As usual, I don't understand what's annoying.
That she gets to be in th NYT with her crappy story about 'net communities, and I'm not.
River ,'Safe'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
As usual, I don't understand what's annoying.
That she gets to be in th NYT with her crappy story about 'net communities, and I'm not.
How does one get a story in the NYT?
Or what implies that she's unable to cope in realtime.
The entire tone of the essay, for one thing. The entire first half of it, for another. And that she pretty much announces it. As erika says, this is a vibrator. I'd expect it in Cosmo, not the NYT.
How does one get a story in the NYT?
By knowing or being published by someone who is part of a remarkably incestuous little community, or at least that's one way.
Having either hung out with Howard Fast's fourteenth cousin over lunch at Sardis in 1963 is another surefire way.
Or you could have a friend at Vogue. That never hurts.
That chick's friendslist must be impressive. Or she bribed somebody in Yankton. No, that only works on HBO.
Allyson, it's lemonade time.
Obviously, there's an interest not just in using computers, IM, posting boards, blogs, etc., but in reading about people who do. This bodes well for your book (which is markedly different from that column, but the column indicates your subject is appealing).
And worth mentioning to the publicity department of your publisher in hopes they will take that into consideration in deciding how much effort to put into publicizing your book.
I am a bad moderator. I didn't even realize until a few days ago that I completely missed posting a new topic last week. I couldn't figure out why I forgot to post one, and then I realized -- the July 4th holiday threw everything off for me. Yeesh.
In any case, challenge #115 (describe someone by the contents of his/her trash) is now closed.
Challenge #116 is escape. Houdinis, start your engines....
Wake-Sleep-Wake
Sometime during those hours
when the moon is on the wane
sleep wake sleep wake sleep again
I lay awake, imprisoned by the here and now
by shadows moving in high corners
by even breathing beside me
by the weight of memory.
sleep
Your shadow beckoned: follow
I willed myself to flee, run, chase you into dream
into a place where the history that shackles me might
blur and soften
hone and sharpen
Open this coffin and let me breathe.
I run into dream, seeing you
young again
alive again
whole
wake
In the end, there is no way out;
then is now, and all my nights are prisons.
Gothamist mocks that Times column: [link]
Jesse, all I get from that link is a blank page with a couple of VW ads in the left column. Weird...