|Posted on April 1, 2013 at 10:05 AM|
So, then it came to pass, on April Fools Day, that the Washington Post ran this little wonder . .. .
Seriously. Okay, so that's pretty exciting. Would have been more exciting if they hadn't cut me from the print edition (I suspect over photo quality, as I was told I would be in it on Friday and yet there seemed to be on going drama with me not understanding what High Resolution was).
I should NOT become a photographer. Okay. So that said.
Anyway, I had a lot more to say than there was room for about the topic -- so I'll keep I think I'll do a series here on my own.
The reality of ebooks and publishing is that a lot more responsibility is gonna fall to you, the writer, for making this thing a success.
And that, well, sucks in many ways. But at least it does give you control of your own destiny. Publishers were backing off before there was an Internet to make it easy for you to pick up the slack. In the late 90s, my mom had a friend who pubbed a great handyman's handbook with a major label and he was so angry that they didn't really promote it. Now, at least, you don't have to wither on the vine if you choose not to.
Oh and have you seen this? okay just a little excited!
|Posted on March 24, 2013 at 8:45 AM|
Shhh. It's a secret.
I'm writing something for the Washington Post. (YAY! right?)
And the deadline is noon.
And it was pretty much done since Friday, but I'm touching it up. You, know. Over and over. 'Cause, this is a nice thing, right? Should be good?
Then, BAM, the husband, who is oblivious to all this, walks, in and hands me a LIVE GENADE.
For real. Hands me a LIVE GRENADE (not a typo, just for emphasis).
And article from WIRED about the same topic that uses two of the EXACT SAME EXAMPLES pretty much in the same way. Enough that I checked the byline. (Duh, no HILDIE, you didn't write it.)
And my first thought was, well, okay, but right, so like HOW MANY PEOPLE GET WIRED?
And now I'm rewriting. By noon.
So now you know. The backstory. When you see the thing in Style.
Call me Sysphus.
|Posted on March 22, 2013 at 2:25 PM|
There are only so many ways and times I can say this.
Rejection means nothing.
But sometimes, saying something -- well -- it also means nothing. What means something is SHOWING -- as in you, know like proof. Empirical, scientific-ish evidence-y things.
So here you go. Proof.
and it start liks this:
The New Yorker Rejects Itself: A Quasi-Scientific Analysis of Slush Piles By David Cameron
It began as the kind of logical argument that seems airtight to anyone who has never studied logic.
If the New Yorker is the most desirable literary magazine in the world, and if the New Yorker can have any short story the New Yorker wants, then whatever story the New Yorker gets would—logically—be so intrinsically desirable that all lesser literary pubs (e.g., everyone) would pine for it. Just like the prettiest girl at the dance: the guy she picks is the guy chicks dig. Basic deduction 101.
This story, which appeared in the Review Review -- does just that. Takes and accepted story and shows how random the process is. (follow the link to keep reading . . .)