The Whirliblog

Bug Bomb

2011-12-18T19:24:00.002-05:00

I got that call I'd hoped never to get. Thousands of lives gone in an instant. The culprits? Two dragonflies, their lifeless carcasses mute testimony to the price they'd paid for the wanton act of terror they'd prepetuated less than an hour earlier.

Two hills, literally decimated, the remaining living within wounded more than just physically, this would be a trauma they'd carry forever, each within themselves, like a giant breadcrumb.

"Well, at least they were only ants," said one of the first responders, a Japanese Beetle mounted on the back of a drone honey bee, himself an EMT (Emergency Mound Technician) as a group of crickets clicked the news out to a shocked insectoid kingdom.

"Only ants? Have you forgotten what you are?" asked the chief of the Firefly Department as a clot of horsefly photographers tried to get closer to the scene to record it with their 10,000 lenses. A group of citizen fireflyarazzi lighted the scene with their flashbulbs as if on cue.

Meanwhile, somewhere a lady mantis -- post-mating -- devoured her mate while a spider hanging from a branch looked on with something like amusement. A half world away Gregor Samsa awoke, looked in the mirror and exclaimed "WTF!"

Everyone Goes To Dave's (Or at least Ed Champion and Maud Newtwon do)

2011-09-16T12:30:00.014-04:00

The shadow of David Foster Wallace, the deep thinking writer of the Ed and Maud generation, is dragged out for another post postmortem post in the form of litblogger disagreement.

(Click headline above to be whisked to Ed's piece, where you'll find a link to Maud's original, "Another Thing to Sort of Pin on David Foster Wallace.")

It's Ed's deep thinking about what he considers Maud's not deep enough thinking. Fine, I've always enjoyed a ligblogger dust-up, though in this one I'm not taking any side. I've been on the sidelines of their generation's considerations and disagreements for years, always in the market for the zeitgeist made visible through their heated debates and always hoping for some sort of revelation/epiphany that I can bookmark to my "The Spirit of Lit" folder.

Both of these litbloggers have treated me and my writing (almost a hobby to their more serious vocations) in a kindly way, as relations might treat a semi-clueless uncle who says something at the Thanksgiving dinner table that embarrasses everyone and yet has a kernel of truth. And perhaps here one might best view that type of cluelessness through DFW's lens, as I've always felt that he was a writer who, intentionally or not, drew a line in the sand that my generation (children of the fifties) could not completely cross. Maybe it was the Youth For Wallace, guardians at the gates checking papers, eyes wide with the question "do you get it?" that sort of cooled me on the scene. I don't know. But as most litbloggers are hot for the current thing, now that DFW is "cold" perhaps one can examine the man's work without the attendant border patrols, cheerleaders and distractions.

No one writer is as representative as all of this as Maud's thesis and Ed's disagreement seems to make us believe. He is aggrieved that DFW is painted by Maud as the signifier of all litblog writing and the shallow style that accompanies that pursuit. I like that Maud makes an effort to explain what it is all about, yet wonder if there are more ingredients to the recipe than she lets on. Could the stew be a tad spicier? She mentions irony. I think that the real irony here is that one of the major lit players of the past decade, Dave Eggers, held DFW at arm's length, seemingly not tremendously comfortable with the product of what it turns out was DFW's tortured mind. That Maud gave such a mind credit for such creation, in no less than "The Paper of Record" is a somewhat subversive act that deserves kudos. That Ed took her to task, in a bruising critique, may be a marvelous statement of his own personal view of litblogging and in a larger sense the spirit of lit. Personally, I think Ed doesn't prove any lack in Maud's thesis, but rather the limited influence and perhaps -- in the big picture -- the ultimate short shelf life of the works of David Foster Wallace. Maud, in highlighting litbloggers, at least nails that limited nature.

Of course I'm just the clueless uncle at the Thanksgiving dinner. Still, I would be surprised to see DFW have anything near the continuing influence of a Hemingway (Oh, alright, THE Hemingway.) And I'm afraid that the examination of the often navel-gazing DFW that Ed and Maud engage in is perhaps an exercise in marking time until "the next big thing," which, coincidentally, is one of the things I always read them both to find anyway.

Could you pass me the cranberry sauce, please?

The Lovin' Spoonful "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice" 1965 - YouTube

2011-08-15T04:57:00.001-04:00

The Lovin' Spoonful "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice" 1965 - YouTube

Podunk Loses Podunk: Writer Says, “Don’t Cry For Me Arts and Leisure”

2011-05-18T11:38:00.002-04:00

By Sammie Tang

(New England, USA 05/18/2011) -- J.D. McStoney, publisher of McStoney’s Big Stein Of Internet Foam, who had sued Nihil Podunk for rights to the Nihil Podunk character won today on a technicality: The court decided that Podunk is not the owner of the fictional character known as “Nihil Podunk”.

The writer sowed the seeds of his loss when he created a character now in his early seventies. Podunk's copyright has run out even though he was only created a few years ago.

A deciding factor to the verdict, said an anonymous juror after the decision was handed down, was the very success of the character, so realistic that the jury was unsure if Podunk might actually exist. Or not.

A jubilant McStoney stated at a press conference, "I now own Nihil Podunk."

McStoney, speaking to a bunch of clowns in a traveling media circus at his transcendental estate located in New England, USA -- one of the new geographic locations created by eBay's "seller's region" listings -- said "Now I can go forward with my plan to market Nihil Podunk action figures."

Podunk answered this threat immediately. Speaking from the Spahn Ranch in California, once headquarters of the Manson (Charlie, not Marilyn) gang, and now a Spa for the semi-famous and mildly notorious, Podunk looked fit and robust after his Lamb's Blood Bath and Prairie Dog Sidewinder BBQ weekend as he said, "McStoney can say whatever he wants, but I refuse to stand by idly” -- though this reporter didn't see him moving around much -- “while he tries to turn me into the GI Joe of the new Millennium."

At one end of the ranch’s pool could be seen Joe Esterhaus, at the spa to recuperate from the shock of being involved with more bomb movies than the AV guy for the Luftwaffe. “Quality screenwriter,” said Podunk as he turned and rolled his eyes heavenward.

