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Shenanigans! Advance Review Copy

Today it happened. I received an otherwise wholly unassuming little black book in the mail today: my advance review copy (ARC) of my upcoming ‘collectio[novella]‘ Shenanigans! Of course, after opening the envelope, I felt compelled to snap a few quick iPhone photos to share with friends and a seemingly infinite number of Internet denizens! For whatever number of likely capricious and inconsequential reasons, I feel a great deal more–I dunno–authorial today than, say, for instance, yesterday, or really any day that came before that. Anyway, the pictures suck but you get the point.

1) Cracking the cover, 2) The cover itself, 3) First page of the TOC, 4) Officially official writerly–type-stuff like ISBN and Library of Congress #s

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I Hate When I Realize I’ve Been A Lit Snob

I felt a sense of relief when I opened up to the T.O.C. of the latest issue of The New Yorker and saw—under Fiction—Roberto Bolaño’s name. The previous two issues featured Saïd Sayrafiezadeh and John Lanchester (and before them, upon taking a second look at my back issues: Etgar Keret, Margaret Atwood, Nathan Englander, César Aira and Alice Munro).

I’d never heard of Sayrafiezadeh or Lanchester. (I’m probably late to the party here; it’d be par for the course, etc.) As a consequence, I had a strong, capricious kneejerk feeling that The New Yorker was tending toward the, well, underwhelming. How about another story from George Saunders? (Even though he just had one published recently.) How about Sam Lipsyte? (See George Saunders comment.)

And then it hit me and I became sad.

Not because the writers I seem to like reading most weren’t in the two most recent issues—for that, I simply began to feel childish and, honestly, a little dumb. I felt sad because I realized I’d just been guilty of being both a literary snob and a hypocrite. I felt sad also because I’d quickly dismissed two writers I’d (honestly and apologetically) never heard of. I felt like a hypocrite because I’m usually among the first critics of The New Yorker for never printing fresh new voices [like Joseph Michael Owens(?)].

Truth be told, there are very few things I wouldn’t do to be published in The New Yorker. I say “very few” only because there might be things I’m not willing to do, but I simply can’t think of any right now. And who would any of us be kidding, really? Few people outside of Amy Hempel would pass on a chance to see their name in that famous typeface.

Because here’s the (oh so very obvious) thing I realized: the stories I dismissed out of hand must be pretty darn good to even have made it into the magazine in the first place. The other thing I realized is that I can be kind of an asshole reader some times.

Perhaps I give myself too much credit for checking out as many indie lit. magazines as I do. I mean, there are plenty of fresh voices in in those, right!? But, similarly, I’m guilty of many times doing the same thing with the indie lit. mags as I am with the more prominent publications. I tend toward automatically seeking out the writers I know and, oftentimes, skip over writers I’ve never read before. And that bothers me.

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Oppose SOPA/PIPA With Some Rage Against the Machine!

Bulls on Parade

“…just feed the war cannibal animal I /

walk tha corner to tha rubble that used to be a library line /

up to the mind cemetery now…

What we don’t know keeps tha contracts alive an movin’ /

They don’t gotta burn tha books they just remove ‘em!!”

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Let’s not forget about PIPA!

A friend of mine, Colin McCarthy, and I, along with Michael J. Seidlinger, were talking about the ramifications of a potential SOPA/PIPA (not to be confused with Pippa) debacle. I’ll transcribe some of our thoughts:

Joseph Michael Owens
This is one aspect of SOPA This means that YouTube, Facebook, Wikipedia, Gmail, Dropbox and millions of other sites would be “Internet sites…dedicated to theft of U.S. property,” under SOPA’s definition. Simply providing a feature that would make it possible for someone to commit copyright infringement or circumvention (see: 09 F9 11 02 9D 74 E3 5B D8 41 56 C5 63 56 88 C0) is enough to get your entire site branded as an infringing site. (quote provided by Celeste Duckworth)

Michael J Seidlinger
Wikipedia’s blackout should do some damage.

Colin McCarthy
Blackouts of websites will do nothing. Also SOPA will likely fail and PIPA will pass which is about 75% identical and most of that is specifying what penalties will be given if existing laws are broken.

Joseph Michael Owens
They both need to be shot down.

Michael J Seidlinger
I agree. PIPA is just as bad. Why would PIPA pass but SOPA fail?

Colin McCarthy
Oh I agree.

Colin McCarthy
PIPA is a senate bill and SOPA is house bill.

Joseph Michael Owens
PIPA is the new SOPA

Michael J Seidlinger
I’ve been way too afraid of these bills to really read into them. What are the chances PIPA will pass?

Colin McCarthy
SOPA seemed more like a smokescreen for PIPA to pass cause it hasn’t had as much scrutiny therefore it’s “better”

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SOPA is on some bullshit!

We’ve addressed this before, but SOPA is some serious bullshit you should NOT be OK with.
Read on (via Mashable):

This is one aspect of SOPA This means that YouTube, Facebook, Wikipedia, Gmail, Dropbox and millions of other sites would be “Internet sites…dedicated to theft of U.S. property,” under SOPA’s definition. Simply providing a feature that would make it possible for someone to commit copyright infringement or circumvention (see: 09 F9 11 02 9D 74 E3 5B D8 41 56 C5 63 56 88 C0) is enough to get your entire site branded as an infringing site.

