, lacks the substance I need for confidence.
It's happened before to me, and I fear the same again. I have three partials that were sent as e-mail attachments, all according to the agent's request. But without that SASE wagging under their nose to remind them that someone is waiting for an answer, they treat the submission as if it were another e-mail. Read the first few pages, and if it doesn't grab, that's the end of it. Just like the e-query, the lack of response becomes the not for us response.
The agent is saved the problem of stacks of manuscripts cluttering the office, and they don't even have to shove a rejection letter into an envelope. No muss, no fuss, just use and toss. And there you are, heart in a flutter, waiting to hear. Did the file download and open? Did they read it at all? Did they even get it?
The file's been sent and I'll not think of it again. I'll keep sending out queries, and enjoy the rush of popping fifty pages into a Priority Mail envelope, affixing the Priority Mail stamp, and slapping on the Delivery Confirmation. Seems so much more real when it's in your hand than when it's on the screen.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Hair-Do And Don't
Teens all over Ireland are in the throes of exam time, the last chance to regurgitate memorized facts and move along in the educational line. Score high and you're off to the university of your choice, with enough points to win a coveted spot in your chosen field of study. Score low, and it's off to learn auto mechanics or chip frying.
Ordinarily, a concerned parent would have test preparation on the mind, and not be thinking about their son's appearance. After all, it's all about what's in the lad's head and not what's on it that matters. Unless, that is, the boy is sitting his Junior Cert at Tullamore Community College in County Offaly. To that school's principal, it's the look that counts.
American boys sport buzz cuts, especially those who indulge in athletics in the heat of summer. In Ireland, that look is not acceptable, but then, they don't have to deal with ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity. I presume that Irish youths are not wearing baseball caps during every waking hour, thus they have no fear of hat hair and can be more stylish. Besides, there's a 'skinhead' thing there that we don't see here. A gaggle of buzz-cut American boys is accepted as normal, but across the pond they would see a congregation of hooligans and skinheads bent on destruction.
Three boys from the Tullamore school turned up right on time to sit their Junior Leaving, and just like that, they were booted, and all because of short hair. School rules, you see, must dictate something more coiffed, perhaps layered or gelled and spiky, but no buzz cuts here, thank you very much. It's not that this was the first time that the lads were warned about the short locks, either, but isn't it a free country? Can't a boy choose his own style?
Not at Tullamore Community College they can't. And because they did not listen to the principal when he told them before, the three students were sent away and had to find another school to sit their exams. One poor wee lad was so upset that he's decided to wait until next year.
So there they were, flaunting the rules, and Mr. McEvoy, the harried principal, had had enough. Out they went, and the uproar is being heard up and down the island. Yes, the boys had been warned before and yes, they had been suspended before, and all over the length of their hair. But, you see, they like short hair, and their mothers support their sartorial choices. The ongoing argument is simply that the principal picked the wrong time to make his point, during the high stress days of the exams.
Obviously, Tullamore Community College is not run by the Jesuits. They would have solved the problem by forcing the boys to don wigs if they wished to enter the building. Where's the respect for authority gone?
Ordinarily, a concerned parent would have test preparation on the mind, and not be thinking about their son's appearance. After all, it's all about what's in the lad's head and not what's on it that matters. Unless, that is, the boy is sitting his Junior Cert at Tullamore Community College in County Offaly. To that school's principal, it's the look that counts.
American boys sport buzz cuts, especially those who indulge in athletics in the heat of summer. In Ireland, that look is not acceptable, but then, they don't have to deal with ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity. I presume that Irish youths are not wearing baseball caps during every waking hour, thus they have no fear of hat hair and can be more stylish. Besides, there's a 'skinhead' thing there that we don't see here. A gaggle of buzz-cut American boys is accepted as normal, but across the pond they would see a congregation of hooligans and skinheads bent on destruction.
Three boys from the Tullamore school turned up right on time to sit their Junior Leaving, and just like that, they were booted, and all because of short hair. School rules, you see, must dictate something more coiffed, perhaps layered or gelled and spiky, but no buzz cuts here, thank you very much. It's not that this was the first time that the lads were warned about the short locks, either, but isn't it a free country? Can't a boy choose his own style?
Not at Tullamore Community College they can't. And because they did not listen to the principal when he told them before, the three students were sent away and had to find another school to sit their exams. One poor wee lad was so upset that he's decided to wait until next year.
So there they were, flaunting the rules, and Mr. McEvoy, the harried principal, had had enough. Out they went, and the uproar is being heard up and down the island. Yes, the boys had been warned before and yes, they had been suspended before, and all over the length of their hair. But, you see, they like short hair, and their mothers support their sartorial choices. The ongoing argument is simply that the principal picked the wrong time to make his point, during the high stress days of the exams.
Obviously, Tullamore Community College is not run by the Jesuits. They would have solved the problem by forcing the boys to don wigs if they wished to enter the building. Where's the respect for authority gone?
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Hooligans Need Not Apply
Just when Iran's president was about to get a bit of support, the Germans pulled the rug out from under his unwashed feet. That most august body, the National Democratic Party, was all set to march in Berlin following the Iranian matches in the upcoming World Cup, but now they can't. Isn't there something the European human rights groups could do? It's so unfair.
The neo-Nazis only wanted to show their support for their buddy Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who shares their conviction that the Holocaust never happened. Oh, and that bit about wiping Israel off the map, that's a go for the neo-Nazis. Leave it up to the German police to get all nervous, afraid that the world would pay attention to the skinheads and then no one would talk about how brilliant the Germans were as hosts of the World Cup. It's only a matter of image, after all, with the German people not wanting everyone else to think they're all a bunch of Nazis. They've been trying to erase that black mark for a long enough time as it is without some minor faction reminding everyone all over again.
Even though party leaders said that they were calling off the marches because of the strained security situation, who's to say that they weren't pushed? Where's Dick Marty when you need him to stand up for the downtrodden neo-Nazis?
Bad enough that a group of British hooligans were nabbed at the Czech border when they tried to sneak in where they aren't wanted. Surely that violates some EU directive or other, free travel between member nations or whatnot. 3500 professional hooligans had their British passports revoked for the duration, and the police confiscated the match tickets of 300 German hooligans. Is there some kind of union for hooligans? How do the police seem to know exactly who these fools are?
There's even worse evidence of human rights violations in Germany as the World Cup gets set to begin. They're discriminating against black people. Yes, it's true. Several African football associations have issued pamphlets to their fans, warning them to stay out of east Berlin and East Germany. Uwe-Karsten Heye, who was once involved in the German government, flat out told the blacks that they'd better stay out of small towns like Brandburg because they "wouldn't get out alive."
Ah, Europe, that bastion of equality and freedom, so unlike the evil US of A. And we're glad of it in America.
The neo-Nazis only wanted to show their support for their buddy Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who shares their conviction that the Holocaust never happened. Oh, and that bit about wiping Israel off the map, that's a go for the neo-Nazis. Leave it up to the German police to get all nervous, afraid that the world would pay attention to the skinheads and then no one would talk about how brilliant the Germans were as hosts of the World Cup. It's only a matter of image, after all, with the German people not wanting everyone else to think they're all a bunch of Nazis. They've been trying to erase that black mark for a long enough time as it is without some minor faction reminding everyone all over again.
Even though party leaders said that they were calling off the marches because of the strained security situation, who's to say that they weren't pushed? Where's Dick Marty when you need him to stand up for the downtrodden neo-Nazis?
Bad enough that a group of British hooligans were nabbed at the Czech border when they tried to sneak in where they aren't wanted. Surely that violates some EU directive or other, free travel between member nations or whatnot. 3500 professional hooligans had their British passports revoked for the duration, and the police confiscated the match tickets of 300 German hooligans. Is there some kind of union for hooligans? How do the police seem to know exactly who these fools are?
There's even worse evidence of human rights violations in Germany as the World Cup gets set to begin. They're discriminating against black people. Yes, it's true. Several African football associations have issued pamphlets to their fans, warning them to stay out of east Berlin and East Germany. Uwe-Karsten Heye, who was once involved in the German government, flat out told the blacks that they'd better stay out of small towns like Brandburg because they "wouldn't get out alive."
Ah, Europe, that bastion of equality and freedom, so unlike the evil US of A. And we're glad of it in America.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
When Did You Stop Beating Your Wife?
Poor Ireland's in trouble again. Our friend Dick Marty, the Swiss politician who heads the Council of Europe's Parliamentary Assembly, has pointed the accusing finger at the Emerald Isle and proclaimed that the Republic is complicit in the whole rendition flights business. Sort of like the joke, about asking an innocent man when he stopped beating his wife. How do you answer a false accusation that implies you're guilty of something you never did?
Earlier Dick said that the USA was guilty of rendition flights, based entirely on the evidence of his personal opinion that it was so. The very planes that the CIA used for thousands of flights did make stops at Shannon Airport to refuel, therefore, the Irish participated in the evil scheme. All right, so there was that flight that he thought was rendition related but it was the head of the FBI come to call on his Irish colleagues. And the flights with diplomats and government officials, yes, but it was the same plane, you see, so, well, there you have it.