Brian Wilson passed and Podunk let out with a “Hey Brian, how they hangin’? Ten at a time?”

A surprised Wilson said, “Huh, wha? Oh, that’s right, I’m Brian Wilson. Wow, cool. Hey thanks, uh, who are you?” Podunk merely scowled and then waved to Robert Evans and George Hamilton, who were engaged in an intensely competitive “tan-off” by the reflection pond where they were enjoying their own reflections.

As the final answer to the loss of his character "Nihil Podunk", Podunk concluded that "I will fight this thing and as far as I'm concerned the jury is still out. If not literally, then -- at least to my mind -- figuratively."

One possibility, said Podunk, was that he might, on reconsideration, become completely idle, thereby undermining the success of an action figure.

“In short, I'm not going to stand still for this until I actually decide to, you know, stand still."

My Autoblography* at We Make Zines**

2011-03-06T17:38:00.005-05:00

Bounced around (and in and out of) a few writer's groups and realized, to paraphrase George Thorogood's "I Drink Alone" that when I write alone I prefer to be by myself.

My first publication was in 2nd grade with a Jungle Book type story: "How The Giraffes Got their Necks". Many years later I moved to Brattleboro Vermont, where Kipling wrote and published "The Jungle Book," which he had conceived years earlier in India. In between those two events I worked for northern New Jersey newspapers as a columnist/reporter/photographer; wrote articles on film for Cinefantastique, Fangoria, and Filmfax; wrote on collectibles for many publications; had humorous fiction on eyeshot.net, somewhat.org, nealpollack.com, and mcsweeneys.net. A couple pieces of fiction ("Full Circle" about a homeless woman carrying around a fortune in rare stamps at the bottom of her shopping bag and "Flight of Fire" about who blew up the Zeppelin Hindenburg (that's the "Oh the humanity!" one)) published in nationally circulated mags.

Started zining around the time McSweeney's started. Reacted by doing Philly based zine parody McStoney's. Next up was a couple of issues of Whirligigzine, after I bought the name Whirligig, etc. from editor and former owner Frank Marcopolos. Currently I'm throwing together a new issue of Whirligigzine. Leave me a note if you want to be alerted when it's ready. It will have everything from Coney Islands for the mind ("What the hell is that," you ask) to Kerouac to satirical-parody fake memoir to stuff-shirted litcrit to popping the pomo fandom bubble to why science fiction won't last to laughing at things worth laughing at to well, whatever else is laying around that won't fit anywhere else. (I'm thinking of starting it with an anti-manifesto manifesto, which maybe I'll also post here.)

If you're curious about how to categorize me, I fit in "lit" and "humor" and "weird" with the slightest bit of "steampunk." There, I'm pigeonholed -- now please don't ruffle my feathers. (Oh, and I'm really freakin' old. Yeah, the horror. The horror.)

After everything else I continue to do the zine thing. Obviously.

* Cute, right?
** Sign up required.

The 'Atlas Shrugged' movie: Worth seeing? - The Week

2011-03-06T17:36:00.000-05:00

Do I have any insights into Rand's classic novel, reviled by many, but also beloved by many, Atlas Shrugged? Not really, other than to say that time has not diminished its place in the popular imagination. As for how it presented industry and economics in the U.S., it may be instructive to look at the fact that one of Rand's acolytes was Alan Greenspan, who had a role in putting the U.S. in its current financial situation. It will be hard to sit in the film's audience and tell yourself "It's just a movie."

I like to read the original Whirligig (#3-9) -- Do you?

2011-03-06T14:12:00.001-05:00

We Make Zines

2011-03-03T09:56:00.001-05:00

Yeah, So Do I

Lets see how this zine thing goes. A little bit of zine history is in order, though I'm not going to provide it for your reading pleasure right now. (Oh, it will be illustrated; maybe even annotated, David Foster Wallace (RIP) style.) Maybe I'll even sell the idea to a publisher and then all the zinesters can call me a sellout. Won't that be fun!

But as my endeavor Whirligigzine has "zine" right in it, you'd have to imagine I know something about the area, right? Well, sure, I know "something" but with the various factions of zining out there what I know might not be the information you're looking for in your quest to understand the world of zines. (You are on a quest, right?) Let me say that I've met some real characters in my decade + of zine activity: Somebody should make some wacky cards characterizing them.

I am new at We Make Zines. It will be interesting to check the community out. After the wild and wooly doings on alt.zines over the years, I would imagine things at WMZ will be rather more calm and relaxed. I'll report back "from the ground" as MSM newspeople have taken to saying. (I wonder if this is vs "from the air.")

Sendak at the Rosenbach Museum and Library

2011-03-03T09:31:00.001-05:00

A Wild Things Whirligig at the Rosenbach Museum and Library

I was a bit too old to connect with Sendak's work, but his popularity in the sphere of children's lit has held strong, as the recent film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are attests. Now there's a show at one of my old stomping grounds, The Rosenbach, bringing the story to life in a different way for your young ones. (My interest in future Rosenbach events hews more to the likes of Besotted Wine and Words. Bottoms up!)

2010-12-02T08:25:00.000-05:00

2010-06-14T02:01:00.003-04:00

Sloane Crosley, of whom I'm just another humble fan (and not a reader of a comped ARC) has a new book of humorous essays out. (And yes, the New Yorker in their "20 under 40 to watch" thing ignored her. I imagine if this regime of the esteemed lit/culture mag were around in an earlier day they would have given the high hat to the likes of S.J. Perelman and Dorothy Parker too. Whatever; mysterious are the ways, etc. I'm sure it's nothing to get worked up about.) Anyway, I recommend Ms. Crosley's new collection How Did You Get This Number because of the funny within. But you may be wondering what sort of writer Sloane Crosley is. Well, I have just the thing for you. And it's called

What Sort Of Writer Is Sloane Crosley?

