All a matter of time, and there'll be a documentary or two, and the next thing you know, Leo DiCaprio will be slated for a starring role. The ill-fated Titanic has become heavily romanticized, thanks to Hollywood, and now we're about to get the Lusitania.
F. Gregg Bemis has been trying since 1968 to get permission to dive and salvage the grand ocean liner that was sunk by a German torpedo in 1915. His dream is about to come true. Somewhere off the coast of Kinsale, Mr. Bemis will launch his operation to search for mythical treasures.
Historians would like to know if the Lusitania was indeed carrying wartime munitions from the US to England, as was rumored at the time. Sinking a passenger ship, thus causing the death of 1200 people, created an uproar that was directed at Germany, firing up strong anti-Kraut sentiments that may have pushed the US further away from neutrality. Hence, the conspiracy theorists would suggest that the sinking was a set-up by the wily Allies, but in the absence of hard evidence, no one can say with certainty.
Mr. Bemis is over the moon with his license to dive on the Lusitania. An earlier salvage operation, back in 1982, brought up a few odds and ends like the ship's bell, some propellers and a few pieces of silverware. He's not saying anything, but there are those who think that the gentleman is looking for some other reputed artifacts that are far more valuable than a fork with the Lusitania's crest.
One of the lost passengers on the last voyage was Hugh Lane, who may or may not have been carrying a few priceless works of art. A painting by Monet and two by Rubens are said to have been on board, sealed in lead containers to protect them from the elements. And what of the jewels and assorted paraphernalia in the purser's safe? Very Titanic-ish, this quest for mysterious riches. Bemis is not expecting to find a treasure chest filled with gold, of course, as the transport of gold overseas during war time would be rather foolish. Still, the expedition is expected to focus on the purser's office, the first class suites, and then they can take retrieve a few nuts and bolts.
A brief look-around by the Cork Sub-Aqua Club last summer found some .303 bullets, but they were listed on the ship's manifest and there was no surprise there. Perhaps Mr. Bemis will explore the hold a bit more thoroughly, to ascertain the cause of the explosion that went off about twenty minutes after the torpedo hit the ship. If there were stores of war materiel on board, and Mr. Bemis were to find the evidence, it would clear up some mysteries and put to rest a highly debated theory.
The possibilities for Hollywood are endless in this particular saga. There's espionage and intrigue, innocent passengers sacrificed for the Great War, and one cannot forget the grand love story that some screenwriter could fabricate. Right now, Mr. Bemis is trying to raise $3 million to fund his expedition. Surely there's a big studio that would like to contribute, in exchange for the movie rights. Considering the success of Titanic, it sounds like an absolute bargain.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thought It Was This Time
According to the editors at the Crab Orchard Review, if they have your submission longer than five months, it's being considered. So after six months passed, I had a good feeling. One of my short fiction pieces is under consideration. Thatclose to gaining a publication credit. Editorial work was due to be finished in mid-February. By mid-March, the sense was strong that my piece was going to be picked up.
The moral of the story is, don't read so much into the drivel that is spewed by literary journal editors who are short-staffed and can't handle the submissions in a reasonable amount of time. Today I received the rejection notice, a standard form. The fault was mine for not submitting the short story to other journals a month ago, under the assumption that the story was about to be published and what's the point in spending money on postage?
There are a few other stories on submission, rapidly approaching or just beyond the journals' reported response time. I have learned today that I must submit when I want, and not worry about something that may not happen. I misjudged the situation, let hope get in the way of practicality, and that will never happen again.
Fire up the printer and crank out the next round. The literary journals will soon close for submissions for the summer, and I'll do all I can to swamp them.
The moral of the story is, don't read so much into the drivel that is spewed by literary journal editors who are short-staffed and can't handle the submissions in a reasonable amount of time. Today I received the rejection notice, a standard form. The fault was mine for not submitting the short story to other journals a month ago, under the assumption that the story was about to be published and what's the point in spending money on postage?
There are a few other stories on submission, rapidly approaching or just beyond the journals' reported response time. I have learned today that I must submit when I want, and not worry about something that may not happen. I misjudged the situation, let hope get in the way of practicality, and that will never happen again.
Fire up the printer and crank out the next round. The literary journals will soon close for submissions for the summer, and I'll do all I can to swamp them.
Friendship
The South African Development Community had a meeting, and Robert Mugabe was there. He made sure to imprison his leading opponent before he left Zimbabwe for Tanzania, however, as he is no friend of Morgan Tsvangirai and could not well risk taking a vacation with Tsvangirai on the loose.
Inflation in Zimbabwe is running around 1200%, give or take, and the average economist could tell you that it's not a sign of a healthy economy. Who's to blame for the disaster? It's England this time, or the west in general. Mr. Mugabe is most definitely not at fault for turning his country from the bread basket of Africa into a starving skeleton. And when your friends agree with you, well, you can go home with your head held high.
After the meeting was over, and the situation in Zimbabwe was discussed, the fourteen countries that make up the commission issued a statement, calling on the rest of the world to lift sanctions on Mugabe's government. And then they stood solidly behind the honorable thug from Zimbabwe in a show of solidarity with one of their own.
So what if the riot police beat the snot out of the members of Zimbabwe's Movement for Democratic Change. Big deal that the leaders were arrested and thrown into jail for trying to foment democracy in their nation. As for the criticism of other nations over Mugabe's brutal dictatorship, it's all a great huge plot to undermine the efforts of the downtrodden by those who supported the brutal regime of colonial rule; we must fight the British, it's all their doing. Or something like that.
That would be why the meeting ended with a call for Great Britain to compensate the white farmers whose farms were seized and handed to Mugabe's cronies. It's not up to Zimbabwe to pay up for what was taken. And besides, the ungrateful white farmers didn't stick around to teach their new masters how to farm, and now Zimbabwe is facing another famine. But none of that is Mugabe's fault, and his buddies down at the Development Community agree with him.
Jakaya Kikwete of Tanzania has an answer for those who oppose Mugabe's rule. They're to blame for getting arrested, because they use illegal means to protest. So there, all you anti-Mugabe-ites rotting in prison. The Development Community is not about to ask Mugabe to step aside, and he's running for president again.
Where did all those reports of human rights violations get to now? Ah, there they are, swept under the rug. The western nations, they're so critical of African housekeeping. If only they'd mind their own, and just send another aid check.
Inflation in Zimbabwe is running around 1200%, give or take, and the average economist could tell you that it's not a sign of a healthy economy. Who's to blame for the disaster? It's England this time, or the west in general. Mr. Mugabe is most definitely not at fault for turning his country from the bread basket of Africa into a starving skeleton. And when your friends agree with you, well, you can go home with your head held high.
After the meeting was over, and the situation in Zimbabwe was discussed, the fourteen countries that make up the commission issued a statement, calling on the rest of the world to lift sanctions on Mugabe's government. And then they stood solidly behind the honorable thug from Zimbabwe in a show of solidarity with one of their own.
So what if the riot police beat the snot out of the members of Zimbabwe's Movement for Democratic Change. Big deal that the leaders were arrested and thrown into jail for trying to foment democracy in their nation. As for the criticism of other nations over Mugabe's brutal dictatorship, it's all a great huge plot to undermine the efforts of the downtrodden by those who supported the brutal regime of colonial rule; we must fight the British, it's all their doing. Or something like that.
That would be why the meeting ended with a call for Great Britain to compensate the white farmers whose farms were seized and handed to Mugabe's cronies. It's not up to Zimbabwe to pay up for what was taken. And besides, the ungrateful white farmers didn't stick around to teach their new masters how to farm, and now Zimbabwe is facing another famine. But none of that is Mugabe's fault, and his buddies down at the Development Community agree with him.
Jakaya Kikwete of Tanzania has an answer for those who oppose Mugabe's rule. They're to blame for getting arrested, because they use illegal means to protest. So there, all you anti-Mugabe-ites rotting in prison. The Development Community is not about to ask Mugabe to step aside, and he's running for president again.
Where did all those reports of human rights violations get to now? Ah, there they are, swept under the rug. The western nations, they're so critical of African housekeeping. If only they'd mind their own, and just send another aid check.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
European Vacation
Not that I'm biased, but if you're looking for a pleasant vacation in Europe, you can't do better than Ireland. The food's improved, thanks to EU membership, the scenery is lovely, and the craic's going ninety. And, best of all, you can take a train without fear of being caught up in a riot.
Unlike Paris, France, where a full scale battle was raging at the Gare du Nord on Tuesday afternoon. An illegal Congolese immigrant, already wanted by the gendarmerie, tried to jump on a train without paying his fare. After the man reportedly tried to head-butt the ticket inspector who nabbed him, he was dragged off to the station's police office and a crowd of irate teens went ballistic. Oh, yes, well, no one wants to say it, but most of the rioting teens were Arabs of African or North African descent. Shouted a great deal of abuse about Nicolas Sarkozy, the man who would clamp down on Arabs in France.