Where did Ireland go wrong, exactly? Well, when they asked the US government if they were using Shannon as a stopover on rendition flights, the US said no. Absolutely not. Swear to God. And so, to quote the report from the Irish Times:
You can't trust the USA, that's Dick Marty's dogma. You have to trust Dick Marty and his certainty that America is in cahoots with the world. He knows. He just knows. Who needs evidence? Isn't the word of Dick Marty enough to get the Garda Siochana to inspect US planes at Shannon? How dare the Irish government not bend the knee to Dick Marty!
Meanwhile, in Canada, they're unraveling a plot to blow up buildings and execute government officials to revenge Canada's presence in Afghanistan. That would be the pro-Taliban crowd fighting against democracy, Dick. Sorry, lad, but I think the rest of the world's a little preoccupied these days to pay you much heed.
Earlier Dick said that the USA was guilty of rendition flights, based entirely on the evidence of his personal opinion that it was so. The very planes that the CIA used for thousands of flights did make stops at Shannon Airport to refuel, therefore, the Irish participated in the evil scheme. All right, so there was that flight that he thought was rendition related but it was the head of the FBI come to call on his Irish colleagues. And the flights with diplomats and government officials, yes, but it was the same plane, you see, so, well, there you have it.
Where did Ireland go wrong, exactly? Well, when they asked the US government if they were using Shannon as a stopover on rendition flights, the US said no. Absolutely not. Swear to God. And so, to quote the report from the Irish Times:
Ireland colluded in this by invoking the "principle of trust" when pushed to investigate claims that US planes were using Shannon to facilitate the transfer of prisoners, the report found.
You can't trust the USA, that's Dick Marty's dogma. You have to trust Dick Marty and his certainty that America is in cahoots with the world. He knows. He just knows. Who needs evidence? Isn't the word of Dick Marty enough to get the Garda Siochana to inspect US planes at Shannon? How dare the Irish government not bend the knee to Dick Marty!
Meanwhile, in Canada, they're unraveling a plot to blow up buildings and execute government officials to revenge Canada's presence in Afghanistan. That would be the pro-Taliban crowd fighting against democracy, Dick. Sorry, lad, but I think the rest of the world's a little preoccupied these days to pay you much heed.
Go Electric
Is the book of the future going to be a glowing screen? Download from a literary iPod website, and off you go, thumb on the dial as you scroll through the LED text. And will these electronic devices have magnifying screens for the presbyopic? Lots of older people are readers, you see, and the old eyes, well, there's a strong market for large print books these days.
There are those who compare a book to a song, downloadable and portable. When I think of tunes, I picture the playlist, a song from one artist here, followed by a piece from someone else. Now, if I were to treat books the same way, I could read a paragraph of Hemingway, and then peruse a page or two of Welty, and maybe follow up with a little poetry from Michael Hartnett (in English, please. I don't understand more than a cupla focal and I'll never get through a whole stanza).
Books aren't pop songs. The structure of a novel is not an album, just as a chapter from a novel is not a tune in its entirety. Fiction has a pacing and composition that is different from a collection of songs which may or may not be linked with a common theme. A research text, on the other hand, can be culled for key points. One does not have to read the entire Grey's Anatomy to learn about the mesenteric vein and its branches. As Ann Fadiman mentioned recently in the New York Times, that's not reading, and that's fine for research documents.
The biggest problem with e-book readers is sand. Can you imagine the inner works of the thing, grit blowing in while you lie in the sun on a summer day, reading some trashy novel? With paper, you turn it upside down, give it a good shake, and no harm's done to the book. Can't say the same for the poor iPod. Drop that at the beach and you're out a few hundred dollars, with the sand scouring the delicate chips to electronic death.
There's nothing like a book, a physical entity that does not need to be replaced every few years due to upgrades. It does not need batteries, it will never blink out and die just when you get to the good part, and it comes in a print big enough to see without dragging out the bifocals.
There are those who compare a book to a song, downloadable and portable. When I think of tunes, I picture the playlist, a song from one artist here, followed by a piece from someone else. Now, if I were to treat books the same way, I could read a paragraph of Hemingway, and then peruse a page or two of Welty, and maybe follow up with a little poetry from Michael Hartnett (in English, please. I don't understand more than a cupla focal and I'll never get through a whole stanza).
Books aren't pop songs. The structure of a novel is not an album, just as a chapter from a novel is not a tune in its entirety. Fiction has a pacing and composition that is different from a collection of songs which may or may not be linked with a common theme. A research text, on the other hand, can be culled for key points. One does not have to read the entire Grey's Anatomy to learn about the mesenteric vein and its branches. As Ann Fadiman mentioned recently in the New York Times, that's not reading, and that's fine for research documents.
The biggest problem with e-book readers is sand. Can you imagine the inner works of the thing, grit blowing in while you lie in the sun on a summer day, reading some trashy novel? With paper, you turn it upside down, give it a good shake, and no harm's done to the book. Can't say the same for the poor iPod. Drop that at the beach and you're out a few hundred dollars, with the sand scouring the delicate chips to electronic death.
There's nothing like a book, a physical entity that does not need to be replaced every few years due to upgrades. It does not need batteries, it will never blink out and die just when you get to the good part, and it comes in a print big enough to see without dragging out the bifocals.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Agent Moves
She couldn't stay away from the bright lights of agenting. Kate McKean has turned up at Howard Morhaim's agency, no doubt after a period of reflection and the unquenchable thirst for good writing - or making a buck, whichever comes first.
At the same time, Agent Query notes that Dystel & Goderich's revolving door has turned once again, with the departure of Michael Adelman. Perhaps he, too, will pop up at a different agency, chasing after a promise of bigger commissions or more office staff.
I have to wonder what happens to the clients of agents who give it up. Knowing how near impossible it is to get an agent, it must be like stepping into a new circle of hell to be told that your hard-won agent has had enough and you're cut loose. Just because there are other agents at an agency would not guarantee that someone else could pick up the baton and run. What one agent likes may not translate to the preferences of their colleague across the aisle, or even of the few who were left behind.
Take, for example, the break-up of Graybill & English. The partners split but have continued to represent clients. What of the clients of Lynn Whittaker or Kristin Auclair? If an author had some good sales figures, they could shop elsewhere, but the rookie writer with a first novel on offer would be back to the beginning.
And yet, I continue to pursue an agent. It's madness, this author business.
At the same time, Agent Query notes that Dystel & Goderich's revolving door has turned once again, with the departure of Michael Adelman. Perhaps he, too, will pop up at a different agency, chasing after a promise of bigger commissions or more office staff.
I have to wonder what happens to the clients of agents who give it up. Knowing how near impossible it is to get an agent, it must be like stepping into a new circle of hell to be told that your hard-won agent has had enough and you're cut loose. Just because there are other agents at an agency would not guarantee that someone else could pick up the baton and run. What one agent likes may not translate to the preferences of their colleague across the aisle, or even of the few who were left behind.
Take, for example, the break-up of Graybill & English. The partners split but have continued to represent clients. What of the clients of Lynn Whittaker or Kristin Auclair? If an author had some good sales figures, they could shop elsewhere, but the rookie writer with a first novel on offer would be back to the beginning.
And yet, I continue to pursue an agent. It's madness, this author business.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Expert Advice
By all accounts, the Printers Row Book Fair in Chicago was a great success. The weather was perfect, the options many, and the crowd was sizable.
Fans of E.L. Doctorow had an opportunity to hear him speak at the former Chicago Public Library, now serving as a cultural center. When asked how much research he did for his historical fiction The March, he answered in the simplest terms. He did just enough, he said. Too much could sink the prose, so he did just enough. It sounds logical, simple, but how does the budding author know when they have gone too far? Like pornography, you know it when you see it, but you cannot define it. That is what makes writing so difficult, even though it seems easy on the surface.
Another interesting point that he made related to his characters. Some hopeful novelists will create note cards and genealogical flow charts to map out their characters, but Doctorow takes the most basic approach. He knows his characters, which makes sense, since he has created them. In his mind, he sees how they look, what they wear, even how they think. All of this happens on a subconscious level, so that as he writes, the prose runs along and fits the character. Sure, it sounds like a no-brainer. Create a fictional figure and run with it, but to internalize each person takes more than a few brain cells.
Writing is a creative endeavor, akin to painting. You can take drawing classes as easily as you can take writing classes. A teacher can tell you what to do, but you may not have the talent to do it, no matter how easy the instructor makes it sound. How many times have you heard the adage 'Show, don't tell'? Three little words that sum up novel writing, but it is so hard to accomplish the task.
Fans of E.L. Doctorow had an opportunity to hear him speak at the former Chicago Public Library, now serving as a cultural center. When asked how much research he did for his historical fiction The March, he answered in the simplest terms. He did just enough, he said. Too much could sink the prose, so he did just enough. It sounds logical, simple, but how does the budding author know when they have gone too far? Like pornography, you know it when you see it, but you cannot define it. That is what makes writing so difficult, even though it seems easy on the surface.
