Books/Mags/Blogs

Kathleen O’Reilly (who is not as sweet and innocent as she looks) shares the backstory to her latest book Diva’s Guide to Selling Your Soul. Now that we think about it, of course the devil is a gossip columnist. It explains so much*. O’Reilly tells us how she made peace with her new hometown via her character, learning: . . .that celery isn’t that awful for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. * – Paris Hilton, for example Kathleen O’Reilly’s Backstory for Diva’s Guide to Selling Your Soul

Maybe it’s because we’ve lost an hour of sleep this week (no, we are not letting go of this — it is wrong to deprive us of even a minute of our favorite activity), but the Guardian story linked below may very well be the strangest thing we’ve encountered in years. If we have the whole thing straight, it goes something like this: Naomi Klein writes essay. Essay is licensed for republication. Something happens and essay is included in anthology. Other authors become involved. Other stuff happens and the anthology cover lists Naomi Klein’s name, creating a false impression. Even

Some of our favorite people are involved in the latest shenanigans at the Emerging Writers Network, including the fine folks from Collected Miscellany, our role model The Happy Booker, Chekhov’s Mistress, and host of others. We’re not saying anything, but it didn’t take much for Dan Wickett to get this group to spill all the secrets of blogging. LitBlogger EPanel III

We should have a category for good ideas that should have stayed in the brain. There are many of of them Upperbacks, for one. Non-fiction chicklit, which covers territory that should remain private: Self-loathing and personal failure were never meant to be celebrated or turned into the latest wing of the self-help industry. What is the purpose of self-help if not to celebrate personal failure? Right. What is funny in fiction is just downright sad in reality. Hey, we’ve all had those moments; we all feel like our experience gives us a right to offer meaningless advice. We don’t need

We can say, with all honesty, that our initial reaction to the title of Alicia Erian’s book was all she wanted and more. Every fiber of our progressive soul said, “You can’t call a book Towelhead. You can’t.” But of course you can. It’s not against the law, though, as Erian notes, it’s probably easier when the epithet comes from someone of Arabic descent. We’re so careful these days, it makes us wonder if such a book as The Egypt Game could be published. As she discusses her story, Erian makes it clear that she doesn’t mind making readers uncomfortable

For those of us for whom dictionaries always were, it is hard to fathom a time when they weren’t. Yet it stands to reason that even dictionaries had to be created — that it took so long is almost baffling. We will assume that the lack of electricity had something to do with this. Still, the self-described indolent Samuel Johnson managed to oversee the process, becoming famous in the process: For more than half a century the English intellectual world had been mortified by the lack of a major English dictionary. The great national dictionaries had been produced by Italy

We have a special fondness for valves (which we won’t share here), and so, upon learning of a new literary venture sporting The Valve title, we hastened over to visit. What’s it all about? Well, there’s a statement of purpose: “The Valve is a literary weblog dedicated to the proposition that the function of the little magazine can follow this form. We mean to foster debate and circulation of ideas in literary studies and contiguous academic areas.” We, of course, prefer John Holbo’s explanation because it was buried deep in his lengthy introductory post (which then goes for many more

Our (virtual) neighbor The Happy Booker bares it all (the woman has no shame) at Buzz, Balls & Hype. Of course a woman in her profession is going to be asked why she does it. Apparently working the public transportation system was risky. So much better to stick to the safety of one’s corner of suburbia. We will not contemplate the matter of the station wagon due to an unfortunate incident in our past. It is enough that Wendi Kaufman is standing on her well-manicured lawn, shouting at the neighbors: Aside from talking about books and writing, shamelessly flogging my

Continuing our accidental theme for the day, we now bring you the story of an author who couldn’t find a traditional publisher, went print-on-demand, and wound up being nominated for a major award. Yes, again. The British have a fetish for this sort of thing. Last year, if we recall correctly, it was a first-time author. This year, Patricia Ferguson, an acclaimed author, couldn’t find a publisher for her latest book. Granted the subject matter (an old folks’ home) doesn’t scream “commercial”. Disheartened, she went the self-publishing route. It should be the end of the story. In this case: After

If we impart one piece of advice*, it will be that the wise person remains above the bad review fray. Beatrice follows up on last week’s train wreck. It seems that Sue Eccleston, the publicist for Windstream Publishing, cannot leave well enough alone. After a bout of unprofessional behavior**, she subsided, only to resurface when mentioned on another blog (we do not fear Eccleston). Beatrice did a little research that puts this story in more perspective. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity, but there is. The author of Leah’s Way, if anyone Google’s the title, will