Where should we put Sloane Crosley in relation to other popular female writers? Well, when one uses Jennifer (In Her Shoes) Weiner as the measure of chick lit (and I don't use that term as a derogatory one, but as an identifier or shorthand for a particular genre of popular writing) and Kathy Acker as the best of the hard as nails-take no prisoners-don't give me any crap riot grrrl style of writing we can see SC floating right in the middle of the two, as if safely encased in Glenda's bubblemobile above the yellow brick road.

You know, SC could write about Tupperware, an old wheeze topic that was used up when Erma Bombeck and Nora Ephron were still churning out the "did you ever actually look at all this middle class crap" copy, and she could make it wry and funny anew. Whereas Weiner's consideration of the miracle plastic container would just be the launching pad for her musings on the corsage her heroine has preserved in it for ten years; ever since a supposed Mr. Right took her to the prom and disappeared forever in a way that has made her so mad that when he turns up a decade later -- freshly spurned himself -- she just has to go out and do what it takes to become more beautiful than any woman you have ever seen in your entire life to torture the hapless fellow! SC would merely dedicate half a pithy paragraph to the character and then it would only be to mention how he shuffles off with the prom queen who never made it out of town and now serves drinks at the Froot And Toot, a smoothie drive thru joint.

Acker would find red ice in her plastic container, which surprises her when it turns up in her freezer behind bottles of vodka and frozen government welfare cheese. She wonders if it's sauce or the results of a recent bloodletting that happened when her Pagan party got a little out of hand. Then she would take 100 pages to find out who it belongs to and ultimately find it is a combo of her and "another" (gender not stipulated) and with whom she will ultimately partner, though neither of them really have the slightest idea how that stuff got there. (*)

A lot closer to SC, who, remember is still defying gravity in the middle of things, is Curtis (The Man Of My Dreams) Sittenfeld, whose style is close to SC's though not as edgy and perhaps a tad too earnest for some. A blind date gone wrong with Sittenfeld (I think this is an apt comparison, because if you buy a writer's book you are sort of taking a chance akin to the blind dater) might net you a business card with the name of a therapist "who could possibly do you some good" and a followup call to see how your first session went. SC, who, aside from being, as I say, edgy (but not in the least strident or weird!), is jaded enough to know that the date just didn't work out and realistically (for SC is a realist -- hey, it's New York, people!) admits that half the blame is hers. She would just be honest and tell you you're nice "but just wrong" and leave it at that. Same basic message from both, one is just delivered without strings and in good humor. And so also, the writing.

OK, kids, that's it. School's out! Play nice!

*(If Sloane Crosley found a Tupperware container full of blood in her freezer? She'd inconspicuously dispose of it and that would be that. There are much funnier -- and more meaningful -- things to write about, after all.)

2010-05-01T23:56:00.003-04:00

Planet of Loneliness

By J.D. Finch

(Huge's Response to McSweeney's Contributor Ronnie Cordova's World Of Hurt, Dec. 4, 2003)

When I was a boy I was always "too big". You know the type - literature and popular entertainment has made much of the likes of me. Most recent example - "Shrek". A very early example - Gulliver. In between there was Billy Crystal's "My Giant" and of course "The Princess Bride", with poor lonely André The Giant playing, guess what? A giant!

Then there are the fictional large and lonely of the animal kingdom, unreal, albeit needful of your pity. I would include King Kong, as well as his spin-off, Mighty Joe Young, as the kind of people (though they are not really "people", but realistic, hairy simian-homunculi enlarged to widescreen, terrifying proportions), that are cinematic pathos-mongers and usually good for at least a tissue or two, depending upon who is directing the mongering.

This is all by way of saying that in looking over contributor Ronnie Cordova's "World Of Hurt" I was forced to the conclusion that he really missed out on having a great friend in his big bully: And that bully would be me.

I'll be honest here; while Ronnie may have been truthful in concluding his tale with the statement that he'd gone looking for me after our "hurt tour", we never hooked up again.

When I read his story you can imagine how I felt - I was shocked when I realized I'd bullied him into true platonic feelings. And that he could have such feelings for me sent me reeling. (And when someone my size goes reeling there is damage: I currently need a new TV, a set of eight Waterford Crystal wine glasses and a twenty-five gallon aquarium.)

But it fits the giant/pathos profile, doesn't it? People like me ARE big. We FEEL big. Everything about us is BIG, even our unseen emotions. If I started a band, it wouldn't be called "They Might Be Giants". It would be "These Guys Are Definitely Giant and So Is Everything About Them Including Their Emotions."

I now know a cruel trick of fate had separated me from Ronnie. But when I moved with my family to another town, and by necessity another school district, something inside made me seek out as many new Ronnies as I could find to sit on.

When I found them they always had his face. But believe me when I tell you that within my behemoth's heart I knew it wasn't the same. Once I even found myself on the verge of pummeling one of my sittees for no apparent reason, so angry was I that he wasn't my true wimpy companion of earlier days.

There were a number of years - "the lost bully weekend" I call that dark time - where I was so low that I would even exercise my irresistible power by sitting on inanimate objects. "I'm going to show you..." I'd say to an unresponsive rock: It can't simper like a coward. Nor can a mound of topsoil cry for its mommy.

But Ronnie should be aware that after seeing all the world's pain I learned valuable lessons and ultimately changed my name. And so, I am now known to the world as Tony Robbins.

While I once delighted in making the lives of the Ronnie Cordovas of the world miserable, I now have as my goal the total rehabilitation of all of them - all who have been sat on. I propose a cosmic healing of every single one of us sitters and sittees, so we might eventually join hands and sing, as earlier generations sang in pain and hope, "we shall overcome".

Excuse me, but suddenly I am personally overcome and must call my friend Ronnie and tell him of my great plan. And in the spirit of healing and reaching out to another hurting human being, he is, after all, on my speed dial.

"Hello Ronnie? This is Tony Robbins. What? Oh, of course, I mean, this is 'Huge'. What? I don't have to say anything? You understand? That's wonderful. Hold on and let me tell the folks."

He forgives me! We indeed have "overcome" on a very real and personal level!

"Ronnie, tell me.Tell us, because at this time of year I like to share good news with the multitudes, as it were. Where did you gain your great expansive sense of human forgiveness? Yes, yes. What? What? Did you say Doctor Phil?! Really! Ronnie, tell me something. Are you freakin' kidding me!?!"