The rioters broke into shops in the underground mall, looting and smashing windows and having a grand time of it. Disrupted commuter traffic, terrorized the commuters, and gave a group of foreign tourists the fright of their lives. A man who tried not to have his mobile phone stolen from his hands was beaten up by a gang of rioters, and he's not at all pleased that the riot police stood by and did not come to his aid. I wonder if he was wearing a 'Segolene Royal for president' campaign button at the time?
The whole illegal immigrant issue has exploded in French politics, with far right wing (relatively speaking, as this is socialist Europe we're talking about) political candidates screaming about the lack of control over who comes in and who gets kicked out. Segolene Royal, like her Socialist ilk, started out with a demand that all illegals with children in French schools get a free pass and be allowed to stay. Like so many other of her pronouncements, that one caused quite a stir and she has had to backtrack, taking a stand on a case by case basis for legalizing status.
So, as the fires burned in the streets near the Gare du Nord (the rioters had to do something to kill time once they were driven out of the train station), the people of France were asking what sort of country they had become, for such unbridled violence to erupt over the arrest of a wanted criminal. And they can't blame America for this one.
Unlike Paris, France, where a full scale battle was raging at the Gare du Nord on Tuesday afternoon. An illegal Congolese immigrant, already wanted by the gendarmerie, tried to jump on a train without paying his fare. After the man reportedly tried to head-butt the ticket inspector who nabbed him, he was dragged off to the station's police office and a crowd of irate teens went ballistic. Oh, yes, well, no one wants to say it, but most of the rioting teens were Arabs of African or North African descent. Shouted a great deal of abuse about Nicolas Sarkozy, the man who would clamp down on Arabs in France.
The rioters broke into shops in the underground mall, looting and smashing windows and having a grand time of it. Disrupted commuter traffic, terrorized the commuters, and gave a group of foreign tourists the fright of their lives. A man who tried not to have his mobile phone stolen from his hands was beaten up by a gang of rioters, and he's not at all pleased that the riot police stood by and did not come to his aid. I wonder if he was wearing a 'Segolene Royal for president' campaign button at the time?
The whole illegal immigrant issue has exploded in French politics, with far right wing (relatively speaking, as this is socialist Europe we're talking about) political candidates screaming about the lack of control over who comes in and who gets kicked out. Segolene Royal, like her Socialist ilk, started out with a demand that all illegals with children in French schools get a free pass and be allowed to stay. Like so many other of her pronouncements, that one caused quite a stir and she has had to backtrack, taking a stand on a case by case basis for legalizing status.
So, as the fires burned in the streets near the Gare du Nord (the rioters had to do something to kill time once they were driven out of the train station), the people of France were asking what sort of country they had become, for such unbridled violence to erupt over the arrest of a wanted criminal. And they can't blame America for this one.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Thank You Jesus (and a shout-out to Mary Magdalene)
Victory for Dan Brown! Praise Jesus!
As far as the British Court of Appeal is concerned, Mr. Brown most definitely did not steal the words right out from under the pens of Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh. The whole Da Vinci Code book, cover to cover, is Brown's own, a work of his personal imagination.
Writers of historical fiction are exhaling again, knowing that they can make use of historical sources and other people's non-fiction books to create their flights of fancy. We can all acknowledge the "vast amount of skill and labor" that goes in to crafting the non-fiction books that form the basis of historical fiction, but that does not spell plagiarism, and the Appeal Court agreed.
Realistic historical fiction is good when it rings true, and a novel rings true when it has been well researched. Even something as fanciful as the Jesus and Mary Magdalene union, as presented in Dan Brown's book, became a believable story because of the use of so-called evidence which was sprinkled (heavily) throughout the novel. Where else does anyone find facts and theoretical proofs but in non-fiction? Making use of those same facts does not equate with plagiarism, because the novelist is making up a story, spinning a yarn.
Lawyers for the claimants are still not satisfied, however, and they may be sorry that they went after Random House as publishers, rather than Dan Brown as plagiarist. They still wonder over the role that Mrs. Brown played as researcher and note-taker, intimating that she was the intellectual property thief, but Baigent and Leigh are up to their necks at the moment and this may be the end of it. As this was tried in England, they are responsible for all court costs as the losing party, and it's said they owe somewhere around $6 million.
The Da Vinci phenomenon pretty much ended when the Hollywood film tanked. The pair who wrote the non-fiction source of the novel's plot get nothing from the millions that Dan Brown earned on his book. The author did not lift passages wholesale from the Baigent and Leigh masterpiece, but he used it to fuel his imagination. The authors made their money on the sale of the book to Mrs. Dan Brown, and that's all they're getting out of the DaVinci Code wallet.
As far as the British Court of Appeal is concerned, Mr. Brown most definitely did not steal the words right out from under the pens of Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh. The whole Da Vinci Code book, cover to cover, is Brown's own, a work of his personal imagination.
Writers of historical fiction are exhaling again, knowing that they can make use of historical sources and other people's non-fiction books to create their flights of fancy. We can all acknowledge the "vast amount of skill and labor" that goes in to crafting the non-fiction books that form the basis of historical fiction, but that does not spell plagiarism, and the Appeal Court agreed.
Realistic historical fiction is good when it rings true, and a novel rings true when it has been well researched. Even something as fanciful as the Jesus and Mary Magdalene union, as presented in Dan Brown's book, became a believable story because of the use of so-called evidence which was sprinkled (heavily) throughout the novel. Where else does anyone find facts and theoretical proofs but in non-fiction? Making use of those same facts does not equate with plagiarism, because the novelist is making up a story, spinning a yarn.
Lawyers for the claimants are still not satisfied, however, and they may be sorry that they went after Random House as publishers, rather than Dan Brown as plagiarist. They still wonder over the role that Mrs. Brown played as researcher and note-taker, intimating that she was the intellectual property thief, but Baigent and Leigh are up to their necks at the moment and this may be the end of it. As this was tried in England, they are responsible for all court costs as the losing party, and it's said they owe somewhere around $6 million.
The Da Vinci phenomenon pretty much ended when the Hollywood film tanked. The pair who wrote the non-fiction source of the novel's plot get nothing from the millions that Dan Brown earned on his book. The author did not lift passages wholesale from the Baigent and Leigh masterpiece, but he used it to fuel his imagination. The authors made their money on the sale of the book to Mrs. Dan Brown, and that's all they're getting out of the DaVinci Code wallet.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
What's The Line At Paddy Powers?
Did the bookie have to pay out when the Stormont deal faded? Were the odds long that the DUP would accept the official deadline of 26 March? Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, we have a brand new deadline and a second chance to gamble on devolution.
As long as both sides agreed an extension, then Peter Hain was amenable to presenting new legislation to Parliament to make a different absolutely not changeable deadline. In the snapshot seen round the world, Gerry Adams sat within strangling distance of the Big Man, and I'd swear I felt the earth tremble. Both sides of the political divide came to terms, we've been told, and the former date of Stormont's grand re-opening was pushed back, just like the DUP wanted.
The whole idea of sitting in government with the Shinners was so indescribably unbelievable that the Proties needed an extra six weeks to settle their stomachs and get the blood pressure down to manageable levels. And the strain on the heart, sweet Jesus, it was apoplexy on a massive scale without that six weeks to adjust. And after that, come May, well, absolutely it will be Stormont revisited.
So, what's the line over at Paddy Powers' famed institution? 20 to 1 that the DUP will find fault with Sinn Fein's commitment to policing and call the whole thing off? 10 to 1? Even money? After all, there's no benefit to the DUP to share power. They're perfectly happy with the United Kingdom and legislation from afar. They give no genuine inkling that they want things to change, to bring the Catholics in or do their own governing. If the folks in Northumberland are satisfied with Parliament, and they're English, then the loyal subjects of Northern Ireland should be just as English and just as happy, and Stormont isn't part of that joyful picture.
This back and forth, discuss and dither, has been going on for so long that it's hard to believe it will ever end. For now, the outrageously high water bills will not be mailed to each and every home in the six counties, as threatened if the DUP backed out of the original date. The DUP is said to be jawboning London in search of even more money if they go into government with Sinn Fein, a bribe in the billions of pounds sterling.
So now, they have six weeks to come up with a new excuse not to open Stormont. I'm going with the whole policing issue, that the Shinners aren't ready for the rule of law and they're not fit to govern. What are the odds?
As long as both sides agreed an extension, then Peter Hain was amenable to presenting new legislation to Parliament to make a different absolutely not changeable deadline. In the snapshot seen round the world, Gerry Adams sat within strangling distance of the Big Man, and I'd swear I felt the earth tremble. Both sides of the political divide came to terms, we've been told, and the former date of Stormont's grand re-opening was pushed back, just like the DUP wanted.
The whole idea of sitting in government with the Shinners was so indescribably unbelievable that the Proties needed an extra six weeks to settle their stomachs and get the blood pressure down to manageable levels. And the strain on the heart, sweet Jesus, it was apoplexy on a massive scale without that six weeks to adjust. And after that, come May, well, absolutely it will be Stormont revisited.