Another interesting point that he made related to his characters. Some hopeful novelists will create note cards and genealogical flow charts to map out their characters, but Doctorow takes the most basic approach. He knows his characters, which makes sense, since he has created them. In his mind, he sees how they look, what they wear, even how they think. All of this happens on a subconscious level, so that as he writes, the prose runs along and fits the character. Sure, it sounds like a no-brainer. Create a fictional figure and run with it, but to internalize each person takes more than a few brain cells.
Writing is a creative endeavor, akin to painting. You can take drawing classes as easily as you can take writing classes. A teacher can tell you what to do, but you may not have the talent to do it, no matter how easy the instructor makes it sound. How many times have you heard the adage 'Show, don't tell'? Three little words that sum up novel writing, but it is so hard to accomplish the task.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
In Need Of Attention
I've been offered a rare opportunity and I'd like to share it. Yes, it's the opportunity we've all been waiting for - a place to promote our books.
For only $75.00, you can have your book listed on the Book Promotion website. And not only that, but the Book Promotion people will spam booksellers on your behalf, and that's just the kind of attention an author would crave.
For an extra $310.00, they'll fill bookstore mail bins with flyers that promote your tome. More junk mail - isn't that what we all want?
Like to be a hands-on type? For $300.00, they'll send you a list so you can do your own spamming and junk mailing.
Want to cover a lot of ground? Here's a quote from the e-mail came my way:
Now, I know what you're saying. Who's going to browse the Internet, looking for a website that promotes books? And what's to keep the book vendors from deleting the e-mails unread? As for the flyers, you can picture them being chucked straight into the dust bin. And how many blogs are there, competing for attention?
A fool and his money are soon parted, the old wives say. There's a sucker born every minute, according to P.T. Barnum. If you believe that this book promotion scheme just might work, then you probably believe that your self-published novel is going to sell tens of thousands of copies.
For only $75.00, you can have your book listed on the Book Promotion website. And not only that, but the Book Promotion people will spam booksellers on your behalf, and that's just the kind of attention an author would crave.
For an extra $310.00, they'll fill bookstore mail bins with flyers that promote your tome. More junk mail - isn't that what we all want?
Like to be a hands-on type? For $300.00, they'll send you a list so you can do your own spamming and junk mailing.
Want to cover a lot of ground? Here's a quote from the e-mail came my way:
What You'll Receive:
* We will send a promotional email to bookstores and libraries about your book
(value $200.00)
* Press Release Distribution to over 2500 newspapers, magazines, radio & tv
shows (value $225.00)
* Your book listed and discussed on at least 10 blogs, websites, or newsletters
within the same week. There will be times during that week where you will have
to make yourself available for chats and/or blog discussions. (value $995.00)
Cost: Only $575.00
Now, I know what you're saying. Who's going to browse the Internet, looking for a website that promotes books? And what's to keep the book vendors from deleting the e-mails unread? As for the flyers, you can picture them being chucked straight into the dust bin. And how many blogs are there, competing for attention?
A fool and his money are soon parted, the old wives say. There's a sucker born every minute, according to P.T. Barnum. If you believe that this book promotion scheme just might work, then you probably believe that your self-published novel is going to sell tens of thousands of copies.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Change In Tactics
Many agents accept e-mail queries, which saves the author on paper and postage. The drawback is the non-answer, the lack of a reply that closes out the submission. Looking for closure, I checked my history with some agents who previously responded to e-mails (with a form letter rejection, I might add).
Steve Axelrod used to respond, back in 2003 and 2004. Fast forward two years, and he doesn't reply if he's not interested. Debra Goldstein at The Creative Culture used to answer her queries, but what held last year is not the case this year. Over at Imprint Agency, you could get a rejection, but that has stopped. I have tried John Talbot and Gail Fortune again, having queried them two years ago on another manuscript, but they no longer answer.
Which leads us back to the e-query and its cheap ease. Anyone can fire off a letter, especially when it costs nothing to send. And so the barrage is created, as hopeful writers submit their missives with the touch of a button. The agents are then swamped with queries, hundreds per week, and there comes a time when they cannot begin to answer them all, even with a blanket rejection.
Given a certain period of time to answer the e-mail, what agent is going to put in the extra hours on top of already long hours to cut, paste and send? Read the first lines, see if the hook is a grabber, and then hit delete. Just as the e-query is all speed and efficiency, so too is the non-response, the unstated not for us.
Steve Axelrod used to respond, back in 2003 and 2004. Fast forward two years, and he doesn't reply if he's not interested. Debra Goldstein at The Creative Culture used to answer her queries, but what held last year is not the case this year. Over at Imprint Agency, you could get a rejection, but that has stopped. I have tried John Talbot and Gail Fortune again, having queried them two years ago on another manuscript, but they no longer answer.
Which leads us back to the e-query and its cheap ease. Anyone can fire off a letter, especially when it costs nothing to send. And so the barrage is created, as hopeful writers submit their missives with the touch of a button. The agents are then swamped with queries, hundreds per week, and there comes a time when they cannot begin to answer them all, even with a blanket rejection.
Given a certain period of time to answer the e-mail, what agent is going to put in the extra hours on top of already long hours to cut, paste and send? Read the first lines, see if the hook is a grabber, and then hit delete. Just as the e-query is all speed and efficiency, so too is the non-response, the unstated not for us.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Speedy Delivery
Prestigious literary journals are as efficient as prestigious literary agents. The fiction that I submitted to the Cimarron Review two weeks ago has already been rejected. Talk about efficiency!
The tiny scrap of paper was as much a form as any agent's tiny scrap of paper, about three inches by four inches of heavy bond, printed with the stock rejection phrases. In essence, my short fiction was not quite right for their list, but good luck placing it elsewhere.
But there was an unexpected bonus in the SASE, a special gift just for me. Was it an added form, to ask me to submit something else another time? A little note from the editor? Of course not. This is a business, not a garden party. After rejecting my prose, the good people of the Cimarron Review invited me to subscribe to the very rag that does not want me.
Hardly the ideal client, am I, having been turned down. Someone must be taking a page from Al Zuckerman of Writers House, who is fond of using the writer's SASE to mail out an advert for his own how-to book. As much as I would like to indulge, my finances are precarious at the moment. The cost of submitting eats into the budget, and I'm dependent on the public library for reading material. Unfortunately for the public library, they are dealing with their own budget constraints, and don't subscribe to very many literary journals. The local book vendor does not bother with them either, taking up as much shelf space as they do and they need that space for Quilting News Quarterly and Scantily Clad Females Monthly.
Not to be defeated, I'll print up a few more copies and find some journals that accept manuscripts during the summer months. A form rejection won't stop me. Only death will put an end to my submitting.
Technorati tag: Cimarron Review
The tiny scrap of paper was as much a form as any agent's tiny scrap of paper, about three inches by four inches of heavy bond, printed with the stock rejection phrases. In essence, my short fiction was not quite right for their list, but good luck placing it elsewhere.
But there was an unexpected bonus in the SASE, a special gift just for me. Was it an added form, to ask me to submit something else another time? A little note from the editor? Of course not. This is a business, not a garden party. After rejecting my prose, the good people of the Cimarron Review invited me to subscribe to the very rag that does not want me.
Hardly the ideal client, am I, having been turned down. Someone must be taking a page from Al Zuckerman of Writers House, who is fond of using the writer's SASE to mail out an advert for his own how-to book. As much as I would like to indulge, my finances are precarious at the moment. The cost of submitting eats into the budget, and I'm dependent on the public library for reading material. Unfortunately for the public library, they are dealing with their own budget constraints, and don't subscribe to very many literary journals. The local book vendor does not bother with them either, taking up as much shelf space as they do and they need that space for Quilting News Quarterly and Scantily Clad Females Monthly.
Not to be defeated, I'll print up a few more copies and find some journals that accept manuscripts during the summer months. A form rejection won't stop me. Only death will put an end to my submitting.
Technorati tag: Cimarron Review
Thursday, June 01, 2006
It's Getting Hot In Here
Exciting new study! We used to be warmer, millions of years ago. Who would have guessed that the dinosaurs were tooling around in lumbering SUVs, pumping up the atmosphere with green house gases? Does Al Gore know about this? Can he edit his movie to include this new data?
Scientists have concluded that a big warm up took place, a time when there were no ice sheets covering the Antarctic. Too bad Mr. Gore was not there with his camera, filming the bergs dropping off the glacier to demonstrate the drastic climate change. Of course, if he had been there in the middle of the hot times in the old town, why, when the cool down came in, he would have been filming the glaciers getting bigger, while ranting about the catastrophic climate change.
No one seems to know why there was a rise in greenhouse gases all those millions of years ago. Probably because the dinosaurs' cars have not left any fossilized remains. The reason why those same gases decreased is also unknown, but one can safely presume that some prehistoric Gore was able to push through legislation that limited emissions, and so the pollution declined along with the temperature. There he was, fourteen million years ago, agitating for alternative fuels, while the poor dinosaurs in Antarctica were getting covered in ice.