"No?! Why, you miserable little wuss. Bar your windows, Poindexter and hide in the basement. You heard me. What? You got it. That's right, HUGE IS BACK!!!

(Planet of Loneliness was originally published at somewhat.org, Dec., 2003)

2008-10-12T20:17:00.002-04:00

Make An Appointment With Dr. Zine, Now Practicing Blogospheric Proceedures

Blog Love Omega Glee? Maybe you didn't hear it here first, but at least you heard it here. (Hear, hear!) Wred Fright should be on every zinester and blogger's radar. If he's not on yours, you're dead to me. No, seriously -- go to Wred's blog, which he has cleverly named Wred Fright's Blog (for ease of remembrance) and start reading BLOG (you see what he did there?), his new serialized novel. It's tastier than Cap'n Crunk!

2008-09-11T23:49:00.002-04:00

> II*

2008-09-10T03:58:00.000-04:00

2008-01-28T02:40:00.000-05:00

The Guild of Outsider Writers - What's Your Story?

Write and get paid...the Writer's Guild Of America Strike...
Insiders and outsiders...etc.

Something new from me.

2007-12-11T20:15:00.000-05:00

I have launched Whirligigzine. I'd like to thank you all for hanging in with me and sharing my updates over the months as I've all-too-slowly gotten it together. Members of OW and others were unfailingly supportive and were there to help me over a few rough spots. But I'm happy to be part of the growing online lit world. Writers who don't realize the necessity of migrating to the Internet are going to be hurt in the long run.

I don't take the Internet's influence on reading and writing for granted and I see certain changes continue to be made to the dissemination of lit. A couple years ago putting one's own writing online was anathema, at least according to some like Hollywood writer Lee Goldberg. Today a blog like Diary Of A Heretic, that is comprised of nothing but fictional content from the author is nominated for a best literature blog award at the 2007 Weblogs Awards.

As 2007 was the anniversary of the publication of Jack Kerouac's On The Road, the question of what makes an outsider writer was forced onto countless blogs. And it gave us all a good view of an earlier version of what it meant to be outside the mainstream and then accepted by it, creating the greatly mixed results that the so-called King Of The Beat Writers met and which contributed mightily to his demise.

I followed with great interest a dustup involving the traditional and best known of lit's outsiders, science fiction writers. When the group the Science Fiction Writers Of America noticed that some of its writers' work was being put online without the author's permission they jumped the gun and rode into Dodge with cybersixguns blazing, angering other members of the organization to the extent that they retaliated with International Pixel Stained Technopeasant Day, where many members, including Campbell Award winning writer John Scalzi, posted their work online for free in protest. It is a long -- one might say labyrinthine -- news story that may not be clear in my brief summary. But it is quite interesting, especially in light of the current writer's strike centering on -- among other considerations -- compensation for online work. You may want to follow it through Google, or the search engine of your choice. The Scalzi Technopeasant link here is also a good place to start.

A number of litbloggers have proven themselves in other arenas, including, perhaps most notably, book reviewing. Ed Champion (edrants.com) and the writer who some consider the gold standard for litblogging, Maud Newton (maudnewton.com) have made appearances in the LA Times and the New York Times, respectively. And so the interplay between online and real world lit continues, as does the morphing from outsider blogger to insider mainstream journalist.

Whirligigzine will have a print version out soon, but it is really the online version that means the most to me. That is, the print version will be a reflection of the ezine and not visa versa. At the same time, the ezine will augment the print version, which will direct readers to the online site, where art and illustration that may be too complicated/expensive to print will be available for viewing at the cost of a few pennies of bandwidth.

I foresee a smooth melding of the two media and I'm as exited as I imagine early publishers and editors utilizing Gutenberg's new invention must have been many centuries ago. I'm feeling a bit like an amalgam of Max Perkins and Max Headroom, ready to have fun as one of the new hybrid editor-publishers, while leaving the shrieks of the Cassandras warning of the death of print echoing behind me. The brave new world of cyberlit, with all its possibilities, stretches out infinitely before us all.

Carpe diem!

2007-11-15T16:07:00.000-05:00

Are we toying with fate? Not really, just trying to get it all right before it's given to you, The Whirligigzine's readers. To the left is a view of an early version of the print cover that will be seen in bookshops and in online stores soon.

And so the mistake doesn't come back to plague her in some form or another, our poet Ms. Drehmer's name is spelled "Aleathia", not the way it appears on the illustrated test cover.

Do I worry that The Whirligigzine might not find an audience? Not really, even though it may not be underground enough for the hardcore undergrounders or "literary" enough for the university/quarterly crowd. So who does that leave? Everyone else -- the majority who enjoy good stories well-told and poetry with heart and soul. (But I do know that it has at least one story that is bizarre enough for the Bizarro readers and anyway, one would never mistake The Whirligigzine as a mainstream publication.)

This is not the Whirligig of an earlier day. Means of publishing have changed and there is no good reason to stick to the raw kitchen table look of that day. The original Whirligig served its time well and its style set it apart from the crowd. But there are now accessible and inexpensive ways to produce a fairly slick product that still is full of authentic voices and future looking writing, based in the traditional, yet of a newness that makes readers sit up and take notice.

Zines are now very different things from what they were -- even traditionalists from the golden days of the nineties are producing zines with slick covers and (gasp!) ISBNs -- and those who will criticize The Whirligigzine for its form are missing the point.

And as for the slight change in name, from The Whirligig to The Whirligigzine: let it remind those who may have forgotten, and inform those who never knew, where this litmag came from. And how it carries on in the tradition of the zine world: with unbroken DIY spirit and without fear or concern about the "big boys" of publishing.

2007-10-27T22:07:00.000-04:00

Check Our Pulse

2007-10-21T07:55:00.000-04:00

Linkage at The Whirligigzine

Fiction writers who appear in The Whirligigzine are now linked from the site, which is about to go live with fiction and poetry and surprises. See what these great writers are doing besides The Whirligigzine. What do Nick Mamatas, Karl Koweski, Kevin Dole 2, and Jeff Somers have to offer besides what you'll see in The Whirligigzine Issue 1.2? Please go and find out.