So, what's the line over at Paddy Powers' famed institution? 20 to 1 that the DUP will find fault with Sinn Fein's commitment to policing and call the whole thing off? 10 to 1? Even money? After all, there's no benefit to the DUP to share power. They're perfectly happy with the United Kingdom and legislation from afar. They give no genuine inkling that they want things to change, to bring the Catholics in or do their own governing. If the folks in Northumberland are satisfied with Parliament, and they're English, then the loyal subjects of Northern Ireland should be just as English and just as happy, and Stormont isn't part of that joyful picture.
This back and forth, discuss and dither, has been going on for so long that it's hard to believe it will ever end. For now, the outrageously high water bills will not be mailed to each and every home in the six counties, as threatened if the DUP backed out of the original date. The DUP is said to be jawboning London in search of even more money if they go into government with Sinn Fein, a bribe in the billions of pounds sterling.
So now, they have six weeks to come up with a new excuse not to open Stormont. I'm going with the whole policing issue, that the Shinners aren't ready for the rule of law and they're not fit to govern. What are the odds?
Monday, March 26, 2007
Until Pavee Point Weighs In
Comic Eddie Izzard is hardly recognizable without make-up and high heels. Minnie Driver is lovely as ever. Whether their new television show The Riches will make it depends on the critics and the numbers, but whether or not the show will be picked up by RTE is another matter.
Izzard and Driver play Travellers in this particular program, and sadly they are playing up to a long-standing stereotype. I'm sure a lot of homeowners across America have heard of the Irish Travellers, a gang that travels from their isolated enclave in Kentucky like migrating birds heading north in the Spring. Some might lump them together with the gypsies, another group that is known for criminal activity and scams in general. The Irish Travellers are famous for cheating the elderly, charging for home repairs that are never done or done so poorly that a professional must be called in. They take the money and run, always a step ahead of the law.
In Ireland, Pavee Point has long been speaking on behalf of the Travellers, those who were once called tinkers. Besides having a reputation as a bunch of criminals, the Travellers are notorious for their feuds, which often spill out of their clutch of caravans into the newspapers. Many's the pub that's been fined for discriminating against a Traveller, refusing to serve them, and Pavee Point is there to fight the fight. You'll not hear much out of Pavee Point when the Travellers go after each other with knives or slash hooks, or when a family of Travellers is arrested for stealing or trading in stolen goods. They're after putting an end to the negative image, and they scream loud and long when all the pubs in town shut down rather than cater to a large gathering of the travelling folk.
Pavee Point is determined to maintain the mobile anachronism that is the Traveller lifestyle. They push for roadside halting sites where the nomadic clans can pull their caravan over for a month or two before moving on to another town. As in the new television program, Travellers are largely illiterate, owing to their constant movement and the fact that the children are never in school for very long before the family pulls up stakes. The problem is, there's not much work for those who once tinkered pots and pans, and the Travellers in Ireland are at the bottom of the economic ladder. Yet Pavee Point is there, insisting that this way of life be supported and maintained. With that kind of backing, the Travellers should remain destitute, illiterate, and completely isolated from the Celtic Tiger for generations to come.
No matter how good the television show proves to be, Pavee Point will be furious when they learn that the fictional characters are just like the worst of everyone's assumptions about Travellers. Not exactly a positive image, to follow the crazy misadventures of a bunch of thieves who are pulling off a grand scam. Show that on Irish television, and everyone can nod their heads and say how true to life the characters are, and that is exactly what Pavee Point is trying to stop.
Let it be known that not all Travellers are crooks, trying to play the fast game and get away with something illegal. It's just that some are, and they make for more entertaining viewing than the settled community. But the FX Channel will have a hard sell to get past the watch dogs of Pavee Point.
Izzard and Driver play Travellers in this particular program, and sadly they are playing up to a long-standing stereotype. I'm sure a lot of homeowners across America have heard of the Irish Travellers, a gang that travels from their isolated enclave in Kentucky like migrating birds heading north in the Spring. Some might lump them together with the gypsies, another group that is known for criminal activity and scams in general. The Irish Travellers are famous for cheating the elderly, charging for home repairs that are never done or done so poorly that a professional must be called in. They take the money and run, always a step ahead of the law.
In Ireland, Pavee Point has long been speaking on behalf of the Travellers, those who were once called tinkers. Besides having a reputation as a bunch of criminals, the Travellers are notorious for their feuds, which often spill out of their clutch of caravans into the newspapers. Many's the pub that's been fined for discriminating against a Traveller, refusing to serve them, and Pavee Point is there to fight the fight. You'll not hear much out of Pavee Point when the Travellers go after each other with knives or slash hooks, or when a family of Travellers is arrested for stealing or trading in stolen goods. They're after putting an end to the negative image, and they scream loud and long when all the pubs in town shut down rather than cater to a large gathering of the travelling folk.
Pavee Point is determined to maintain the mobile anachronism that is the Traveller lifestyle. They push for roadside halting sites where the nomadic clans can pull their caravan over for a month or two before moving on to another town. As in the new television program, Travellers are largely illiterate, owing to their constant movement and the fact that the children are never in school for very long before the family pulls up stakes. The problem is, there's not much work for those who once tinkered pots and pans, and the Travellers in Ireland are at the bottom of the economic ladder. Yet Pavee Point is there, insisting that this way of life be supported and maintained. With that kind of backing, the Travellers should remain destitute, illiterate, and completely isolated from the Celtic Tiger for generations to come.
No matter how good the television show proves to be, Pavee Point will be furious when they learn that the fictional characters are just like the worst of everyone's assumptions about Travellers. Not exactly a positive image, to follow the crazy misadventures of a bunch of thieves who are pulling off a grand scam. Show that on Irish television, and everyone can nod their heads and say how true to life the characters are, and that is exactly what Pavee Point is trying to stop.
Let it be known that not all Travellers are crooks, trying to play the fast game and get away with something illegal. It's just that some are, and they make for more entertaining viewing than the settled community. But the FX Channel will have a hard sell to get past the watch dogs of Pavee Point.
Who's Making Their Debut
Does the ability to produce documentary films make you a novelist? It does if you're Poppy Adams, who surely has an agent who knows someone in the publishing industry. Denise Shannon represents the film maker turned writer, and managed to get six figures for this sensational story of estranged sisters and butterfly aficionados. What are the chances that Poppy has herself a sister and they don't get along? Has she perhaps done a documentary about butterfly scientists and thus has a most sturdy platform? The question is, are you a film producer? If not, you have little chance of getting your novel published.
Maybe you're the editor of a literary journal, like Mark Budman. He's penned an autobiographical novel about the Russian Jewish experience. That must be a code name for memoir that was so deadly dull it had to be spiced up with pure fantasy. Neither Russian nor Jewish, and as no one cares about the Irish Catholic experience, we're shut out on that count.
Publication would surely be easier if you were a journalist in New York and could write your debut novel about well known characters in Manhattan society. The concept flew high with Diane Bartoli of Artists Literary Group. She's representing Tatiana Boncompagni, a journalist who wrote a novel based on her own experience as a journalist reporting on Manhattan's movers and social shakers. And her mother's an Italian princess to boot. Now that's a platform I could never hope to construct. No point in querying Ms. Bartoli, in that case.
Would you happen to teach writing at a prestigious university, one like North Carolina State? Then you could seek representation from Bill Clegg at the William Morris Agency. And an agent wouldn't even have to read the manuscript, what with that teaching credential William Conescu possesses. His professional experience alone would open doors.
And still, literary agents will loudly proclaim that you don't need credentials and publishing credits, you just need good writing. The deals posted at Publishers Marketplace put the lie to that statement on a regular basis.
Maybe you're the editor of a literary journal, like Mark Budman. He's penned an autobiographical novel about the Russian Jewish experience. That must be a code name for memoir that was so deadly dull it had to be spiced up with pure fantasy. Neither Russian nor Jewish, and as no one cares about the Irish Catholic experience, we're shut out on that count.
Publication would surely be easier if you were a journalist in New York and could write your debut novel about well known characters in Manhattan society. The concept flew high with Diane Bartoli of Artists Literary Group. She's representing Tatiana Boncompagni, a journalist who wrote a novel based on her own experience as a journalist reporting on Manhattan's movers and social shakers. And her mother's an Italian princess to boot. Now that's a platform I could never hope to construct. No point in querying Ms. Bartoli, in that case.
Would you happen to teach writing at a prestigious university, one like North Carolina State? Then you could seek representation from Bill Clegg at the William Morris Agency. And an agent wouldn't even have to read the manuscript, what with that teaching credential William Conescu possesses. His professional experience alone would open doors.
