Posts
If you’ve never read the Barrelhouse blog, you’ve been missing something good. Because sometimes you just need that pop culture but you also need someone to give it to you who, to borrow a phrase from one of their recent posts “is keeping shit real.”
A tangentially (and non-Bronson Pinchot) related literary discussion is happening here, also worth checking out.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Something I don’t like
I have been writing the crappiest poems alive for the past week or so. MAKE IT STOP!
Something I (actually) like (besides parentheticals)
If you like short stories + critical thoughts, have a go at this journal right here.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Not so fast, not so funny
Way back, hmm, I don’t know when—but I think it may have still been summer and I know that I still had a tan instead of my current-and-already incandescent flesh—I caught a tweet that said the Northville Review was accepting all poems received and calling it Poetry Amnesty Day. Acceptances only lasted one day, and I just happened to be indulging one of my sporadic Twitter drive-bys.
The gist of the call, as I read it, was that the guest editor would retitle the poems accepted for a special issue. Being a lover of literary collaboration, I thought it sounded like a fun project. I culled my files for some poems I thought would fit the style of the journal, and sent them on.
Some time after I sent the poems, during subsequent reads of the journal (because I do like their fiction), I realized that this wasn’t a collaborative poetry project at all. No, this was an issue put together by a guest editor who admitted to hating poetry, all for a special haters of poetry issue.
Cue screeching brakes sound effect.
I don’t mean to suggest the Northville Review didn’t provide an accurate depiction of the issue, because they did. No, somehow in my liberally-educated-let’s-all-sit-in-a-circle brain, I thought it was a happy collaboration and missed the part about mocking poetry. To their credit, a follow-up email reminded potential contributors about the renaming process, offering that the editor would refrain from using insulting titles, etc.
I opted out of the amnesty process. Because, for one thing, I don’t hate poetry. I think poetry is awesome. And for another thing, hating poetry isn’t unique or amusing. It just means you fall into the same category as 95% of the population. Plus, I wasn't sure what title I would be cyber married to forever.
If you head over to the Northville Review, you’ll notice only two poets decided to allow the renaming to happen to their poems. I’m disappointed that, after all the hype and tweeting, the new titles are the literary equivalent of flinging a booger at someone. Just silly (N.B. “Cranberry Flaxseed Oatmeal’s Quite Tasty”).
I believe in making fun of everything, but there’s one requirement: you have to actually be funny.
The gist of the call, as I read it, was that the guest editor would retitle the poems accepted for a special issue. Being a lover of literary collaboration, I thought it sounded like a fun project. I culled my files for some poems I thought would fit the style of the journal, and sent them on.
Some time after I sent the poems, during subsequent reads of the journal (because I do like their fiction), I realized that this wasn’t a collaborative poetry project at all. No, this was an issue put together by a guest editor who admitted to hating poetry, all for a special haters of poetry issue.
Cue screeching brakes sound effect.
I don’t mean to suggest the Northville Review didn’t provide an accurate depiction of the issue, because they did. No, somehow in my liberally-educated-let’s-all-sit-in-a-circle brain, I thought it was a happy collaboration and missed the part about mocking poetry. To their credit, a follow-up email reminded potential contributors about the renaming process, offering that the editor would refrain from using insulting titles, etc.
I opted out of the amnesty process. Because, for one thing, I don’t hate poetry. I think poetry is awesome. And for another thing, hating poetry isn’t unique or amusing. It just means you fall into the same category as 95% of the population. Plus, I wasn't sure what title I would be cyber married to forever.
If you head over to the Northville Review, you’ll notice only two poets decided to allow the renaming to happen to their poems. I’m disappointed that, after all the hype and tweeting, the new titles are the literary equivalent of flinging a booger at someone. Just silly (N.B. “Cranberry Flaxseed Oatmeal’s Quite Tasty”).
I believe in making fun of everything, but there’s one requirement: you have to actually be funny.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Recovery
Some icky computer viruses landed me out of commission for a bit, but I’m back in the world of the living now, having written everything clunking around my brain on tablet paper. My scrawl is almost legible; I’ve gotten so much practice.
Working on three new stories at the same time again…looking for places to submit…and revising as you read. Always that. Endless.
Working on three new stories at the same time again…looking for places to submit…and revising as you read. Always that. Endless.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Things I like
good rejection letters from thoughtful editors, making sauerkraut, the trees when they’re just about to shed their leaves like an unwanted housecoat, the way I feel about something after I’ve just written it and haven’t realized it’s shit yet, hopeless love, listening to people mispronounce words
In a world where books ceased to exist...
There’s been an interesting discussion happening, hmm, EVERYWHERE for the last few years over the issue of electronic literature versus traditional ink and paper. This is a debate that’s interesting and yet also, perhaps, unnecessary depending on who you are and where you think the future of literature is heading.
One: does anyone actually think ink and paper book forms will cease to exist completely? I don’t. It’s not like we’re talking eight tracks and iPods here. Words on paper are not any more difficult to read than words on a screen. The reading experience isn’t necessarily heightened or otherwise improved by an electronic medium—unless we’re talking hypertext, a medium that hasn’t yet made it onto portable electronic readers in a way that would be interesting and new—beyond the convenience of storage and procurement. That, and most internet literature is free.
Why am I thinking about this, you ask? Easy answer: there’s an interview over at Luna Park with an ex-Greensboro Review editor that takes on this weighty topic. When asked if the journal would ever go online, the editor cited “…belief in the importance of the tangible book,” going on to say, “…in a world increasingly focused on cyberspace and technology, there must be people fighting for the old culture.”
Have paper and ink become old culture? Perhaps in a sense. But I think the real problem with the literary world’s “old culture” in our world of technology is that the true meaning of a book has been devalued. In medieval times, books were treasured, rare, expensive. Manuscripts were works of incredible beauty. Now, books are ugly, utilitarian, and more concerned with the bottom line than real worth or beauty.
So is the problem facing us one of old versus new, or is it one of cultural deterioration? Maybe both. There’s no clear answer, but we can hope that maybe, by shaking up the literary world, electronic forms will push literature back into the wilderness where it needs to be to metamorphose into something beautiful once again. Necessity, after all, is the mother.
One: does anyone actually think ink and paper book forms will cease to exist completely? I don’t. It’s not like we’re talking eight tracks and iPods here. Words on paper are not any more difficult to read than words on a screen. The reading experience isn’t necessarily heightened or otherwise improved by an electronic medium—unless we’re talking hypertext, a medium that hasn’t yet made it onto portable electronic readers in a way that would be interesting and new—beyond the convenience of storage and procurement. That, and most internet literature is free.
Why am I thinking about this, you ask? Easy answer: there’s an interview over at Luna Park with an ex-Greensboro Review editor that takes on this weighty topic. When asked if the journal would ever go online, the editor cited “…belief in the importance of the tangible book,” going on to say, “…in a world increasingly focused on cyberspace and technology, there must be people fighting for the old culture.”
Have paper and ink become old culture? Perhaps in a sense. But I think the real problem with the literary world’s “old culture” in our world of technology is that the true meaning of a book has been devalued. In medieval times, books were treasured, rare, expensive. Manuscripts were works of incredible beauty. Now, books are ugly, utilitarian, and more concerned with the bottom line than real worth or beauty.
So is the problem facing us one of old versus new, or is it one of cultural deterioration? Maybe both. There’s no clear answer, but we can hope that maybe, by shaking up the literary world, electronic forms will push literature back into the wilderness where it needs to be to metamorphose into something beautiful once again. Necessity, after all, is the mother.
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