The Lovin' Spoonful "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice" 1965 - YouTube
Monday, August 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Podunk Loses Podunk: Writer Says, “Don’t Cry For Me Arts and Leisure”
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."
(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."
Sunday, March 06, 2011
My Autoblography* at We Make Zines**
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.
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
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."
Thursday, March 03, 2011
We Make Zines
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.")
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
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!)
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!)
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
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.)
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.)
Saturday, May 01, 2010
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)
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)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
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.
Write and get paid...the Writer's Guild Of America Strike...
Insiders and outsiders...etc.
Something new from me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 12, 2007
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.
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.
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