2007-10-12T04:52:00.000-04:00

Inside The New Whirligigzine

Into SF, Fantasy, writing that is bizarre, as well as that existing outside of the usual categories? Then you'll want to read the forthcoming issue of The Whirligigzine.

Meanwhile, Whirligigzine.com is going live in a matter of days, followed by the print version in early November, around the time of the World Fantasy Convention, Nov 1-4 in Saratoga NY.

Included in The Whirligigzine will be Bram Stoker nominee Nick (Move Under Ground; Under My Roof) Mamatas with another of his well-wrought entertaining/disturbing stories. Longtime zinester Jeff Somers, who has a new novel called The Electric Church (Orbit) out now, will be represented with a hard-edged story that almost needs a new genre to describe it -- how about avant-noir? Jeff will be at WFC, as will I, to catch any stray rays of his reflected glory, which I'll use to illuminate the wonders of The Whirligigzine, Issue 1a. Or something like that. (Jeff's site, http://the-electric-church.com/ is worth a visit.)

And if you like hard-hitting stories, where horror is an everyday occurrence and the writing keeps you off balance from first sentence to last, Karl Koweski and Kevin Dole2 will set you up with a couple that make Palahniuk look like a sissy. And top it all off with an excerpt from August H. Bjorn's novel The Prodigal sending you on an all-expenses-unpaid trip to one of the circles of an outrageous and hilarious Dantesque hell in the modern world.

And then the poets...

But I'll tell you about them in another update. They deserve one of their own.

And then I'll tell you about a couple editorial surprises.

If you need a zine that is SFnal and fantastical/bizarre, while literary enough to shut up the inevitable naysayers, write to me at jdfinch@whirligigzine.com. Or go to http://www.whirligigzine.com in a couple weeks to order. Prepublication updates will continue to be found here on The Whirliblog.

2007-10-12T04:48:00.000-04:00

Daily Kos

The Whirligig gets a mention.

2007-10-02T15:40:00.000-04:00

The Whirligigzine Update

The Whirligigzine will not be ready for its unveiling at the 215 Festival in Philly this coming weekend, which is just as well, because thanks to timing the World Fantasy Convention will be taking place in Saratoga NY just as The Whirligigzine is coming off the presses in early November. As its pages will offer a number of stories more in line with the focus and interests of the Con and its attendees, that gathering is a natural launching pad for TW. More updates to follow.

For those looking for a zine fix in Philadelphia this weekend, look no further than the Rotunda:

ZINE FEST AT ROTUNDA
4014 Walnut St
Philadelphia PA 19104
www.therotunda.org
Sun. 10/7, 12-6pm

The Philly Zine Fest

"Our goal is to embrace written and verbal communication as much as
possible without constraints. At the zine fest, be prepared for
everything from personal experiences to artistic talent to first-hand
politics. Trading of information is in abundance, and in many formats.

This year, the Philly Zine Fest is part of the 215 Festival,
Philadelphia's own home-grown literary arts festival, celebrating
writers, writing, books, art, and independent publishing. Events
include readings, films, and "cross-pollinated performances" held in
galleries, bars, museums, and theaters citywide. The Festival is a
showcase for performers that are as smartly engaging as a book and
authors that are as fun to watch as a band."

Here's a list of everyone tabling so far:

Cake & Pie Press - Mary Tasillo
Childlike Empress - raequel solomon
CHiNesE SwEAtSHoP - Elsie Sampson
Collagen Books of Cara Christopher and Ashley Purciello. - Cara
Christopher
CRASH - SHAY REVOLVER
Decades Of Confusion Feed The Insect - Justin Duerr
Dimanche Zine - Sabrina Simon
EMPTY - ROMERO BURRUEL
girlsnotchicks.com - Jacinta Bunnell
Howzit Funnies - Andrew Cohen
Microcosm Publishing - Steven
Old Weird America zine - Rosie White
Parcell Press - Taylor Ball
Pony Express Zine - Rebekah Buchanan
Q.E.D. - Jessica Greif
Queen Anne's Revenge Press - Katie Baldwin
Radical Rabbit Distro - Luke Romano
Say It Loud, Make It Plain Press - Ianna
Sisu zine - Johanna
Slip Into Something Human - Tracy Youells
So Sue Me - Sean Moran
Suburban Blight - Stephanie Basile
Sugar and Spite - Ali Thompson
The Idiom - Mark Baird
The La-La Theory - Katie
Three Crows Press - Matt Dembicki
Trabant and Revelling in NY zines - Megan and Heather
Tric Zine - Casey Grabowski
True Grit Distro - Paolo and Claryn
Typeset - Sean
Wayward Press - Jeff

- Background music will be DJ'd by Chucky La Counte.
- Vegan Food to be catered by 2 Potato Catering. Bottled water will
also be available.

2007-09-27T03:17:00.000-04:00

Undying Words

I've finally decided, a month before its release, keyed to The World Fantasy Con, that I will dedicate the first issue of The Whirligigzine (which will be numbered 1a for reasons I'll explain on TW's blog at a later date) to my father.

While my father was surrounded with all the trappings of middleclassdom, with a few added privileges for having been born into a modestly privileged family, there was always a restlessness and gnawing unhappiness behind his mask with the deferential smile. And his conforming deeds and compliant words were belied by a rebelliousness that was the underpinning of a soul that desired anything but what he was fated to do.

I always got the impression that he would have been much happier in some little cabin on the border of a treed wilderness, of the kind many take to so they can avoid the drag and pull of the nine to five world.

But it turned out I was the one who wound up almost in the woods. Brattleboro Vermont does seem like one of the last outposts before the real wildernesses of the US northeast, though it is still far too civilized and full of the conveniences that keep the wheels of commerce turning and bringing ever more people to enjoy unspoiled nature, which may not remain in that condition for much longer.

But Brattleboro is the last outpost of my personal wilderness. I'd been here for two years and had not made one true friend. And I'd forced this upon myself because of all the potential writing time I wasted for years. I could not deal with being alone for any significant amount of time as I wrote, so I partied and hung out. This was one of the less exemplary legacies handed down to me by my father. If anything, he was, more than I, unable to be alone: in a house by himself for more than 5 minutes, he was dialing the phone to talk to someone...anyone.