And still, literary agents will loudly proclaim that you don't need credentials and publishing credits, you just need good writing. The deals posted at Publishers Marketplace put the lie to that statement on a regular basis.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
A Done Deal Coming Undone
Peter Hain is sitting at his desk, pen in hand, ready to sign the legislation that would restore the Northern Ireland Assembly. The clock is ticking down towards midnight, the deadline that is set in stone, carved in granite, unchangeable. And there's the DUP, wielding a chisel, trying to chip away at that deadline.
The DUP is divided on the power sharing issue. After all, the whole Home Rule issue was stalled and talked to death for well over one hundred years. Why stop now? Who wants to go down in history as the man who caved in to pressure and let the Catholics have any say in their government? The diploma mill reverend might like the idea of going to his grave as the First Minister of Northern Ireland, but he surely does not want to be remembered as the man who lost the never ending battle for the Union of England and Ireland.
The British Exchequer offered a hefty package of benefits if the DUP would play nice, but the Big Man turned up his nose at the offer. Not at all enough money, he sniffed, and the worst of it is that a big chunk is coming from the Republic of Ireland. They'll be wanting their money's worth, and who wants Paddy sticking his nose in UK business? So more was demanded, but not another penny offered.
That tactic didn't work, so the DUP is trying a new approach. They are meeting today, trying to find a way around the Monday meeting deadline with some clever bit of business that would postpone the opening of Stormont. Commit to power sharing, as required, but the Protestants are going to set the timetable and not the English and Irish governments. Play that one right, and nothing has to change. Stall until May, then claim that Shinners have not adequately proven their embrace of law and order. Call them a gang of terrorists and criminals, not fit for sharing power with, and that's the end of all this nonsense. And best of all, the blame for failure can be planted in Sinn Fein. Perfect.
Sinn Fein has thrown their lot in with the power sharing notion, and the DUP is doing all they can to hold off on completion of the deal, in the fervent hope that failure to gain political power will shatter the political party and leave the Catholic contingent in disarray. From that collapse comes the undisputed hegemony of the united Protestants, and the Union is saved.
The DUP is counting on support in Parliament, and there are plenty of politicians in Commons who see the dissolution of the Union creeping up on them. The Scots are angling for their own Parliament, and then inclusion in the EU as an individual nation. If the Northern Irish get Stormont, they might be next, and it's a known fact that Sinn Fein is still pushing for a united Ireland by 2016.
Whether the deal is done or undone will depend on the British and Irish governments holding firm, letting the DUP hold their breath until they turn blue. If there is no deal, and water rates skyrocket, it will be the DUP doing the splintering and their constituents laying blame.
Can't hardly wait for Monday, to see the next play in the long game.
The DUP is divided on the power sharing issue. After all, the whole Home Rule issue was stalled and talked to death for well over one hundred years. Why stop now? Who wants to go down in history as the man who caved in to pressure and let the Catholics have any say in their government? The diploma mill reverend might like the idea of going to his grave as the First Minister of Northern Ireland, but he surely does not want to be remembered as the man who lost the never ending battle for the Union of England and Ireland.
The British Exchequer offered a hefty package of benefits if the DUP would play nice, but the Big Man turned up his nose at the offer. Not at all enough money, he sniffed, and the worst of it is that a big chunk is coming from the Republic of Ireland. They'll be wanting their money's worth, and who wants Paddy sticking his nose in UK business? So more was demanded, but not another penny offered.
That tactic didn't work, so the DUP is trying a new approach. They are meeting today, trying to find a way around the Monday meeting deadline with some clever bit of business that would postpone the opening of Stormont. Commit to power sharing, as required, but the Protestants are going to set the timetable and not the English and Irish governments. Play that one right, and nothing has to change. Stall until May, then claim that Shinners have not adequately proven their embrace of law and order. Call them a gang of terrorists and criminals, not fit for sharing power with, and that's the end of all this nonsense. And best of all, the blame for failure can be planted in Sinn Fein. Perfect.
Sinn Fein has thrown their lot in with the power sharing notion, and the DUP is doing all they can to hold off on completion of the deal, in the fervent hope that failure to gain political power will shatter the political party and leave the Catholic contingent in disarray. From that collapse comes the undisputed hegemony of the united Protestants, and the Union is saved.
The DUP is counting on support in Parliament, and there are plenty of politicians in Commons who see the dissolution of the Union creeping up on them. The Scots are angling for their own Parliament, and then inclusion in the EU as an individual nation. If the Northern Irish get Stormont, they might be next, and it's a known fact that Sinn Fein is still pushing for a united Ireland by 2016.
Whether the deal is done or undone will depend on the British and Irish governments holding firm, letting the DUP hold their breath until they turn blue. If there is no deal, and water rates skyrocket, it will be the DUP doing the splintering and their constituents laying blame.
Can't hardly wait for Monday, to see the next play in the long game.
Friday, March 23, 2007
From Blog To Book
There's a few reports out there, about a blogger who is discovered by some literary agent or publisher and gets a book contract. Six figures, big buzz, that sort of thing. I'm not expecting such a windfall, but it's only because I don't blog about sex.
That must have been the key for Zoe Margolis, who started blogging about sex, and more sex, and group sex, and needing sex, and, well, you get the picture. Using an anonymous on line presence, writing as the permanently randy Abby Lee, Ms. Margolis created a world around this fictional person that garnered thousands of hits per day.
The blog's Abby Lee was forever looking to hook up, and her sexual dalliances were fodder for the blog. Getting it off regularly, was Abby Lee, but then the men never called back. Sounds like a bit of a morality tale as told by Mother Mary Cordula, but there were plenty of ladies in the audience who related to the sad tales. There's been praise given, with accolades for a blog that 'empowers' women. Personally, I think the ladies have all the power, and saying no is a grand gesture of all that empowerment, but maybe that's just the Catholic seeping out of the pores.
At any rate, the blog was published as a memoir, and before long Ms. Margolis had her cover blown. Imagine mammy reading the salacious bits, and you'll understand her desire for anonymity. With a six figure advance from a publisher, however, there is no room for secret identities. Interviewers have found Ms. Margolis to be quite the feminist, and not quite like the imaginary Abby Lee that stars in the blog. So the woman has a flair for fiction, and may go on to write a novel down the line.
As for the book version of the blog, it's not as popular as the daily installments of the sex search soap opera. Some feminists may find the search for sex, the casual hook-up, a part of the men's club that is raunchy culture, and Ms. Margolis is falling into the trap. The author counters, taking up a position as hopeless romantic, searching for love. But didn't your granny tell you to keep your knees together and the boys would linger? Why buy the cow when the milk's free, did you never hear of that one?
Still and all, she's got the big advance whether her book earns out or not, and I'm hoping an agent will at least consider my manuscript. There's no market for a memoir written by an author that details their futile search for publication. If there was, I'd be on a book tour by now.
That must have been the key for Zoe Margolis, who started blogging about sex, and more sex, and group sex, and needing sex, and, well, you get the picture. Using an anonymous on line presence, writing as the permanently randy Abby Lee, Ms. Margolis created a world around this fictional person that garnered thousands of hits per day.
The blog's Abby Lee was forever looking to hook up, and her sexual dalliances were fodder for the blog. Getting it off regularly, was Abby Lee, but then the men never called back. Sounds like a bit of a morality tale as told by Mother Mary Cordula, but there were plenty of ladies in the audience who related to the sad tales. There's been praise given, with accolades for a blog that 'empowers' women. Personally, I think the ladies have all the power, and saying no is a grand gesture of all that empowerment, but maybe that's just the Catholic seeping out of the pores.
At any rate, the blog was published as a memoir, and before long Ms. Margolis had her cover blown. Imagine mammy reading the salacious bits, and you'll understand her desire for anonymity. With a six figure advance from a publisher, however, there is no room for secret identities. Interviewers have found Ms. Margolis to be quite the feminist, and not quite like the imaginary Abby Lee that stars in the blog. So the woman has a flair for fiction, and may go on to write a novel down the line.
As for the book version of the blog, it's not as popular as the daily installments of the sex search soap opera. Some feminists may find the search for sex, the casual hook-up, a part of the men's club that is raunchy culture, and Ms. Margolis is falling into the trap. The author counters, taking up a position as hopeless romantic, searching for love. But didn't your granny tell you to keep your knees together and the boys would linger? Why buy the cow when the milk's free, did you never hear of that one?
Still and all, she's got the big advance whether her book earns out or not, and I'm hoping an agent will at least consider my manuscript. There's no market for a memoir written by an author that details their futile search for publication. If there was, I'd be on a book tour by now.
Calling All Mystery Writers
Here's the plot for your next who-done-it. A cricket coach, murdered.
Cricket, for feck's sake. Is there any sport more moribund and sedate? They take breaks for tea; they play for days on end before the match ends, and the players are required to wear white flannels. Now put that sort of boredom in a murder mystery and make it exciting.
Wait, make it even more bizarre and have the coach murdered right after the Pakistan team loses to Ireland. Yes, Ireland, home of the GAA and hurling and hatred of all that is British. The Irish team wins the match, unexpected and against all odds, and then the Pakistan coach turns up dead the next morning.