The problem with the current crop of global warming hysteria is that it is, indeed, hysteria. Scientists do not quite understand climate changes, and are only just now learning about natural shifts in temperature. Run around and proclaim that the sky is falling, but people will not believe you if it is not, really and truly, collapsing.
Exaggeration is not the answer - we look to scientific fact. What if all heat-trapping gases were reduced to near zero and the temperature continued to climb? Is it possible that the climate has naturally occurring cycles of long duration that we should prepare for? Would it hurt anything if we promoted clean fuel and alternate energy sources just so that we could breathe clean air, and skip the climate change hysteria?
Scientists have concluded that a big warm up took place, a time when there were no ice sheets covering the Antarctic. Too bad Mr. Gore was not there with his camera, filming the bergs dropping off the glacier to demonstrate the drastic climate change. Of course, if he had been there in the middle of the hot times in the old town, why, when the cool down came in, he would have been filming the glaciers getting bigger, while ranting about the catastrophic climate change.
No one seems to know why there was a rise in greenhouse gases all those millions of years ago. Probably because the dinosaurs' cars have not left any fossilized remains. The reason why those same gases decreased is also unknown, but one can safely presume that some prehistoric Gore was able to push through legislation that limited emissions, and so the pollution declined along with the temperature. There he was, fourteen million years ago, agitating for alternative fuels, while the poor dinosaurs in Antarctica were getting covered in ice.
The problem with the current crop of global warming hysteria is that it is, indeed, hysteria. Scientists do not quite understand climate changes, and are only just now learning about natural shifts in temperature. Run around and proclaim that the sky is falling, but people will not believe you if it is not, really and truly, collapsing.
Exaggeration is not the answer - we look to scientific fact. What if all heat-trapping gases were reduced to near zero and the temperature continued to climb? Is it possible that the climate has naturally occurring cycles of long duration that we should prepare for? Would it hurt anything if we promoted clean fuel and alternate energy sources just so that we could breathe clean air, and skip the climate change hysteria?
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
A Platform To Stand On
The New York Observer has an interesting article about publishing and the almighty platform. If you don't have one, you're toast.
Trying to identify the components of a platform, the literary agents who are quoted all seem to be saying the same thing. What the author needs is credentials. You have to be published or be famous or be known for something. The publishing houses don't want to spend the money needed to make the author known, so the author has to do it.
Platforms used to be de riguer for non-fiction writers, who pretty much have to be experts in their fields before an agent will consider their manuscript. History professors at name brand universities can scribe texts, or they could push the envelope and write a historical novel, as long as the subject matter falls within their particular specialty.
What if you are not a professor, or a lawyer writing courtroom drama, or a police detective writing a thriller? Well, who are you? Just someone with a flair for writing and enough brains to do the research? Not good enough, unfortunately. Now, if you could count Oprah as a close personal friend, you've got a platform. If you don't know her, or someone with a television show that could feature you, you're up the creek.
Of course, if you are an immigrant from an Arab country, female, and writing about the hard life you led, you've got something that the publisher can market. Just an average American? Not for us, alas, even if the writing is stellar and the novel is entertaining. It's all about marketing these days, according to Larry Kirshbaum of LJK Literary Agency. The author has to have something that can be built on to generate publicity and word of mouth buzz, and if you've nothing but a good book, there's no buzz.
An anonymous publishing executive claims that a really good book can be its own platform, but after reading the article, one has to wonder if he's only thinking wishfully. So put away your manuscript, put pen to paper, and start writing. Short stories, news articles for the local paper, anything that can be submitted to literary journals, and get published.
See? To get your novel published, you have to be published before. Agents can claim all they like that you don't need prior credits, but the publishers are saying something else entirely. It's a business, designed to make money, and the position of published author is not open to just anyone.
Trying to identify the components of a platform, the literary agents who are quoted all seem to be saying the same thing. What the author needs is credentials. You have to be published or be famous or be known for something. The publishing houses don't want to spend the money needed to make the author known, so the author has to do it.
Platforms used to be de riguer for non-fiction writers, who pretty much have to be experts in their fields before an agent will consider their manuscript. History professors at name brand universities can scribe texts, or they could push the envelope and write a historical novel, as long as the subject matter falls within their particular specialty.
What if you are not a professor, or a lawyer writing courtroom drama, or a police detective writing a thriller? Well, who are you? Just someone with a flair for writing and enough brains to do the research? Not good enough, unfortunately. Now, if you could count Oprah as a close personal friend, you've got a platform. If you don't know her, or someone with a television show that could feature you, you're up the creek.
Of course, if you are an immigrant from an Arab country, female, and writing about the hard life you led, you've got something that the publisher can market. Just an average American? Not for us, alas, even if the writing is stellar and the novel is entertaining. It's all about marketing these days, according to Larry Kirshbaum of LJK Literary Agency. The author has to have something that can be built on to generate publicity and word of mouth buzz, and if you've nothing but a good book, there's no buzz.
An anonymous publishing executive claims that a really good book can be its own platform, but after reading the article, one has to wonder if he's only thinking wishfully. So put away your manuscript, put pen to paper, and start writing. Short stories, news articles for the local paper, anything that can be submitted to literary journals, and get published.
See? To get your novel published, you have to be published before. Agents can claim all they like that you don't need prior credits, but the publishers are saying something else entirely. It's a business, designed to make money, and the position of published author is not open to just anyone.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Catch And Release
Sometimes I just don't get the law. There are hairs being split, technicalities argued over, and then the judge makes a decision that does not seem to make sense.
In Ireland, a man has just been released from Arbour Hill Prison. At the time of his arrest he was 38 years of age. He was charged with having sex with a girl who was twelve at the time, and was convicted in 2004. Now, here it is, 2006, and the Supreme Court has decided that the law banning sex with underage girls is unconstitutional because it did not make allowances for the poor lad who believed the lassie was older than she appeared.
What does that have to do with the current case? The man pleaded guilty two years ago. He admitted that he gave the girl two Bacardi Breezers and two vodkas, which means the child was falling down drunk. In fact, she passed out, and when she woke up to spew, she was raped. The man said he had done it, all of it, and he was convicted.
It would seem that the entire law, making it illegal to have sex with underage females, has been tossed out because of a technicality, so even though this bastard is guilty, he must be set free because he was convicted on a faulty law. The law was struck down because a sixteen year old boy had consensual sex with a fourteen year old girl who told him she was sixteen, and that was not fair to the boy, as far as the Supreme Court could see. So a 38-year-old man, convicted of drugging and raping a 12-year-old girl, has been set free.
Can you understand now why the prosecutors bring in as many possible convictions as they can dream up? That is the safety net for the victim, the web of crimes that the prosecutor weaves, tangling up the criminal so that if one thread should fail, there are others to keep the rapists imprisoned.
I'm sure the Public Prosecutor will do so next time, find as many statutes on the books as possible to throw at the rapist. And there will be a next time. You know he will rape again. And the next victim can take comfort in the fact that an unfair law has been banished.
In Ireland, a man has just been released from Arbour Hill Prison. At the time of his arrest he was 38 years of age. He was charged with having sex with a girl who was twelve at the time, and was convicted in 2004. Now, here it is, 2006, and the Supreme Court has decided that the law banning sex with underage girls is unconstitutional because it did not make allowances for the poor lad who believed the lassie was older than she appeared.
What does that have to do with the current case? The man pleaded guilty two years ago. He admitted that he gave the girl two Bacardi Breezers and two vodkas, which means the child was falling down drunk. In fact, she passed out, and when she woke up to spew, she was raped. The man said he had done it, all of it, and he was convicted.
It would seem that the entire law, making it illegal to have sex with underage females, has been tossed out because of a technicality, so even though this bastard is guilty, he must be set free because he was convicted on a faulty law. The law was struck down because a sixteen year old boy had consensual sex with a fourteen year old girl who told him she was sixteen, and that was not fair to the boy, as far as the Supreme Court could see. So a 38-year-old man, convicted of drugging and raping a 12-year-old girl, has been set free.
Can you understand now why the prosecutors bring in as many possible convictions as they can dream up? That is the safety net for the victim, the web of crimes that the prosecutor weaves, tangling up the criminal so that if one thread should fail, there are others to keep the rapists imprisoned.
I'm sure the Public Prosecutor will do so next time, find as many statutes on the books as possible to throw at the rapist. And there will be a next time. You know he will rape again. And the next victim can take comfort in the fact that an unfair law has been banished.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Pornographers Wanted
Being a member of a writing forum, I get spammed from time to time, and I always know where the spammer got my addy because I keep hotmail accounts for each site. Writers Net is the source of this newest offer, a mass e-mail to writers by an e-book publisher.
Not just any ordinary e-book publisher, mind you. No indeed, the publisher has seen my name on Writers Net and just knows that I have the stuff to get e-published. Never mind about the Irish name and the assumption that the bearer of said appellation might be Roman Catholic and a bit on the conservative side. After all, Fr. Michael Cleary and Bishop Eamonn Casey were preaching about morality while shagging the housekeeper and the American divorcee, so who's to say what an Irish Catholic might think or say or do. Why, writing pornography just might be in the picture.