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The sophomore slump explained, maybe

I’ve got an idea—a theory—and it pertains to both music and books. And I suppose, really, it pertains to anything creative where there are ultimately followup efforts. It might seem kind of obvious, but if so, it begs the question: why is it still unexpected?

For starters, the “sophomore slump”: why are people so surprised by this phenomenon? Books, music, movies—no media is safe from this label. It’s ostensibly become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “This album/book/film is totally not as good as his/her first one.” To me, that is what should be obvious.

Writers, like all artists, [typically] spend years practicing their art before they are discovered; years working on that first big project—honing his or her style, finding his or her voice, sentence cadence, sense of humor. That first project is the author’s culmination of everything they’ve learned. If he or she gets discovered for that work, readers will automatically and inherently have a set of expectations for a followup work by that writer (or musician or film director/actor).

However, herein lies the proverbial rub:

When artists are signed to contracts, there is typically a timeline—an expectation that a sophomore followup will be produced within a year, maybe two. Even though the writer (artist) has found and honed their style, is it not ridiculous to expect a product as complete and revised and polished as the artist’s first effort? Even with a better idea of where to start and less of a need for revising (though, of course, not an absent need for), I would think—just quickly, off the top of my head—the artist would still need at least half as much time as they spent previously to create a work on par with his or her debut effort. [N.B. no actual statistical or mathematical formula or equation was used to come up with this estimate.]

But indeed, this is not the way art-as-a-profession works. Writers (and musicians, directors, et al.) have a contract and a deadline. If you are, say, Adam Levin, author of the astonishing and epic 1,030 page (debut) novel The Instructions, you would be hard pressed to recreate that success in only a year or two. Fortunately, Levin is a McSweeney’s author, so he’s probably got a more lenient timeline written into his contract. Plus both Levin and McSweeney’s are smart: his sophomore effort is Hot Pink, a collection of stories (collected over the period of time he was writing The Instructions), so the expectations will, of course, be different, and the quality will match the expectations, thus (in all likelihood) avoiding the “sophomore slump,” e.g.

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Women (Writers) Kick Ass!

Just blogged about some kickass women writers over at Specter Magazine‘s Tumblr. You should read the post, and then go read these women! (Here’s an excerpt:)

…My list would include, but not be limited to, in no specific order: Lidia Yuknavitch, Antonia Crane, Jane Smiley, xTx, Roxane Gay, Ethel Rohan, Emma Straub, Elissa Schappell, Zadie Smith, Grace Krilanovich, Amy Hempel, Nicole Krauss, Ayelet Waldman, Jo Ann Beard, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Danzy Senna, Rivka Galchen, Annam Manthiram, Bonnie Jo Campbell, Amelia Gray, Aimee Bender, Nami Mun, Ann Beattie, Monica Ali, Emma Donoghue, Jennifer Egan; my 3 MFA mentors (all women)—Patricia Lear, Amy Hassinger and Catherine Texier; Joan Didion, Karen Shoemaker, Alana Noel Voth, Alissa Nutting and Rachel B. Glaser…

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My 2011 Year in Review | 12.29.11

Excerpted from InDigest Magazine:

…There are so many books I loved this year, this list could end up becoming a novella in length! I mean, I read and loved David Foster Wallace’s “unfinished novel” The Pale King, devoured Sarah McKinstry-Brown’s truly fantastic book of poetry, Cradling Monsoons; I finished Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (finally!), expanded my taste for the experimental with Darby Larson’s The Iguana Complex and Johannes Göransson’s Entrance to a colonial pageant in which we all begin to intricate, and sung the praises of both Adam Novy’s The Avian Gospels and Christian TeBordo’s The Awful Possibilities.

 And how could I forget the best memoir of 2011, Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Chronology of Water, Roxane Gay’s truly wonderful Ayiti and Ethel Rohan’s Hard to Say? (It’s simple: I couldn’t!) I sincerely loved so many books I read this year—large and small, dense and opaque, traditional and experimental, major presses and indie presses—so much diversity! Indeed, this list would feel incomplete without Brian Oliu’s So You Know It’s Me and xTx’s Normally Special, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention how much I really liked Jeffrey Eugenides’s latest novel, The Marriage Plot, and Roberto Bolaño’s found manuscript, The Third Reich

Read more here.

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Xmas and Shit | 12.27.11

(reposted from the Specter Collective)

Didn’t do too bad this Xmas; like mensah, I’m really glad to’ve simply survived it.

Got some books: 1Q84, THE ANGEL ESMERALDA and PULPHEAD: Essays. I actually got a VISA gift card, which I used to buy these books—except for the Steve Jobs biography, my wife bought me that one. And (again) with the exception of the S. Jobs biography, I decided to try something different and purchased the other 3 books as Google eBooks through the Indie Bound program, which means my favorite local bookstore (Bookworm—Omaha) gets a cut, which is also pretty kickass!

Amazon really pissed me off with their pre-Xmas Gestapo/guerrilla selling tactics, so I think I’m done buying books for my Kindle app. I submit that the Google and Indie Bound eReader apps are not quite as robust as the Kindle, Nook or iBooks apps, but they’re more than adequate, plus you also get a really nice little warm & fuzzy feeling knowing you are supporting the little guys. Prices are now comparable too.

I also scored 3 Blu-rays that couldn’t be more different from one another: SUPER 8, NOVA’s THE FABRIC OF THE COSMOS and THE EXPERIMENT. I’ve been really interested to watch these so I’m going to get on it this week!

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