Need something for filler? Write a bit about the scenes in Pakistan, where various players and the coach are burned in effigy for losing to, of all the countries on the planet, Ireland. You'll need a date for the match. St. Patrick's Day would be appropriate. Then set your novel against a backdrop of religious tension, and you've got it made.
For a bit of detail to the murder scene, you could describe how the coach was found in his hotel room. Oh, right, you'll want to set the story in the Caribbean. Lots of lovely description you could put in, get that touch of the poet going, tropical flowers with excessive color, the heat and the humidity. Anyway, the coach is found in his hotel room, mouth hanging open, blood and vomit everywhere. Go on now, get to writing.
You can make up your own ending, or you can use the Jamaican coroner's report to flesh out the manuscript. How's that for a story, the losing coach murdered by strangulation. Manual strangulation, to be more precise. Of course the room will be full of fingerprints, and the police will take prints off all of the players. As the writer of this particular story, you can decide if it was a player on the team who wrapped his hands around an old man's neck, or you can make a rabid fan the perpetrator of the crime.
There's something about cricket, a passion that I neither share nor comprehend, but Jamaican police are investigating the murder of the Pakistan coach, who was indeed found dead in his room and reportedly died of manual strangulation. Sad to imagine that a man could be killed for a fan's perception of his failed play calling, for losing a match that the coach did not actually, physically, play. The players lost, the coach gets the blame, and so it's always been. But to kill a man over a game? And a boring, stupid game at that?
If you put it in a novel, no one would believe it.
Cricket, for feck's sake. Is there any sport more moribund and sedate? They take breaks for tea; they play for days on end before the match ends, and the players are required to wear white flannels. Now put that sort of boredom in a murder mystery and make it exciting.
Wait, make it even more bizarre and have the coach murdered right after the Pakistan team loses to Ireland. Yes, Ireland, home of the GAA and hurling and hatred of all that is British. The Irish team wins the match, unexpected and against all odds, and then the Pakistan coach turns up dead the next morning.
Need something for filler? Write a bit about the scenes in Pakistan, where various players and the coach are burned in effigy for losing to, of all the countries on the planet, Ireland. You'll need a date for the match. St. Patrick's Day would be appropriate. Then set your novel against a backdrop of religious tension, and you've got it made.
For a bit of detail to the murder scene, you could describe how the coach was found in his hotel room. Oh, right, you'll want to set the story in the Caribbean. Lots of lovely description you could put in, get that touch of the poet going, tropical flowers with excessive color, the heat and the humidity. Anyway, the coach is found in his hotel room, mouth hanging open, blood and vomit everywhere. Go on now, get to writing.
You can make up your own ending, or you can use the Jamaican coroner's report to flesh out the manuscript. How's that for a story, the losing coach murdered by strangulation. Manual strangulation, to be more precise. Of course the room will be full of fingerprints, and the police will take prints off all of the players. As the writer of this particular story, you can decide if it was a player on the team who wrapped his hands around an old man's neck, or you can make a rabid fan the perpetrator of the crime.
There's something about cricket, a passion that I neither share nor comprehend, but Jamaican police are investigating the murder of the Pakistan coach, who was indeed found dead in his room and reportedly died of manual strangulation. Sad to imagine that a man could be killed for a fan's perception of his failed play calling, for losing a match that the coach did not actually, physically, play. The players lost, the coach gets the blame, and so it's always been. But to kill a man over a game? And a boring, stupid game at that?
If you put it in a novel, no one would believe it.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Singing The Blues
It's been close to four months since an agent has requested a partial manuscript. So, the query letter is an abject failure, as have been the previous collection of queries. Sent in batches of five at a time, I have been repeatedly rewriting the letter in hopes of creating a catchy hook in the opening paragraph, but no takers.
There are a few odds and ends still out that were never answered, and never will be at this point. If Melissa Chinchillo hasn't responded by now, and the query was sent four months ago, she's not interested. Alex Glass at Trident Media is another slow one, sitting on a query sent ten weeks ago and no answer. At the same agency, Laura Blake Peterson took only a month to respond, so it's not an agency issue but the work of individual agents. And even though I know that Jane Rotrosen's agency doesn't want new queries, I gave Kelly Harms a go. She must not want new queries either. It's been ten weeks for her as well, no response and none expected at this point.
I tried Tara Mark of RLR again, even though she never responded to the query sent in September. Let's assume it was lost, I decided, and off went a replacement. That was a month ago, and I'm beginning to believe that she's adopted the 'no response is a no' tactic, and thanks for the SASE that can be recycled for office use.
So it's yet another version of the query letter, and another batch sent out two weeks ago. It's mighty silent in the e-mail box, and the postman's not been burdened either. The waiting's such fun that I really must submit to another three literary journals, just to add to the excitement. With a new manuscript to work on, I hardly notice the time flying by. At this rate, I'll be running out of room under the bed, what with all the unpublished manuscripts stored there.
There are a few odds and ends still out that were never answered, and never will be at this point. If Melissa Chinchillo hasn't responded by now, and the query was sent four months ago, she's not interested. Alex Glass at Trident Media is another slow one, sitting on a query sent ten weeks ago and no answer. At the same agency, Laura Blake Peterson took only a month to respond, so it's not an agency issue but the work of individual agents. And even though I know that Jane Rotrosen's agency doesn't want new queries, I gave Kelly Harms a go. She must not want new queries either. It's been ten weeks for her as well, no response and none expected at this point.
I tried Tara Mark of RLR again, even though she never responded to the query sent in September. Let's assume it was lost, I decided, and off went a replacement. That was a month ago, and I'm beginning to believe that she's adopted the 'no response is a no' tactic, and thanks for the SASE that can be recycled for office use.
So it's yet another version of the query letter, and another batch sent out two weeks ago. It's mighty silent in the e-mail box, and the postman's not been burdened either. The waiting's such fun that I really must submit to another three literary journals, just to add to the excitement. With a new manuscript to work on, I hardly notice the time flying by. At this rate, I'll be running out of room under the bed, what with all the unpublished manuscripts stored there.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The Buck Stops....Over There
What do you do when you stand accused? Accuse someone else, of course, and hope that it sticks.
That, in a nutshell, is the strategy that will be employed by attorneys defending Conrad Black. In court, the prosecution painted the former media mogul as a thief, a criminal who took money from a corporation to fund his lavish lifestyle. The attorneys representing the government promise to demonstrate exactly how Mr. Black and his cronies helped themselves to $60 million of corporate funds, to pay for trips to Seattle and Bora-Bora, to purchase luxury co-op apartments in Manhattan, and to cover the costs of some lavish parties. Mr. Black was the ringleader of this cabal, directing his underlings to lie to the Hollinger board and fool such wise men as former governor Jim Thompson. Evil in a lavender tie, that was Conrad Black.
Not so, contends the defense team. It was the evil cabal that worked against the sainted Mr. Black, doing their naughty deeds behind his back and then turning on him when they were caught. Attorney Edward Genson blames the whole thing on Mr. Radler, one of Conrad Black's cronies, who is working with the government to lighten his sentence following his conviction.
As for that whole nobility business, Mr. Genson did a fine job of blowing smoke up the jury's arse, making light of Black's bombast and swollen ego. Means nothing, he said, downplaying Black's own written words about his rights to the company being the same as the rights of nobility. So the man thinks he's king, can you hold that against him? So he thinks his shit doesn't stink, well, is that a hanging offense? That lavish lifestyle? Just business, really, what with a successful company needing to put on a good face. Why, the poor man doesn't even have a personal life. It's all business, all the time.
Perhaps Canadians are more forgiving of someone who longs for a noble title. They're more closely tied to England than the average Chicagoan, and not as likely to be descended from some Clan na Gael supporter who gave up his hard earned wages to fund an invasion of Canada back in the 1870's. Fewer Canadians would have inherited a hatred of all things British, a genetic marker that has been handed down through multiple generations of Irish-Americans in Chicago. Triggered by British-style snobbery, this gene may be expressed at some point during the trial. Not that it's a crime to be a complete asshole, but the jurors are products of their DNA, after all.
That, in a nutshell, is the strategy that will be employed by attorneys defending Conrad Black. In court, the prosecution painted the former media mogul as a thief, a criminal who took money from a corporation to fund his lavish lifestyle. The attorneys representing the government promise to demonstrate exactly how Mr. Black and his cronies helped themselves to $60 million of corporate funds, to pay for trips to Seattle and Bora-Bora, to purchase luxury co-op apartments in Manhattan, and to cover the costs of some lavish parties. Mr. Black was the ringleader of this cabal, directing his underlings to lie to the Hollinger board and fool such wise men as former governor Jim Thompson. Evil in a lavender tie, that was Conrad Black.
Not so, contends the defense team. It was the evil cabal that worked against the sainted Mr. Black, doing their naughty deeds behind his back and then turning on him when they were caught. Attorney Edward Genson blames the whole thing on Mr. Radler, one of Conrad Black's cronies, who is working with the government to lighten his sentence following his conviction.