I remember walking into his hospital room as he was dying. His eyes closed, the end quite near, his hands were beating at the air in search of...what? The magic numbers to let him talk to someone so he wasn't really alone? All the others in the room looked on in pity and despair. The look on my father's face was fear and desperation. His hands continued to beat the air...And still no one did anything!

I walked over and grabbed his hands. He was in an odd state of semi-consciousness, but it wasn't on account of drugs, because all the drip tubes and mysterious lines of life-support had been disconnected.

Hands in hands he calmed, all over; his face relaxed. Was that a smile? He never opened his eyes but I felt he knew it was me. We held each other's hands for minutes and I occasionally touched his head.

As his grip started to become tighter I knew that the moment of giving up everything had come to him. (Later I thought how crass and moronic is the well known expression "everyone dies alone." Only a fool and a coward that doesn't have the guts to help another being at perhaps the moment of their greatest need could have coined that phrase.)

My father didn't die alone: I was right there with him.

Like all writers I need someone -- the reader -- to be with me or my words die alone. Separately we writers are mostly little noises, not much more than individual pathetic squeaks that few will take notice of. But together, even if only together in spirit, we can shake the rafters. And we can thank each other, but especially the reader, for being there for us. And our work will not die alone, even if the marketplace and the naysayers declare it unworthy. And The Whirligigzine, among the many outsider publications that have been featured on the site I share with others, The Guild Of Outsider Writers is here to assure any writers in its sphere with a soul, a voice and something to say, that they are not alone, and to remind them that it is not our role to "go gently into that good night."

The Whirligigzine is always open to submissions of poetry, fiction, and any other forms of good writing that you may want to submit. Payment always negotiable. Send what you've got to jdfinch@whirligigzine.com. Poetry will be passed on to The Whirligigzine's poetry editor, Rob Plath.

2007-09-27T02:45:00.000-04:00

Altered States

2007-05-29T04:03:00.000-04:00

2007-05-15T02:23:00.000-04:00

The Guild of Outsider Writers - Todd Moore's Outlaw Blues

I've been spending some time over at Outsider Writers, my home away from home, but now that our birth pains are over I can really concentrate on stuff having to do with The Whirligig.

I'm finalizing things for the summer release of The Whirligigzine, but am still not happy that it is largely a testosterone fest, with not a single lady in evidence among the completely fine contributors. For some reason none of them heard my calls for submissions. Perhaps I wasn't loud enough? The mystery remains, though there will be changes in issue 2, which will benefit from a woman's touch.

I just posted the above mentioned "rant" at OW in the Naked Opinion column that I edit and will be interested to see what sort of feedback we get on it.

2007-04-19T02:53:00.000-04:00

The Finch's Dog Theory

2007-04-07T02:16:00.000-04:00

It's National Poetry Month

2007-04-06T02:13:00.000-04:00

H.P. Lovecraft in a letter to Clark Ashton Smith

"My own rule is that no weird story can truly produce terror unless it is devised with all the care and verisimilitude of an actual hoax. The author must forget all about "short story technique" and build up a stark simple account, full of homely corroborative details, just as if he were actually trying to "put across" a deception in real life...as carefully as a crooked witness prepares a line of testimony with cross-examining lawyers in his mind. I take the place of the lawyers now and then-finding false spots in the original testimony, and thereupon rearranging details and motivations with a greater care for probability."

A bit of twisting of Aristotle's Poetics, but what the hell, the Greeks didn't have zombies so I suppose it all evens out somehow. (JDF)

2007-03-25T21:24:00.000-04:00

New York Times Says "Now Easier Being A Geek"

March 18, 2007
Op-Ed Contributor
It’s All Geek to Me
By NEAL STEPHENSON

Seattle

A WEEK ago Friday, moments before an opening-day showing of the movie “300” at Seattle’s Cinerama, a 20-something moviegoer rushed to the front of the theater, dropped his shoulders, curled his arms into a mock-Schwarzenegger pose and bellowed out a timeless remark of King Leonidas of Sparta that has in the last week become the catchphrase of the year: “Spartans! Tonight we dine in hell!”

Groans, roars, macho hooting noises and sardonic applause rained down on him. The audience had been standing in line for an hour. Only a few of them were dressed as Greek hoplites. They were much better balanced between men and women than I’d expected and, racially, looked like a fair cross section of Seattle’s populace. Over the next couple of hours, they enjoyed “300” with roughly the same level of energy and audience participation as one would expect in an N.C.A.A. Final Four game.

The film contains a lot of over-the-top material, reflecting its origin in a graphic novel. As often as not, when I found myself rolling my eyes at something particularly mortifying (the tactical corpse-pile avalanche, the Persian executioner with serrated fins for arms), the crowd reacted much as I did, some even hurling catcalls from the balcony or blurting their own lines of dialogue. It was all pretty festive for a movie about ancient history in which almost all of the characters end up dead.

This, apparently, was no anomaly. Though it opened on a relatively small number of screens, “300” made money far beyond the most optimistic projections of its producers, racking up the third-best opening weekend ever for an R-rated movie.

The critics, however, were mostly hostile, and frequently venomous. Many reviews made the same points:

• “300” is not sufficiently ironic. It takes its themes (duty, loyalty, sacrifice, the preservation of Western civilization against enormous odds) too seriously to, well, be taken seriously.

• “300” is campy — meaning that many things about it can be read as sexual double entendres — yet the filmmakers don’t show sufficient awareness of this.

• All of the good guys are white people and many of the bad guys are brown. (How this could have been avoided in a film about Spartans versus Persians is never explained; the distinctly non-Greek viewers at my showing seemed to have no trouble placing themselves in the sandals of ancient Spartans.)

But such criticisms aren’t really worth arguing with, because they are not serious in the first place — and that is their whole point. Many critics dislike “300” so intensely that they refused to do it the honor of criticizing it as if it were a real movie. Critics at a festival in Berlin walked out, and accused its director of being on the Bush payroll.