Charlene Keel needs me, or at any rate she needs my perverted mind to craft porno for her site. Someone as illustrious as a former editor for Playgirl magazine has invited me to submit a work of literary filth, sweaty graphic sex for the ladies. Considering how steamy the average Harlequin romance has become, I'd be better off peddling my potential pornographic tome to a royalty paying publisher, rather than download the trash to Ms. Keel's site. There's a better chance to get paid if I take the heaving bosoms and throbbing members to Harlequin.
Thanks a million for the invitation, Charlene, but alas, I must pass. Porn isn't my cuppa tea. Not right for my list. Too many projects in train to take on another. Insert more pat rejection phrases here.
Not just any ordinary e-book publisher, mind you. No indeed, the publisher has seen my name on Writers Net and just knows that I have the stuff to get e-published. Never mind about the Irish name and the assumption that the bearer of said appellation might be Roman Catholic and a bit on the conservative side. After all, Fr. Michael Cleary and Bishop Eamonn Casey were preaching about morality while shagging the housekeeper and the American divorcee, so who's to say what an Irish Catholic might think or say or do. Why, writing pornography just might be in the picture.
Charlene Keel needs me, or at any rate she needs my perverted mind to craft porno for her site. Someone as illustrious as a former editor for Playgirl magazine has invited me to submit a work of literary filth, sweaty graphic sex for the ladies. Considering how steamy the average Harlequin romance has become, I'd be better off peddling my potential pornographic tome to a royalty paying publisher, rather than download the trash to Ms. Keel's site. There's a better chance to get paid if I take the heaving bosoms and throbbing members to Harlequin.
Thanks a million for the invitation, Charlene, but alas, I must pass. Porn isn't my cuppa tea. Not right for my list. Too many projects in train to take on another. Insert more pat rejection phrases here.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Decoration Day
I've heard it said that the last Monday in May was set aside as the day to honor the fallen soldiers of the American Civil War. The full story is no doubt available somewhere on the Internet, if someone had a mind to search for it.
With the war in Iraq, this Memorial Day will also be a time for pundits to argue both sides of the issue - should we be there, is it a failure, when should we leave, and on and on. We in the western world have freedoms that we take for granted, a collection of rights that we do not think about because they are all around us, all the time. So when I hear the arguments, for and against the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, I think of this, from the BBC news website:
To me, that says it all.
With the war in Iraq, this Memorial Day will also be a time for pundits to argue both sides of the issue - should we be there, is it a failure, when should we leave, and on and on. We in the western world have freedoms that we take for granted, a collection of rights that we do not think about because they are all around us, all the time. So when I hear the arguments, for and against the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, I think of this, from the BBC news website:
Coach Hussein Ahmed Rashid and players Nasser Ali Hatem and Wissam Adel Auda were killed in the al-Saidiya district of the capital.
Witnesses said the three were dressed in shorts and were killed days after militants issued a warning forbidding the wearing of shorts.
To me, that says it all.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Home To Roost
The abuse victims are flocking around, like chickens coming home to roost. Unless you're looking at it from the bishops' POV, in which case you might feel that Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds has come to pass.
As another diocese declares bankruptcy, we are once again reminded of the utter incompetence of the men in charge. Out in Spokane, Washington, the church is going to sell off its headquarters and other properties, seeking to raise $11 million dollars. Yes, that's an 11 with six zeroes following, and it's all to pay some compensation to the victims of clerical sexual abuse. A lot of money? Yes, and a lot of victims.
In Ireland, the crisis is so far beyond anything seen in the U.S. that it boggles the mind. To this day, the Catholic Church has a powerful influence in the schools, which are publicly funded but religiously guided. Back in the early days of the Republic, and continuing for fifty or sixty years, the church ran homes for delinquents, again with government stipends paid per head. Except that the children were not really delinquent. Sometimes their crime was in being poor. Sometimes the parish priest felt that the parent was negligent, especially if the parent was a widow, and most definitely if the widow took up with another man.
The inquiries and tribunals are still going on, but the government fears that the cost will top out at a few hundred million euro. The various religious orders reached a settlement, trading properties and cash for a government bailout, but what the clerics ponied up is proving to be far, far short of the cost of the damage that they did.
For the church in Spokane, $11 million may not be enough. Parishioners are not willing to blindly donate, not when the church could have put an end to the abuse through sensible oversight practices. Instead, bishops shuttled abusers from one church to another. They did it in Spokane, they did it in Joliet, Illinois, and they did it all over Ireland. Using their absolute power and insisting on the blind obedience of the faithful, those in power played a shell game, rather than admit to some serious deficiencies. The parishioners are no longer blind, and they are not going to follow quietly behind the crozier.
A Christian Brother, testifying before Ireland's Redress Board, had the nerve to claim that many people came forward, declaring that they had been abused, but they were only after some compensation. No facts to cite, just a blanket statement, a lament that would turn the criminal into the victim. Even after all kinds of testimony, they still don't get it. But the faithful do, they understand exactly what was up.
How many millions of dollars will be needed to pay for counseling and compensate for the loss of childhood innocence? By going into bankruptcy, the bishop of Spokane has surrendered control of his assets, an unheard of state of affairs. A day late in recognizing the realities of child abuse, and many millions of dollars short. Funny how Catholics are continuing to fund their local parish, but they won't contribute to the annual diocesan drive. Hello Bishop, can you hear me now?
As another diocese declares bankruptcy, we are once again reminded of the utter incompetence of the men in charge. Out in Spokane, Washington, the church is going to sell off its headquarters and other properties, seeking to raise $11 million dollars. Yes, that's an 11 with six zeroes following, and it's all to pay some compensation to the victims of clerical sexual abuse. A lot of money? Yes, and a lot of victims.
In Ireland, the crisis is so far beyond anything seen in the U.S. that it boggles the mind. To this day, the Catholic Church has a powerful influence in the schools, which are publicly funded but religiously guided. Back in the early days of the Republic, and continuing for fifty or sixty years, the church ran homes for delinquents, again with government stipends paid per head. Except that the children were not really delinquent. Sometimes their crime was in being poor. Sometimes the parish priest felt that the parent was negligent, especially if the parent was a widow, and most definitely if the widow took up with another man.
The inquiries and tribunals are still going on, but the government fears that the cost will top out at a few hundred million euro. The various religious orders reached a settlement, trading properties and cash for a government bailout, but what the clerics ponied up is proving to be far, far short of the cost of the damage that they did.
For the church in Spokane, $11 million may not be enough. Parishioners are not willing to blindly donate, not when the church could have put an end to the abuse through sensible oversight practices. Instead, bishops shuttled abusers from one church to another. They did it in Spokane, they did it in Joliet, Illinois, and they did it all over Ireland. Using their absolute power and insisting on the blind obedience of the faithful, those in power played a shell game, rather than admit to some serious deficiencies. The parishioners are no longer blind, and they are not going to follow quietly behind the crozier.
A Christian Brother, testifying before Ireland's Redress Board, had the nerve to claim that many people came forward, declaring that they had been abused, but they were only after some compensation. No facts to cite, just a blanket statement, a lament that would turn the criminal into the victim. Even after all kinds of testimony, they still don't get it. But the faithful do, they understand exactly what was up.
How many millions of dollars will be needed to pay for counseling and compensate for the loss of childhood innocence? By going into bankruptcy, the bishop of Spokane has surrendered control of his assets, an unheard of state of affairs. A day late in recognizing the realities of child abuse, and many millions of dollars short. Funny how Catholics are continuing to fund their local parish, but they won't contribute to the annual diocesan drive. Hello Bishop, can you hear me now?
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The 20 Worst Agents
Here's a link to the top 20 scam artists. If you're even thinking of sending a query to one of them, what in the name of Heaven is wrong with you?
Twenty Worst Agents
A Scam Agent Of The Lowest Level
Absolute Write has always been one of my favorite sites, chock full of warnings about scammers. One of the scammers has shut down the site.
Barbara Bauer is one of Writers Beware 20 Worst Agents, and she was less than happy to be rumbled and exposed for the scammer that she is. Apparently, she called the website host and screamed that her e-mail addy had been posted, which made her the victim of spammers, which made Absolute Write a spammer and the website was guilty by default. Scared little shites, the web host gave Jenna Glatzer of Absolute Write about one hour's notice and then pulled the plug.
The information is posted here:
Making Light
Bauer's website is a dead give-away. Where a legitimate agent would list clients and their books, she has a list of miscellaneous publishers and publications. Who does she represent? What has she sold? Why, she represents no one who has been published because she has not sold anything to a legitimate publisher. The rookie author might not know that, and so she lurks behind smoke and mirrors, ready to pounce on fresh young meat.
Needless to say, Barbara Bauer would like to hide her scumbag tactics so that she can sucker in more marks, and Absolute Write represented a great danger to her thieving plans. Let us all hope and pray that Jenna can find a new host, someone with balls enough to stand up to the criminals who prey on unsuspecting authors.
Sadly, the damage has been done and the archives may be lost. Just remember, if you are looking for a literary agent, GOOGLE IS YOUR FRIEND. There are too many smooth operators out there, looking for easy money. Don't become a victim of the Barbara Bauers of the publishing world.