As for that whole nobility business, Mr. Genson did a fine job of blowing smoke up the jury's arse, making light of Black's bombast and swollen ego. Means nothing, he said, downplaying Black's own written words about his rights to the company being the same as the rights of nobility. So the man thinks he's king, can you hold that against him? So he thinks his shit doesn't stink, well, is that a hanging offense? That lavish lifestyle? Just business, really, what with a successful company needing to put on a good face. Why, the poor man doesn't even have a personal life. It's all business, all the time.
Perhaps Canadians are more forgiving of someone who longs for a noble title. They're more closely tied to England than the average Chicagoan, and not as likely to be descended from some Clan na Gael supporter who gave up his hard earned wages to fund an invasion of Canada back in the 1870's. Fewer Canadians would have inherited a hatred of all things British, a genetic marker that has been handed down through multiple generations of Irish-Americans in Chicago. Triggered by British-style snobbery, this gene may be expressed at some point during the trial. Not that it's a crime to be a complete asshole, but the jurors are products of their DNA, after all.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Conrad's First Pitch
It's opening day here at the Federal courthouse in Chicago, and the sun is coming out from behind those morning clouds. The stands are packed with this sell-out crowd, all hoping for a glimpse of Conrad's first pitch of the trial.
"He's looking nattily attired in a dark suit and colorful tie. That's the mark of a man who knows his business, and he means business today."
Right you are, Nancy, and the missus has donned her business casual uniform as a member of the visiting team. The judge is taking the stand and the lawyers are on the field. Emotions are expected to run high today. You can almost taste the anticipation in the air.
"Tastes like hubris with a dollop of vengeance."
Strong palate you have there, Nancy. Let's get back to the trial. Edward Genson is stepping up the plate. Looks like he's thinking of swinging for the fences on the first pitch. The ball is over the plate and it's....
"Batted it back to Ms. St. Eve. Who would have expected Eddie to request that the jurors be questioned in chambers to see if they've been tainted by news coverage of Hollinger? Well, I've seen a lot of trials in my day, but I never could have predicted this."
Surprising move, Nancy, and we sure didn't see that coming. Well, there you have it. Judge St. Eve is calling the entire jury in for interviews. Looks like a long delay, and there's going to be a steady, drawn out shower of words.
"The judge may have to call the game if this runs up through the lunch break."
Good call again, there, Nancy. An aide to the judge has just announced that the trial has been postponed for the rest of the day. There's some concern on the field that the jury pool would be tainted if the Chicago Tribune got their wish and the names of the jurors were released. Could be a problem if reporters started calling them up and asking questions. Might put a notion or two in someone's head and that could sway the panel. Do you think that a juror might already have been tainted? Certainly, a lot of the applicants had some strong opinions. That character from Boeing, for example. Got cut before he even made the team.
"The judge would like to point out that the delay today is due entirely to a juror having a previous commitment and not being able to attend. No one's talking about a dismissal at this point."
Well, that's a relief. Wouldn't want someone sent down to the minors on opening day. So there you have it. No runs, no hits, no errors. Next up, we've got prosecutor Jeffrey Cramer on the mound Tuesday morning, and this trial is going to open up into a real barn burner.
"Wait, there's a late breaking report. It seems that Barbara Amiel Black just swore at a Canadian news reporter who tried to get into the elevator with Their Lordships. Expect the pundits to make a play on words with that one. Lady Black not acting like a lady. A little too obvious for our fans out here at the courthouse."
Yes, they're not going to take the lowbrow approach, Nancy. And we should all keep in mind that Mrs. Black would recognize a Canadian reporter, considering how often they've played against that team, but wouldn't necessarily know who's who in the British and American press box. We don't want anyone to think that she's discriminating against non-Canadians.
The fans are heading for the exits and it looks like that's about all for today. If you're scoring at home, chalk up one for Mrs. Black and her barnyard epithet. We'll be back tomorrow for another exciting game as the people of the United States take on Conrad Black and his North of the Border crew. So long, and please drive safely.
"He's looking nattily attired in a dark suit and colorful tie. That's the mark of a man who knows his business, and he means business today."
Right you are, Nancy, and the missus has donned her business casual uniform as a member of the visiting team. The judge is taking the stand and the lawyers are on the field. Emotions are expected to run high today. You can almost taste the anticipation in the air.
"Tastes like hubris with a dollop of vengeance."
Strong palate you have there, Nancy. Let's get back to the trial. Edward Genson is stepping up the plate. Looks like he's thinking of swinging for the fences on the first pitch. The ball is over the plate and it's....
"Batted it back to Ms. St. Eve. Who would have expected Eddie to request that the jurors be questioned in chambers to see if they've been tainted by news coverage of Hollinger? Well, I've seen a lot of trials in my day, but I never could have predicted this."
Surprising move, Nancy, and we sure didn't see that coming. Well, there you have it. Judge St. Eve is calling the entire jury in for interviews. Looks like a long delay, and there's going to be a steady, drawn out shower of words.
"The judge may have to call the game if this runs up through the lunch break."
Good call again, there, Nancy. An aide to the judge has just announced that the trial has been postponed for the rest of the day. There's some concern on the field that the jury pool would be tainted if the Chicago Tribune got their wish and the names of the jurors were released. Could be a problem if reporters started calling them up and asking questions. Might put a notion or two in someone's head and that could sway the panel. Do you think that a juror might already have been tainted? Certainly, a lot of the applicants had some strong opinions. That character from Boeing, for example. Got cut before he even made the team.
"The judge would like to point out that the delay today is due entirely to a juror having a previous commitment and not being able to attend. No one's talking about a dismissal at this point."
Well, that's a relief. Wouldn't want someone sent down to the minors on opening day. So there you have it. No runs, no hits, no errors. Next up, we've got prosecutor Jeffrey Cramer on the mound Tuesday morning, and this trial is going to open up into a real barn burner.
"Wait, there's a late breaking report. It seems that Barbara Amiel Black just swore at a Canadian news reporter who tried to get into the elevator with Their Lordships. Expect the pundits to make a play on words with that one. Lady Black not acting like a lady. A little too obvious for our fans out here at the courthouse."
Yes, they're not going to take the lowbrow approach, Nancy. And we should all keep in mind that Mrs. Black would recognize a Canadian reporter, considering how often they've played against that team, but wouldn't necessarily know who's who in the British and American press box. We don't want anyone to think that she's discriminating against non-Canadians.
The fans are heading for the exits and it looks like that's about all for today. If you're scoring at home, chalk up one for Mrs. Black and her barnyard epithet. We'll be back tomorrow for another exciting game as the people of the United States take on Conrad Black and his North of the Border crew. So long, and please drive safely.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Your Window On The World
Unfortunately for Professor Harry Harrison of County Wicklow, he's not to be allowed a breath of fresh air. He'd like more light in his dining room and laundry room, but the powers that be at An Bord Pleanala have denied his request for three more windows installed in his country house. It's the cows, you see.
The professor went to his local county council to get permission, and he no doubt was comfortable with the notion that it was a done deal. The house is there, and all he needed was a bit more light. He paid an architect to draw up plans to pop in some extra windows, a very humdrum sort of business. Who could have guessed that the neighbor's cows would object?
The architect, Vincent Delaney, proposed the installation of strengthened glass, and then he set the sill heights at the equivalent grade level of a gate. Granted, cows have been known to jump over the moon, but in general they're not likely to leap a gate that's just over a meter high. Even if, for some bizarre reason like the sudden appearance of rattlesnakes in the pasture, the cows were to bolt, they'd not be leaping through Professor Harrison's dining room window. Slap a bit of a coating on the windows so they don't look as clear as an escape route from those same snakes, or what have you, and the cows aren't about to crash and injure themselves.
County Wicklow's planning inspector didn't see anything wrong with the new windows, what with the wide space between properties and the odds of a cow bolting into the dining room anyway. Sadly, the council sided with the neighbor on behalf of his livestock, and then An Bord Pleanala sided with the council, and now there's two government bodies that look like complete eejits.
Well done, bureaucrats. The cows of the world thank you for your consideration of their safety.
The professor went to his local county council to get permission, and he no doubt was comfortable with the notion that it was a done deal. The house is there, and all he needed was a bit more light. He paid an architect to draw up plans to pop in some extra windows, a very humdrum sort of business. Who could have guessed that the neighbor's cows would object?
The architect, Vincent Delaney, proposed the installation of strengthened glass, and then he set the sill heights at the equivalent grade level of a gate. Granted, cows have been known to jump over the moon, but in general they're not likely to leap a gate that's just over a meter high. Even if, for some bizarre reason like the sudden appearance of rattlesnakes in the pasture, the cows were to bolt, they'd not be leaping through Professor Harrison's dining room window. Slap a bit of a coating on the windows so they don't look as clear as an escape route from those same snakes, or what have you, and the cows aren't about to crash and injure themselves.