Thermopylae is a wedge issue!

Lefties can’t abide lionizing a bunch of militaristic slave-owners (even if they did happen to be long-haired supporters of women’s rights). So you might think that righties would love the film. But they’re nervous that Emperor Xerxes of Persia, not the freedom-loving Leonidas, might be George Bush.

Our so-called conservatives, who have cut all ties to their own intellectual moorings, now espouse policies and personalities that would get them laughed out of Periclean Athens. The few conservatives still able to hold up one end of a Socratic dialogue are those in the ostracized libertarian wing — interestingly enough, a group with a disproportionately high representation among fans of speculative fiction.

The less politicized majority, who perhaps would like to draw inspiration from this story without glossing over the crazy and defective aspects of Spartan society, have turned, in droves, to a film from the alternative cultural universe of fantasy and science fiction. Styled and informed by pulp novels, comic books, video games and Asian martial arts flicks, science fiction eats this kind of material up, and expresses it in ways that look impossibly weird to people who aren’t used to it.

Lack of critical respect means nothing to sci-fi’s creators and fans. They made peace with their own dorkiness long ago. Oh, there was momentary discomfort around the time of William Shatner’s 1987 “Saturday Night Live” sketch, in which he exhorted Trekkies to “get a life.” But this had been fully resolved by 2000, when sci-fi fans voted to give the Hugo Award for best movie to “Galaxy Quest,” a film that revolves around making fun of sci-fi fans.

The growing popularity of science fiction, the rise of graphic novels, anime and video games, and the fact that geeks can make lots of money now, have given creators and fans of this kind of art a confidence, even a swagger, that — hard as it is for some of us to believe — is kind of cool now.

Video games have turned everyone under the age of 20 into experts on military history and tactics; 12-year-olds on school buses argue about the right way to deploy onagers and cataphracts while outflanking a Roman triplex acies formation. The near exhaustion of Asian martial arts themes has led a small but growing number to begin reconstructing, or imagining, the forgotten martial arts of the West. And science fiction, by its nature, has had to equip itself with a full toolkit for dealing with alien cultures, mindsets and landscapes.

Which is exactly how the creators of “300” approach the Spartans and the Persians. The only people in the film who don’t seem as if they came from another planet are the Arcadians (non-Spartan Greeks), who turn tail once the battle becomes hopeless.

Classics-based sci-fi is nothing new. To name the most recent of many examples, the novelist Dan Simmons published “Ilium” and “Olympos,” science-fictional takes on Homer. When science fiction tackles classical themes, the results may look a bit odd to some, but the audience — which is increasingly the mainstream audience — is sufficiently hungry for this kind of material (and, perhaps, suspicious of anything that’s overly polished) that it is willing to overlook the occasional mistake, or make up for it by shouting hilarious things from the balcony. These people don’t need irony or campiness self-consciously pointed out to them, any more than they need a laugh track to enjoy “The Simpsons.”

The Spartan phalanx presents itself to foes as a wall of shields, bristling with spears, its members squatting behind their defenses, anonymous and unknowable, until they break formation and stand out alone, practically naked, soft, exposed and recognizable as individuals.

The audience members watching them play the same game: media-weary, hunkered down behind thick irony, flinging verbal jabs at the screen — until they see something that moves them. Then they’ll come out and feel. But at the first hint of politics, they’ll jump back behind their shield-wall, just like the Spartans when millions of Persian arrows blot out the sun, and wait until the noise stops.

Neal Stephenson is the author, most recently, of “The System of the World,” the last book of “The Baroque Cycle” trilogy.

Copyright 2007 The New York Times Company

2007-03-22T13:50:00.000-04:00

At Live Journal I Note: The Passing Of Ken "The Krab" Wilson

2007-03-21T10:59:00.000-04:00

Zinesters and Underground Writers Take Note --

There's no reason why The Whirliblog shouldn't be all about underground writers. How many blogs cover this area? Desperately few.

That is what TW will be dedicated to. If you have any info about yourself, authors you know and like, or if you are a small publisher with any info about underground writers, send it my way. (Big publishers need not apply.)

The Whirliblog is also a part of the The Guild Of Outsider Writers, and will highlight the actions of that group, of which I am a founding member.

So send me any news you may have of undergrounders, but remember: I'm not looking for glitzy gossip items, to turn this into another frothy litblog, beholden to corporate publishers and making a big deal about yet another interview with already overexposed writers. News, entertainment and support for underground writers is the goal.

2007-03-16T02:25:00.000-04:00

2007-03-16T02:18:00.000-04:00

We'll Be Open All Night For Your Pleasure

The Guild of Outsider Writers will soon be with you to change the way you think about underground writers and writing. Our edge won't make you bleed, but will give you a chance to sharpen your own. What you do from there is up to you.

2007-02-21T11:59:00.001-05:00

Writer's Guidelines Are Available!

Please send your request to jdfinch@whirligigzine.com

2007-02-14T00:39:00.000-05:00

Whirligigzine (Mothership of The Whirliblog) Has Some News For You

2006-09-16T09:35:00.000-04:00

FORMER PROFESSIONAL LITERARY AGENT FOUND IN LOVE NEST WITH "WRITER"! SHOCKINGLY ARE SAME PERSON!

The Areas Of My Expertise by John Hodgman

A Book Review by J.D. Finch

Mr. Hodgman, with this item, has produced what he chooses to call a "book" and has finally cleared the air about the hightop waders that I and other sportsman like to don to go perambulating through crystal clear streams where we pull our near brainless scaley dinners-to-be out with line and pole.

While this "fishing" is "a good thing to do" as a much better writer than Mr. Hodgman, Ernest Hemingway...Ernest-O to his strapping Cuban pool boy...said in so many exotic and accented words so the lad could understand, we should not expect the quality of writing of EH from the nonbooted Hodgman, since, as legend has it, he is more a former lit agent than a writer in the mold of writers. (As Ms. Stein would surely say if she were here, on what is loosely referred to as "The Earth" in Mr. Hodgman's "book.")

