Which means it isn’t my writing.
Being Taught Isn’t The Same As Learning
Ignorance Is Power
Keep It Dark
Working While You’re Asleep
Talent v Tenacity
And for all the knobs who are impressed by sentences that are so long that if you tried to speak them you would just run out of breath and your circulatory system would collapse and you would drop dead and be all blue and cold but that might be a good thing for all of us who just want to get to the fucking point and move on and not sit around and witness our brains drip out of our ears while you wank with a keyboard so you can impress the knobs who are impressed by such Sentences of Death:
The Best Copy Is The Least Copy
Confirmed as not an April first prank.
The long goodbye . . .
April marks seven years since we started this adventure. So much has changed. We’ve lost dear friends. Met new ones. Survived makeovers and transitions. Gotten publishing contracts. Stopped writing. Started again.
The writing industry, publishing, marketing, public relations – all have changed too. So has the way people stay connected and buy books. As the world becomes faster, time becomes even more precious. All of these factors – and many others — have weighed into our decision to say this long goodbye.
In the Comments:
It’s not a joke. I remembered it was April’s Fools Day this morn.
No . . . it’s just time, alas.
How very, very sad this news is.
The Outrage of the Week is the revelation that Random House is out to screw people with their new self-publishing scheme.
Just Shut the Fuck Up. No, really.
For years I have screamed — screamed! — about how the Big 6/4 are out to screw writers.
The Business Rusch: The Death of Publishing
You’re a rotating group of widgets that might make the publisher some money.
That’s the truth.
And she also explains why the print bastards haven’t yet died — and nearly convinces me.
From a 1907 issue of Success Magazine, a story that could have been published today:
A Writer of Books
by Martin M. Foss
Lydia Simpson was a writer of books. This was a very important fact in Freeport, a fact you learned almost before you had unpacked your trunk for the summer, and heard repeated in the strange awed and wondering way which marked any mention of this combined mystery and honor.
Having missed most of the series when it originally aired, I’ve been catching up on House, M.D. every now and then.
Tonight the episode “DNR” aired and it contained this brilliant little speech from a paralyzed musician who thinks he’s played his final note, given to House:
I know that limp. I know the empty ring finger. And that obsessive nature of yours, that’s a big secret. You don’t risk jail and your career to save somebody doesn’t want to be saved unless you got something, anything… one thing. The reason normal people got wives and kids and hobbies, whatever, that’s because they ain’t got that one thing that, that hits them that hard and that true. I got music. You got this. The thing you think about all the time. Thing that keeps you south of normal. Yeah, makes us great. Makes us the best. All we miss out on is everything else. No woman waiting at home after work with a drink and a kiss; that ain’t gonna happen for us.
It’s more effective as video, but no one has posted it to YouTube.
From the February 1908 issue of Success magazine.
Via a leaked DVD screener (plastered with a perma-Copyright notice) and the intertubes, I have seen the pilot for CBS’ take on Sherlock Holmes, Elementary.
There are no credits on this screener and no opening titles. It runs a surprising 47 minutes, which leads me to think that, bloated by ads, it will run for ninety minutes.
Well, if you last for the entire program, at least you will run the risk of possibly being entertained by a clever ad.
Because this damn well won’t do that.
Yes! It’s actually titled that!
No spoilers ahead.