County Wicklow's planning inspector didn't see anything wrong with the new windows, what with the wide space between properties and the odds of a cow bolting into the dining room anyway. Sadly, the council sided with the neighbor on behalf of his livestock, and then An Bord Pleanala sided with the council, and now there's two government bodies that look like complete eejits.
Well done, bureaucrats. The cows of the world thank you for your consideration of their safety.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Hesitation
If the editors at the Crab Orchard Review are to be believed, then the short story that I sent them at the beginning of August is under consideration. They'll get to the submissions, they say, within a month or three. Once it gets past five months, well, consider yourself one of the select few whose epic masterpiece is getting a serious look. It's six months and counting. Is that an indication of even more seriousness? So, do I hold back on the queries and wait for something definite?
Getting published in a paying journal would be a big plus, since I'd have something to put in the closing paragraph of the query letter besides 'Thank you for your consideration' that would actually enhance my credentials. The Carolina Quarterly is supposed to respond in four to six months, and they've had an excerpt from one of my manuscripts for six months. Should I wait for another week to see if they've picked up the submission? Now there's a dream, to query for a novel that's already had a bit put into print. Or, is the literary journal quite turtle-like in responding, and I'm wasting time in waiting on them?
I know that Zoetrope is overwhelmed and thus, very slow to respond. Is that why I've yet to hear from a submission sent last May? To lay claim to a published story in a journal this top of the range would be a very large plus in the query letter, but is it worth while to hold back on the assault of the literary agent fortress?
Then there's McSweeney's, who suggest a response within five months, or maybe they've lost it so feel free to re-submit. Am I waiting on all these journals for nothing? Is it possible that they've mislaid the submission?
Maybe a few query letters wouldn't hurt. Maybe I could hold off until Wednesday. Or Friday. I could send query letters over the next weekend, give the journals a bit more time. One more week?
Getting published in a paying journal would be a big plus, since I'd have something to put in the closing paragraph of the query letter besides 'Thank you for your consideration' that would actually enhance my credentials. The Carolina Quarterly is supposed to respond in four to six months, and they've had an excerpt from one of my manuscripts for six months. Should I wait for another week to see if they've picked up the submission? Now there's a dream, to query for a novel that's already had a bit put into print. Or, is the literary journal quite turtle-like in responding, and I'm wasting time in waiting on them?
I know that Zoetrope is overwhelmed and thus, very slow to respond. Is that why I've yet to hear from a submission sent last May? To lay claim to a published story in a journal this top of the range would be a very large plus in the query letter, but is it worth while to hold back on the assault of the literary agent fortress?
Then there's McSweeney's, who suggest a response within five months, or maybe they've lost it so feel free to re-submit. Am I waiting on all these journals for nothing? Is it possible that they've mislaid the submission?
Maybe a few query letters wouldn't hurt. Maybe I could hold off until Wednesday. Or Friday. I could send query letters over the next weekend, give the journals a bit more time. One more week?
Saturday, March 17, 2007
St. Paddy's Day 2007
You've been to Mass, adhering to traditions that are more ancient than memory. The corned beef is ready for boiling, to stand in lieu of the boiled bacon that you can't get on this side of the Atlantic. There's spuds and parsnips and the can of Batchelor's peas that you slipped past customs in the embracing folds of your dirty laundry. Cabbage is cored and sectioned. The buttermilk's in the fridge and you'll time the baking of the soda bread so that it pops out of the oven at just the right time.
The computer is on, and you set your Internet dial to RTE Raidio and sit back, listening. Can't understand a word, but it sets the mood. Gets you in that St. Paddy's Day frame of mind.
Pry off the cap on a bottle of Harp's and split it between two glasses. Then open up a bottle of Guinness draft and let the foam crest, eager to escape from captivity. Hold the big teaspoon flat, with the tip resting against the side of the glass, and divvy up the Guinness between the half filled pints of Harp. You take a step back, to admire the sight of two fine beverages maintaining an uneasy alliance, with the Guinness always coming out on top.
So you cook your meal, drink half and halfs until you forget that you've not eaten yet, and toast to the blessed Saint Patrick. He'll grant you an indulgence for not putting green food coloring in the beer. And don't get him started on the Shamrock shake nonsense.
The computer is on, and you set your Internet dial to RTE Raidio and sit back, listening. Can't understand a word, but it sets the mood. Gets you in that St. Paddy's Day frame of mind.
Pry off the cap on a bottle of Harp's and split it between two glasses. Then open up a bottle of Guinness draft and let the foam crest, eager to escape from captivity. Hold the big teaspoon flat, with the tip resting against the side of the glass, and divvy up the Guinness between the half filled pints of Harp. You take a step back, to admire the sight of two fine beverages maintaining an uneasy alliance, with the Guinness always coming out on top.
So you cook your meal, drink half and halfs until you forget that you've not eaten yet, and toast to the blessed Saint Patrick. He'll grant you an indulgence for not putting green food coloring in the beer. And don't get him started on the Shamrock shake nonsense.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Even Greener Pastures
SanDisk set up a shell company in Ireland to avoid heavy taxation in its native land. Plenty of other multinationals did the same, all looking to ease the burden and not have to give the government quite so much, thus allowing the CEOs to make a decent living wage. After all, why give Uncle Sam a few million that he'll squander on some nonsense like food stamps, when the chief executive deserves a bonus of $6 million for all his hard work.
The whole tax avoidance scheme has played to Ireland's benefit, with the small island nation taking in their share of taxes on corporate profits. As they only take a small bite, just enough for a taste, the hulking conglomerates were happy to ship their profits overseas. Taxes are inevitable, so why not find a well-run establishment that doesn't ask for much of a cover charge? And when that fine establishment gets undercut by competition, it's easy to pull up and move the money caravan to another country. No manufacturing plants to shut down, a minimum of jobs to be lost, and the cost of relocation is virtually negligible.
With that in mind, Bristol-Myers Squibb has announced that they are removing something in the neighborhood of 25 million euro worth of assets. They took advantage of the lower Irish tax rate, thank you very much by the way, Ireland, but they've found someplace else to go that'll charge even less. They're not saying where they're headed, but it's been suggested that Belgium, land of excellent ale and fabulous chocolate, could be the next destination on the tax dodge tour of the world.
Lately, several companies that located factories in Ireland to take advantage of lower wages have moved on, finding sites in Eastern Europe that afforded even lower operating costs and cheaper wages. It's been a blow to several communities, where the multinational facility was the only game in town, and there's nothing coming in to replace it. Not everyone is a computer whiz, ready to step into an IT position, but that's where the jobs are these days. The blue collar working man, hoping to get a piece of the prosperity pie, is getting the sack instead of the demanded pay increase.
Bristol-Myers Squibb was quick to point out that there are no jobs being lost because of their move. What they failed to mention was the fact that a great deal of money was being lost to the Exchequer, and that cash is a loss to the entire nation. Other firms are following suit, liquidating Irish assets and shifting the profits to other countries that are happy for less than the 12.5% Irish rate.
Some of the pillars of the Celtic Tiger are crumbling. It might come down to an international bidding war, with the lowest taxing country taking the prize and learning to make do with less. Less national health care, less road building, less public spaces created. Sort of like the way it used to be, when the most asked for gift after passing the Leaving Cert was a one-way ticket out of Ireland.
The whole tax avoidance scheme has played to Ireland's benefit, with the small island nation taking in their share of taxes on corporate profits. As they only take a small bite, just enough for a taste, the hulking conglomerates were happy to ship their profits overseas. Taxes are inevitable, so why not find a well-run establishment that doesn't ask for much of a cover charge? And when that fine establishment gets undercut by competition, it's easy to pull up and move the money caravan to another country. No manufacturing plants to shut down, a minimum of jobs to be lost, and the cost of relocation is virtually negligible.
With that in mind, Bristol-Myers Squibb has announced that they are removing something in the neighborhood of 25 million euro worth of assets. They took advantage of the lower Irish tax rate, thank you very much by the way, Ireland, but they've found someplace else to go that'll charge even less. They're not saying where they're headed, but it's been suggested that Belgium, land of excellent ale and fabulous chocolate, could be the next destination on the tax dodge tour of the world.
Lately, several companies that located factories in Ireland to take advantage of lower wages have moved on, finding sites in Eastern Europe that afforded even lower operating costs and cheaper wages. It's been a blow to several communities, where the multinational facility was the only game in town, and there's nothing coming in to replace it. Not everyone is a computer whiz, ready to step into an IT position, but that's where the jobs are these days. The blue collar working man, hoping to get a piece of the prosperity pie, is getting the sack instead of the demanded pay increase.
Bristol-Myers Squibb was quick to point out that there are no jobs being lost because of their move. What they failed to mention was the fact that a great deal of money was being lost to the Exchequer, and that cash is a loss to the entire nation. Other firms are following suit, liquidating Irish assets and shifting the profits to other countries that are happy for less than the 12.5% Irish rate.