Technorati tag: literary agent scam
Barbara Bauer is one of Writers Beware 20 Worst Agents, and she was less than happy to be rumbled and exposed for the scammer that she is. Apparently, she called the website host and screamed that her e-mail addy had been posted, which made her the victim of spammers, which made Absolute Write a spammer and the website was guilty by default. Scared little shites, the web host gave Jenna Glatzer of Absolute Write about one hour's notice and then pulled the plug.
The information is posted here:
Bauer's website is a dead give-away. Where a legitimate agent would list clients and their books, she has a list of miscellaneous publishers and publications. Who does she represent? What has she sold? Why, she represents no one who has been published because she has not sold anything to a legitimate publisher. The rookie author might not know that, and so she lurks behind smoke and mirrors, ready to pounce on fresh young meat.
Needless to say, Barbara Bauer would like to hide her scumbag tactics so that she can sucker in more marks, and Absolute Write represented a great danger to her thieving plans. Let us all hope and pray that Jenna can find a new host, someone with balls enough to stand up to the criminals who prey on unsuspecting authors.
Sadly, the damage has been done and the archives may be lost. Just remember, if you are looking for a literary agent, GOOGLE IS YOUR FRIEND. There are too many smooth operators out there, looking for easy money. Don't become a victim of the Barbara Bauers of the publishing world.
Technorati tag: literary agent scam
Write It Off
When is it time to give up on the wait? It's when you've seen the writing on the wall, or the words on the computer screen.
Susan Golomb's agency is advertising for a new assistant. I've been waiting thirteen months for her assistant to get back to me on a partial. Putting it all together, I'd have to say that the assistant is leaving his post, or has already gone elsewhere, and no one will ever answer the e-mails sent as follow-up. I will never know what became of the partial, if it was read or passed on or passed along or shredded.
Some months ago, Kate McKean left the agenting business. She was the assistant to Sally Wofford-Girand when she asked to see a full manuscript, and she left Brickhouse Literary Agency not too long after telling me that they had lost the submission and could I re-send it as a Word file? Considering the fact that Ms. McKean left, and the submission was in her mailbox, and she's not there anymore to open the mailbox, the submission is pretty much a done deal.
Over a year ago, I sent a partial to Matt McGowan of Frances Goldin Literary Agency, but he never responded in any manner. So that's it. After twelve months, it's time to write off the submission and move on down the road. Unless, of course, all those agents are holding onto the submission packet, hoping that I'll get published in some literary rags before they'll make an offer. Can't get published unless you've been published, don't you know.
Susan Golomb's agency is advertising for a new assistant. I've been waiting thirteen months for her assistant to get back to me on a partial. Putting it all together, I'd have to say that the assistant is leaving his post, or has already gone elsewhere, and no one will ever answer the e-mails sent as follow-up. I will never know what became of the partial, if it was read or passed on or passed along or shredded.
Some months ago, Kate McKean left the agenting business. She was the assistant to Sally Wofford-Girand when she asked to see a full manuscript, and she left Brickhouse Literary Agency not too long after telling me that they had lost the submission and could I re-send it as a Word file? Considering the fact that Ms. McKean left, and the submission was in her mailbox, and she's not there anymore to open the mailbox, the submission is pretty much a done deal.
Over a year ago, I sent a partial to Matt McGowan of Frances Goldin Literary Agency, but he never responded in any manner. So that's it. After twelve months, it's time to write off the submission and move on down the road. Unless, of course, all those agents are holding onto the submission packet, hoping that I'll get published in some literary rags before they'll make an offer. Can't get published unless you've been published, don't you know.
The Long Wait
How long will it take an agent to get back on a query? For some, never. Aaron Priest and Lisa Vance do not respond to queries if they are not interested, and it does not matter if you included a SASE or not.
Amy Rennert took four months to reject my snail-mail query, and Carolyn Grayson needed just over three months to stuff a form rejection in the envelope. Some agents are much faster, like Julie Barer, who opened the query, took one look at it, and immediately shoved a rejection letter in the SASE. Turn around time: 2 weeks.
My experiences with InkWell Management vary, depending on the agent queried. Alexis Hurley responded to the e-query after two weeks, and Catherine Drayton said no within three days.
Over at The Creative Culture, they don't respond to e-queries if they are not interested. Needless to say, I have never had a response from any of their agents.
The big names tend to respond faster, it seems, but that may be due to the fact that they have staff to do the heavy lifting. At Sterling Lord Literistic, Claudia Cross rejected a query in a matter of days, or possibly minutes. On the other hand, Robert Guinsler had a full manuscript for a year before he finally turned it down.
There is something to be said for snail mail queries - at least you get a response eventually, most of the time. Better than staring at the sent mail box, wondering if the agent ever got it, if it was caught in a spam filter, if it was merely deleted on purpose or by mistake...you could go on for days. So instead of waiting for the agent to get back to you, go write something. Keeps those idle hands busy.
Amy Rennert took four months to reject my snail-mail query, and Carolyn Grayson needed just over three months to stuff a form rejection in the envelope. Some agents are much faster, like Julie Barer, who opened the query, took one look at it, and immediately shoved a rejection letter in the SASE. Turn around time: 2 weeks.
My experiences with InkWell Management vary, depending on the agent queried. Alexis Hurley responded to the e-query after two weeks, and Catherine Drayton said no within three days.
Over at The Creative Culture, they don't respond to e-queries if they are not interested. Needless to say, I have never had a response from any of their agents.
The big names tend to respond faster, it seems, but that may be due to the fact that they have staff to do the heavy lifting. At Sterling Lord Literistic, Claudia Cross rejected a query in a matter of days, or possibly minutes. On the other hand, Robert Guinsler had a full manuscript for a year before he finally turned it down.
There is something to be said for snail mail queries - at least you get a response eventually, most of the time. Better than staring at the sent mail box, wondering if the agent ever got it, if it was caught in a spam filter, if it was merely deleted on purpose or by mistake...you could go on for days. So instead of waiting for the agent to get back to you, go write something. Keeps those idle hands busy.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Located
According to Publishers Marketplace, Hilary Rubin has found a new home. No need to worry about the poor woman, wandering the streets of New York City, homeless. She's gone over to the other side, taking a job as an associate editor with St. Martin.
The news flash says that she's working in the editorial department, which means that she is an editor, but it sounds too much like some non-fiction post, akin to a newspaper. I picture her writing out commentary, for some reason. Things like, Dear Ms. Agent, what were you thinking when you sent this shite to my attention?
No wait, that's only if I had an agent who submitted to her. Best of luck in the new job, Ms. Rubin. And, by the by, if you're looking for a great read, historical fiction? How about a modern setting, women's fiction? Okay, then maybe you'd be interested in the family saga, modern setting with historical flashbacks?
The news flash says that she's working in the editorial department, which means that she is an editor, but it sounds too much like some non-fiction post, akin to a newspaper. I picture her writing out commentary, for some reason. Things like, Dear Ms. Agent, what were you thinking when you sent this shite to my attention?
No wait, that's only if I had an agent who submitted to her. Best of luck in the new job, Ms. Rubin. And, by the by, if you're looking for a great read, historical fiction? How about a modern setting, women's fiction? Okay, then maybe you'd be interested in the family saga, modern setting with historical flashbacks?
I Pity The Poor Immigrant
Dreadful news out of New York these days. Sure, it's grand that the hurling team has done so well, but now there's a bit of a snag.
They've made it to the provincial final, to the joy of all their fans, but unfortunately the final is held in Casement Park. Yes, that Casement Park, the one in Belfast. Now, ordinarily, it would not be such a great problem, but with the recent crackdown on illegal immigration, about half of the team is afraid that they won't get back in if they go to Belfast.
Any coach can tell you that you need good players to make a winning team, and the recruitment drive did a run around the INS. Sean McEvoy, a bar owner in Yonkers, has been charged with bringing in a Gaelic football player illegally, while Phillip Reilly is in hot water over his scheme to get three players into New York and Philadelphia, illegally again. Of course the New York GAA chairman knows nothing, officially, but he's put in for a delay of game and a request that the match be relocated to New York. Many in the GAA are annoyed, since everyone knew since October that the finals were scheduled for Belfast.
So there they are, skilled hurlers one and all, but they can't leave the country. 'Tis a sad day, indeed, to have worked so hard to get so far, only to be told that the door will be locked behind you when you go. Dermot Ahern has come to Washington to lobby on behalf of illegal Irish immigrants, but his hands are tied when it comes to the boys of the GAA.
Ideally, the Ulster GAA secretary will come to his senses and realize that it's much better to spend a week in New York than five minutes in Belfast. Relocate the site of the match, bring the wife and kids, and everyone's happy. Not so bad a trade-off, is it?
They've made it to the provincial final, to the joy of all their fans, but unfortunately the final is held in Casement Park. Yes, that Casement Park, the one in Belfast. Now, ordinarily, it would not be such a great problem, but with the recent crackdown on illegal immigration, about half of the team is afraid that they won't get back in if they go to Belfast.
