Monthly Archives: August 2004

Hecklers needed

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As I mentioned over at Sticky Notes, I’ll be venturing out into public this week. Thursday evening at 7pm, I’ll be speaking at the Barnes & Noble in Cranberry Township, on Rt. 19 near I-79.

The event is “Your Own Words,” a monthly meeting organized by the store. It’s described as “a hybrid between book group, author appearance and your standard workshop.” The meetings take place the first Thursday of each month, starting at 7pm.

For my part, I’ll be speaking about writing for online markets, and about online publishing as a whole — what you’d want to write for an online publication, finding publications that suit your work, tailoring your material to suit your market, and so on. I’ll also talk about how online writing is similar to and different from print writing.

The event isn’t listed on the B&N website, but I’m pretty sure it’s still a go. And if it’s not, I just might speak anyway. Do come by. I’ll be answering questions about online publishing, writing, and anything else. Recommendations for web editing software, tales of the Inkburns slush pile, reminiscences of Boston nightclubs in the late 80s, suggestions for the best drinks and appetizers for Labor Day parties: It’s all fair game.

You can find directions at the B&N website. I hope to see you there!

Good words elsewhere: “Synchronized Diving”

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Olympic-themed writing on the indescribable (parenthetical note): “Synchronized Diving” by Karen Ashburner:

There are books around my desk written by people with impressive sounding names and the insides of these books are filled with substantial words like Cataclysmic and Calamitous, words that sound like they could get up off the couch and kick my ass should I come in and interrupt their cartoon watching time after work. I think the words in these books could actually drink me under the table if given the chance, and maybe kick my ass in pool too. But these words are still boring because the cartoons they watch are perverse and shocking in that over-the-top, grossly violent and overtly sexual kind of way.

Moshe The Explainer

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Should I say again how terrific the interviews at the Onion A.V. Club are, or has that become boring? This week’s is with Peter Falk, whom I love most for Columbo, but also for The In-Laws (so much for this), for Murder By Death, for The Princess Bride…. And I think I love him even more for the shows and films I don’t yet know about, because I can still enjoy them fresh.

Anyway, in Onion A.V.Club fashion, the interview touches upon the new video releases and book that presage the interview, but focuses on the things that any fan will drool over. For example:

I won’t talk about the first play that I did, because that’ll be in the book. But the second play I did

Finding love online

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I fall in love over the Internet regularly, maybe every week. Usually it’s a crush I develop based on someone’s writing or opinions. These are passing flings, short-lived obsessions, wherein I’ll read everything the person has written online until I’m convinced we were meant to be, that if I were to fly to whatever city the writer resides in and email them to suggest coffee, or maybe a drink, we’d meet and that would be that. Whether the writer is male or female, straight or gay, single or attached, makes no matter. It could be an intellectual love, you know, where we are just the bestest of friends and spend our time making witty remarks and sipping juleps.

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We ain’t learned our lesson yet

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It’s Donnie Iris Day in Pittsburgh, celebrating the local rock hero whose hits include “Ah Leah!” and “The Rapper.”

Incidentally, the correct Pittsburghese pronunciation is “dahw-nee ahrs.” Make sure to drag out the first syllable of the first name and to smush the last name into a single syllable.

My friend James Simon, a sculptor in Pittsburgh, bears an astonishing resemblance to Donnie Iris. Iris fans sometimes insist that he’s the real deal despite his protestations that he’s not Donnie, and so on occasion James has signed autographs with Iris’s name. I don’t think he knows what the authentic signature should look like though.

Actually, when he’s not wearing his Buddy Holly-style glasses, Donnie Iris is starting to look like Steven Spielberg. Or maybe Kevin Kline.

Old reliable

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Others are discussing their favorite re-reads, and I’d like to chime in. I used to re-read books more often than I do now — I’ve accumulated a stack of waiting-to-be-reads. Plus, there are so many movies in my NetFlix queue. (I won’t even go into the movies I’d like to view again.) And then there’s the boundless Inkburns slush pile: I have difficulty justifying sitting down to a couple hours of pleasure reading when I know how many writers await my response. (All the same, I need to keep current with the state of the art, don’t I?)

(More after the link, plus thanks to Syntax of Things for the lead into everyone’s lists.)

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Trouble Is My Business

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Continuing to be occupied with other projects — generating income or immediately and vexingly spending what little capital I can acquire — I point the hopeful site visitor to the sites listed to the right.

In particular, please visit Syntax of Things, who despite now and then claiming the need for a mental health morning still manages to publish many diverting entries and highlight worthwhile events. To wit: a bit about the potential expansion/distortion of Raymond Chandler’s last home.

Explaining my links: Girls Are Pretty

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In “Explaining My Links,” I briefly note the charms that draw me to sites that I list in the blogroll (to the right) but rarely link to in posts. Today’s winning entry: Girls Are Pretty.

It’s a non-standard blog, posting brief fictional bits on weekdays. The bits are often odd, sometimes stupid, occasionally perfect, often funny, usually unforgettable. For example: Wednesday, July 21, 2004, Trapped Under Boxes Day! (Due to a linking glitch, you’ll have to scroll down to find the right entry.)

Today, you’re stuck underneath some boxes. You tried to get to the box in the middle of the pile because you were pretty sure that the picture of your sweet little mother was in that box and you wanted to talk to it. But when you pulled that box out, your entire pile of boxes tumbled atop your head and pinned you to the ground.

You can’t breathe deep enough to shout for help. And you can’t talk to your mother’s picture anymore because every time you look into those eyes you can hear her shouting that you should turn yourself into the police for being gay. There is nothing to eat or drink and you have no friends who might stop by to find out why you won’t return any calls because, while you have a handful of friends, you only get a call for the group invites. Outside of those, all responsibility for staying in touch with your friends lands in your lap. You don’t talk to your neighbors either. There is a very good chance you’re going to die.

But you’ve still got one chance left. Nineteen feet away from you, way up on the wall, is a small red button that opens the garage door. Within your reach is a toy bow and arrow from when you were a kid. You have only one arm free. If you can pull the bow with your teeth and shoot the arrow at that button, the door will open and some of the boxes will tumble out, lessening the weight above you and opening the door to the rubble so someone might poke his nose in to see what happened.

There’s more to it, so go see.