Some of the pillars of the Celtic Tiger are crumbling. It might come down to an international bidding war, with the lowest taxing country taking the prize and learning to make do with less. Less national health care, less road building, less public spaces created. Sort of like the way it used to be, when the most asked for gift after passing the Leaving Cert was a one-way ticket out of Ireland.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
We Love You Conrad Oh Yes We Do
When you're a peer of the realm, you expect to be judged by a jury of your peers. Sadly, there are no noble men or women in Chicago, so Conrad Black has to settle for a jury of people who don't know him from those other white guys in dark suits and coordinated ties.
Jury selection is under way at the Federal courthouse, where Judge Amy St. Eve is presiding. Sorry, but doesn't that name sound like it belongs to a burlesque dancer? Poor woman, probably teased about it all her life and now she's a judge with a chip on her shoulder. She'd never dare to wear short skirts or tight blouses, not if she's expecting to be taken seriously with such an appellation attached.
Who will decide if His Lordship is guilty or innocent? Juries are fairly anonymous, so there's no names or occupations mentioned just yet. The reports from the court room claim that most of those undergoing the selection process have never heard of Conrad Black and his financial shenanigans. That news should lift the heart of the defense team, the empty slate upon which they can chalk their story. There was the one juror who had seen some pictures of the defendant, however. She said he looked like he was going to a cocktail party, all dressed up. The members of the jury pool are not so inclined as to don a tux and head off for an elegant night on the town, and the defense does not want anyone who resents the party-goers on the jury.
Reportedly, potential jurors were heard to remark that there's no way any mere mortal could make tens of millions of dollars in any legal way. For the average wage earner, tacking on all those zeros in comparison to their measly income becomes mind-boggling and they get a bit woozy. The judge had to caution the jurors that it was not a crime to make a lot of money, but the seeds of doubt were planted long before this trial opened. The notion of ill-gotten gains is deeply entrenched in literature and religious lore.
The debacle of Enron has colored the opinions of some jurors, making them look cynically upon any and all corporations and the men who lead them. Again, the judge had to issue a caution, since this is Conrad Black's trial and not Ken Lay's and don't get them mixed up or even think about the fall-out of Enron and how so many little investors got hurt. The problem is, it's nearly impossible to sever all past opinions from the present case. I wouldn't expect the defense attorneys to allow in anyone who once held stock and got burned by an Enron or WorldCom collapse.
Judge St. Eve sent fourteen people home after the interrogation, and another three dozen will be called in for questioning. By Monday, she'll have a panel of twelve plus a few spares and the circus will officially be open. I can hardly wait.
Jury selection is under way at the Federal courthouse, where Judge Amy St. Eve is presiding. Sorry, but doesn't that name sound like it belongs to a burlesque dancer? Poor woman, probably teased about it all her life and now she's a judge with a chip on her shoulder. She'd never dare to wear short skirts or tight blouses, not if she's expecting to be taken seriously with such an appellation attached.
Who will decide if His Lordship is guilty or innocent? Juries are fairly anonymous, so there's no names or occupations mentioned just yet. The reports from the court room claim that most of those undergoing the selection process have never heard of Conrad Black and his financial shenanigans. That news should lift the heart of the defense team, the empty slate upon which they can chalk their story. There was the one juror who had seen some pictures of the defendant, however. She said he looked like he was going to a cocktail party, all dressed up. The members of the jury pool are not so inclined as to don a tux and head off for an elegant night on the town, and the defense does not want anyone who resents the party-goers on the jury.
Reportedly, potential jurors were heard to remark that there's no way any mere mortal could make tens of millions of dollars in any legal way. For the average wage earner, tacking on all those zeros in comparison to their measly income becomes mind-boggling and they get a bit woozy. The judge had to caution the jurors that it was not a crime to make a lot of money, but the seeds of doubt were planted long before this trial opened. The notion of ill-gotten gains is deeply entrenched in literature and religious lore.
The debacle of Enron has colored the opinions of some jurors, making them look cynically upon any and all corporations and the men who lead them. Again, the judge had to issue a caution, since this is Conrad Black's trial and not Ken Lay's and don't get them mixed up or even think about the fall-out of Enron and how so many little investors got hurt. The problem is, it's nearly impossible to sever all past opinions from the present case. I wouldn't expect the defense attorneys to allow in anyone who once held stock and got burned by an Enron or WorldCom collapse.
Judge St. Eve sent fourteen people home after the interrogation, and another three dozen will be called in for questioning. By Monday, she'll have a panel of twelve plus a few spares and the circus will officially be open. I can hardly wait.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
An Author In The Flesh
What might a published author look like? Photogenic, perhaps? Slim, blond, athletic? Jodi Picoult is none of that. There's hope for us all.
An average looking woman with the figure of a mother of three, she could blend in with any crowd at the market. At a recent talk given as part of her book tour, Ms. Picoult proved to be bright and personable, with a wicked sense of humor and an easy manner. For an hour, she stood alone on the stage at the local community center and held the rapt attention of a sizable crowd.
For about twenty minutes, she read from her newest release, 19 Minutes, which deals with the topic of high school bullying and touches heavily on the Columbine incident. She mentioned that much of her research for the book came from interviews with the Littleton, CO sheriffs, lending that certain air to her story that makes me feel as if I am reading the newspapers again. One of the characters in her newest novel, which was written three years ago and is just now being released, was based on her interviews with a survivor of a Minnesota school shooting. Even fictional characters have to have real emotions, or they fall flat, and Ms. Picoult did a fine job of explaining why the actors on her literary stage make sense.
The remainder of the time was passed in a question and answer session, with most of the audience members somewhat curious about where she finds her topics. Given that she is a mother, like the ladies who attended, she described her inspiration in the issues that she sees. Hence, her stories often revolve around children and parents, with plots springing from the authorial "What if" that drives all writers.
Did I ask her how she landed an agent? Or does she have a couple of first manuscripts gathering dust under the bed, never to see the light of day? Of course not, I'm a rank coward and would never raise my hand.
One participant did ask if she wrote from an outline or winged it, and it was a relief to me to find out that she writes as I do. Start with a beginning and an end, and then let the characters tell their story. Even if they go where you did not expect them to.
As for writers' block, she doesn't believe in it and neither do I. Write whenever you can, she said today, if it's ten minutes or a day. And if it's a load of garbage that comes out sometimes, don't worry because you can edit later. It's more important to write.
Ms. Picoult also is attached to her characters, bringing back a couple from previous novels because she was so fond of them. I don't feel like such a freak anymore, not when I hear that a published author looks on these imaginary people as nearly real.
Funny to listen to someone who's made it to the Big Show, and realize that you do things like they do without ever being trained in this curious art of writing. Pity that the literary agents don't care about the process, only the query letter. Since my query letters are getting more and more lame by the week.
An average looking woman with the figure of a mother of three, she could blend in with any crowd at the market. At a recent talk given as part of her book tour, Ms. Picoult proved to be bright and personable, with a wicked sense of humor and an easy manner. For an hour, she stood alone on the stage at the local community center and held the rapt attention of a sizable crowd.
For about twenty minutes, she read from her newest release, 19 Minutes, which deals with the topic of high school bullying and touches heavily on the Columbine incident. She mentioned that much of her research for the book came from interviews with the Littleton, CO sheriffs, lending that certain air to her story that makes me feel as if I am reading the newspapers again. One of the characters in her newest novel, which was written three years ago and is just now being released, was based on her interviews with a survivor of a Minnesota school shooting. Even fictional characters have to have real emotions, or they fall flat, and Ms. Picoult did a fine job of explaining why the actors on her literary stage make sense.
The remainder of the time was passed in a question and answer session, with most of the audience members somewhat curious about where she finds her topics. Given that she is a mother, like the ladies who attended, she described her inspiration in the issues that she sees. Hence, her stories often revolve around children and parents, with plots springing from the authorial "What if" that drives all writers.
Did I ask her how she landed an agent? Or does she have a couple of first manuscripts gathering dust under the bed, never to see the light of day? Of course not, I'm a rank coward and would never raise my hand.
One participant did ask if she wrote from an outline or winged it, and it was a relief to me to find out that she writes as I do. Start with a beginning and an end, and then let the characters tell their story. Even if they go where you did not expect them to.
As for writers' block, she doesn't believe in it and neither do I. Write whenever you can, she said today, if it's ten minutes or a day. And if it's a load of garbage that comes out sometimes, don't worry because you can edit later. It's more important to write.
Ms. Picoult also is attached to her characters, bringing back a couple from previous novels because she was so fond of them. I don't feel like such a freak anymore, not when I hear that a published author looks on these imaginary people as nearly real.
Funny to listen to someone who's made it to the Big Show, and realize that you do things like they do without ever being trained in this curious art of writing. Pity that the literary agents don't care about the process, only the query letter. Since my query letters are getting more and more lame by the week.
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