Any coach can tell you that you need good players to make a winning team, and the recruitment drive did a run around the INS. Sean McEvoy, a bar owner in Yonkers, has been charged with bringing in a Gaelic football player illegally, while Phillip Reilly is in hot water over his scheme to get three players into New York and Philadelphia, illegally again. Of course the New York GAA chairman knows nothing, officially, but he's put in for a delay of game and a request that the match be relocated to New York. Many in the GAA are annoyed, since everyone knew since October that the finals were scheduled for Belfast.
So there they are, skilled hurlers one and all, but they can't leave the country. 'Tis a sad day, indeed, to have worked so hard to get so far, only to be told that the door will be locked behind you when you go. Dermot Ahern has come to Washington to lobby on behalf of illegal Irish immigrants, but his hands are tied when it comes to the boys of the GAA.
Ideally, the Ulster GAA secretary will come to his senses and realize that it's much better to spend a week in New York than five minutes in Belfast. Relocate the site of the match, bring the wife and kids, and everyone's happy. Not so bad a trade-off, is it?
This Is News?
At what expense did the government perform this grand gesture? Even though economists were shouting as loudly as they could, being the gentle creatures that they are, the powers in Washington could not hear them, so they ordered a study. And what did the study conclude? Exactly what the economists had been saying all along, and for free.
According to the Federal Trade Commission:
Who would have guessed that the law of supply and demand was real and verifiable and quantifiable? Who would have guessed that the high price of gasoline is not an artificial creation of some Evil Cabal? Not the Democrats, apparently, who were quick to pounce on every open microphone and call out for an investigation into what surely was price gouging.
The Democrats have the likes of Chuck Schumer, that brilliant mathematician, to carry high the banner:
Just as it is hard to believe that the demand for oil in China and India could possibly have anything to do with an increase in demand. Just as it is hard to believe that the oil cartel only pumps a limited amount, creating a static supply. I suppose those Cartesian coordinates are a bit much for Mr. Schumer, trying to figure out which line is supply and which is demand and where the price comes into the equation.
Want to lower the price of gas? It's been suggested that the summer blend be made the same for the whole country, rather than insist on a special formula for nearly every city, town and hamlet across the country. But no, we can't do that because that makes too much sense.
What if Congress were to lower the taxes on a gallon of gas? Sweet God in Heaven, have I lost my mind to suggest such a thing? Lower taxes? Unheard of. Better to blather on and on about price gouging until the less well-educated constituents at home believe that the high price of gas is the fault of some evil corporations. That way the members of Congress can look like they're doing something, which is to complain and rant, without having to acknowledge that market forces take heavy work to tackle. Bring down demand and the price will drop. So simple. Yet so difficult to do.
According to the Federal Trade Commission:
"The evidence collected in this investigation indicated that firms behaved competitively," the commission said.
Who would have guessed that the law of supply and demand was real and verifiable and quantifiable? Who would have guessed that the high price of gasoline is not an artificial creation of some Evil Cabal? Not the Democrats, apparently, who were quick to pounce on every open microphone and call out for an investigation into what surely was price gouging.
The Democrats have the likes of Chuck Schumer, that brilliant mathematician, to carry high the banner:
"It just defies belief that they didn't find price gouging because there is simply no price competition," he said. Mr. Schumer said that the Senate "could do a lot if it had the backbone."
Just as it is hard to believe that the demand for oil in China and India could possibly have anything to do with an increase in demand. Just as it is hard to believe that the oil cartel only pumps a limited amount, creating a static supply. I suppose those Cartesian coordinates are a bit much for Mr. Schumer, trying to figure out which line is supply and which is demand and where the price comes into the equation.
Want to lower the price of gas? It's been suggested that the summer blend be made the same for the whole country, rather than insist on a special formula for nearly every city, town and hamlet across the country. But no, we can't do that because that makes too much sense.
What if Congress were to lower the taxes on a gallon of gas? Sweet God in Heaven, have I lost my mind to suggest such a thing? Lower taxes? Unheard of. Better to blather on and on about price gouging until the less well-educated constituents at home believe that the high price of gas is the fault of some evil corporations. That way the members of Congress can look like they're doing something, which is to complain and rant, without having to acknowledge that market forces take heavy work to tackle. Bring down demand and the price will drop. So simple. Yet so difficult to do.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Self-Publishing
Nothing brings it home like an article in the New York Times. Reporting from Book Expo American in Washington, DC., the venerable NYT takes us into the heart of action, where publishers and authors court book sellers. But what was the headline? Not something dull, to be sure, but a banner trumpeting the success of a self-published author.
On writing forums all around the world, those who believe that vanity publishing will be their claim to fame are chattering with the like-minded. If Kathleen McGowan can do it, so can we, they declare. The NYT article opens with a snippet of her success, the fact that she was at BEA last year, racking up thousands of dollars in debt to garner a bit of book vendor attention, and here she is today, about to be published by a Big House.
No one ever said that a traditional publisher would NOT pick up a self-published novel, as long as it had respectable sales figures. Ms. McGowan plugged her tome through hard work, but the article does not delve into that aspect of the quest for publication.
Unfortunately, the vanity press crowd may be too dazzled to read on, to hear what a book store owner has to say about the self-published.
And then there are those who fervently believe in what they have produced, and do not see (or choose not to see) the rolling of eyes from the target audience. Steve Brown was there with 1,000 copies of his magnum opus, in which he refutes many fallacies about the Bible, like the actual number of animals that Noah took on the Ark. Entertaining reading, that is. He's spending thousands of dollars to get his work published, and now he'll have Kathleen McGowan's success to hang his hat on.
For every one who makes it there are countless thousands who shell out money and get nothing back. The vanity presses will play up the rare case and ignore the most common outcome, but they are in it to make money. Publishing is a business, and it's caveat emptor all the way.
On writing forums all around the world, those who believe that vanity publishing will be their claim to fame are chattering with the like-minded. If Kathleen McGowan can do it, so can we, they declare. The NYT article opens with a snippet of her success, the fact that she was at BEA last year, racking up thousands of dollars in debt to garner a bit of book vendor attention, and here she is today, about to be published by a Big House.
No one ever said that a traditional publisher would NOT pick up a self-published novel, as long as it had respectable sales figures. Ms. McGowan plugged her tome through hard work, but the article does not delve into that aspect of the quest for publication.
Unfortunately, the vanity press crowd may be too dazzled to read on, to hear what a book store owner has to say about the self-published.
Mitchell Kaplan, owner of Books & Books, an independent store in Coral Gables, Fla., and Miami Beach, said he liked to trawl the exhibition floor looking for interesting titles. But self-published books, he said, gave him pause. "There is a validity," he said, "to the selection process" of a known publisher.There were other self-published writers in attendance, all trying to catch the eye of the vendor who would put their work on a shelf in a brick and mortar. Mr. Noe, who has sunk $200,000 into publishing the scribblings of men in jail, was failing to attract so much as a nibble for his offerings. Not much interest out there for the musings of the incarcerated, it would appear.
And then there are those who fervently believe in what they have produced, and do not see (or choose not to see) the rolling of eyes from the target audience. Steve Brown was there with 1,000 copies of his magnum opus, in which he refutes many fallacies about the Bible, like the actual number of animals that Noah took on the Ark. Entertaining reading, that is. He's spending thousands of dollars to get his work published, and now he'll have Kathleen McGowan's success to hang his hat on.
For every one who makes it there are countless thousands who shell out money and get nothing back. The vanity presses will play up the rare case and ignore the most common outcome, but they are in it to make money. Publishing is a business, and it's caveat emptor all the way.
Cold Cash Defined
You just know that someone will chuckle over the phrase 'cold cash' in relation to a pile of money discovered in a freezer. Congressman William Jefferson has been caught on tape accepting bribes from an FBI undercover operative, and the very money that was handed over to the congressman turned up in his home, on ice as it were.
Cold cash indeed. How nice to see that corruption is an equal opportunity employer. No discrimination based on race or politics, the representative from Louisiana is just as tainted as Mr. Cunningham, recently indicted on bribery charges. Those who believe that Congress is for sale cross party lines.
But wait, sweet William claims that he is innocent. Or at least nothing more than the victim of a prosecutor who is out to humiliate him. Tough to claim you've done nothing when the FBI has you on tape, accepting money. And then when the FBI finds the same money in your freezer, well, there you are. Given time, he may well come up with some other reasonable excuse, but for now, his attorney is blathering away while madly attempting to sweep all the dirt under the rug.
The funny thing is, Mr. Jefferson assured the informant that he had passed the cash along to a Nigerian government official, who was then going to grease the skids for the bribe giver. Can the congressman claim that he was not bribed because he did not give the money to its intended target? He kept it for himself, and apparently spent $10,000 between the time he received the 'donation' and the FBI's raid on his freezer.
Perhaps Mr. Jefferson can claim ignorance. He sure is looking mighty stupid right now.
Cold cash indeed. How nice to see that corruption is an equal opportunity employer. No discrimination based on race or politics, the representative from Louisiana is just as tainted as Mr. Cunningham, recently indicted on bribery charges. Those who believe that Congress is for sale cross party lines.