Even though for a time Mr. Hodgman and I traveled in the same literary circles, I never laid eyes on the guy and fully believe that he was avoiding me and the inevitable question that writers of Mr. Hodgman's stripe dread, ie, "So what's on the back burner?" ("Bigger" writers than Mr. Hodgman, like David Foster Wallace, might have a $8.00 per pound crustacean happily (or not) boiling away on that burner, while the humble Mr. Hodman might be found frying up a perch or even a "crappy.") Hopefully Mr. Hodgman will cover this question in his follow-up to TAOME.

True, he nearly answers this traffic-stopping question in TAOME when he lays out his expertised skivvies and grabs the bull by the horns, giving us all a good view of what he considers both "areas" and "expertise" as they appear in the title, and offered to his grateful readers -- it is said -- by way of his expert brain. But surely here he is actually dealing with "front-burner" material.

But I fear some folks who were taken in by Mr. Hodgman's sometimes "Aw shucks," at others "F*** you" humor, expected a gay excursion along a Robert Benchleyesque Roundtable of hot wit and incisive bon mots, which in fact, paradoxically, is exactly what we get. And as advertised.

JDF

(NB All the above was just an aside -- as isn't most knowledge just that on your trip to becoming whatever your calling (be it high-falutin' expert like Mr. Hodgman or low laborer, like someone called "Ace" or something) is? Or as the blue collared "Aces" among us would have it, "life's a bitch, then you die." But then again, anyone reading this is a more advanced reader than that -- or so would say Mr. Hodgman, who happily or sadly -- weather permitting -- considers himself an expert on such things.)

2006-08-24T03:15:00.000-04:00

www.whirligigzine.com Coming Soon!

And there will not only be literature there, but cool stories about literature.

In case you don’t know, literature is not something that you earn, or work for.

Literature is something that you have to do, so you do it.

Are you a good enough writer to produce literature? I won’t dignify that rhetorical question with a response. (Right there are two sentences, that, while attaining a tone of irony together, may create an effect that might be construed as merely stupid by those not ironically attuned. I don't really know.)

I’m sure there is a difference between literature and writing, but since I am a writer, I don’t know exactly what it is. Perhaps if I were a "literati" I could be of more assistance in this area. (But I still might not tell you if I did know.)

Anyway. There will be writing presented. If you think it is literature, well that's fine.

If you have some writing that you have produced and would like to try to have it appear on one of the Whirligig sites, or in the print edition, you can send it to me. If you're not sure if your writing is actual literature, well, join the club.

And remember that in this case I am the club's president.

2006-08-16T02:59:00.000-04:00

Musical Notes From Underground

While the zine incarnation of The Whirligig is dedicated to fiction and poetry, here at the blog there is no reason why we can't cover anything in the arts and present it in essays, reviews, blurbs or any other form as the mood strikes.

So in that spirit, here is a review of Next, a music CD by Hunkasaurus and His Pet Dog Guitar (www.hunkasaurus.com) aka Tom Hendricks of long-running zine Musea (www.musea.us), of which Next is a CD version. (TH = a composition by Tom.)

Songs 1-3 (Anytime at All, For Pete's Sake and How Do You Do It) Homages to a watershed period in pop music, the British Invasion of the early 60's. Tom does this stuff well.

Song 4 (Fully Automated TH) Nice short interlude instrumental. Somehow reminded me of Pink Floyd's "Interstellar Overdrive".

Song 5 (Not Fade Away) I would have preferred a bit more grit in the performance, but there's a nice twist in his "come-on/come-on" as the guitar seems to make a move of its own -- with a mind of its own.

Song 6 (Lovin' You) A Presley chestnut that didn't do too much for me here.

Song 7 (That Means A Lot) Tom has a good feel for Beatlesesque pop and as this was written by Lennon/McCartney he's on firm ground. Enjoyable.

Song 8 (Modern Art TH) Bert Jansch type melodic acoustic guitar song.

Song 9 (Secret Agent Man) Cleverly adds the James Bond guitar riff; but what happened to the third verse?

Song 10 (140 MPH TH) Simply a well-crafted pop song. Like the songs from the group America (Ventura Highway, Sister Goldenhair, etc.) that you liked in spite of yourself, it just has something.

Song 11 (I'm Alive TH) Simple in all ways: Lyric, melody and arrangement all serve the purpose of the song. Referencing Thoreau, it makes the most basic statement of existence: I'm alive.

Song 12 (Sleepwalk) With Kazoo!

Song 13 (Windy) Serviceable rendition, but I'm not a fan of the song.

Song 14 (I Will) Interesting/different arrangment of this song from "The White Album". Good double tracked vocal.

Song 15 (Grand Sweep TH) Another good change-up piece that moves things along nicely. If this CD were Sgt. Pepper's this song would be Fixing A Hole.

Song 16 (Shake, Shout, and Go TH) Good boogie based riff. This song is the definition of "catchy" and seems happy to exist just for that.

Song 17 (Harmonics TH) Tom says goodbye with a little acoustic music of the spheres.

2006-07-07T17:50:00.000-04:00

2006-07-02T14:12:00.000-04:00

With Bruce Hodder, Leopold McGinnis, Jack Saunders, Wred Fright and Frank Walsh.

2006-06-20T21:50:00.000-04:00

FILF

The reborn print version of The Whirligig, the much beloved litzine ("For all its modest, zeeny presentation, THE WHIRLIGIG is one of the most important lit journals being produced in this country." King Wenclas) will make its re-appearance at Wred Fright's F Independent Literary Festival (FILF), presented by The Underground Literary Alliance in Cleveland this July. If you can't make it and want a copy, full of great stuff from Wred, poet Frank Walsh, Canadian novelist Leopold McGinnis and others, you know who to call. (jdfin2@hotmail.com)

2006-01-10T00:38:00.000-05:00

Idea

"'I write hardbound books, for money,' Ernest Hemingway said.

He turned into a freak show, too. He blew his brains out. He thought the FBI was tapping his phone.

Turns out, the FBI was tapping his phone. They had a dossier on him several inches thick."

Jack Saunders

2006-01-10T00:31:00.000-05:00

Image

2005-10-31T14:42:00.000-05:00

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?