But wait, sweet William claims that he is innocent. Or at least nothing more than the victim of a prosecutor who is out to humiliate him. Tough to claim you've done nothing when the FBI has you on tape, accepting money. And then when the FBI finds the same money in your freezer, well, there you are. Given time, he may well come up with some other reasonable excuse, but for now, his attorney is blathering away while madly attempting to sweep all the dirt under the rug.
The funny thing is, Mr. Jefferson assured the informant that he had passed the cash along to a Nigerian government official, who was then going to grease the skids for the bribe giver. Can the congressman claim that he was not bribed because he did not give the money to its intended target? He kept it for himself, and apparently spent $10,000 between the time he received the 'donation' and the FBI's raid on his freezer.
Perhaps Mr. Jefferson can claim ignorance. He sure is looking mighty stupid right now.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
What Else Have You Got?
McSweeney's sent a lovely card, rejecting my short piece of fiction, but wasn't it kind of them to ask that I send something else another time. The piece had a political bent and they couldn't use it in any of their upcoming issues. I have to ask, is this a standard rejection? Or do they really mean that I have a chance if I can hit on the right topic?
Even the editor of the Prairie Schooner enclosed a slip of paper that let me know they were taking a pass on the short story I sent. Couldn't use it, but they liked it, and would you have another bit of a story you could pass along?
Rejection is the miserable part of the writing program. Getting form letters from agents is unpleasant but the skin gets thick over time. Somehow, these rejections from a couple of literary magazines were far more palatable. Underlying the notes is the same theme, that maybe I can write a decent sentence and string together a few of them into an interesting paragraph.
Being turned down preys on the mind, jabs at the self-confidence, and the slightest compliment becomes a cause for celebration. Do I have anything else to send? Sweet God in Heaven, if there's nothing written out yet I'll create something. That's what it's all about, on the rocky road. Take a step and fall in a hole, climb out of the hole and take another step. Here's hoping I don't die of old age before I've reached the promised land.
Even the editor of the Prairie Schooner enclosed a slip of paper that let me know they were taking a pass on the short story I sent. Couldn't use it, but they liked it, and would you have another bit of a story you could pass along?
Rejection is the miserable part of the writing program. Getting form letters from agents is unpleasant but the skin gets thick over time. Somehow, these rejections from a couple of literary magazines were far more palatable. Underlying the notes is the same theme, that maybe I can write a decent sentence and string together a few of them into an interesting paragraph.
Being turned down preys on the mind, jabs at the self-confidence, and the slightest compliment becomes a cause for celebration. Do I have anything else to send? Sweet God in Heaven, if there's nothing written out yet I'll create something. That's what it's all about, on the rocky road. Take a step and fall in a hole, climb out of the hole and take another step. Here's hoping I don't die of old age before I've reached the promised land.
Temper Tantrums
Can you hear all that noise? The sound of hands wringing all over Dublin is near deafening. The poor sad Afghani lads are off their food, holed up in St. Patrick's Cathedral and threatening to starve themselves to death unless they are given permission to remain in Ireland.
There's a war going on in Afghanistan, don't you know, and it's too dangerous for them to be there. They charged into St. Pat's, making claims that they were about to be deported to that dreadful place, and promptly started a hunger strike. You'd think it was the end of the world to hear some people wailing and moaning over the poor wee lads. So unfair, Mr. Minister, surely you can make an exception and let them stay.
Well, there is the one who's already gone through the process and been granted refugee status. He's in no danger of being deported, but he's supporting his fellows, yes indeed, and he's starving to death right alongside the others. And the bunch that only just applied, there's no decision made yet, but just in case the government had a notion to deport them, well, watch out, now. All right, so there's not one of them slated to be deported. Better to be prepared for the worst, and they're protesting now in anticipation of a negative outcome later.
Then there's the man who just happens to be a nephew of a former Taliban cabinet minister, and if ever there was someone who would be lynched when he got home, it's him. By all means, he should be allowed to stay. Look at how kind Argentina was, all those years ago, to take in those Nazi refugees who would have been tried and possibly hanged at Nuremberg. Surely the Irish could be as hospitable.
There are reports that they've pulled the gold braid off the chairs and fashioned ropes, which they claim they will use to hang themselves if the gardai try to boot them out of the cathedral. Steady on there, Rosanna Flynn of Residents Against Racism. She's all worked up, the poor woman, because some of the lads have put those nooses around their necks and she fears that they're going to use them.
And if that doesn't work, they can all hold their breath until they turn blue and then the world will be sorry. You don't want to eat? Then don't. You don't like the process that all immigrants have to go through to get refugee status? Life's a bitch, isn't it? There's an element in society that is naive, trusting and driven to show charity to all, and the Afghanis are playing on those emotions while playing those people for idiots. There's another segment of society that is cynical, and they're hoping that the fools tie that upholstery cord around their necks and jump off the choir loft.
Whatever the lads decide, they'd best keep in mind that the World Cup is starting soon, well before they're likely to starve to death. What's the point of making a statement if everyone is watching football?
There's a war going on in Afghanistan, don't you know, and it's too dangerous for them to be there. They charged into St. Pat's, making claims that they were about to be deported to that dreadful place, and promptly started a hunger strike. You'd think it was the end of the world to hear some people wailing and moaning over the poor wee lads. So unfair, Mr. Minister, surely you can make an exception and let them stay.
Well, there is the one who's already gone through the process and been granted refugee status. He's in no danger of being deported, but he's supporting his fellows, yes indeed, and he's starving to death right alongside the others. And the bunch that only just applied, there's no decision made yet, but just in case the government had a notion to deport them, well, watch out, now. All right, so there's not one of them slated to be deported. Better to be prepared for the worst, and they're protesting now in anticipation of a negative outcome later.
Then there's the man who just happens to be a nephew of a former Taliban cabinet minister, and if ever there was someone who would be lynched when he got home, it's him. By all means, he should be allowed to stay. Look at how kind Argentina was, all those years ago, to take in those Nazi refugees who would have been tried and possibly hanged at Nuremberg. Surely the Irish could be as hospitable.
There are reports that they've pulled the gold braid off the chairs and fashioned ropes, which they claim they will use to hang themselves if the gardai try to boot them out of the cathedral. Steady on there, Rosanna Flynn of Residents Against Racism. She's all worked up, the poor woman, because some of the lads have put those nooses around their necks and she fears that they're going to use them.
And if that doesn't work, they can all hold their breath until they turn blue and then the world will be sorry. You don't want to eat? Then don't. You don't like the process that all immigrants have to go through to get refugee status? Life's a bitch, isn't it? There's an element in society that is naive, trusting and driven to show charity to all, and the Afghanis are playing on those emotions while playing those people for idiots. There's another segment of society that is cynical, and they're hoping that the fools tie that upholstery cord around their necks and jump off the choir loft.
Whatever the lads decide, they'd best keep in mind that the World Cup is starting soon, well before they're likely to starve to death. What's the point of making a statement if everyone is watching football?
Friday, May 19, 2006
New York Is Deserted
It seems as if all the literary agents have gone off to Book Expo America. That's part of their business, making connections with the people who do the buying, and just about every high ranking agent is networking away.
Today's agenda includes such exciting items as Norton's drinks party, where famous authors can talk up their latest release. How could anyone expect an agent to be spending time reading through queries and manuscripts at such a time? They're busy, busy, busy with conferences and parties and presentations, and that query that you slaved over is left to gather dust.
Waiting is bad enough, but these interruptions are maddening. There's nothing to be done besides wait patiently, for the expo will eventually end and the agents will go back home to piles of query letters. I've fired off an e-query to BJ Robbins because she updated her Publishers Marketplace page and gives the impression that she's looking for some new clients. Even JetReid Literary is open to submissions again, according to the website, so let's hope that the agents are going to come back from BEA all refreshed, ready for new work.
And then there's hoping that your work is exactly what is needed. Whatever topic your novel covers is precisely the topic that the acquisitions people at Random House or MacAdam/Cage are clamoring for. All you can do is wait, and hope, and dream a bit until the form rejection turns up in the mailbox. Here's hoping and wishing for success.
Today's agenda includes such exciting items as Norton's drinks party, where famous authors can talk up their latest release. How could anyone expect an agent to be spending time reading through queries and manuscripts at such a time? They're busy, busy, busy with conferences and parties and presentations, and that query that you slaved over is left to gather dust.
Waiting is bad enough, but these interruptions are maddening. There's nothing to be done besides wait patiently, for the expo will eventually end and the agents will go back home to piles of query letters. I've fired off an e-query to BJ Robbins because she updated her Publishers Marketplace page and gives the impression that she's looking for some new clients. Even JetReid Literary is open to submissions again, according to the website, so let's hope that the agents are going to come back from BEA all refreshed, ready for new work.
And then there's hoping that your work is exactly what is needed. Whatever topic your novel covers is precisely the topic that the acquisitions people at Random House or MacAdam/Cage are clamoring for. All you can do is wait, and hope, and dream a bit until the form rejection turns up in the mailbox. Here's hoping and wishing for success.
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